The carriage had already left the palace gate and was making its way back to the manor. The conveyance swayed gently, and the heavy embroidered curtains shut out the sunlight from outside.

I sat upright on the cushioned seat — head and neck straight, hands and feet rigid with cold — holding this proud, unyielding posture all the way out of the Eastern Palace, through the palace gate, and up into the carriage… until now, alone at last, my whole body suddenly seemed to slip beyond my control. A powerful, ice-cold force ran through me, holding up my entire will, keeping me from collapsing.

Yet my mind was a blank, my spirit submerged in a haze — as if I had fallen into a great fog, unable to see anything around me, unable to grasp at anything.

The palace was already far behind, yet my aunt’s words still rang clearly in my ears.

Her words, one by one, sentence by sentence — like burning coals, like shards of ice — made my body turn to ice one moment and scald with heat the next.

I pressed my hands together, my nails digging into my own palms. Even that sharp pain could not drive the turmoil from my heart.

Ahead, the muffled sound of guards cracking their whips to clear the road carried back to me; the spectators along the roadside scrambled to make way, and the sound of the crowd rose and fell.

I knew perfectly well that with the procession guard as strict as it was, even at the closest distance, no one could catch even a glimpse of a single finger of mine — and yet people still pressed forward, jostling one another, risking the sting of the long whip across their faces for the chance to catch sight of Commandery Princess Shangyang, even if only a glimpse of the carriage’s shadow or a trace of its fragrance drifting past. Even that was enough to send them into excited delight.

I had long been accustomed to such commotion. In this moment, however, I felt a sudden, bitter ache.

What they saw was not me. It was Commandery Princess Shangyang.

What the world scrambled to behold was that celebrated daughter of the Wang Family, that incomparably favored jewel of a noble house.

Whether I was beautiful or plain, whether I wept or smiled — no one truly cared about any of that.

In an instant, as if waking from a dream, I suddenly wanted to burst into laughter — yet tears came rushing first.

In the midst of the clamor, I slowly lifted the curtain.

The surging crowd suddenly went still.

Beneath the dazzling autumn sun, I turned my face to one side, gazing quietly at the people before me, and smiled.

From within the hushed throng, an even greater outcry erupted — wave upon wave of noise, nearly swallowing me whole…

I let the curtain fall heavily and leaned back against the cushioned seat with my eyes shut. At last, I smiled with tears on my face.

If I did not bear the surname Wang — if I had not been born into this family — then at this very moment I would not be sitting in this high carriage, receiving the admiration of all. Perhaps I would have been like that flower-selling girl, pushing up on my toes at the roadside to catch a glimpse — or perhaps like some attendant, trailing behind the carriage, letting the dust settle on my clothes.

Who would notice the beauty of a flower-selling girl? Who would believe that a serving maid might also possess a rare and extraordinary quality?

What I had more than they did was nothing but a name, a status.

The journey passed in a daze, and before I knew it, we were home.

As I stepped into the inner courtyard, before I even had time to return to my room, I heard the faint sound of my mother weeping somewhere within.

I leaned on Jin’er’s arm, feeling the ground shift subtly beneath my feet; my heart surged up and then sank — looking at the familiar courtyard before me, I found I did not have the courage to take a single step.

From the front courtyard to the inner hall, the distance was short — and yet I seemed to walk it for so long, with such great difficulty.

A sharp crashing sound made Jin’er and me both flinch.

A piece of tribute celadon ice-pattern white jade pottery was hurled out through the door and shattered on the ground, accompanied by my mother’s sobbing: “What kind of father are you — what kind of Chancellor?”

“Jinru, you are a Grand Princess — you should understand this is a matter of state, not merely a family affair.” My father’s voice was hollow and without strength.

I halted and stood motionless in the doorway.

Beside me, I could feel Jin’er trembling. I turned to look at the girl — that small, young girl had been frightened out of her wits. I gave her a smile — but caught a reflection of my own smile in her clear, wide eyes, and it was paler and more desolate than the pallor of her own face.

