In the wake of the Great War between the West Wolf Kingdom and the Minor Kingdom, King Doanh Thuong Hoang returned only to fall gravely ill, his body broken by years of relentless toil. His spirit withered into a deep melancholy, and he passed away a year later, leaving behind a haunting question: who would inherit the throne?

  The mournful tolling of funeral bells echoed through the palace—heavy, droning, and resonant, like the weeping of the earth itself. The sound carried a weight of sorrow and a creeping instability that cast a shadow of anxiety over the capital.

  Doanh Thuong Nhan, the father of the late King, realized that this vacuum could ignite a bloody civil war within the clan. The contenders were formidable: his two sons, Prince Hien (Doanh Thuong Hien) and the Prince Regent (Doanh Thuong Quan), along with his grandson, Doanh Hoang Thu—the son of the deceased King. With tireless worry etched into the wrinkles of his aging face, the old patriarch decided to meet each candidate to settle the matter.

  The Meeting: Doanh Thuong Nhan and Prince Hien

  Doanh Thuong Nhan sought out his second son, Doanh Thuong Hien, a man renowned for his virtue and beloved by the common folk. Hien was the most brilliant among his brothers, possessing clear, bright eyes and a gentle smile. Father and son often met to share meals and intimate conversation. The soft clinking of teacups and the father's warm, gentle laughter usually created an atmosphere of domestic peace, a sharp contrast to the suffocating tension of the court.

  The father asked, his tone probing and his eyes reflecting his inner turmoil: "What are your thoughts on the throne?"

  The son replied, his voice hesitating and timid, as if afraid of offending: "I... I do like the idea... but Father, you mustn't speak like that! My brother is still alive. To speak of succession is to wish for his early grave!"

  The father let out a laugh tinged with bitterness, his gaze wandering to a distant point. He knew his eldest son was already at death’s door—the body remained, but the spirit was gone. Taking a deep breath, he said: "Of course not. I love him, just as I love all three of you. I wish for none of you to pass. How could I endure the sight of the silver-haired burying the young?"

  Hien bowed his head, his voice a mere whisper: "Yes..."

  The father sighed, a heavy sound laden with concern. "He is too stubborn; sooner or later, the end will come. But that is not what worries me most." His voice dropped an octave. "Do you have that intention? For instance... assassinating your brother and nephew to take the crown?"

  The sound of sputtering water and a fit of coughing erupted. Hien, who had been drinking, nearly choked. He stammered, his face a mask of confusion and panic: "Uhm... well... no, certainly not!"

  The father smiled—an enigmatic, knowing smile of an experienced man. "You’ve thought about it, haven't you? A Royal family is often the most heartless of families. Don't you agree?"

  Hien flared up, his voice filled with resentment and his eyes flashing with a need to be understood: "Father! I never had such an intention! It was only that some of my subordinates suggested it, but I refused them!"

  The father looked over at Silver Beard, his trusted old friend, and they both laughed. It was a laugh that echoed a distant memory. It mirrored a story from their own youth, back when the Lord of Doanh still bore the name Chau Ngoc; Silver Beard had once advised him to act decisively and assassinate his rivals for the Chau Ngoc throne.

  "Out of the three," the father said, "you are most like me—in character, in talent, and in the way you approach vital decisions."

  Hien felt a wave of confusion, unsure if his father was praising or criticizing him. He could only manage a forced, awkward smile.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "Suppose," Doanh Thuong Nhan continued, "if you were King, what would you do? Tell me. Analyze the state of our nation."

  Hien brightened, his voice eager and brimming with youthful fervor as he painted a vision of a golden age: "The state of our country is dire. The people cry out because the laws are too harsh and the labor is too grueling. If it were me, I would abolish those laws, build schools to encourage learning, and reduce working hours. I would bring happiness, joy, and freedom to the people, and I would cast the Legalists out of our land!"

  Doanh Thuong Nhan mused, his eyes scrutinizing his son's words. "That sounds well. The people would love you all the more. But what if one of your commanders or officials committed a crime? What if they exploited the people, forced young women to be concubines, or turned children into slaves? What would you do then?"

