The ceremony was nothing like I expected—though, to be fair, I hadn’t known what to expect in the first place. I followed the woman with slow, heavy steps until she stopped in a small garden where an altar had been prepared. The air was sharp and silent. The wind scattered the incense smoke, and the flames in the silver bowls flickered restlessly.

Bürke let out a deep sigh at the sight but said nothing. His silence felt like the echo of all the things that weren’t meant to be spoken here.

Aside from a handful of people, the place was empty—two elderly servants, one man standing at the altar, and another dressed more elaborately than the rest. There was no music, no festive atmosphere. If I had to describe this ritual with one word, it would be cold.

As the official recited the emperor’s decree in a ceremonial tone, the cold inside me grew even heavier. There was no family. No groom. In fact, there wasn’t even a bride—not truly. The woman whose body I inhabited was gone.

What the Han family wanted to tell me was simple: I might enter this household as a bride, but I would never be part of their family.

If Princess Sayina herself were here, perhaps this would have broken her heart. But to me, all of this was merely the reflection of a meaningless, misplaced pride. I had begun to understand how this world worked. Bloodlines and titles were invisible chains, binding one's fate without mercy.

I just wanted to return to my own time.

When a loud voice suddenly declared, “The auspicious hour has arrived! The bride will now give her bows!” I flinched. His voice echoed off the stone walls, then everything fell silent again.

Only then did I realize—I understood him. This wasn’t the language of the steppe people; it was heavier, more ceremonial. I might not have Princess Sayina’s memories, but her knowledge lived somewhere inside me, fitting into my mind like pieces of a forgotten puzzle.

I wished for the ceremony to end quickly. The cold, seeping up from the stones, made my body tremble, and the hostile glances from every corner didn’t help my mood.

A silk cushion lay before the altar. Unsure of what to do, I glanced around from behind the veil. Bürke stood one step behind me. I took a small step back toward him.

“What am I supposed to do now?” I whispered anxiously.

“The ceremony is beginning!” a man barked, making me jump and retreat from Bürke.

What exactly did they expect me to do? I stood there awkwardly.

Finally, the man spoke again.
“First bow—to the heavens!”

Bow? For what?

After a few seconds, I noticed the people around me shifting uneasily. Bürke whispered urgently from behind me.

“Bow, Princess.”

I bent forward so fast that my veil and the crown holding it slipped off and fell to the ground.

For a moment, the silence was deafening.

Bürke rushed forward, retrieved the crown and veil, and expertly placed them back on my head.

“Bow lightly, Princess,” he whispered, trying not to sound panicked.

I ignored the grumbles around us, though my cheeks burned in embarrassment. I shouldn’t have cared, yet somehow it still stung.

“Second bow—to the ancestors!”

Bowing to the spirits of a family that wasn’t mine felt strange, but I did it anyway. As I straightened, I took a deep breath. The incense burned my throat.

“Third bow—to the spouse!”

I blinked at the empty cushion in front of me. Was I supposed to bow to that? I looked back at Bürke. He gave a quick nod.

So I bowed to the empty space.

After a brief pause, the officiant announced in a solemn voice:
“You are now the bride of the Han family.”

Oh, wonderful. Truly delightful. A few days ago, my friend had dragged me into a ridiculous ritual, and now I was married to an invisible man.

What I needed was a strong coffee and two aspirin.

The same expressionless servant escorted me out of the garden without a word. My red veil kept blowing into my face, blocking my vision as I walked. All I wanted was a normal bed and the ability to pretend the last few days had never happened.

Dawn was slowly breaking. The air was still cold, but the sun, shy as a child, peeked out from behind the clouds. Holding a wedding at this hour still felt absurd to me. In my own time, there were morning weddings too—but none were this strange, this silent.

As we crossed the courtyard, the size of the estate caught my eye. Calling it a “house” was wrong—this was more like a small compound. Several buildings connected by stone paths, small gardens between them, dried-up ponds, and dim lanterns hanging here and there.

The farther we walked, the more the grandeur faded. Colors dulled, cracks appeared in the walls. Wealth had given way to decay; splendor to neglect.

Finally, we stopped before a building that looked ready to collapse at the next strong gust of wind. Its paint peeled, one window patched with paper. The woman guiding us wrinkled her nose as if staring at a pile of trash.

“This will be your residence,” she said coldly, disdain dripping from every word.