My mother’s voice grew faintly hoarse, choked with grief, utterly unlike her usual composed composure: “What princess, what matter of state — I only know that I am a mother. All parents in this world love their children more than they love themselves. Are you not A’Wu’s father? Can you truly feel no pain?”

“I am not only the father of these two children — I am also the eldest son of the Wang Family, and the Chancellor of this dynasty.” My father’s voice was trembling. “Jinru, you and I — we have not only a daughter and a family. We have a nation. A’Wu’s marriage is not simply our family marrying off a daughter. It is a marriage that concerns the Wang Family — and indeed the entire aristocratic faction.”

“Sacrificing my daughter to secure political alliances, to win over the military — and what are all those civil and military officials of the full court doing?” My mother demanded, her voice shrill and furious.

That cry of accusation pierced me like a needle — yes, Mother. That is exactly the question I most want to ask as well.

My father did not answer. Silence — a sudden, heavy silence — made the breath stall in my chest.

I thought my father would not answer at all. Then I heard his voice, low and slow and drained of strength. “Do you truly believe that the aristocratic clans today still command the prestige they once did? That the realm today is still the peaceful world it once was?”

My father’s voice grew abruptly dim and rough. Was this still my father’s voice… my father, who had always stood so tall and strong — when had he grown so old, so without strength?

My chest pulled tight and would not release — as if seized by an invisible hand, dragging it downward.

“You were born in the deep palace and married into the Chancellor’s manor. All you have ever seen and heard is brocade and splendor on every side. But Jinru — have you truly never known that the court has long been rotten at its core, that military power has fallen into outside hands, that disorder has been rising among the common people? All those once-glorious noble houses — do you believe that we, the Wang Family, have remained distinguished to this day through nothing more than our marital ties with the imperial house?”

My mother said nothing. Only the long sound of her weeping remained.

My father’s words fell like ice water.

“You have watched with your own eyes how the Xie family and the Gu family declined — which of them did not once have power enough to blot out the sky? Which of them lacked ties of marriage with the imperial family? Jinru, it is not that you do not understand — you simply refuse to believe it. All these years, I have worked painstakingly to hold together the power of the noble clans at court. If it were not for the Prince of Qingyang’s prestige in the army, how could things have gone so smoothly?”

The Prince of Qingyang — a man who had been gone for two years already — and hearing his name still made me start.

This name had once been the symbol of the dynasty’s terrible military power.

My father had two sisters. One was the Empress; the other was the Princess Consort of Qingyang.

But my younger paternal aunt had died of illness when she was young, and my uncle, the Prince of Qingyang, had spent his years stationed at the frontier — my impression of him was only the vaguest outline.

“Since the Prince of Qingyang passed away two years ago, the influence of the imperial house and the noble clans within the military has utterly crumbled, with no one to carry it forward.”

My father’s voice was rough as he spoke, laden with sorrow and resignation.

After that seven-year war, the aristocratic young men — who by nature valued elegance of the literary sort and preferred lives of peaceful refinement — had no desire to serve in the army ever again.

They loved only their nightly feasts and singing, their poetry and wine and refined discourse. Even if they spent their entire lives in idle uselessness, they would still have their hereditary ranks and stipends to sustain them.

“Those who remained in the army to fight were only the sons of common families and humble households, who clawed out rank and power through sheer flesh and blood, and would never again be the despised military men of old. Prince of Yuzhang alone commands all military power in his hands — and moreover the court depends on him to pacify and secure the nation. I need hardly say that the noble clans and the imperial house alike hold him in some degree of wariness. Now that he has made this great achievement, and with the Emperor’s own promise of reward — even I had not anticipated that he would seek to marry A’Wu… If this marriage is refused, the Emperor’s word is made hollow, and the Wang Family will earn the enmity of the most powerful man in the military, deepening the rift between the two factions. If it is accepted, it will bind the military to us, and win the Wang Family renewed support from within the army…”

“Father — to use a woman’s marriage to shore up the family’s power and position is not the conduct of a true man!”

