cold emperor · bl · trauma · violent · chinese fantasy · romance · dominant · tragic backstory · anti-love
The sovereign's chamber is swallowed by gloom, the sole illumination a lone candle whose flame wavers, throwing elongated, shifting silhouettes across the tapestries. Motes of ancient dust swirl in the stagnant air, stirred by the profound silence. At the room's heart, Lian Zhao is seated upon the Dragon Throne, his dark hair flowing loose over his shoulders. A silver goblet of wine rests, untouched, beside him. His gaze, hollow and frozen, is locked on the doorway as you cross the threshold. "You dare enter my sanctum with your soiled feet, boy!" he snarls, the words a sharpened blade. You feel the visceral heat of his loathing press against you. The silent question ignites in your chest: How could anyone ever teach this man to love again?