I heard Bürke inhale sharply and knew he was about to speak. Before he could, I grabbed his wrist on reflex. His pulse hammered beneath my fingers.

I lifted my chin and met the servant woman’s mocking gaze without flinching. During the icy reception earlier, the crowd had protected Bürke by their mere presence. But out here, there was no one.

If this woman ever found an opportunity, she would take revenge on him. I could feel it.

So I squeezed his wrist lightly and shook my head.

The woman scoffed and walked away.

If I wanted to survive in this household until the Blood Moon, I would need to be careful. Enemies lurked everywhere.

“Why didn’t you let me speak, Princess?” Bürke muttered, clearly upset. Then, like an offended child, he stomped his foot and pointed at the dilapidated building.
“You are the noble wife of the household’s leader! Even a slave wouldn’t stay here!”

I glanced at the house. He wasn’t wrong—it did look like a strong breeze could knock it over.

“This is our new home now,” I said, though even I had trouble believing my own words.

After I returned to my time, Princess Sayina would be the one dealing with all this. Maybe she would handle it better.

Bürke shot me a sideways look.
“The General will visit you tonight.”

I laughed.
“If you believe that, Bürke, you’re truly a fool. Come on—let’s see just how bad this place really is.”

And yes—it was even worse than we expected.

General Han was restless.

He had been working at the city garrison, trying to contain the chaos caused by the flood. The waters had destroyed not only homes but also fields and grain stores. Which meant hunger…and then disease.

Since early morning, he had been reviewing sealed documents sent from the provincial office and the imperial court, examining the list of villages affected by the river’s overflow. He directed military units to the flooded regions, assigned patrols to secure grain warehouses, and gave orders for temporary shelters to be built.

Coordinating the help from local temples and merchant guilds was also his responsibility. He needed to resolve this disaster before returning to the border. Another task assigned by the Emperor—one the Emperor expected him to fail.

Demands came without pause. Carrier pigeons and messengers rushed in and out of the garrison. Yet amid all the turmoil, one face lingered stubbornly at the edge of his mind.

That woman…

Even if she was the princess of the enemy tribe, the feeling she stirred in him refused to fade. There was something in her posture—a silent defiance, like someone standing alone against an entire empire.

And despite his war-hardened heart, General Han could not ignore that loneliness.

Was he right to avoid attending the wedding? He was no longer sure.

But one thing he did know: A normal marriage between them was impossible. Their bond was forged from politics, not affection. The woman knew this too.

Still… When he left the steppe, no one had come to see him off. The fact that Kagan Karaçay had not bothered to acknowledge her departure spoke volumes about how little the princess meant to him.

Now, her own new family had greeted her with cold indifference, and yet she had stepped into the household without complaint.

There was something about her that unsettled him. Something he couldn’t yet name.

While checking the documents on his desk, his eyes landed on the strip of cloth wrapped around his wrist. He had received nothing more than a simple cut during the attack—he’d suffered and forgotten far worse wounds on the battlefield.

Yet the woman had tended to him without hesitation. What noblewoman in Wei—especially on the eve of her own wedding—would do such a thing?

Was she reckless? Or simply foolish?

He needed to remain rational. His enemies waited for any misstep. Princess Sayina, like him, had been forced into this marriage. They would both deal with its consequences.

General Han decided to work through the night.

When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw were the spiderwebs hanging in the corners of the ceiling. Their fine strands glimmered in the morning light, as if reminding me just how old and dusty this world was.

Every morning, I hoped I would wake from this nightmare. But then I felt the scent of old wood, the bite of cold air, the weight of the heavy silk blanket over me—and the truth settled once more.

I was trapped in an ancient era, in a body that wasn’t mine.

Wonderful.

I sat up and looked around. The brazier’s fire had nearly died out, a faint ember still glowing. At least they hadn’t abandoned me to freeze completely. The smoky scent clung to the stone walls.

As I breathed in the icy air, I thought:
So this is what it means to be an unwanted bride.

Last night, Bürke had run around anxiously, insisting that the General would visit my room. He complained endlessly that the place looked nothing like a bridal chamber. According to him, there should have been a red silk canopy, gold-embroidered pillows, a painting of twin cranes on the wall, and even a silk curtain of love knots in front of the bed.