  Hien replied: "I would warn them. If they did not listen after several warnings, then I would punish them."

  The father’s voice filled with disappointment. He shook his head slowly. "Then they would take advantage of you. They would hide their crimes and lie, knowing your mercy would prevent any severe penalty. The people would remain silent, too terrified of the officials to speak the truth."

  Hien suggested light fines or gentle rebukes. The father countered with worse scenarios—what if they continued to exploit the King’s kindness? Pushed into a corner, Hien muttered weakly: "They wouldn't be that bad, Father. They must have some sense of moderation. There's no need to be so strict."

  "When faced with greed, humans have no limits," the father warned sternly. "Without a law that is fair yet sufficiently strict, no one will obey you."

  The father then handed his son a book gifted to him by the three Kings of Noe. He commanded him to read it. The book described three types of rulers: the worst was the "Kind King," whose leniency allowed officials to ignore and exploit him; the mediocre was the "Fierce King," whose harshness ensured obedience through fear; and the "Excellent King" was the one who balanced mercy with severity. This ruler was "Respected and Feared"—loved for his virtue but feared for his impartial justice, where commoner and official alike faced the same punishment.

  Hien skimmed the pages, but his eyes flashed with irritation—even anger. He saw the image of his younger brother, Doanh Thuong Quan, reflected in the description of the "Excellent King." He vehemently rejected the book, his voice sharp with defiance. He believed firmly in "governing by virtue"—that good would always triumph over evil without the need for guards or severity. He believed that doing good was its own shield.

  Sometime later, King Doanh Thuong Hoang passed away. As the funeral bells rang out in lamentation, Doanh Thuong Nhan did not remain in the palace. He went straight to Prince Hien.

  "I ask you one last time," the father said, his eyes locked onto his son's. "Do you want to be King?"

  Hien, sensing his father intended for Doanh Thuong Quan to take the throne, reacted with fury and ordered his father to leave. The sound of clattering decor and falling chairs filled the room, the heavy, frantic footsteps adding a layer of desperation to the tragic scene.

  Seeing this, Doanh Thuong Nhan was overcome with sorrow. He drew his sword, placed it in his son's hand, and spoke in a voice hoarse with pain: "I have already lost one son. I do not wish to see another die. So, help me. Kill me now!"

  Hien gripped the sword, his hands trembling violently. He broke into loud, racking sobs, the sound catching in his throat, before hurling the blade away. The metal shrieked as it hit the stone floor.

  "Why?" Hien cried out, sounding like a discarded child. "You love him more than me! I have been by your side since I was small. Why do this? You gave me a choice where every path leads to my loss. If I kill you, my brother has a righteous reason to hunt me down. If I don't, I have nothing. You are too cruel to me!"

  "I knew you wouldn't do it," the father said, his voice aching but firm. "Your nature is too kind. You wouldn't even kill the stray animals in the yard, let alone your father. But your brother is different. He is capable of it, and I cannot predict what he wants or thinks. My only wish is for both of you to live—and to live happily. So, listen to me. Go. Go far away. Change your name. I will ensure you and your family live in luxury for the rest of your lives. Silver Beard, my most trusted brother, will protect you until the end."

  With tear-blurred eyes, Hien asked in a trembling voice: "Can I not even visit my brother one last time?"

  "No!" Doanh Thuong Nhan replied without a second of hesitation. "Go now, while there is still time!"

  Hien bowed to his father, his shoulders shaking. He immediately gathered his family to flee. White Beard followed closely behind them, their shadows disappearing into the night.

  Returning to the palace, Doanh Thuong Nhan issued an absolute lockdown. Once Hien had cleared the city gates, the father decreed that no one was to leave the capital—not even the Phi Moc Long (Wooden Dragon Flying Boat) or the Phi Moc Dieu (Wooden bird Flying boat). He organized a grand, solemn funeral for the King, though his own heart remained heavy as lead.