Chapter 4 #2
Moonlight through the window slats caught the Chancellor’s profile as he lifted his brush. “Even the deepest roots,” he said without looking up, “remember they once grew wild.”
Yun-yao bowed formally and backed out of the study, the lacquer box clutched tightly against her chest. Only when she was several corridors away did she allow herself to lean against a pillar, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
The stones inside the box seemed to pulse in rhythm with her heartbeat—a secret she'd carried unknowingly in her blood all these years.
Wu blood. Spiritual blood. The whispered shame of the Shen family. The reason for her late grandfather’s sometimes distant gaze, for the way certain elders watched her with wary eyes during childhood fevers. And now a burden she shared with young Yun-hai.
She straightened, pushing the thought away as she tucked the box deep into her sleeve pocket.
This was not something to dwell on—not now, not ever.
Like so many other uncomfortable truths in her life, this one would be locked away, sealed behind the wall of perfect propriety she had spent twenty years building.
What good could come from acknowledging such a thing? Better to pretend it didn't exist.
Better to be perfect.
Composing herself, she made her way to the garden where Yun-jia and Yun-si awaited her, another secret safely buried beneath her flawless smile.
When she reached her sisters, Yun-jia was already in mid-sentence, her face animated with excitement.
“Aren't you even a little frightened?” she asked. “They call him the Bloody General. Grand Aunt Fang says his men drink the blood of their enemies after battle.”
“Grand Aunt Fang also claims to have seen the late Dragon Emperor’s ghost dancing on the lake during the Autumn Festival,” Yun-yao replied dryly.
“But still,” Yun-jia insisted. “You don't know anything about him! What if he’s cruel? What if he has a terrible temper? What if he snores like a water buffalo?”
Ah, the grand romantic questions every bride must ponder.
“Then I shall be a dutiful wife who accepts her fate with dignity,” Yun-yao said, adopting her serene mask.
Yun-si, who had been quietly following, finally spoke. “I overheard Father’s secretary say that General Wei specifically requested you. That he could have asked for any reward, and he chose you.”
Yun-yao’s steps faltered slightly. “Father mentioned something similar.”
“But why?” Yun-si asked. “Have you met him before?”
“It’s like a romance huaben!” Yun-jia exclaimed. “The powerful general, secretly pining for the elegant lady he glimpsed once in his youth!”
“Life is rarely as romantic as stories,” Yun-yao murmured.
“You could ask Father,” Yun-si suggested. “He must have reports about the General’s true character.”
Yun-yao shook her head. “Father sees this match through political eyes only.”
“Well, if he’s awful, you can always slip midnight weed into his tea and escape to become a wandering poetess,” Yun-jia suggested with a mischievous smile.
A wandering poetess. Not a bad alternative to the mountain nunnery, Yun-yao mused. Though “Ode to Escaping My Bloodthirsty Husband” might not win many literary competitions.
The days blurred together as preparations intensified. She maintained her composure through endless fittings and ritual rehearsals, but in the quiet of her chamber each night, panic clawed at her throat.
She found herself mentally packing for her fantasy escape to the mountain nunnery with increasing detail. Her huabens. Her jade hairpin from Grandmother. A small pot for brewing tea. The nuns would appreciate her skill with household accounts.
“Young Lady?” Her maid interrupted these fantasies. “The final fitting for your wedding headpiece is ready.”
The phoenix headpiece was spectacular—gold filigree inlaid with jade and precious stones, with delicate golden phoenixes that trembled slightly with each step. The weight pressed down like iron shackles, straining her shoulders and stiffening her neck into immobility.
If I trip during the ceremony, it will surely break my neck. Perhaps that’s the traditional escape route for reluctant brides.
The bronze mirror reflected a stranger—a perfect bride decked in imperial splendor, her face a beautiful mask revealing nothing of the woman beneath. This was the image she would present to General Wei Zhen-ting. This perfect, empty shell, performing the role she had been trained for.
“This is my life now,” she whispered to her reflection. The golden phoenixes trembled in the lamplight, caught in eternal flight yet never escaping.
Tomorrow, Shen Yun-yao, the leftover daughter, would cease to exist. In her place would stand Lady Wei, wife of the Great General Who Guards the Nation.
Whether this transformation would bring disaster or deliverance remained to be seen, but Yun-yao made herself a silent promise:
Whatever came next, she would face it with the same perfect composure she had maintained all her life.
Even if she had to freeze every feeling into ice to do it.