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Harp and zither blended as one; elegant, harmonious music filled the hall while ruler and ministers shared joy.
When the man finished speaking, the music stopped right there. Courtiers who had raised their cups paused mid-motion. In the midst of lively celebration, a sudden, misplaced quiet fell.
Youwei felt low all night. Faced with platters of delicacies, she had no appetite and only ate fruit. Yu Tuohai kept serving her favorites, but she couldn't bring herself to touch them. Afraid he would worry, she picked at a few vegetables and let the rest pile into a small mountain on her plate.
She peeled an orange absent-mindedly when the request for a royal marriage snapped her alert. She forgot the orange and lifted her head.
In noble circles, marriages always hid political calculations. Who courted whom, who set a betrothal—such things spread in whispers.
Last year, the world had been unstable. She had heard no rumors of any alliance…
Had some miss and some young lord fallen secretly in love without anyone knowing?
Asking for a marriage at the new emperor's celebration wasn't bold. This was a time of imperial favors, and marriage was one of them.
Curiosity soon drowned surprise. Everyone stared at the speaker.
Youwei looked with the crowd and saw a lithe figure with an orchid-like grace—his very back spoke of clarity and refinement. He wore a green official robe with a fish pouch at his belt; a common seventh-rank uniform, yet on him it appeared uniquely elegant.
Women rarely mingled with men, but they weren't blind. After a moment, Youwei remembered—no one in the capital would fail to recognize him: the grand chancellor's son, Zhuang Huaixu.
People paraded exceptional children as examples—Xie Mingshu's beauty and nobility; Zhuang Huaixu's learning and wit.
Families with sons envied the grand chancellor for such a child. If only their boy were so promising—Zhuang Huaixu read at three, wrote poetry at five, composed essays at seven, as if heaven's spirit lived in him.
At seventeen, a single painting stirred the capital; at twenty-one, he entered office through the examinations; now he served at the Hanlin Academy, the same starting post his father, Zhuang Xiuqi, once held.
His achievements had long been etched into the nobility's memory. Peers had heard them until their ears grew calluses.
He was only twenty-three; his path promised to soar bright and clear.
Matchmakers lined up at his door, yet he refused them all, wounding many noble ladies' hearts.
They understood; ordinary women didn't match him. Only a blazing figure like Xie Mingshu could stand beside him and make the rejected accept fate.
Now the chancellor's son asked for marriage in public—did he seek closer ties to the throne?
But the late emperor had once tried to grant him Princess Qingyang, and he declined afterward. If he craved rank by climbing, why wait until today?
So why ask now—and whom did he want?
The court swelled with wonder. Eyes rose to the throne, waiting for the emperor to inquire, then to hear the chancellor's son's answer reveal the name.
Beads on the jade curtain swayed. The new emperor tilted his head with interest. "A marriage? Tell us—whose daughter do you seek to wed?"
Every ear pricked. Breath softened. All eyes snapped to Zhuang Huaixu.
Youwei leaned forward without thinking, the half-peeled orange clasped in her hand.
Zhuang Huaixu straightened, lifted his gaze to the throne, and spoke each word clear and sure.
"This minister seeks the daughter of the Commander of the Palace Front—the eldest Miss of the Yu family, Yu Youwei."
His voice rang and carried.
His tone was firm and sincere—beyond doubt.
Silence smothered the hall.
"…" "…" "…"
Eyes whipped like blades—every gaze fell upon Youwei.
Zhuang Xiuqi turned toward her with a face still as deep water, unreadable. Xie Mingshu pressed her lips and studied her, curiosity and complexity in her eyes. The ladies from the side hall didn't bother to hide it—shock and jealousy splashed plain across their faces. Handkerchiefs twisted near breaking.
If not for the palace feast, they would have strung Youwei up to wring truth from her.
Youwei froze. Her jaw halted; the half-peeled orange dropped and rolled across the table, then fell by her foot with a light slap.
The world stopped.
Yu Tuohai reacted first. He kept his face smooth, touched her arm, and whispered, "Mianmian? You and the chancellor's son…"
Youwei jolted back. Her first instinct was to look at the dark-robed figure on the throne.
