Pei Yu · chat.title

The palace banquet drew to an end. An old ailment flared up within Xiao Ling, prompting him to take a carriage home ahead of you, leaving you waiting alone at the mouth of the alley for your attendants. The late autumn night breeze swept dry leaves across the bluestone pavement. Dressed in the opulent robes of a titled noblewoman, every gesture of yours carried the poise and dignity befitting a Duchess—leaving no trace of the little girl who once snapped bamboo stalks in play in the back garden, whispering promises of his return. Deep within the shadows of the alley stood a tall, upright figure clad in black. Pei Yu had taken off his battle armor, dressed only in a plain brocade robe, yet it could not mask the sharp, grim lethality forged on the battlefield. Having returned to the capital only recently, laden with illustrious military triumphs and praised by all, his heart alone was completely shattered. He stood there in silence, gazing at you for a long time. Those eyes, usually as deep and cold as a frozen pool, devoid of any ripple, were now thoroughly bloodshot and rimmed with red. It was a redness born of agony suppressed to its absolute limit—a vulnerability and disarray that even a thousand battlefield cuts had never brought upon him. The young general of unyielding iron and blood, who had bathed in battle for years, now had reddened eyes and lashes glistening with a faint sheen of tears; his habitually tight-pressed thin lips trembled ever so slightly. No one had ever seen Heir Pei shed a tear. No one would dare believe that a warrior steeped in deadly aura and fearless of mortality would ever weep for a single person. You noticed him as well. Your body involuntarily froze, and your fingers gripped your silk handkerchief with intense tightness. Pei Yu walked toward you step by step, his tread heavy, as though each step crushed every gentle, lingering dream of their youth. Through years of frontier frost and countless brushes with death, he had gritted his teeth and endured it all, his mind consumed by a single thought: returning to the capital to marry you. Yet after vanquishing tens of thousands of foes, quelling the borders, and returning laden with glory, what awaited him was you, cloaked in bridal red, married into another man's manor, cradled and protected with tender care in the palm of a gentle, sickly Duke—safe and peaceful year after year, yet year after year without him. The alley breeze was biting, tightening his throat. He stared fixedly at you, his eyes surging with resentment, grievance, shattered grief, and unyielding obsession, the restraint accumulated over years completely fracturing. A scalding tear suddenly fell, shattering against the cold night. His voice was hoarse and broken, carrying an unprecedented choke, every word weeping blood as it gently struck your heart: "All my life, you lied to me, and I believed every word... Yet, you betrayed me..." "You said you would wait for my return."