Chapter Text
“Bo Chen,” Shaoyou called, his voice calm but carrying the weight of command.
“How is the funeral proceeding for Wu Xian?” Bo Chen hesitated for a moment before clearing his throat.
“Your Majesty, the arrangements are nearly complete. The mourners have gathered, and the priests are preparing the rites. Everything is in accordance with your instructions.”
Shaoyou nodded slightly, his expression was unreadable.
“Good. Make sure the offerings are exact. No mistakes. Wu Xian deserves the proper rites, even if others do not understand him.”
Bo Chen bowed deeply. “Yes, Your Majesty. Everything will be handled as you wish.”
Shaoyou turned his gaze to the window, observing the courtyard below where servants moved quietly among the flowers and incense.
The air was heavy with the scent of burning wood and petals, but he felt nothing.
Shaoyou sighed again, another quiet exhale that barely disturbed the still air of his chambers.
Surely, news of Wu Xian’s passing had already reached the four capitals.
Another whisper about the cursed emperor spread through the courts, another story linking him to misfortune.
Wu Xian was supposed to be his fifth spouse, but he had died before their wedding.
Like the others, he had died two days before the ceremony, at the same hour, while asleep.
The repetition of the timing only fueled rumors.
Ministers and nobles alike speculated that Shaoyou had a hand in their deaths, claiming assassination, poison, or some secret method of murder.
Despite the rumors, Shaoyou had always ensured the families of the deceased were cared for.
He provided compensation, gifts, or at the very least a proper burial for each of his past spouses.
His generosity was noted by some, but most dismissed it as irrelevant.
They could not see past the stories, the so-called curse that clung to his name like a shadow.
To the public, it did not matter that no evidence ever pointed to him.
The pattern alone was enough to inspire fear and suspicion.
Then his attendant, Bo Chen, approached once more, bowing slightly before speaking.
“Your Majesty, the Minister of Matrimony has sent word, inquiring whether you will be issuing another matrimonial selection decree,” he said, his voice careful, measured.
Shaoyou glanced at him, his dark eyes calm but sharp. “No,” he replied simply.
“Wu Xian is the last.”
Bo Chen hesitated, as if thinking whether to push further.
“Your Majesty, the ministers may not accept this easily. They will insist on another candidate. The North and West Palaces, in particular, have been pressing for a suitable match for their heirs. The court will expect an answer.”
Shaoyou’s gaze drifted to the window again, to the courtyard below where the soft flicker of lantern light touched the paving stones.
He did not answer immediately. In the silence, the only sound was the distant murmur of the palace staff preparing for the evening rites.
Finally, he turned to Bo Chen, his expression steady, deliberate. “Let them expect. I will not choose another.”
Bo Chen swallowed, nodding but clearly uneasy. “Yes, Your Majesty. But if I may… the ministers will not simply accept your refusal. They will pressure you, and they may attempt to interfere with your decision. They may even try to force a match.”
Shaoyou’s lips curved into the faintest trace of a smile, though it did not reach his eyes. “Then let them try,” he said quietly.
“No one will bind me to another marriage.”
The attendant bowed again, leaving the room with careful steps, but the words lingered in Shaoyou’s mind.
He turned back to the window, watching as the evening settled over the palace gardens.
The light of the setting sun touched the petals of the trees, but there was no warmth in it for him.
For a moment, the emperor allowed himself to imagine the court’s whispers once more, the speculation, the rumors, the fear.
They would call him selfish, arrogant, or mad. They would never understand. They could not see what he truly sought.
He had never sought wealth or titles, nor the adoration of the ministers and nobles who whispered behind closed doors.
What he needed was something different, something beyond the reach of politics or ambition.
Shaoyou’s hand rested lightly on the windowsill.
If he could not be bound by the court’s expectations, then perhaps he could find a way to act outside of them, to take control of the one choice that truly mattered to him.
And in the quiet of the palace chambers, with the incense curling through the air and the last rays of sun fading from the sky, Shaoyou made his decision.
He would not wait for the ministers. He would go where he was needed, and claim what no one else could offer.
Sheng Shaoyou was the only remaining Sheng of the South Palace, the Emperor of the South.
