The Imperial Capital of the Crimson Phoenix Empire was situated upon five hills named after the five representations of the body of Fenghuang:Virtue, Duty, Propriety, Credibility and Mercy.

The pillars of the Phoenix were pillars of the Empire.

Upon these five hills stood the pinnacle of what the Crimson Phoenix Empire had to offer. Thousands of pagodas housing the noble clans. Hundreds of stadiums, to test the limits of cultivators and mortal warriors alike. The capital heaved with trade and industry, smoke and flame belching from its famous forges. Sights from the thousands of Li that the Empire encompassed were on display. From the trees and the fruits of the south, to the pelts of the north, to the gems of the east and much more. In the very air above the city captured islands from the Soaring Heavens Archipelago floated, laden with more buildings and industry. It was a place of incomparable wonder.The Imperial Palace itself formed the heart of the teeming metropolis, a city within the city, forbidden to the unworthy. An immortal flame burned at the pinnacle of its largest pagoda; the Fenghuang’s fire itself, lit with seven colours, captured within a bowl that bore the symbol of the Taijitu.

Those born within the light of the fire, it was said, rarely knew sickness or ill health, the fire drove away all that would harm the true born sons and daughters of the Phoenix Rest Plain. Even the least streetrat of the wondrous city would raise his nose in arrogant superiority to the noble of the far flung frontiers. For they lived in the nest of the Crimson Phoenix.

And now, the city of millions swelled to encompass a triumphant army.

A million soldiers marched into the capital, invited by the Emperor, so that he could personally gaze upon the valiant defenders, his victorious soldiers.

The news of the victory over the demonic hordes had spread like wildfire, and millions more from the surrounding areas had made a mad dash to witness the parade.

High above the city was the imposing form of Shenfeng, the Divine Wind. The flying ship was bedecked in colour, flanked by smaller vessels. Petals of spring flowers, white chrysanthemums, fall leaves and flakes of snow rained from their decks into the city, as the beautiful fairy sisters flitted around them. While the symbol of Soaring Heavens Isle was foremost among the banners, the Sect had deigned to allow others the honour of the great ship bearing their banners aloft.

The parade marched through the grand thoroughfares of the capital. First, came the Emperor’s own Household Guards, clad one and all in heavenly steel—his favour was clear, as the Qilin-riders marched behind an enormous Temple-Dog. Lord Chen Huo, the Eternal Guard of the Heavenly Flame, had come down from his post to welcome the returning champions.

Then, came the cultivators. The Immortal Heroes, led by Xiao Ge, The Black Clouds of the Silent Sky. He was wounded, yet bore his scars with dignity. The mighty immortal's grave injuries lent truth to the titanic struggle with the demons. What trailed behind the few experts of the Cloudy Sword Sect were banner upon banner that represented the many ranks who formed the grand army.

Finally, came the soldiers. Rank upon gleaming rank, bearing banners of fire. The mortals, who had held the line against lesser demons.

The cheers and chants reached a fever pitch as they finished rounding four hills and started towards the fifth where the gates of the Imperial Palace lay.

Up five thousand steps they marched, never once faltering or wavering, until they came to a courtyard—so vast that all the men of the Army that Guards the Gates could fit in, with room to spare.

The cultivators and men stood proudly before a pavilion. An open air building on a dias, shrouded in a curtain and fire.

As one, mortal and cultivator alike dropped to their knees.

“We pay our respects to the Emperor!” The soldiers thundered as one voice, a boom that reached out beyond the city walls.

Although lit from behind by seven coloured fire, none could truly see the Emperor’s face hidden behind a curtain. Yet they didn’t have to. There could be no mistaking the sheer majesty of the man shrouded in fire.

“Rise.” The Emperor commanded, and his Qi flared like the morning sun at dawn. It burned out like a wildfire, saturating the courtyard and racing to all corners of the city, a presence of heat and light that did not burn. It was a heavy weight, one of a firm and guiding hand.

The Emperor of the Crimson Phoenix Empire stared upon them. Close enough to a god-given flesh.

The mortal soldiers wept as his presence filled them.

“Heroes of our Empire. It does please us to see your return…”

==============================

“....And we do thusly recognise your meritorious deeds.”

It was the one thousand, one hundred and third time His Imperial Majesty, the Third Emperor of the Crimson Phoenix Empire, had said this phrase today; though the majority of those had been especially proficient mortals. The less able were seen to by the scribes.

He was sat upon his dias, behind a wall of blazing fire. Fei Xinxhao of the Mount Huandi Sect was prostrated before him, receiving his reward.

The mortals had, according to ancient custom, received their rewards first, so that the cultivators could be given the full concentration of the immortal Emperor.

Stipends for the fallen were distributed in perpetuity to any spouses or children; a mere hundred or two years of the money going to the families was considered generous to the mortals, but it was a drop in the treasury.

If only all of his subjects were so easily pleased.

“To you, We reward with this Thousand Poison Antidote, as well as the ability to take but one text from the Phoenix Library. Do not squander this chance.”