She and Zhuang Huaixu were strangers at most. They had met only at the Duke of Ning's feast.
A county lady had wanted to see him through Xie Mingshu's ties, and Xie's brother had invited Zhuang Huaixu to the estate.
Others sought glances at their beloved—one-sided. Youwei had worn plain clothes and no makeup and blended into a field of flowers like another leaf.
How could Zhuang Huaixu notice her, much less "like" her? Yet he asked publicly for her hand—and for imperial grant. Why?
Her heart stayed steady. Even if Li Chengjue showed nothing tonight, the year they shared couldn't be false. Even if he felt only friendship, he would step in and block this rootless marriage…
He knew her heart. How could he watch her wed another?
Shock drained fast. Youwei calmed. She squeezed Father's dry, warm hand—the signal: it's fine.
Yu Tuohai pressed his lips, glanced at Zhuang Huaixu, and stayed quiet.
Faces turned from Youwei, disappointed to find no obvious answer, and waited for what came next.
Light illuminated every detail.
Li Chengjue sat high on the dragon throne. As if hearing the name for the first time, he toyed casually with his cup. "Oh? If you like her, I approve."
He spoke as if granting a dish, a cup, a trifle in the feast.
No different from bestowing ranks and gold.
Just another scene in a celebration of ruler and ministers.
The hall held its breath.
Then goblets rose. Ministers toasted Zhuang Xiuqi and Zhuang Huaixu. "Congratulations, Left Chancellor. Congratulations, Editor Zhuang."
They turned to Yu Tuohai. "Congratulations, Commander!"
Blessings surged. "May you be joined for a hundred years!"
"Yes—Commander rises a rank and gains such a son-in-law. Double joy!"
Dayuan honored civil office; ministers were many. With the feast in full swing and a royal marriage granted, their tongues poured on. The tide of congratulation rushed in. Youwei's head swam; she gripped the table's edge to stay seated.
Noise hammered her ears, like falling into water. The flood of blessings blurred—stretched—receded.
She tempered her moods well. Even angry, she only simmered alone.
But now, blood surged and tore through her. Her face flushed. Fury filled her eyes as she stared at the throne. Her lowered hand clenched until her knuckles whitened and trembled.
If she could, she would rush up and slap Li Chengjue and demand why.
Why?
You know my heart. You know the belt I made hasn't reached you. You know why I begged my father. You know…
Her face went stark white.
Yes—why had she begged Father to let Li Chengjue into the city during lockdown? Why had she loved Li Chengjue? Why had he never come after he became heir? Why, hearing a request to marry her, did he do nothing—like he had never known her?
Why? What else?
Because… because Yu Youwei had a father who commanded the Imperial Guard.
Because her father stood close to the throne and held trust. Because her father was famous for loving his daughter like life.
Feelings coiled for a year snapped. It was like someone tugged a cord in her mind—tighter, tighter—
And now—broken.
When you think too clearly, you bleed strength and spirit.
Her fist slackened. Her back collapsed. She felt like a husk—empty, a breeze could lift her away. The sealed sounds surged back, waves that swallowed her.
Her year of true heart had been a step he used to climb the throne.
A palace attendant descended from the throne and hurried to her, bent low, and whispered, "Miss Yu, quickly rise and thank His Majesty."
Youwei blinked awake—and heard that.
—Thank him? She should thank the emperor?
Her eyes reddened. She snapped her gaze up at the attendant.
He held his hands in his sleeves. Caught by that look, he flinched.
The commander's daughter had always been timid and obedient. Now, emotions churned like waves in her eyes—pain ground to shards. It struck the heart.
Why that face?
Like… like someone had broken her.
Every eye in the hall gathered there—including the one on the throne.
Li Chengjue's voice came then—low, distant, falling into Youwei's ear.
"What's wrong?"
The attendant paused. He turned, bowed to the throne, and smiled. "Your Majesty, nothing. Miss Yu receives your grant of marriage to the man she loves—she cries from joy."