He was widely recognized for his generosity, for his careful attention to the well-being of his people, and for the way he maintained order and comfort within his palace.
The commoners admired him for his fairness and the quiet strength he displayed in governance, while the nobles often praised his intellect and discernment in matters of state.
Yet Shaoyou was remembered as much for his appearance as for his rule.
His beauty was striking, ethereal even, drawing admiration and envy alike.
Men and women alike whispered about him, hoping for a chance to be near him, to earn his favor, or even to become his spouse.
Despite the admiration, there was a danger that clung to his name.
He had become known as the Widower Emperor, a title spoken with both fear and fascination.
Every spouse he had chosen before had died before they could take their vows, their deaths always so sudden, so complete, that the courtiers and commoners alike began to believe the emperor himself carried a curse.
The rumors spread quickly through the capitals, turning curiosity into superstition, and admiration into caution.
No one could approach him without hesitation.
The fear of being the next to die kept many at a distance, even as others still coveted his favor.
Shaoyou carried the weight of this reputation quietly. He had long grown accustomed to the mixture of awe, desire, and dread that followed him wherever he went.
The whispers of the court, the nervous bows of visiting nobles, and the cautious respect of his people had become part of the rhythm of his days.
On the other hand, in the North Palace, Hua Yong had just returned from the barracks, his movements precise even as exhaustion tugged at his muscles.
The long day of training and inspections had left a thin layer of sweat on his skin, but his posture remained straight.
As he stepped into the main hall, several servants moved quickly to help him remove his armor, folding each piece.
The clink of metal against the floor echoed softly in the high-ceilinged room, mixing with the distant murmur of other attendants going about their duties.
Hua Yong did not speak, his eyes scanning the hall briefly before settling on the familiar faces of his attendants.
He allowed them to perform their tasks without interruption.
When the last piece of armor was removed, his attendant Bao Ming approached, bowing deeply.
“Your Highness, His Majesty requests your presence in the audience hall,” he said.
Hua Yong paused for a moment, straightening his shoulders.
He had seen many summons from the emperor over the years, some for matters of state, others for personal audiences. He gave a small nod.
“I will go,” he replied, his tone steady and even. Bao Ming inclined his head before stepping aside to lead the way.
Hua Yong followed, his boots clicking against the polished stone floor.
The corridors of the North Palace were silent, the air carrying the faint scent of incense mixed with the lingering heat from torches that lined the walls.
Servants and guards moved aside as he passed, bowing with practiced obedience.
As they reached the audience hall, Hua Yong paused at the threshold, taking in the familiar sight of the throne.
His father, the emperor, sat with his usual composed authority, robes neatly arranged and eyes sharp, scanning the room as though he could see everything at once.
Hua Yong stepped forward, placing a hand over his chest and bowing.
“You requested my presence,” Hua Yong said, his voice was steady.
The emperor hummed in acknowledgment, a soft sound that carried weight despite its brevity.
“At ease, General,” the emperor said, and Hua Yong straightened his back, releasing the tension from his bow.
He knew well enough that the formalities of the court rarely lasted long when matters of importance were at hand.
“How are the barracks?” the emperor asked, his tone casual, almost disinterested, yet Hua Yong felt a subtle weight in the question.
It was the kind of inquiry that spoke volumes, more than a simple concern for the troops.
Hua Yong’s brow lifted slightly. “The barracks are in order, Your Majesty,” Hua Yong replied evenly, watching for any change in his father’s expression.
The emperor’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary, quiet and calculating.
Hua Yong had learned to read these moments.
Questions that seemed mundane often prefaced demands or announcements, especially when they involved matters beyond the training grounds.
“Good,” the emperor said finally, leaning back slightly.
“Then we may speak plainly.” Hua Yong’s hand remained at his side, his posture unchanged.
He waited, as he always did, for the words to come. The emperor’s eyes darkened almost imperceptibly.
“You know why you have been called here,” he continued.
“The time for delay has passed. A decision must be made regarding your future, and it is not mine to make alone.” Hua Yong’s gaze remained steady, unreadable.
He had anticipated this moment for months, the pressure mounting with each passing week as the ministers whispered, and the North Palace courtiers grew restless.
“Your duty as prince, as heir, requires action,” the emperor said, his voice measured, deliberate.
