"From today, I will be your daughter, Princess Fu Yuxin. What do you think, Concubine Xiang?"
A young girl spoke, her voice gentle and calm—soothing, like a breeze on a summer morning. Yet the words she spoke cut through the air like a blade—sharp and cold.
Concubine Xiang's brain screeched to a halt. Her breath got stuck somewhere between her lungs and her throat. For a second, she wobbled—just a tiny, undignified sway—before her noble instincts kicked in. With a quick sniff, a tiny cough that said "I am far too dignified to gasp," she straightened up, lifted her chin, and entered full "Noblewoman Crisis Response Mode."
With a voice as smooth as silk and twice as sharp, she replied, "That's a dangerous statement, Young Lady. My daughter is alive and well," She let the words hang in the air, calm and cutting. "I don't know where you found the nerve to speak of replacing my daughter, the Second Princess," she continued, her smile sharp enough to chop a watermelon in half. "But I suggest you turn around and walk away now… while you still can."
If smiles could kill, the girl would've been vaporized on the spot. The last sentence was clearly a threat. The young girl knew it well, but her eyes remained like calm water.
"Oh my~ are you sure?" The young girl's voice danced with mockery, a little poke hidden in her words, "Didn't your daughter run away few days ago?"
The question hit Concubine Xiang like a slap to the face—casual but sharp enough to sting. If the first statement had stunned her, this one sent her straight off a cliff. She had worked so hard to keep that little problem under wraps. Not a whisper allowed beyond the walls of her residence and not even the cats allowed near the windows. Gossip, after all, had a way of spreading like wildfire, and a single spark could ignite disaster.
Concubine Xiang, third wife of the Emperor Fu Jingtao, had never lived what anyone would call a relaxing palace life. Caught between court politics and watchful eye of the Empress, she had learned long ago that survival sometimes meant playing weak. So, after giving birth to her daughter, Fu Yuxin, she did what she had to do—she pretended to fall ill.
Pale face, trembling hands, voice softer than a dying flower in winter. It was a performance worthy of a standing ovation. The emperor apparently moved (or maybe just tired), and allowed her to return to her hometown in the east to 'recuperate' with her daughter. But it came with a condition—her daughter, once of age, would be promised in marriage. Political marriage. Imperial duty.
Concubine Xiang had agreed without hesitation. After all, political marriages were the norm for princesses. She had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that the years away from the palace might shield her daughter from the worst of its schemes.
But fate, as always, had other plans.
Five days ago, a decree from the emperor arrived at her residence in Luyan state. It was addressed to her daughter, Princess Fu Yuxin. The message was brief, its words formal and painfully clear: the Second Princess was to be married to the King of Shulin State.
There were no explanations. No gentle words. No kind sentence to soften the blow. Not even a courtesy emoji. Just the weight of imperial will, stamped in gold and sealed with the authority that no one dared question.
Concubine Xiang had expected the decree—at least, in part. Her daughter had just turned sixteen this year—perfect age to be married off in the eyes of the court, where girls were apparently considered old enough to manage a husband, an empire, and possibly a dragon if one showed up. It was only a matter of time before the emperor called in the promise she had made years ago.
The problem wasn't the marriage itself. It was who her daughter was being married to…
King of Shulin, Shu Mingye.
Just the name made her left eye twitch.
Everyone in the Yunyue realm knew that name. His reputation echoed across the dynasty's realms, but not because of any heroic deeds or noble virtue.
No—lunatic was far too kind a word for him.
People called him a madman—a man who was said to draw his sword before he even finished thinking about it. One poet (who later disappeared mysteriously) once described him as "a demon wearing human's skin."
Shu Mingye was infamous for violence, feared for unpredictability, and respected by no one who valued their neck. And to make matters worse, he was the only son of the previous King of Shulin, Shu Minglan—a ruler who had been punished for treason and dragged down from power in disgrace.
That night, after the decree had been accepted with hands that shook just a little too much, Princess Fu Yuxin returned to her chamber. Her sobs muffled by layers of silk and pride. By morning, she was gone—vanished without a trace. All she left behind was a single letter, its message brief and devastating: "Do not search for me. I will not return."
Concubine Xiang knew her daughter better than anyone. She had raised her with love and care, showering her with affection like a blooming flower. That's why her daughter, Princess Fu Yuxin, grew up a little willful, a little stubborn, and more than a little curious about the world beyond their quiet residence.
