After the banquet, the emperor summoned Xiao Jingyuan to a side chamber.

The lamps inside were quieter than those in the banquet hall. Only two trusted attendants remained at a distance. The emperor sat behind a low table and studied his seventh son for a long moment.

“You have only returned to Tianjing, and already you have learned to stare at people before the whole court.”

Xiao Jingyuan lowered his eyes.

“This son was improper.”

“That is not what I asked.”

Xiao Jingyuan was silent.

The emperor tapped the table lightly.

“Shen Yuheng of the Shen House of Rites. Legitimate ger. Old rank, clean background, weak current household power. His legitimate parent is deceased. His father is cautious and not difficult to handle. The child himself is beautiful, composed, and not stupid.”

The emperor paused.

“Do you want the marriage bestowed?”

Xiao Jingyuan’s fingers curled beneath his sleeve.

At the banquet, desire had come suddenly, but not shallowly. He had thought: I want to know him. I want to know why Heaven showed me his death. I want to confirm that he is real. And beneath all of that, simpler, he had not wanted anyone else to look at Shen Yuheng the way the hall was looking at him. He also wanted, fiercely and simply, not to let anyone else claim him.

The emperor had not asked about any of that. The emperor had asked about marriage. A prince's marriage was not a private matter.  A bestowed marriage could not be taken back like an idle word. If he answered yes, Shen Yuheng's life would move — without Shen Yuheng's hands upon it.

Xiao Jingyuan lifted his eyes.

“Yes.”

The emperor's gaze sharpened slightly. "Yes?"

"If Imperial Father is willing." His voice held. "This son requests Shen Yuheng as principal spouse."

A longer silence.

"Principal spouse," the emperor repeated. "Not side spouse?"

Xiao Jingyuan frowned. The distinction seemed to him unnecessary in the way a general finds unnecessary the distinction between defending a position and defending it properly. "Principal spouse."

The emperor almost smiled.

"You have only seen him once."

"This son knows."

"You know his face. You do not yet know his temperament."

"I saw enough to know he is not weak."

"That," the emperor said, "is not the same as knowing whether he suits you."

Xiao Jingyuan paused. Then: "This son can learn."

The emperor laughed — a soft sound, brief and genuine, the kind that escaped rather than was offered. Among his sons, he had collected several varieties of ambition: the oiled and pleasant kind, the concealed and patient kind, the kind that wore gentleness like armour. Xiao Jingyuan had come back from the northern border carrying military commendations and a frankness that was almost inconvenient.

Xiao Jingyuan answered without hesitation.

“Yes.”

The emperor’s amusement faded slightly.

In the imperial family, willingness was not a word often placed before usefulness. Marriages were bestowed, obeyed, endured, and turned into alliances. A prince might favor his spouse, protect his spouse, even love his spouse, but few remembered to ask before the cage closed.

The emperor looked at this son for a long moment.

“If he refuses?”

“Then this son will not force him.”

“And if I still bestow it?”

Xiao Jingyuan lowered his eyes. “Then this son will beg Imperial Father to withdraw the decree.”

The side chamber became very quiet and the emperor’s eyes sharpened.

“You would reject imperial grace for someone you saw once?”

Xiao Jingyuan looked up again.

“This son requested the marriage. If he is unwilling, then the fault is mine, not his.”

The emperor studied him, then slowly leaned back.

“Very well.”

Xiao Jingyuan’s shoulders did not relax, but something in his gaze shifted.

The emperor said, “The Shen family will not refuse. As for Shen Yuheng, I will not ask him before issuing the decree. A bestowed marriage is still a bestowed marriage. But you may find your own way to understand his heart before the wedding.”

That was already a rare concession.

Xiao Jingyuan bowed deeply.

“Thank you, Imperial Father.”

The emperor looked at him again.

“One more thing. You are a prince. Today you say principal spouse. In the future, there will be side spouses, concubines, people sent by officials, people sent by neighboring states, people sent by those who wish to flatter you or test you. Your household will not remain empty simply because you wish it.”