“The barracks and the battlefield may be your domain, but the dynasty is mine to protect. You will be called to choose, and you will be expected to fulfill what is asked of you.”
Hua Yong’s expression did not change, though inwardly he acknowledged the weight of those words.
He had always understood the expectations placed upon him, the unspoken limitations of his position.
The emperor leaned forward slightly, fingers steepled together.
“I will be issuing a decree,” the emperor said, his voice calm but firm.
“A matrimonial selection decree that shall be held in a few days. Candidates from the principal families across the North shall be summoned to present themselves. You will select from among them.”
Hua Yong’s gaze remained steady, but he felt the familiar tightening in his chest.
He had expected this, yet the official confirmation made the responsibility heavier.
The North Palace ministers had been whispering about it for months, and now the matter was no longer speculation.
The emperor leaned back slightly in his chair, his eyes scanning Hua Yong as if weighing the weight of his resolve.
“The decision is not mine to impose,” he continued.
“It is your duty to choose a suitable spouse. One who may continue the bloodline and strengthen our position. Delay is no longer acceptable.”
Hua Yong inclined his head slightly, acknowledging his father’s words without speaking.
He had trained his mind to remain controlled, to mask any emotion the court might seize upon, yet the subtle pressure of expectation pressed against him like a physical weight.
The emperor’s tone shifted, softer but no less authoritative.
“I know you have your preferences, and I will not interfere unnecessarily. However, the court expects that you present a suitable choice. Failure to do so will not reflect solely upon you.”
Hua Yong’s expression did not change, but inside, a quiet tension built.
The choice of a spouse was not a matter of desire for him. It was duty, obligation, and an inescapable chain that tied him to the future of the dynasty.
The emperor’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer before he spoke again.
“The selection will take place in the great hall. All invited candidates will be present, and the ministers will observe. You will have the freedom to speak with them and determine your decision.”
Hua Yong’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. Freedom within a set of expectations.
He had long since learned that even the slightest deviation from duty invited scrutiny, suspicion, or disapproval.
The emperor’s eyes softened, but only slightly.
“Prepare yourself, Hua Yong. You will be expected to make a choice that satisfies both the court and the dynasty. Your time to delay is over.”
Hua Yong nodded, acknowledging the weight of the decree.
He knew well enough that no amount of skill on the battlefield could prepare him for the careful observation and calculated conversations that awaited him among the assembled families.
As he straightened, ready to leave the hall, the emperor added, almost in passing, “The decree will be sent immediately. All families shall receive it within the day. You will be given the first audience with each candidate in the presence of the ministers.”
Hua Yong’s gaze remained steady, measured, but a quiet thought lingered at the edge of his mind.
He had not desired this duty, yet he could not avoid it.
He gave a final nod, his posture unyielding. “I understand, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice even.
“I will fulfill my duty.”
The emperor inclined his head, satisfied for now, and gestured toward the door.
Hua Yong turned and left the audience hall, the echo of his boots marking each step as he made his way through the corridors toward the training quarters.
Even as he walked, his mind began to trace the upcoming days, the upcoming ceremony, and the inevitable gathering of families.
As Hua Yong reached his chamber, he paused for a moment, glancing at his attendant, Bao Ming.
“Bao Ming,” he called, his voice firm but calm.
“Yes, Your Highness?” Bao Ming responded promptly, stepping closer.
His eyes were attentive, knowing when to speak and when to wait.
Hua Yong turned fully to face him. “Make sure you find out the exact date of the matrimonial selection,” he said.
“Report back to me immediately once you know.” Bao Ming inclined his head, understanding the weight behind the command.
He had served Hua Yong for many years and knew him well enough to anticipate his intentions.
The general did not speak lightly, and his words carried a purpose.
“You will not be attending the ceremony,” Bao Ming said quietly, more as an observation than a question.
He had learned long ago that Hua Yong preferred to act in his own way, without unnecessary interference.
Hua Yong gave a small nod, acknowledging the remark without elaboration. His decision was deliberate.
He would not be present, and it was not out of disrespect or disinterest.
The ceremony, with its formalities and watchful eyes, was not meant for him.
It was meant for appearances, and he had no intention of performing for the court.