My brother’s voice rang out suddenly from behind me. He had been there the whole time.

“Brother!” The cry left my lips involuntarily, and I reached out to stop him.

He did not even look at me — he pushed the door open and walked directly in, standing tall before our parents.

Tears blurred my vision, and I could no longer make out their expressions.

“Brother, don’t—” I ran in after him. Before I could catch hold of his sleeve, my brother had already swept his robes aside and knelt on the floor, his back straight. “Father — I will enlist in the army!”

I went rigid, as if struck by lightning.

My father stood there; the faint gray strands at his temple trembled slightly, and his frame — always so upright and strong — seemed in that instant to curve and stoop.

My mother swayed; a cry of anguish barely left her lips before she sagged and sank into her chair.

I hurried forward, intending to help my mother up — but my legs suddenly gave way, and I sank to my knees on the ground.

“A’Wu—” My father and my brother cried out at the same moment. My brother lunged forward and caught me in his arms.

Leaning in my brother’s embrace, I suddenly felt calm. So deeply calm — just as I had felt as a small child every time I fell asleep over my books and he carried me back to bed… I closed my eyes, drew a deep breath, and smiled radiantly in his arms.

My brother, my father, my mother — their faces were etched deeply in my eyes.

I lowered my head — boundlessly tender, boundlessly shy. “I have long admired the Prince of Yuzhang. To marry such a heroic man would be a daughter’s greatest honor.”

Silence. A dead silence.

“You — you—” My mother trembled all over, raising a pointing finger at me, yet could not form a single word.

My brother’s arms around me went cold — yet he held me tighter.

My father looked at me, his gaze direct, his sorrow and pain growing ever deeper.

I held my head straight and met my father’s eyes, and heard my own voice, low and rough and steady: “I am willing to marry Prince of Yuzhang Xiao Qi!”

Such was the outcome — an unexpected reversal, and everyone had what they wished for.

The imperial edict of the bestowed marriage was issued three days later. The entire household knelt to receive and give thanks.

The Prince of Yuzhang taking Commandery Princess Shangyang as his wife became the great sensation of the capital.

They said: he was a matchless hero whose power rivaled the heavens; she was a rare beauty of imperial bloodline. People praised and envied them on all sides — what a golden union, what a match made by Heaven… Who does not love the sight of a hero with a beauty? Who does not envy a couple like immortals?

Perhaps. Perhaps.

Now I knew at last: a good marriage required only that the families be compatible. It required no mutual love at all.

But what the world thought, what the world said — I no longer cared.

My father, my mother, my brother… each of them said something to me, and I half-remembered, half-did not.

When the Emperor and Empress summoned me, whatever they said — I had already forgotten.

The Prince of Yuzhang’s betrothal gifts were staggering in their extravagance. The imperial blessings and bestowals were dazzling enough to daze the eyes.

The dowry the Empress gifted me was carried into the manor in an unending stream for three full days.

Wedding gown, phoenix coronet, ceremonial cape — everywhere, glittering jewels and gems blazing with brilliance.

The matrons of honor said that even at the Second Prince’s wedding, things had not been arranged with such lavish splendor.

Sister Wanrong came to see me, congratulating me formally in her capacity as Crown Princess.

When the attendants had been dismissed and only the two of us remained, she wept.

“Zidan doesn’t know yet that you are to be married,” she said, tears falling quietly.

I lowered my head and turned the wedding gift she had brought me over in my hands — a phoenix hairpin made by a peerless master craftsman, fashioned from thousand-year dark pearls — examining it slowly. I gave a faint smile. “When Zidan’s mourning period ends and he returns, he too will need to take a consort. Time passes so quickly… Even the closest of childhood companions must go their separate ways once they are grown.”

Sister Wanrong slowly raised her tear-filled eyes and looked steadily at me. “Can you truly put him out of your heart?”

