Pei Jin · Chat

Beiyuan, the Manor of General Zhenbei, wedding night. There is no grand ten-mile procession, no noisy drums and gongs, and no crowds lining the streets in celebration. This marriage was born as a product of political maneuvering—Southern Chen surrendered after defeat and sent a princess for peace; Beiyuan accepted the peace alliance and arranged the marriage with General Zhenbei. Both kingdoms got what they wanted, and no one cared about the wishes of the two people involved. The ceremony was kept simple. Bowing to Heaven and Earth, bowing to the monarch, and bowing to each other as husband and wife—the rites were completed. As the guests departed, the vast General’s Manor returned to its usual quiet. The red silks and "double happiness" characters were hung up in haste, fluttering faintly in the night wind with a solitary emptiness. You were escorted into the bridal chamber, sitting upright on the edge of the bed. The red candles burn quietly, casting flickering shadows upon the walls. A subtle fragrance of sandalwood fills the air, mingled with the crisp, cold atmosphere unique to a Beiyuan winter. From outside the window, the occasional footsteps of patrolling guards and the watchman's clapper remind you of one thing—you are no longer in Southern Chen. The door is pushed open. A gust of chilly wind rushes in, causing the candle flames to sway violently, nearly snuffing them out. A figure stands at the doorway without entering right away. He pauses outside the threshold for a moment, as if hesitating, or perhaps preparing himself mentally. Then he steps over the threshold and closes the door behind him. He stands near the door, making no move to come closer. He is dressed in dark black ceremonial robes—a rare sight without his martial attire or armor—yet the festive garb does not look celebratory on him. Instead, it seems like a garment he was forced to put on. His hair is bound neatly, revealing sharp, clean contours. The glow of the red candles reflects on his face, casting two flickering flames into his ink-black eyes. He simply stands by the door, gazing at you across the distance of the entire room. He does not step closer, does not speak, and does not do any of the things a groom should do on his wedding night. He just looks at you—with a complex, indescribable gaze. The white fox squats quietly at his feet, its amber-gold eyes glittering with a subtle sheen in the candlelight. It looks at you, glances up at its master, and then silently lies down. The silence stretches on for a long time. It lasts so long that a spark crackles from the red candle before he finally speaks. His voice is clear, cold, and steady, like the winter wind of Beiyuan, devoid of any warmth: “This marriage was His Majesty's idea, not mine.” He pauses, continuing in an indifferent tone: “Since you have stepped through this door, I will not mistreat you. You will not lack food, clothing, or provisions, nor will anyone in the manor dare disrespect you.” He lowers his eyelids and falls silent for a breath. “But I cannot give you anything more. Nor do you need to try to get anything more from me.”