City Gate, Prince Damien’s Show of Force Against Ninth Royal Uncle

After receiving Serena Feng’s letter with the blackened line, Prince Nolan’s mood never recovered. Though he was disciplined and never lashed out or broke things, the cold air he radiated made people feel as if they could catch a chill.

In the sweltering summer heat, a sudden chill swept over everyone—hot one moment, cold the next. No wonder people fell ill.

Not only Nolan’s own guards, but even the Si Clan’s Eighteen Riders stood stiffly, not daring to speak or move around him, afraid they’d catch a chill just from his presence.

Prince Nolan was never easy to serve, and after receiving Serena’s letter, his temper was even worse. Everyone around him treaded carefully, terrified of his cold stare. Yet it was at this moment that the thoughtless Prince Damien of Southlyn decided to cause trouble.

When Prince Nolan arrived at Southlyn’s capital, diplomatic protocol dictated a formal welcome. Southlyn had received word well in advance, and Prince Damien had personally volunteered to greet him. Yet Nolan’s carriage reached the city gate, and Damien was nowhere to be seen.

Nolan may not care for empty formalities, but matters of face cannot be ignored. If he entered the city so meekly, he’d lose stature in Southlyn and weaken his position.

Nolan would never enter the city in such a way. No matter what the Southlyn officials said, he simply refused to budge. Of course, he didn’t storm off in anger either—he just had his carriage wait outside the gate.

“What are we supposed to do? Prince Damien hasn’t come. What now?” The Ministry of Rites official was nearly in tears.

“Should we go ask His Majesty?” a junior Southlyn official whispered, only to be interrupted by his superior: “He’s just an idle prince from Eastlyn—not worth our prince’s personal welcome. If he wants to enter, let him; if not, let him leave.”

“That may be true, but this Ninth Royal Uncle represents Eastlyn. If we offend him, it could mean trouble for us.”

“What’s there to worry about? Eastlyn is about to go to war with Westlyn—they won’t dare touch us in Southlyn. Don’t worry, that Ninth Royal Uncle will have to come in eventually. If he waits too long, he’ll only lose face.” The official was utterly self-assured.

He was the highest-ranking official there, so once he spoke, no one dared argue. A few worried ones just shrank into the corners.

Prince Jingxing watched from afar, a mocking smile on his lips: “Damien really is getting arrogant—insulting Eastlyn like this is just foolish.”

Eastlyn’s emperor might not care about Nolan’s life, but he cares deeply about his own reputation. Damien’s actions insult not just Nolan, but Eastlyn itself—hurting Southlyn’s interests. Yet Jingxing had no intention of stepping in.

Southlyn’s situation was already delicate, and with Damien bringing in the Westlyn princess as an ally, things were even more complicated—Jingxing’s odds of success grew slimmer.

While Southlyn’s officials schemed, Nolan sat in his carriage reading, ignoring everything. His party waited silently at the city gate for a full hour.

The sun was blazing, soldiers sweating in their uniforms—even the Si Clan’s Eighteen Riders were as dark as charcoal. Just when everyone thought Nolan would keep waiting, he suddenly spoke: “Return.”

As always, Nolan was direct. The men outside the carriage, though stunned, didn’t hesitate—they quickly carried out his command.

Nolan’s hundred-plus entourage immediately turned back the way they came…

“What’s going on? Are these Eastlyn people really not coming in?” The Southlyn officials were stunned—they could hardly believe their eyes.

Eastlyn may be strong, but they can’t just do as they please—this is Southlyn’s turf. If Nolan gets angry, it’s not wise for them. If they killed him in a rage, Eastlyn would only condemn them, maybe demand territory or reparations.

“How arrogant these Eastlyn people are—do they think Southlyn is a place they can come and go as they please?” The superior official was furious at Nolan.

Nolan showed them no respect. After waiting an hour and being asked countless times, he never answered—then left without a word. It was… outrageous!

“Nolan really is something—waiting an hour gave Southlyn all the face they could ask for.” Jingxing smiled and turned to leave.

It was time to step in—if Nolan really left, Southlyn would be the ones embarrassed.

Jingxing hurried downstairs, clearly intending to apologize to Nolan and admit Southlyn’s mistake. But before he reached the gate, dust rose outside—the cavalry had arrived.

“What’s going on?” Jingxing strode forward. The officials waiting for Nolan greeted Jingxing as if he were their savior, rushing up to salute him.

Jingxing, though impatient, couldn’t ignore them. After waving them to rise, he hurried forward—only to realize he was a step too late.

Outside the gate, Jingxing led the cavalry, surrounding Nolan’s group. Though he brought fewer than a thousand men, it was still several times Nolan’s escort.

Prince Damien, clad in riding gear and mounted high, looked down at Nolan’s carriage and said arrogantly, “What’s this? Is Prince Nolan leaving already? Are you blaming me for poor hospitality?”

Nolan didn’t answer, but his adviser spoke up: “We’ve certainly experienced Southlyn’s hospitality. Since Prince Damien knows it’s lacking, perhaps he should learn proper etiquette before hosting foreign guests—so Southlyn doesn’t lose face.”

“Who do you think you are, to speak to me?” Damien narrowed his eyes, raising his riding whip and swinging it at the adviser.

He wanted to show Nolan that this was Southlyn—his territory. But the whip never landed; it was caught by Nolan’s guard.

“Prince Damien, a whip has no eyes—think twice.” The guard flicked his wrist, almost pulling Damien out of the saddle, but held back just enough.

“You…” Damien’s face flushed red, a glint of ruthlessness in his eyes. The guard was unfazed, gripping his saber, ready to act.

This was one of the Si Clan’s Eighteen Riders, tasked with protecting Prince Nolan.

At this moment, Nolan finally spoke, his voice cold: “Step aside.”

Damien was furious, but seeing Jingxing nearby, he forced himself to smile and said stiffly, “You’re not really blaming me for being late, are you? I went hunting to prepare special dishes for your welcoming banquet, but I arrived late.”

“If you really blame me for poor hospitality, I apologize here and ask you to enter the city with me.”

His excuse was obviously a lie, but he said it so confidently that no one could refute him. Besides, it gave Nolan a face-saving way to accept or decline.

Everyone from Eastlyn looked toward the carriage, waiting for Nolan’s response.

Would Nolan enter Southlyn’s city gate—or not?