I lifted my gaze serenely and smiled as I inserted the phoenix hairpin into my coiffure, seeing in the mirror that my expression was tranquil, my smile serene and composed.

“A’Wu has always admired a man of great courage and integrity. The Prince of Yuzhang is the one I truly wish to marry.”

I said it for Sister Wanrong to hear — and I said it for myself to hear.

After that, right up until my wedding day, Sister Wanrong never came to see me again.

Zidan would hear my words from her.

Zidan would be angry with me, would blame me — and then would forget me.

Zidan would take a consort — would welcome a beautiful and virtuous princess consort into his home.

Zidan would live with her in devoted tenderness, with every grace of happy companionship, growing old together through the long years.

Zidan, Zidan, Zidan…

The world spun; everywhere was his name, everywhere his face.

A thread of aching pain — not sharp enough to cut, yet slowly, slowly seeping from the deepest part of my heart, spreading into a dull and heavy sorrow.

The wedding day drew near.

The household grew very busy. Elder Sister Xu and the others came and went every day, preparing the ceremonial arrangements for the great wedding.

But I was idle. I was not required to enter the palace to pay my respects; I was not required to set foot outside the manor gates. I only had to sit properly in my room, listening as the palace matrons instructed me in the customs and etiquette of a newly married woman — memorizing them one by one, what to do, what not to do… A constant stream of people came to offer congratulations, and auspicious words and praises filled my ears.

Morning and evening and all the hours between slid past like water in that fog of noise and busyness.

At night, I would always read late into the evening — until the night was deep and the household silent, until my eyes would no longer stay open.

Only in this way could I keep myself from thinking too much, from finding the time to think of Zidan.

Occasionally, I would think of that distant, hazy yet strangely vivid name — the man I was about to marry… I could not recall his figure, had never seen his face. Yet that single startling glimpse at the welcome ceremony would not leave my eyes.

Xiao Qi — this name would henceforth be bound to me for the rest of my life.

Princess Consort of Yuzhang — from this moment on, I would no longer be the carefree Commandery Princess Shangyang. I would take on this new identity and walk forward with a man I had never met into an unknown future…

Fifteen days later, my wedding day arrived.

My wedding was conducted according to the rites befitting a princess given in marriage. The preparations began at midnight; before dawn I had already knelt before my parents to give my farewell and receive their blessing, then entered the palace to pay my respects and give thanks to the Emperor and Empress. The ceremonial procession departed from Taihua Gate, passed through Xuanhua Gate, Kunde Gate, Fengyi Gate… Festive music rang through the air. All along the route, crimson silk brocade was laid across the road, while a shower of golden cassia blossoms rained down from above. Six hundred palace attendants, in red silk canopies and jade-green feathered covers, surrounded the great red bridal palanquin with its streaming golden six-phoenix ornamentation, the procession winding like a great dragon through the palace city, the imperial city, and the inner city — all the way to the imperially commissioned Prince of Yuzhang’s manor.

Inside the bridal chamber, two matrons of honor and a retinue of serving women stood in attendance on all sides. From outside came the unceasing sound of pipe and string music.

The phoenix coronet and formal wedding robes, combined with the thick layered bridal veil, made me feel trussed up and unable to move.

Jin’er at my side chattered on endlessly with cheerful, auspicious words to lift my spirits, yet I barely had the energy left to listen.

The ordeal had begun at midnight and was still going now — beneath the heavy layered veil, my world was a blur of darkness. I could see nothing; I could only hear the wedding music blaring beside my ears, from morning until now, without a single pause.

In a dazed stupor, I was guided by the matrons of honor through the wedding rites, then led into the bridal chamber.

Once inside, there was barely a moment’s quiet before the matrons of honor began their ritual again — an endless stream of blessing and auspicious chanting.

By custom, I was required to wait until the bridegroom entered the bridal chamber before I could eat or drink.

Fortunately, Jin’er was quick-witted — she quietly spooned a bowl of bird’s nest soup for me in secret. Without it, I did not know whether I would have had the strength to sit upright until now.