“This Fei Xinxhao thanks the Emperor for his benevolence.'' The cultivator bowed low and retreated from his presence, the smile on his face radiant. A legion of scribes next to the throne dutifully recorded every word.

He retreated, keeping his eyes low in the presence of the most powerful man in the Empire. His Qi was a pressure upon everyone here, reminding them of their place.

“That is the last of the meritorious upon the rolls; Speak now, if one feels as if any contribution was overlooked.”

He stared in particular at Xiao Ge, for his reward had not really been a reward at all. The man had asked for the Cloudy Sword Sect disciples to be called upon more, not less, as he had in the past centuries.

It was a sudden change in priorities that he had to investigate. There were whispers, of course. Upheaval within the sect.

None spoke up while he was examining the acting master of the Cloudy Sword Sect. The Emperor frowned, the action invisible behind the curtain of flames.

“Then go. Bring Glory to Our Empire.” He commanded.

“We pay our respects to the Emperor!” The voices once more chorused, and the cultivators filed out of the room.

“Was there anything else?” he asked his chief scribe, the man’s forehead pressed to the floor.

“No, My Emperor.”

“We will retire, then. Continue your work.”

“Yes, My Emperor.”

His Imperial Majesty, Emperor of the Crimson Phoenix Empire, stood from his throne and exited from a doorway hidden behind it.

Once he was safely in the passage beyond, the most powerful man in the Empire took the bracer that was on his arm off and heaved a breath. The effort to maintain it all wore on him. He stared at the bracer, a symbol of power, and a quiet reminder of his own limitations.

With it and the formations of the city he could achieve a power that most cultivators could never hope for.

But the upper ends of his strength were a lie. A bottleneck had halted his advancement long ago.

The Emperor’s Qi was augmented by the works of his ancestors, a polite fiction to those without true strength that the Emperor’s power was absolute. Few could see the truth. Of those that were confirmed to know were Xiao Ge and Tianzhe Minyan. Others, the Emperor was not sure.

The Second Emperor may have been able to battle the likes of Xiao Ge on an equal footing; But the Third Emperor, outside the seat of his power, would be defeated utterly.

So instead of the force of arms, he wielded a different weapon; the weakness of all humans. Greed, love and the thirst for power. He played the sects off each other, lest they get ideas. Seating arrangements were weapons. Grand speeches his sword; and yet still his power over the sects had declined over the years.

The Empire was growing too big, unwieldy and as the proverb went: the Heavens are high, and the Emperor is far away.

It had been harder, with the slow retreat of the Cloudy Sword Sect, the Empire’s finest supporters. It had surprised him when the wind changed and the Cloudy Sword Sect had attended him. Xiao Ge had arrived penitent about his absence, content to play his part like the old days. The Cloudy Sword Sect could still be counted on to honour their old oaths—a righteous bludgeon against the unvirtuous.

The Emperor’s stride took him past the Inner Palace and towards the deepest location of his home.

He touched his ring to the door and suddenly he was elsewhere.

A hidden realm, made by his ancestors; A vibrant garden, full of soothing Qi. He let the feeling of dew from the waterfall land on his skin, and he smelled the sweet scent of the flowers.

He let out a breath and continued deeper into the garden where there was a place for entertaining guests. Normally, there would be one of his trusted concubines from the Imperial Harem. But today, it was a different sort of distraction.

“Took you long enough, Fengyan.” A rather grumpy voice echoed from where the man was seated at a chair. Shen Yu yawned indolently from his seat.

His wounds were bandaged and covered with paste. The Imperial Physicians had examined him and managed to repair the worst of it. Now, all he needed was rest and time.

Fengyan sighed at the slovenly nature of his friend.

===========================

Fengyan, the Third Emperor, examined the recording of the battle before him. Taken by Shen Yu for his personal viewing. His face was marred with a frown at the War Constructs and the blasts of light that struck it. He raised an eyebrow at the appearance of a penitent and his charge against the massive construct.

“So… the diviners were right. There is a challenge every age, and we must rise to meet it.” he muttered as he deactivated the recording crystal.

“Tch. There's always a challenge. You don’t need diviners to tell you that.” Shen Yu muttered.

“Indeed there is—but they got the general location right, and even the size of the threat.”

“First time since—” Shen Yu cut off the thought and sighed. “Whatever. I’ll allow you to praise them this once, Fengyan.”.”

To most, such disrespect to the Emperor was equal to treason, but there was a time where Fengyan had called the man Senior Brother. That was centuries ago, now. He was one of the few, and sometimes Fengyan would say only, men who could get away with it. And even he had his limits.

But that was long, long ago. Before the forty-eighth prince had been deemed the only one worthy enough to succeed the Crimson Phoenix Throne. The rest of the Imperial line had either sworn binding oaths to him… or been culled, before His Lord father, the Second Emperor, had disappeared forever.

Fengyan respected his father… but the duty he had been left with was not an easy one.

“No calling them the bastards of three fathers, and saying that when this turned out to be so much less than they predicted that you would castrate all of them?” Fengyan asked, using the crass tones he had learned while travelling the inner city in his youth.

