Wei Lin · chat.title

It was amidst the idle gossip of a teahouse that you first heard the name Wei Lin. "Have you heard? The General of the North is back, and the Emperor is marrying the Grand Tutor's daughter to him." "Which Grand Tutor? Oh—the one with the frail, sickly daughter..." The voices lowered, yet they still drifted into your ears. You lifted your teacup, slowly blowing away the floating tea leaves. "The General isn't willing at all. I heard he went straight to the palace that very day to ask the Emperor to call off the marriage, but was rejected. Out of sheer frustration, he got drunk at Zuixian Tavern, slammed the table, and said—" The speaker paused intentionally, mimicking a gruff, booming voice: "'Even if this general remains a bachelor for the rest of his life, he won't have that medicine jar!'" Snickers erupted all around. Your maid, Lu'e, turned pale and peeked at you anxiously. You said nothing, only setting down your teacup and slowly tracing a finger around the rim. A medicine jar. He is blunt, at least. You have been weak since childhood; the imperial physicians said you suffered from congenital deficiencies and needed quiet recuperation. Having heard this for nineteen years, the words had long lost their sting. You didn't care if others pitied you, sympathized with you, or called you a sickly weakling behind your back. You only cared about one thing— With him making such a scene, the entire capital knew he despised you. The marriage, in all likelihood, would fall through. You even felt a tiny bit relieved. A reckless brute you had never met—good riddance. --- But the marriage did not fall through. The Emperor held his ground, the Ministry of Rites proceeded with the protocols, and the Grand Tutor's manor was already preparing the dowry. Your father smashed a teacup in fury: "A vulgar soldier! It is his blessing that my daughter is marrying him, yet he dares to be picky!" You picked up the broken porcelain shards for your father, saying softly, "Do not be angry, Father. Since he is unwilling to marry, I am just as unwilling to wed him." "You—" The Grand Tutor looked at your pale face and ultimately swallowed his words, letting out a long sigh instead. The wedding date was set for the third of next month. The entire capital was waiting to watch the farce unfold. And Wei Lin, it was said, had gone to the palace again. To petition for the annulment of the marriage for the second time. --- On that day, you happened to accompany your father into the palace to audience the Emperor. It was not because of the marriage. The Emperor had summoned the Grand Tutor to discuss official matters, and you stood in attendance by his side, as was customary. You stood quietly at the side of the hall, your eyes cast down, dressed in a simple, elegant gown, looking like a delicate ink wash painting—unobtrusive, yet impossible to look away from. Then, you heard footsteps. Not the measured, unhurried steps of the court officials, but strides that carried the wind, sweeping forward as if marching on a battlefield. "Your subject, Wei Lin, pays respects to Your Majesty!" His voice was like a booming bell. Without looking up, you felt a massive shadow loom over you. The man carried the scent of desert sand—dry and coarse, completely out of place with the agarwood incense in the hall. You heard the Emperor's helpless voice: "General Wei, didn't I tell you..." "Your Majesty, my words remain the same: I do not want that sickly weakling!" His voice was sharp and hard, like a stone crashing against golden bricks. "I have suffered for ten years at the border; I just want to marry a healthy woman who can bear children—" The Emperor gave a dry cough. Wei Lin paused, seemingly realizing his words were too crude, but he had no intention of taking them back. He was about to continue— And then, he saw you. You felt his gaze. Searing, direct, and completely unshielded. Like a wolf locking its eyes onto its prey. You still did not look up, only turning slightly to the side to yield the path meekly. He did not pass. His boots turned toward you. One step, two steps, three steps— Your wrist was seized. The grip was extremely strong, squeezing your joints until they throbbed. You finally looked up, meeting a pair of dark, deep eyes. He was very tall, and you had to tilt your head up to see his features—a rugged, wind-worn face with sharp angles, not conventionally handsome but intensely aggressive. His skin was wheat-colored, and he was built as broad as a wall. He looked you up and down, and then down and up again. His gaze felt like a pair of hands, stripping away your robes. "......" You did not dodge or struggle. You merely looked at him quietly, the corners of your lips curving into an extremely faint smile. He froze. Immediately after, he raised your wrist in his grip, turned to the Emperor, and his voice completely cracked: "Your Majesty! I don't want that sickly weakling anymore! I want to marry her!!" The hall fell dead silent for three seconds. Your father, the Grand Tutor, looked as black as the bottom of a pot. The Emperor's expression was subtle, looking as if he wanted to laugh but felt it was inappropriate. And Wei Lin was still holding your wrist, his palm burning hot, with thick calluses on his thumb joint. The pad of his thumb unconsciously brushed against your pulse, as if trying to confirm you were real. You cast your eyes down, looking at the skin pinched red by his grip, and said softly: "General, you are hurting me." The voice was not loud, but the hall was too quiet, and every word was crystal clear. Wei Lin loosened his grip as if burned, but did not let go completely. His Adam's apple bobbed, his voice turning slightly hoarse: "...Wh-whose family do you belong to?" <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the topic</choice> <choice id="2">Observe current details</choice> <choice id="3">Advance the current plot</choice> </choice_group>