In a little while, the most anxious moment of this night would be upon me.

That man — that man whom the world held in reverence as if he were god or demon — was now my husband.

We had just completed the wedding rites together. Through the bridal veil, I had dimly glimpsed the tips of his shoes.

He had been so close — so impossibly close.

The man who from far away had already left me shaken and breathless was now right here beside me — and yet I was no longer afraid.

This was my destined union. My good match.

Rather than trembling, it was better to face it with composure.

He too was a man of flesh and blood. Perhaps he was not so fearsome after all. Perhaps my fate was not so dreadful after all.

As my brother had comforted me: the Prince of Yuzhang was a fine man of great stature and courage — a hero and a beauty, truly a fitting pair.

I returned him a faint, composed smile. Perhaps.

As long as it had not yet reached the very worst, there was always a sliver of hope.

At some point, I realized the sound of the wedding music from outside had stopped.

It was still early — how could the wedding banquet already be over?

After a moment, the matrons of honor began whispering among themselves in low, agitated tones.

I straightened up, mildly puzzled, and was about to call Jin’er to go out and investigate — when the sound of a rapid succession of footsteps came from outside.

What followed was a chorus of voices in confusion beyond the door.

“The general comes fully armored and bearing a sword — weapons are a great ill omen; the general must not approach the bridal chamber. Please halt.”

“This subordinate acts on the Prince’s orders — I must report in person to the Princess Consort.”

A man’s voice — hard as stone, utterly without emotion — shattered the tender romance of the wedding night.

“This servant may convey the message on your behalf. The Princess Consort is observing the wedding rites and may not receive outside visitors.”

“The matter is urgent. The Prince has ordered that all ritual observances may be waived. Please forgive me, Princess Consort.”

At the door, Elder Sister Xu and the man were at an impasse, and her voice had taken on a thin edge of anger.

I stood up. The moment I rose, my vision swam.

“Princess Consort, be careful.” Jin’er rushed to steady me.

The phoenix coronet was crushingly heavy on my head, making it nearly impossible to hold my neck upright.

I gathered what remained of my strength and walked to the door, saying in a level tone: “I am here. Speak, General.”

There was a brief silence outside, and then the man spoke again in that same hard voice: “I report to the Princess Consort — just now a sealed urgent dispatch arrived, reporting that Jizhou has fallen. The front is in a state of extreme emergency. The Prince has already proceeded to the military encampment and will lead the army to provide relief immediately. He has sent this subordinate to inform the Princess Consort. As the situation is extremely urgent, he had no time to take his leave of the Princess Consort in person. Once the Prince has suppressed the rebellion, he will make his apologies to the Princess Consort himself.”

My mind went blank for a single moment.

After a moment, I came slowly back to my senses.

He was saying that on our wedding night, my husband had not yet set foot inside the bridal chamber before departing the capital on campaign.

I knew nothing of his appearance or his voice, and was left here alone in the bridal chamber to spend my wedding night by myself.

I suddenly wanted to laugh — yet I could not make a sound.

This vaunted Prince of Yuzhang — it was he who had originally petitioned the Emperor for this marriage, who had sought to forge this alliance with my family.

Whatever his reasons, whether willing or unwilling, it was he who had sought it himself.

I had already done my utmost to fulfill every single part that was required of me. And now, at this moment, with a single sealed urgent dispatch, he had swept his sleeves and departed — without even sparing the effort to observe the basic courtesies? How much time could a brief farewell have taken? Even if the military situation were pressing as fire, it could surely not have burned right to his eyebrows yet.

I did not care whether he came to the bridal chamber with me, nor whether he considered my feelings.

But I absolutely could not tolerate him shaming me like this — shaming my family.

A sudden reversal on what should have been the most joyous of nights.

Around me, the serving women and matrons of honor were as silent as if they dared not breathe. Even Jin’er made no sound.

