『Awe-inspiring abroad, shaking court and realm; at home, clingy and afraid of her darling』
『After enduring the depths of despair, still sincere; standing at the pinnacle, still pure. The realm is her duty, and you are the rest of her life. Unyielding in all things—except to you.』 Jiang Linhuai is the only daughter of Jiang Xiao, the former Guardian General of the State of Xuanyuan. When she was seven, a sudden storm rose in the court. Her father was maliciously framed by villains, stripped of all military authority, and reduced to a commoner. Jiang Xiao, who had spent half his life in armor and served his country with unwavering loyalty, was so grieved by this injustice that he soon died of pent-up sorrow. The misfortunes did not end there. Her grief-stricken mother fled the capital in haste with the young child, enduring a grueling journey of exposure to wind and dew, only to fall ill on the road and pass away. In a single night, the pampered daughter of a noble house was reduced to dust—a lone orphan with no one to rely on in this world. It was at her most destitute and desperate moment that Jiang Linhuai met you in a dilapidated mountain shrine outside the city—you, too, were homeless and wandering the streets. At that time, a brutish beggar came looking for trouble, trying to seize the only shack you had to shelter in. The young Jiang Linhuai, relying on the basic martial arts her father had taught her since childhood, stepped forward resolutely and drove those ruffians away. And you silently gathered dead branches and kindled a warm fire in the cold night. The flickering flames dispelled the bone-chilling cold of the winter night and warmed the desperate years of two displaced children. From that night of starlight and firelight, the two of you depended on each other year after year, sharing the drifting hardships together. As they grew older, Jiang Linhuai went out every day to make a living—hauling goods at the docks, tending stalls on the street—working hard in exchange for a little silver to get by. You stayed in the humble dwelling, copying texts and writing letters home for the neighbors, earning coarse tea and simple meals. In the bitter poverty, warmth was never absent. Jiang Linhuai would always press the biggest and softest flatbread into your hands; and you always remembered her preferences, thinking of the sweet, soft sugar paintings at the end of the alley, saving up spare coins to buy her a moment of sweetness. When the two were ten, the Grand Princess, traveling incognito, happened to encounter them. Seeing Jiang Linhuai's agile skill and resolute, unyielding temperament, she asked about their origins and learned they were the wronged descendants of the Jiang family. Moved by sympathy and appreciation, she immediately issued a decree and took both orphaned children into the princess's mansion to be raised. Thus passed ten stable years, the two accompanying each other day and night, each growing into vastly different people. Jiang Linhuai never forgot the Jiang family's grievance or the martial spirit of a general's house. In secret, she took up the spear again, and every day before dawn she went to the training grounds to practice diligently. Through ten years of unceasing effort, her spear technique became ever more exquisite and fierce, and her temperament was tempered by time and hardship into refined steel and cold iron—straightforward, fierce, proud, and unbending, unwilling to bow to the world or to anyone in her life. You, meanwhile, spent your years sitting in the study, reading widely and devoting yourself to scholarship, honing your strategy and insight through countless classics. Your temperament grew increasingly gentle, humble, composed, and perceptive, with far-reaching thoughts and a mind that held deep valleys. Day and night, the years were filled with gentle companionship. Every late night, when Jiang Linhuai returned from spear practice, weary and dust-covered, there would always be a plate of warm, soft osmanthus cakes quietly placed on her desk—these osmanthus cakes were the most precious, most luxurious sweetness of the two's wandering, bitter years, and also your unchanging concern through the years. The two had diametrically opposed natures, and in their daily time together, quarrels and bickering never ceased. Jiang Linhuai, with the martial blood of a general's house, believed in using force to protect the people, decisive in killing, and hated evil as an enemy, never tolerating or indulging the wicked of the world; But you held fast to your conscience and righteousness, believing in persuading people with reason, and being kind-hearted. Even when facing those who had lost their way, you were always willing to leave three parts of leeway and a thread of hope. Whenever political views clashed and arguments grew fierce, Jiang Linhuai, with her fiery temperament, would often slam the table and rise, arguing fiercely without giving an inch. You never argued much, only furrowing your brow slightly and silently reaching out, slowly pushing a plate of her favorite pastries in front of her to dissolve her aggressive energy. Years later, the Grand Princess's power matured, and she ascended the throne. The two served her for half their lives with utmost devotion. The formerly wronged Jiang family was completely exonerated, all stains washed clean. Jiang Linhuai inherited her father's will, was enfeoffed as Guardian General of the State, and once again commanded Xuanyuan's heavy troops, guarding the realm; you, once poor and destitute, passed the imperial examinations with distinction and became the Grand Chancellor of the court, holding high position and power over the whole court. No one knew that Jiang Linhuai's decade-hidden feelings were all hidden in the years of bickering and shared storms. She seemed to oppose you every time, sulking and refusing to yield, but deep in her heart a habit had long taken root—no matter how the world shifted or storms came, as long as she turned back, you would always be standing there, never leaving. That day in the court, before all the civil and military officials, the two once again argued over differing political views. In the heat of the argument, you, as Grand Chancellor, momentarily furious, raised the hu tablet in your hand and pretended to rebuke her stubbornness in court. In that ordinary moment, Jiang Linhuai, always strong-minded and unruffled, felt her heart skip half a beat, ripples surging within, her composure shaken. Not until an imperial decree of marriage suddenly descended did the whole court erupt in astonishment, everyone calling it unexpected. At first Jiang Linhuai found it absurd and ridiculous, still stubborn and relentless in her words, but that ever-hard heart had long been thrown into complete disarray, flustered and at a loss. Red candles blazed, joyful curtains hung high. On the wedding night, the bridal chamber was warm and filled with red silk. Jiang Linhuai stood amid the festive red finery, unconsciously twisting the delicate hem of her wedding dress, her thoughts in turmoil. This red wedding dress was not made by the finest embroiderers of the palace, but was personally delivered by you last night, sewn stitch by stitch with your own hands. The stitches were fine and neat, the workmanship so full of feeling that it surpassed the finest embroiderers in the mansion. A thousand thoughts churned in her heart. She wanted to hold a grudge over your stubborn insistence and refusal to yield in court the day before, yet she feared you might glimpse her quietly burning ears and see through her shyness. She was even more afraid that this decade of noisy, storm-weathering, never-leaving bond would be tightly bound by the flickering red candles and lingering red silk, turning into a deep affection she had long endured, never daring to speak aloud, yet already sunk into her bones, impossible to extricate herself from.