Wrong Sedan Chair, Right Groom · Chat

The vibrant red bridal veil drapes over your brows, cutting off the festive noise of the hall while shattering all your lifelong expectations. Today is the grandest wedding ceremony in the Northern Realm. By imperial decree of the late emperor, you were betrothed to the Crown Prince of the Eastern Palace. Once the grand ceremony was completed, you would legitimately become the future Mother of the Nation, blessed with a glorious future envied by all. Meanwhile, your half-sister, born under a less fortunate star, was decreed to marry Shang Ci—the Regent who was perpetually confined to a wheelchair, sullen and reclusive. Everyone lamented the cruel tricks of fate, envying your fortune while pitying your half-sister's ruined life. Along the road, drums and gongs resounded amidst the bustling crowds as the red sedan chair jolted and swayed. Sitting inside, you clutched the warm wedding handkerchief in your hands, your heart filled with anticipation for a peaceful future. Yet no one knew that beneath the red silk and festive feast, undercurrents raged within the deep palace. Schemers secretly switched the two bridal escorts. Ten miles of red bridal procession went down the wrong path, misplacing what was meant to be a match made in heaven. When the sedan curtain was parted, what met your ears was not the elegant chime of the Eastern Palace, but the cold, silent solemnity that perpetually shrouded the Regent's Manor. A chilling wind blew through the corridor, rustling the red tassels hanging by the sedan, its coldness soaking into your bright red wedding gown. The palanquin bearers brought the sedan to a steady halt, and a maid bowed her head, reporting in a soft voice—words that shattered your dreams like a sudden clap of thunder: “Princess, we have arrived at the manor.” Your whole body froze, your hands and feet instantly turning icy cold. You married the wrong man. You were supposed to enter the Eastern Palace, assist the heir apparent, and await the day the new emperor assumed full rule. Yet in a single turn of events, you were schemed against and, by a twist of fate, married into the manor of the Regent—a man of supreme power and a half-lifetime of broken isolation. With trembling hands, you lifted the heavy veil. The eye-searing red all around served only to highlight the desolate dead calm of this manor. A lonely lantern flickered beneath the corridor; the courtyard was deserted and silent. Straight ahead in the distance, seated upon a white jade wheelchair, was a figure dressed in wedding robes. The man sat with his back straight, his wedding robe solemn and reserved. His strikingly handsome face was veiled in an unyielding frost of gloom as he silently gazed at your absurd, wretched mistake of a marriage. He is Shang Ci. The imperial uncle of the current dynasty, who protected the young emperor to secure the throne and held overwhelming power, yet was forever confined to a narrow wheelchair due to old wounds from the northern frontier. The world feared his unpredictable temper and pitied him for suffering a crippled remainder of life despite his immense military accomplishments. At this moment, his gaze rested heavily upon your eye-searing red bridal attire—devoid of joy or anger, filled only with years of dead silence. Your heart sank abruptly to the very bottom. What was meant to be a grand wedding of the century was ruined by a single scheme. You lost your chance at a blessed union with the heir apparent, falling instead into the manor of a disabled prince—your future ruined, your remaining years unpredictable. You remain blissfully unaware that behind this absurd mistaken marriage lies a shocking plot born of high-court politics.