They had presumably never witnessed a bridegroom departing on the eve of war and leaving the bridal chamber unattended. Everyone was stunned speechless by this development, standing there dumbstruck, staring at one another.

The phoenix coronet on my head was pressing so heavily that I could barely breathe.

And then I began to laugh. Into the cold stillness of the room, only my clear, bright laughter rang out.

I shoved open the door — the one papered with great red wedding characters — and the night wind rushed against my face, whipping the bridal veil back with a cold rustle against my cheeks.

I raised my hand and tore off the bridal veil. Light flooded my eyes.

The matrons and serving women gasped; they knelt in a flurry. The head matron cried out urgently: “Princess Consort, you must not — the wedding rites are not yet complete. You absolutely must not remove the bridal veil!”

Standing before me were several armored men bearing swords. The one at the front, catching sight of me so suddenly, was struck dumb with shock. When he saw me tear off the veil, he seemed unable even to think to avert his gaze — his eyes fixed straight upon my face. A moment later he came back to himself, knelt on one knee first, and the men behind him knelt as well on one knee, their iron armor making that hard, scraping sound of metal.

I looked coldly down at the man kneeling before me. That armor, gleaming like snow, flashed cold light; he knelt as still and rigid as if carved from stone.

It was the first time I had ever seen a soldier in full heavy armor with a weapon at his hip, standing this close before my eyes.

These were the Prince of Yuzhang’s personal guard officers. And my so-called good match — I could only wonder what manner of man he was: cold and hard as iron, heartless and unfeeling.

As the thought crossed my mind, my anger became laughter. I raised my hand and tossed the bridal veil at his feet. “Please be so good as to deliver this to the Prince on my behalf. Tell him — since the wedding rites have been set aside, his distinguished presence is no longer required.”

The matrons hastily intervened. “Princess Consort, please calm yourself. The bridal veil cannot simply be taken away — it would be very inauspicious.”

“What did you say?” I said coolly. “The Prince of Yuzhang is blessed by Heaven with extraordinary gifts — surely he is under Heaven’s own protection. As for me, having met my match and married into a military household, I am more than fortunate enough. It is a great blessing indeed.”

“Princess Consort, please take this back.” The man lowered his head and offered up the bridal veil with both hands. His last words came in a quieter voice, no longer as forceful as before. “This subordinate will convey the Princess Consort’s sentiments to the Prince. May the Princess Consort take good care of herself.”

I smiled faintly. “General, you dared lead men straight into the bridal chamber — are you afraid of something as trivial as this?”

The man’s face flushed red; he bent forward and kowtowed deeply. “This subordinate is at fault!”

The Prince of Yuzhang had not even bid me farewell — and now even a minor general could come storming in with harsh words, acting with such arrogant impudence. Truly beyond all bounds.

Father had been right — these military commanders who amassed troops as their personal power had not a shred of respect left for the noble clans.

From this day forward, having married into a military household, I would spend my life surrounded by these military men.

The night wind passed through my garments. I tilted my head slightly, and felt everything within me turn to ash.

“General, you may withdraw. I will not see you out.”

I turned, stepped back into the room, and the door swung shut behind me with a heavy thud.

In the bridal chamber dressed in red brocade and bright silk, I faced alone two great, tall red candles blazing in splendor — their wax tears still dripping slowly down.

The entire night, I locked myself inside the room. No matter how anyone pleaded from outside the door, I refused to open it — even my mother was refused entry.

They were all worrying needlessly. I felt neither grief nor anger. I was only exhausted, and unwilling to force a smile any longer.

My heart was empty and hollow — like this empty bridal chamber — only my own shadow reflecting back amid all the surrounding splendor and magnificence.

I could not say whether it was desolation or coldness. Pressing my hand to my chest, I seemed unable to find the beat within.

Just like that, I lay down on the bed — wrapped in my great red wedding gown — and fell into a dazed sleep.

In my dreams, I saw no one. Not my parents. Not my brother. Not Zidan.

Only myself, utterly alone.