“No. They were right to ask you to “call on your strongest champion”. Even if it was at an immensely inopportune time.” Shen Yu had been very upset when he had found out why Fengyan had called upon this favour. His frown exaggerated the wrinkles on his face.

“I am still getting used to you being… old.” Fengyan said after a moment, watching the lines as they shifted on his face.

Shen Yu shrugged. “I feel old, more and more. My experiences have weathered me. It's not right to look like a young whippersnapper when I feel like this. Besides, the ladies don't seem to mind! Like a fine wine, I am! Better with the wrinkles! Unlike you, babyface! You still look like the last fifty Young Masters I had to crush!”

“Like fine wine? You look the the ass of a Crag Turtle.”

Shen Yu barked a laugh as he raised a bottle to his lips and drained the crystal vessel. The vintage was over a thousand years old, made by one of the rare few cultivators who completely indulged in a beneficial passion. It was easily worth ten frontier cities.

It was also the eighth one that Shen Yu had drunk. He sighed as the taste hit and slumped into the seat.

“It was a near thing. If they had completed their constructs it would not have been as much a victory as we hoped. At least one of us would have fallen… if not all of us.”

It was rare to hear his ever confident friend speak like that.

“Then we are blessed by the Heavens.” The Emperor said before rising. Shen Yu nodded before picking up another bottle. He got halfway through draining it before the Emperor snatched it out of his hand and drank the rest himself.

Shen Yu’s eyes widened before he began to howl with laughter.

“You little brat! Years ago, I would have tanned your hide for that cheek!”

“Attempt it at your peril, Shen Yu. The wards in here are quite powerful.”

“Feh. You’ve gotten too cheeky, you bastard. And it's been too long.” Both men smiled at one another, before the Emperor raised his hands in the gesture of respect. When he spoke next, he spoke as the Emperor, and not as Shen Yu’s old friend.

“You have come when you were called, our loyal subject. We hold your oath to us fulfilled.”

Shen Yu stood from his chair and bowed back. “This Shen Yu pays his respects to His Imperial Majesty.”

There was a pulse of Qi. A binding oath fulfilled. A pressure on both of their souls released, just slightly.

“So. What happened in the Cloudy Sword Sect?” The Emperor asked, though he knew he probably wouldn’t get a straight answer, if he got one at all. Xiao Ge was Shen Yu’s sworn brother; and Shen Yu would never say anything to harm him.

Shen Yu knew that he had to make the attempt, and didn’t begrudge him it.

“Some manner of incident. It's been resolved. I dare say your job will be easier because of it.”

Which was as good as he was going to get… And it was some peace on his mind.

“What do you plan to do now, Shen Yu?” Fengyan then asked as he conjured a chair so he could sit at the table beside his friend. More bottles of wine appeared at the snap of his fingers. He poured them both a cup.

Shen Yu seemed to consider something before he sat back down.

“...I’m going to see my grandson.”

The Emperor of a continent nearly spat out the wine he had drank. Instead, he simply raised an eyebrow.

“I thought you said you were never to sire another child.” He delicately prompted

Shen Yu’s last son had been… an experience. Nearly a million subjects dead, five cities sacked, three sects destroyed, four more crippled and enough cultivation resources wasted that it had set the Empire back centuries.

Shen Bu had been quite a thorn, until the mad dog was put down by his own father.

It had been a messy affair that left Shen Yu in the Empire's debt. Shen Yu had sought to redeem his son’s sin with three tasks repaid.

“Adopted. From the streets of Crimson Crucible City.”

“I guess there is a story there?” the Emperor asked, his eyebrows raised, and Shen Yu lit up like he hadn’t seen in centuries.

“You should have seen the way he shoveled,” one of the Most powerful cultivators in the Empire declared loudly.

Fengyan allowed himself to rest, for a while, as he listened to an old friend speak fondly of his found family. Shen Yu allowed himself to be animated and open. Like the old friends, they were, even when they both knew in their hearts that they might have to kill each other one day.

They could never be like how they used to be. Not entirely. But at least for the moment, Fengyan was Fengyan.

He did not have to plot a course that would see thousands dead in the best circumstances. He did not have to execute loyal subjects so that he could retain a less loyal, but more useful one.

He could simply have a nice drink, and listen to the tale of a street boy shoveling shit.

It was quite amusing.

==========================

Eventually, however, Shen Yu had to leave.

And the Emperor had to once more don his mantle.

He met with his legions of ministers and scribes, and decided the affairs of state. It had been a lot worse before he had expanded the bureaucracy and created the Archive Reform. The Empire had simply been too big, and he had needed more people to run it.

But the project was finally bearing fruit. He had his scribes. He had less minutiae that he needed to observe.

“Leave the Empire more powerful than you inherited it,” had been his father’s last command.

He didn’t quite know if he was succeeding.

But by his oath, and the Mandate of Heaven, he was the Emperor.

The Phoenix's flame would be everlasting— no matter what he needed to do to keep it burning.