As a child, she often begged to visit the imperial palace, her eyes bright with wonder at the idea of silks, halls, and the grandeur of court life. But every time, Concubine Xiang gently found a reason to say no.
She wasn't being cruel—she was protecting her.
Concubine Xiang knew all too well how the palace truly worked. Behind its golden walls and elegant smiles was a world where kindness was weakness and power ruled above all. Without power, one does not merely fall—they are cast aside, forgotten, and buried beneath the triumphs of those who do.
Concubine Xiang had always kept a watchful eye over her daughter. Recently, she had heard from her maidservant that the Princess had been stepping outside more frequently, meeting with a young merchant from the West. This merchant regularly comes every month to deliver goods. The maidservant, though careful not to overstep, suggested that the meetings were... more than just business.
At first, Concubine Xiang thought little of it. She assumed it was nothing more than a fleeting infatuation—a passing fancy. After all, young hearts are prone to such whims, and it seemed harmless enough. She decided not to reprimand her daughter, hoping the crush would fade with time. After all, wasn't it just a temporary distraction?
But now, things had taken a different turn. The princess—her daughter—was missing.
If the young merchant really was the one who helped her daughter run away, then—well, so be it. Concubine Xiang let out a quiet sigh as she looked out the window, the afternoon sun casting golden streaks across the floor. As long as her daughter was safe, that was what truly mattered. Love or not, foolish or brave—she could scold her later. Preferably after she was back in one piece.
Of course, that didn't mean Concubine Xiang would sit idly by. She already sent her most trusted subordinate to look into the matter—at least there were some clues about her daughter's whereabouts. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
Right now, there was a more pressing matter to handle—The imperial decree.
Concubine Xiang observed the young girl before her. Her clear and bright eyes reflected a confidence that seemed impenetrable. She had appeared at the gates claiming she knew the whereabouts of the missing Second Princess. Bold, certainly—but something in her voice had rung true. Intrigued, and perhaps just a little desperate, Concubine Xiang had invited her in without much hesitation. But she hadn't expected this young girl would make an absurd and unthinkable proposition, so absurd that it could only have come from someone either very clever… or very naive.
Everyone—and that included palace maids, battle-hardened generals, and even the guy who swept the stables—knew exactly what kind of man the King of Shulin was.
Ruthless. Cold. Scarier than a snake in your bed.
He had the kind of reputation that made strong men fake stomach aches to avoid meetings. Some said he once chopped off a man's ear just for sneezing too loudly. Even the Emperor himself didn't exactly invite him to parties.
Which was why Concubine Xiang, a mother with at least three working brain cells and a very healthy fear of murderous royals, was not exactly thrilled at the idea of sending her daughter to marry him.
That was exactly what Concubine Xiang was thinking as she eyed the young girl sitting calmly before her. That made the scene in front of her all the more unsettling. To say it unsettling would be an understatement. It felt like inviting someone over for tea and realizing they brought poison—and drank it themselves, on purpose.
The young girl sat across from her, calm and composed, as if this meeting were the most ordinary thing in the world. Concubine Xiang couldn't help but wonder "who in their right mind would willingly walk into the jaws of the lion's den?"
"She must have an ulterior motive," Concubine Xiang thought, narrowing her eyes. Suspicion bubbled in her voice as she asked, "What do you want?"
The girl's lips curled into a playful smile, "I already told you," She said with a glint of mischief in her eyes, "I wanted to be your daughter, Concubine Xiang."
Concubine Xiang stiffened. Was this girl mocking her? Her fan stopped mid-swish. Her left eyebrow twitched—a clear sign someone was dangerously close to testing her noble patience.
"Do you think this is a joke?" she snapped, her patience thinning.
"Of course not. Do you?" the girl replied sweetly, tilting her head like a curious little puppy.
Oh, she was bold. Concubine Xiang narrowed her eyes, mentally calculating whether this was bravery, madness, or an attempt at both.
Concubine Xiang's voice sharpened, "Who are you?"
The girl stood up, smoothing her robe with the elegance of royalty. Then, with a slight bow and a spark of amusement, she said, "I'm your daughter, Princess Fu Yuxin, Concubine Xiang…or should I call you Mother from now on?"