Xiao Jingyuan’s expression turned cold.

“This son does not intend to take concubines.”

The emperor was not surprised, but he still looked at him carefully.

“You are nineteen. Do not make vows too easily.”

“This is not a vow made from youthful heat,” Xiao Jingyuan said. “The northern border taught this son one thing: internal disorder kills faster than enemy blades. If I cannot even keep my own household clean, I have no right to command soldiers.”

The emperor’s eyes changed.

Xiao Jingyuan continued, voice lower, “And if I marry Shen Yuheng as principal spouse, then he is enough.”

The emperor was silent for a while.

Then he said, “Remember what you said today.”

Xiao Jingyuan bowed.

“This son will remember.”

The next morning, the imperial astrologers and officials from the Ministry of Rites calculated the birth dates.

The news reached the Shen residence before breakfast had cooled.

Shen Huaili nearly dropped his cup. Madam Xu’s face changed for only an instant before she recovered. Shen Yulan stared blankly, then abruptly stood up and knocked over the stool behind her.

“The seventh prince?” she said, voice sharp. “Principal spouse?”

Madam Xu gave her one look.

Shen Yulan swallowed the rest of her words.

In Shen Yuheng’s courtyard, Qingmo received the news and stood frozen for a long time.

“Young Master,” he finally whispered, “His Majesty truly wants to bestow marriage? And the seventh prince asked for you as principal spouse?”

Shen Yuheng sat by the window, wearing a pale blue outer robe, black hair loose over one shoulder. Illness still left a faint snow-like pallor on his face, but his eyes were clear.

On the table before him lay the three possible auspicious dates sent by the Ministry of Rites.

He did not need long to read them. Ten days. Four months. Six months. All three properly formatted, all three carrying the Ministry of Rites' seal, all three representing different calculations about what the court wished to happen and at what pace.

Shen Yuheng looked at the first date.

Ten days.

Fast enough that Madam Xu's next scheme would not find its footing. Fast enough that the Shen household could not leverage his marriage into a prolonged negotiation. Fast enough that other families currently watching with interest, 10 days would bar those who wanted to insert themselves into the arrangement before the ink dried.

He looked at the window. The courtyard beyond it was quiet, ordinary, entirely contained. He knew the shape of its walls. He did not yet know the shape of the prince's residence, the prince's household, the prince himself, who had been only a silhouette across a banquet hall and a name attached to a decree.

But remaining here was not safety. It never had been. A cage did not become harmless because one had learned to name its bars.

By noon, Xiao Jingyuan entered the palace.

By evening, the decision had moved through Tianjing the way decisions of this kind always did: faster than official channels, slower than the truth, and carrying several interpretations that bore no relation to any of the facts.

Some said the seventh prince, after years among soldiers and snow, had been dazzled by a beautiful face and moved without thinking. Some said the emperor had chosen deliberately a declining household, a spouse without powerful backers, a leash tied in silk. Some found Shen Yuheng's fortune enviable. Some found it ominous. The prince's reputation was of iron and distance, and a principal spouse was not a decoration in that kind of household but something that would have to hold its own.

Some, privately, regretted that they had not moved sooner.

Inside the Shen residence, Shen Yulan smashed a teacup and Madam Xu immediately slapped her.

The sound was clean and immediate.

Shen Yulan covered her cheek, stunned.

Madam Xu’s face was cold. “The imperial decree may arrive at any moment. If you dare show this expression outside, do you want the whole Shen family buried with your jealousy?”

Shen Yulan’s eyes filled with tears.

“Mother, why him? Why does everything good go to him?”

Madam Xu looked toward the direction of Shen Yuheng’s courtyard.

Her voice was soft, but her eyes were dark.

“Good things are not always blessings.”

That night, Shen Yuheng dismissed Qingmo earlier than usual.

The courtyard settled into silence.

A thin moon hung above the roof tiles. Bamboo shadows swayed over the window paper, long and narrow like ink strokes. Shen Yuheng sat beneath a lamp, a book open before him, though he had not turned the page for some time.

The system suddenly spoke...