General Han Ruo was tired and sleepless that morning.
The floods that had ravaged the surrounding villages for days had left the capital’s outskirts in ruins. The imperial aid was insufficient; the granaries filled by heavy taxes looked full on paper, yet the people received little more than a few sacks of rice.

Han Ruo could not ignore this. His personal granary held enough to give the villagers temporary relief.
But helping them openly risked severe political consequences.

The balance of power in the palace was hanging by a thread. If he opened his granary, rival ministers could twist the act into a dangerous rumor:
“The Han family treats the people better than the Empire itself.”
Such whispers would make his family a target.

The Emperor was aging; debates over succession were growing sharper. Noble families watched one another like hawks, and even the smallest misstep could become an excuse for betrayal.

Ruo sighed, his fingers tracing the map spread across the table.
In a nation starving for grain, the fiercest battle was still being fought within the palace walls.

He rose from his seat. He had not spent the night with his bride; the marriage itself was proof of political obligation, not affection.
His mind was still occupied with the debates of the imperial council: uprisings in the borderlands, shifting alliances among ministers.
Even though his own family had regained favor after their fall, some ministers were still uncomfortable with the Han family’s influence among the people.

This marriage was a strategic move—to strengthen ties with the palace and dispel suspicions.
Cold, calculated, devoid of emotion.

General Han took a deep breath and stood. He had no intention of wearing armor today—only the simple preparations for a morning visit.

“Chen Bo,” he called.
His servant appeared instantly at the door.

“I will visit my mother this morning. Prepare everything. And…”
He paused.
“I don’t wish to encounter anyone on the way. We will move quietly.”

The goal of today was to meet with the matriarch of the Han family—his mother. Only she would speak the truth of what she thought of this marriage.

And perhaps, he would finally face his bride.
What would she think, once she learned that the soldier she bandaged the other day was the man she had been forced to marry?

Han Ruo walked through the courtyard, unfazed by the wind rustling the bamboo blinds. Servants bowed deeply as he passed.
As he stepped into the inner residence—restricted to the family—the air grew heavier.

The doors of the grand hall opened. He was first greeted by Lady Mei, his aunt, who offered a graceful yet cold smile.
Behind her stood his cousin Lian, delicately holding her embroidered silk, seemingly focused on her stitching.
His male cousin Wen gave him a respectful, nervous nod.

And in the corner, seated in a wheeled couch, was Han Zhi—his younger brother. Since the accident in childhood, he could no longer walk and had been carried in that custom seat ever since. His thin face held both pride and fragility.

Han Ruo bowed. “Mother,” he said evenly.

The matriarch of the Han family sat tall despite her age, her gaze sharp enough to pierce through him.

She slowly turned the jade prayer beads in her hand, each click echoing through the hall.

“Ruo,” she said, her voice weary yet commanding.
“This marriage… I still cannot accept it. You know exactly who that girl is—the daughter of the very people who crippled our family. The Empire forced this burden onto you.”

Han Ruo remained silent, hands clasped behind his back.

His mother continued, her voice trembling with anger.
“Before your father and brother died, do you remember what this family’s honor meant? We are the Hans of the North—we showed our loyalty with blood.
And now you have married the enemy’s daughter!
Xing’er was meant for you. The daughter of my sworn sister—she has loved you for years. She used to whisper your name during the weaving festivals.”
Then came the sentence Han Ruo dreaded.
“I want you to take her as your second wife. Our heirs must come from her.”

Han Ruo resisted the urge to sigh.
He had never seen Xing’er that way. She was like a sister, just as Lian was. Yet both she and her mother had ambitions. If his political marriage achieved anything, it was putting distance between him and Xing’er.

And now his mother wanted to bring her into the household anyway.

Lady Mei’s head dipped, a small smile touching her lips.
Lian pretended not to hear, focusing on her embroidery.
Only Han Zhi’s eyes hardened, his jaw tightening as he listened.

Han Ruo finally lifted his head and glanced toward the door.
“Has Princess Sayina not arrived yet?”

The matriarch’s face darkened. Her beads stilled.
“A proper bride visits her mother-in-law at the break of dawn,” she snapped.
“I curse myself for allowing this disrespectful girl into our family. Who knows where she is wandering right now?”

Han Ruo ignored her anger, still looking toward the entrance.
“Perhaps,” he said calmly, “she is doing what I am—trying to accept this marriage.”

Just then, hurried footsteps approached.
A servant rushed in, dropping to her knees.
Without lifting her head, she said,
“Great Madam, Princess Sayina sends word that she will not be coming to greet you.”

A heavy silence filled the hall.
The matriarch’s grip tightened around her beads.
“And why is that?” she asked, voice frigid.

The servant bowed even lower.
“The Princess said… since you made it clear during the ceremony that she was unwanted, she did not wish to disturb your temper so early in the morning. And…”
The girl swallowed, unable to continue.

Han Ruo exchanged a brief look with his mother, then asked,
“And?”

At that moment, Han Zhi leaned forward, eyes bright with mischief.
He was already enjoying this far too much.

The servant whispered the rest quickly:
“And… she said the late years of life are difficult enough already. She doesn’t wish to upset you further and ruin your remaining days. She wishes you peace in your old age.”

The girl bowed so deeply her forehead nearly touched the floor.

For a few seconds, the hall was silent—until Han Zhi burst out laughing.
“Oh! This princess is far bolder than I expected!”

The matriarch’s face turned crimson.
“Outrageous! Insolent girl! What bride speaks to her mother-in-law like this?”

Han Ruo tilted his head slightly, a faint smile at the corner of his lips.
“So she wished not to disturb your peace this morning,” he murmured.
“How considerate.”

He turned to the servant.
“Where is Princess Sayina now?”

“Her Highness and her maid… have gone to the marketplace, my lord.”

General Ruo wondered what she was doing in the marketplace.
Perhaps it was time for the princess and the soldier she tended to—her husband—to meet again.