(Kingdom of Medang & Yi Dynasty)
A curtain of clouds hung over the arrival of the delegation from the Yi Dynasty. Medang's main harbor swelled with armored guards, nobles on horseback, and commoners craning their necks, eager to catch a glimpse of these distant visitors—said to possess trading techniques and military strategies unlike anything Medang had ever seen.
Sri, Senapati Anom of the Kingdom of Medang, stood tall at the front line alongside her officers. By her side was Raka, Tumenggung Madya, whose brow had been furrowed since dawn.
"Do you see that?" Raka murmured. "Three ships. They haven't raised their royal flag, but their formation is circling the dock. That's a combat pattern, not a merchant's."
"They're not here to fight," Sri answered quietly. "That's not battle strategy. It's a performance."
Raka cast his childhood friend a side glance, half-annoyed.
"I don't like performances."
A deep gong rang out from the lead ship.
Three figures descended the plank—one clad in blinding red silk, one clutching a white parasol and looking ready to faint, and one… nearly invisible among the bustle.
Chen Lu Han, Ninth Prince of the Yi Dynasty, stepped down as if walking onto an opera stage.
"At last! The humid embrace of the southern tropics! I feel my pores opening to the warmth of this seductive land!"
Mei Lin held her breath. Han Yue stared dead ahead, silently contemplating an escape to another continent.
Elsewhere, behind the stone walls of Medang's palace, a middle-aged man listened intently to his spy's report.
"It's confirmed. They've brought a young strategist and two elite guards. But most importantly… they carry a document that could open new trade routes."
The man's expression shifted. Beneath the weight of his ceremonial turban, his cunning eyes narrowed.
"If that trade line opens… the King's influence will grow. And I can't let that last for long."
In Medang's great hall, diplomacy began. The King sat on his throne, flanked by his top advisors and ministers. Sri and Raka stood guard to his left and right, alert as ever.
Chen Lu Han bowed halfway, a gliding smile on his lips, as if nothing in the world could be too serious.
"I bring warm greetings from His Majesty, the Emperor of the Yi Dynasty," he said smoothly, "along with small tokens from our northern lands. Silk, the finest wine… and a little hope for friendship."
The tone remained formal. Calm.
Until Chen added:
"And, if I may be honest… I also bring a sliver of hope for love. Rumor has it the women of Medang are known to throw arrows. I admire women who throw things at me."
Sri nearly choked.
Raka massaged his temple.
The King glanced at his advisor, as if to confirm he had heard that correctly.
"Prince Lu Han," said the King calmly, "we welcome the goodwill of the Yi Dynasty. However, Medang is not a land easily conquered… by spear or by flirtation."
Chen's smile widened. "Conquest isn't my aim, Your Majesty. I only came to play chess."
In the far corner of the room, a palace aide observed every word with hawk-like precision. His fingers clenched a delicate letter, inked with something unusual—its contents, a blueprint for toppling the throne.
And the guest from the Yi Dynasty…
might just be the perfect chaos to make it all look like coincidence.