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The future is red

15 - Under The Jade Mandate

  • Writer: Icarus
    Icarus
  • Mar 6
  • 4 min read

Updated: Aug 9

You are reading Scene 15 of Icarus, a novel where survival isn’t just measured in oxygen and calories, but in the space between what is said and what is left unsaid.


In Tianyuan’s command chamber, Director Li Xiang stands at the helm of an empire’s most distant outpost. His voice rarely rises, yet his presence shapes every conversation, every hesitation. Messages travel slowly between Mars and Earth, but their meaning moves even slower, wrapped in ritual, layered with symbolism, and sharpened with caution.


Today, Li sends a report the Ministry will skim, and receives a reply the settlement will feel. Between the formal greetings from Beijing’s imperial towers and the veiled admonitions of trusted elders lies a truth he understands all too well: every request is a test, every warning a negotiation.


Around him, engineers and deputies wait, measuring their own words against his calm certainty. Beyond him, dust storms hide the horizon. And far away, the Emperor’s gaze measures Tianyuan’s worth—one calculated gesture at a time.


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Director Li Xiang stood straight in the Mars control chamber, eyes fixed on the red dust spiraling beyond the horizon. In his sixties, he was every inch the seasoned leader. Measured in word and gesture, never raising his voice, yet commanding deep respect. Or fear. Sometimes both.


Man in a dark suit stands at a control panel in a tech-filled room with digital screens and blue-lit landscape. Serious mood. Director Li Xiang. Icarus Book.
Director Li Xiang

They were recording a long-form message, a standard update for the Ministry back on Earth. But Li knew the full version would go unwatched. That’s why he’d also prepared a concise summary. He now reviewed it silently while waiting for the official reply:


*Deputy Minister Gao, greetings from Mars. I’ll be brief.

Mining output met expectations this year, despite our machinery being overdue for replacement. Construction remains on schedule. Initial habitation—should it be approved—could begin during the next transit window.

However, expanding capacity beyond 10,000 residents will require a new fleet of equipment. I understand this is a substantial request, and I acknowledge that the Imperial Court’s current focus lies elsewhere.

Still, I must note the growing gap between available tools and rising expectations. Detailed figures are in the full report.*


As the recording ended, Li glanced at his lead engineer, Dr. Mei Lin. She was sharp and steady, well into her forties, a model of discipline. Yet she hesitated. Li’s presence had that effect. He was always several moves ahead, and she knew it.


“It’s all in there,” she said finally. “Most will only see this version. The message is clear, we need the equipment.”


Li’s expression didn’t change, but a quiet disappointment stirred beneath the surface. Not with her assessment—she was right—but with the caution behind it. Over the years, reverence had settled around him like armor. And armor made people cautious. Too cautious.

“We’ll see what they say,” he replied. “The real answer will come in the short reply. The rest is for engineers.”


And right on cue, an hour later, a holographic transmission shimmered onto the main projection screen. With a small wave, Li activated it.


First, a sweeping aerial view of Beijing, now a seamless blend of ancient pagodas and cutting-edge infrastructure. Then, the gleaming towers of the imperial administration filled the frame.

The real message was about to begin.


Futuristic cityscape with flying metallic pods over a geometric pathway. Tall structures and misty atmosphere create a serene sci-fi mood. Beijing 2091.
Beijing 2091

Deputy Minister Gao appeared in full ceremonial robes. Director Li inclined his head respectfully. This was a signal. The Mars settlement still held enough importance to warrant formality. But it also meant the message would be cloaked in symbolism. And symbolism was always more difficult to read.


Behind Gao stood a line of officials, equally adorned. Their expressions were unreadable, but to Li, they seemed more guarded than hostile. That was something.


“Li Xiang, 你好” came Gao’s pre-recorded voice, smooth and layered with formality. “Under the grace of the Son of Heaven, we greet you. Your message carried a certain tone, as if costly machines fell from the sky. My dear friend, remember: the Emperor’s gaze now spans the entire realm. Since the Eastern Seas came under his rule and our continental factories revived, our resources are finely measured.”


A pause. Then a familiar diplomatic pivot.

“The Jade Council values your loyalty and diligence. We will review the possibility of allocating updated machinery.”


Elderly man in ornate green and gold suit sits confidently at a wooden table. Framed art and plants adorn the dimly lit background. Deputy Minister Gao, ICARUS Book
Deputy Minister Gao

Gao stepped back. Li didn’t move. He knew what was coming. Praise always came from leaders. Warnings came from subordinates. An older official stepped forward. Lower in rank but high enough to deliver what mattered. His face was worn, his tone more personal.


“Director Li” he began, voice softening. Li recognized him, an old acquaintance from decades past. “Your loyalty remains unmatched. But your recent gestures toward the Russian settlement place us in delicate waters. The Emperor does not seek confrontation. And now, with the Americans and Europeans stirring again, we must tread carefully.”


The room was silent.

“The Jade Council took note of the medical reports. Dr. Huang Qian’s actions were especially praised. Her father in Shanghai has been informed she is safe. He is grateful.”


Man in a dark uniform with gold pins looks seriously at the camera. Background features screens and an orange panel, suggesting a control room. Deputy Director Cheng Wei’an
Deputy Director Cheng Wei’an

From his position behind Li, Deputy Director Cheng Wei’an tensed. Younger by a few years and competent in administration, Cheng lacked Li’s subtle hand. He stepped forward, visibly agitated.


“This is a warning,” he said. “We should halt all supply runs immediately.”


Li didn’t flinch. His voice was calm, his posture unshaken.

“I took it as approval,” he said. “At least for the medical aid.”


He let the words hang in the air, firm and unmistakable.

“Deputy Cheng, speak with Dr. Huang—as you see fit. But do not interfere with her work.”


Cheng hesitated, caught between protocol and instinct. But the decision had been made. That was the nature of Director Li’s authority. He didn’t impose it. He simply left no room for doubt.


ICARUS isn’t a traditional book—it’s a new kind of storytelling.

Each chapter is broken into short scenes, enhanced with images, cinematic teasers, and links to supporting content: character profiles, technology breakdowns, and backstory threads.



This format is built for your phone, tablet, or laptop—giving you a dynamic reading experience and access to a broader universe behind the story.


Curious what’s coming next on Mars?


Scroll down and join our early readers list 📬 — we’ll send you new scenes and story updates every week.

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