What is a normal life?
Why are some people born to rule while others are born to obey?
Why do men rise quickly while women are expected to stay small, silent, and still?
These are easy questions to ponder when you're rich, beloved, and protected by your family.
That was never the case for Li Ziyan.
From the outside, she seemed blessed. Daughter of the esteemed Minister of Education in the imperial court of Great Qi, born into a grand household of influence and luxury. But behind gilded doors, reality gnawed at her soul.
She had five sisters, six brothers, and at least three mothers — concubines and stepmothers alike, tangled in a cold web of jealousy and politics. Ziyan's own mother was a low-ranking concubine, ignored by her husband and forgotten by the rest. She died when Ziyan was still young — and nobody in the house mourned her passing.
Despite this, Ziyan studied.
In a society that scorned women with ambition, she hid by candlelight, tracing lines of myth and warfare: stories of Empress Nuoa, the mother of humankind, and the brutal brilliance of Sun Tzu's strategies.
Her sisters mocked her.
Her brothers scorned her.
Her stepmothers treated her like vermin beneath their feet.
But she endured. Quietly. Patiently.
Then came New Year's Eve. The skies of Qi were painted with fire — gold and crimson bursting above the capital as the streets below swelled with joy. It was meant to be a night of renewal, of family, of harmony.
Ziyan stood among her kin, dressed in red silk, eyes bright with hope — just for a moment.
She never saw the betrayal coming.
The laughter around her was sharp, the smiles forced. Her father's gaze never found hers, instead lingering coldly on the eldest son—her half-brother—who smirked with cruel satisfaction.
Just hours earlier, Li Ziyan had been caught sneaking through the treasury corridor, clutching a small pouch of coins meant for the imperial coffers. She had stolen not for greed, but to secretly fund her forbidden studies and to help the orphans of the city—children abandoned by those who claimed to care for the empire.
But no one cared about her reasons.
Whispers twisted into accusations, each one more brutal than the last.
"She dares to steal from the family!"
"She disgraces us all!"
"A concubine's daughter, unfit and reckless!"
Then came the worse humiliation: that same evening, during the New Year's gathering, her half-brothers deliberately embarrassed her in front of the court ministers. One loudly recounted how she had flaunted her secret rebellion — humiliating her further.
Her father's voice cut through the murmurs like a blade.
"Li Ziyan is no longer welcome in this household. She shall be stripped of all titles and cast out at dawn."
A stunned silence fell. Her sisters' faces gleamed with triumph. Her brothers sneered openly. Even the servants dared not hide their scorn.
But Ziyan, though cast out, did not break.
As the crowd dispersed, leaving her alone amid shattered dreams and burning pride, she made a silent vow:
If this world refuses to see my worth, I will carve my own path.
If they deny me power, I will seize it with my own hands.
I will rebuild. I will rise.
And I will change the fate of Great Qi.
With nothing but a small satchel and the resolve burning like a flame inside her, Li Ziyan stepped into the cold night — alone, but unbowed.
The road ahead was long, and the shadows deep. But she was no longer a lost daughter. She was a storm waiting to be unleashed.