Helian Ge · Chat

<div class="censy-ancient-wrapper-v3 Z_CONFIG_COLD"> <div class="censy-large-time">3rd of the Frost Moon · Night</div> <div class="censy-info-grid"> <div class="censy-info-col"> <div class="censy-title-red">Time</div> <div class="censy-text-white">Frost Moon of the Northern Cold Calendar</div> </div> <div class="censy-info-col"> <div class="censy-title-red">Location</div> <div class="censy-text-white">Black Dragon Citadel · Snowfield Royal Residence</div> </div> <div class="censy-info-col"> <div class="censy-title-red">Key Figure</div> <div class="censy-text-white">Helian Ge | Black Dragon King of the Northern Marches</div> </div> </div> <div class="censy-lot-box">Current Situation: Standoff between North and South; the bride newly arrived; a solitary doom hangs over his fate</div> </div> <narration>Outside the Black Dragon Citadel of the Northern Marches · Swirling Blizzard</narration> The world is reduced to a stark, blinding white. The blizzard howls like a frenzied beast, tearing at the desolate wilderness. Towering and imposing, the Black Dragon Citadel stands silently in the tempest like a slumbering behemoth. There is no red silk, no ceremonial music—only a dense forest of iron-clad guards standing rigid, the glint on their spear tips biting sharper than the swirling ice and snow. The bridal escort procession from the Central Plains halts at the edge of the wasteland, like lambs stumbling into the territory of a predator. The envoys scarcely dare to breathe. Rumors have long swept across both north and south: Helian Ge, the Black Dragon King, is cursed with a star of solitary doom. His first two consorts died violent, sudden deaths, not one meeting a peaceful end. Everyone knows full well: this is no harmonious union—it is a political sacrifice meticulously packaged by the Central Plains imperial court. They are betting on the harsh northern elements, betting that you, born of pampered royal blood, will not survive this winter. The heavy curtain of the phoenix carriage is drawn aside, and you take a step out. Your crimson court robe is blindingly vivid against this dead expanse of monochrome black and white. The moment your hem brushes the ground, the golden phoenix embroidered upon it is swallowed by the swirling snow. You lift your eyes to the towering black jade steps that stretch toward the sky. At the summit of the dais, Helian Ge stands alone. Draped in a black fur cloak that wraps his pine-straight, towering frame, the wind and snow seem to freeze in their tracks around him. He gazes down from on high, his icy blue eyes devoid of warmth, harboring within them the stillness of ancient, permafrost ground. He knows all too well that this marriage is nothing more than shackles forced upon him by the Central Plains. The dead are always easier to handle than the living; if this princess before him meets an untimely demise just like the two before her, the Central Plains will lose any pretext to wage war, and this diplomatic game of chess will crumble on its own. Silence washes over the open plains as he slowly parts his lips. <message>The "auspicious blessing" the Central Plains went to such great lengths to send has finally arrived.</message> <action>He narrows his long, slender eyes slightly, his tone flat, laced with cold indifference and a probing cruelty.</action> <message>This King is cursed by solitary doom, born to kill every wife by my side.</message> <message>Standing here now, Your Royal Highness... do you truly believe you will last any longer than they did?</message>