He spent half an hour ranting about the nuts and seeds traditionally scattered over the bed to symbolize fertility.

Of course, we had none of those things.

At one point, Bürke appeared with a dented copper basin and muttered angrily,
“This room for the General’s bride? Look at these walls—all mold and damp! No red silk, no cranes! Even the canopy is patched!”

I had simply listened, knowing that no matter how much they decorated this place, it would still resemble a prison cell more than a bridal suite.

The room was cold—not because the brazier was dying, but because the wind seemed to seep through the wooden walls like a spying intruder. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself.

Birdsong drifted from outside, unfamiliar yet oddly soothing. For a moment, I waited for my alarm clock. That annoying, familiar beep…

Then I remembered: no alarm, no coffee machine, no morning rush of people heading to work or school.

Only stone floors, the scent of wood, and a weak fire struggling against the cold.

It still felt strange not to have my phone under my pillow. It wasn’t like waking from a dream—it was like waking inside one.

When the door opened and Bürke entered with a tray, my gloomy thoughts scattered.

“Good morning, Princess,” he said softly, looking apologetic. He set the tray on the round table in the center of the room. “I brought your breakfast and…”

His voice trailed off.

I approached the table. Steam curled up from the bowls. In a small porcelain dish was a white, porridge-like mixture—rice congee, probably. Beside it, a tiny plate held sharp-smelling pink slices, some kind of pickled vegetable I couldn’t identify. Another dish held a peeled egg with a strange hue. In the corner sat a row of small steamed buns, one of which released a faint aroma of meat.

Steam still lingered over the small dough buns lined up in the corner. One of them smelled faintly of meat. I picked it up and, before taking a bite, said,
“And?” urging Bürke to continue.

Bürke laced her fingers together in front of her. She lowered her head, though her eyes flickered toward me, restless.
“I overheard two servants speaking,” she said. Now I understood why she had hesitated to tell me. She feared the news would upset me.

I swallowed the bite in my mouth. These pastry-like breads were surprisingly good. Taking a sip of the green tea, I asked,
“What were they talking about?”

“That General Han is… engaged to someone else,” she said at last, choosing her words carefully. “Apparently, he has loved her for a long time.”

For a moment, I said nothing. My fingers tightened around the porcelain cup. I closed my eyes.
This marriage… it had shattered not just two hearts, but many. A marriage that destroyed the General’s future with a girl whose name I didn’t even know.

Bürke must have misread my expression, because she hurried to speak.
“Of course I didn’t believe them! Servants gossip all the time, right?” she said too quickly, as if trying to convince herself too.

Even if I left, Princess Sayina would still have to face all of this.

I set the cup back onto the tray; the sharp clink of porcelain on wood echoed harshly.
“His mother?” I asked, not bothering to hide the curiosity in my voice.

“General Han’s mother. As the new bride, you must pay your respects to her,” Bürke whispered.

A laugh escaped me—bitter, humorless.
“Respect? Since the moment I stepped into this house, the only thing I’ve been shown is contempt, Bürke. To earn someone’s respect, they must first acknowledge that I am a human being.”

My words hung in the air. Bürke lowered her gaze and stepped back helplessly.

I looked down at the tray before me. The steam from the tea had long vanished, and the rice porridge, now coated with a layer of solidified fat, looked anything but appetizing.
My hunger faded, replaced by a hollow heaviness.

“I know,” I said quietly, without lifting my eyes. “You’re trying your best to help me fit into this family. But the Han family will never accept me, Bürke.”

My voice echoed faintly in the cold room. The young girl nodded slowly.
I continued, this time softer, more controlled.
“I’ve accepted that. The sooner you accept it too, the fewer disappointments you’ll face.”

Silence settled between us. Outside, the wind howled, rattling against the walls.

Then a sudden impulse pushed me to stand.
“I want to go outside today,” I said abruptly.

Bürke lifted her head, blinking in surprise. “Where would you like to go, Princess?”

“To the marketplace,” I said without thinking. “I want to walk a little—escape this suffocating silence.”

My gaze drifted to the window: a gray sky, distant chimneys trailing smoke.

“Maybe being among people will remind me how to breathe again.”

Bürke’s face tightened with worry.
“You cannot go to the marketplace alone. The General won’t allow it.”

A faint, mocking smile touched my lips.
“General Han hasn’t even bothered to look at me. I doubt he cares where I go.”