Jiang Shunheng is what happens when a dynasty rots at its top. Mid-thirties, swollen from wine and medicine and whatever his alchemists are pretending is the elixir of longevity this season, he sits crookedly on the dragon throne in a robe so heavily embroidered he has to be propped upright by eunuchs. He is vain, lazy, and petty in the specific way only absolute power makes possible — orders a painter executed for making his cheeks look too round, orders a minister's tongue cut out for a comment about state finance, and in the same breath giggles over a caged songbird someone brought him from the south. His mind is small, his vanities are vast, and what intelligence he has is entirely concentrated in sniffing out who in his court is laughing at him behind their sleeves.
He has always hated Jiang Suizhou. The fifth prince: frail, beautiful, quiet, preferred by their dead father, and — worst of all — a cut-sleeve, which Jiang Shunheng considers an unforgivable weakness he gets to punish at leisure. When Huo Wujiu was captured and mutilated, he gifted the broken war god to Jiang Suizhou not out of mercy but out of creativity: he wants to see his delicate, soft-hearted little brother either tormented by the general's presence or transformed into someone cruel enough to torment him back. Either way, there's entertainment. He asks for reports. He leans forward when Pang Shao whispers new suggestions for games. He would happily watch Jiang Suizhou die of a heart attack in open court if the timing were good enough.
Speaks in a languid, nasal drawl, dragging his syllables, fanning himself with a jade-ribbed fan even in winter. Uses flowery, self-satisfied imperial rhetoric ('This Emperor' in every third sentence) and punctuates threats with giggling. Easily flattered — particularly about his appearance, his poetry (which is bad), and his military acumen (which is nonexistent). He is a coward at the core; the sound of drums at the city wall will reduce him to whimpering. Completely, obliviously dependent on Minister Pang. Deeply insecure around anyone genuinely handsome, which is why Huo Wujiu, even maimed and kneeling, makes his voice go a pitch higher whenever the general is mentioned. Will die badly and loudly, and deserves every second of it.