Bao Ming noted the firmness in Hua Yong’s posture and tone.
He had always admired his master’s ability to remain composed, even when the demands of the palace pressed down like a weight.
Still, the general’s absence from such a significant event would raise questions among the ministers.
Yet he remained unmoved. The ceremony was not about him, and he would not allow it to dictate his actions.
Duty required that he fulfill certain obligations, but that did not mean he had to participate in every expectation laid before him.
“Understood, Your Highness,” Bao Ming said finally, breaking the silence.
“I will ensure the date is reported immediately, and all preparations will remain in order in your absence.”
Hua Yong gave a brief nod, signaling his approval. “Good. That will be all for now. Keep everything as it should be, and let no one interfere unnecessarily.”
With that, Bao Ming bowed and left the chamber, moving quickly to carry out his orders.
Hua Yong remained by the window a moment longer, his posture straight, his mind already tracing the coming days.
Morning came, and with it, the official decree was issued.
Couriers and scholars carried sealed scrolls, moving swiftly through the streets of the capitals in the West, East, North, and South.
The sound of hooves clattering on cobblestones and the shuffle of hurried footsteps echoed through the palace gates as the news spread.
In every court, ministers unrolled the scrolls carefully, their eyes scanning the text for instructions.
Families of standing and influence read the decree aloud to their members, noting the requirement to present suitable candidates for the matrimonial selection.
Discussions and debates erupted immediately, hushed at first, then louder as excitement and anxiety mixed in equal measure.
In the North Palace, the ministers convened quickly in the council chambers.
The air was tense, thick with anticipation.
Many of the older ministers frowned, muttering about the stubbornness of the general and the potential consequences of his absence.
Others exchanged glances, whispering theories and strategies for ensuring the selection would proceed smoothly despite his refusal to appear.
Meanwhile, word of the decree reached the barracks.
Now back in the palace of the South, the decree had not yet reached Emperor Sheng Shaoyou, though he was absent from the court.
He had spent the day traveling beyond the borders of the South, seeking the counsel of the witch who knows about his curse.
The witch looked up as he entered, her eyes sharp and assessing.
“Emperor Sheng,” she said, her voice carrying both surprise and curiosity.
“You came here unannounced.”
Shaoyou lowered himself onto the wooden chair in front of her, the weight of the day evident in the slump of his shoulders.
“Read me,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an edge of desperation.
He indicated the divination cards laid out on the table before them.
The witch’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile, though her eyes were serious.
“You are desperate,” she said lightly, though there was no malice in her tone.
“I heard your supposed spouse just died before your wedding,” she added, her words sharp, deliberate.
“It seems misfortune follows you even in absence. Tell me, Emperor, do you still seek an answer?” Shaoyou’s hands tightened on the edges of the chair.
His expression did not waver, but the slightest tremor betrayed the urgency he felt.
“I must know,” he said, voice steady despite the tension. “I cannot wait.“
The witch raised an eyebrow, examining him carefully.
“And yet you risk traveling so far, leaving your palace and the court unattended. You trust in your own timing more than the order of your empire.” Shaoyou inclined his head slightly.
“Some matters cannot wait for ceremony or decree.” His eyes fixed on the cards in front of her.
“Tell me what the future holds.“
The witch exhaled slowly, reaching for the cards. “Very well,” she said.
Her fingers moved deftly, spreading the divination cards across the table in a precise arrangement.
The witch opened one card and studied it for a long moment, her gaze sharp and unwavering.
Shaoyou watched silently, his hands still gripping the edges of the chair.
The room was heavy with quiet, broken only by the soft scrape of the card on the table.
“This card indicates a choice,” she said finally, her voice steady.
“A path that must be taken willingly, not under pressure or expectation. The outcome depends on the intentions of the one involved, not merely on the actions you take.”
Shaoyou’s brow furrowed slightly, though he did not speak.
He had anticipated counsel like this, yet the clarity of her words carried weight.
It was not enough to act with authority or force; the choice must come from mutual will.
The witch laid another card beside it. “This one speaks of connection,” she continued, her eyes meeting his.
“The bond you seek, the man who can break the curse, must be chosen freely. His loyalty and acceptance are essential. Without it, the curse remains.”
Shaoyou exhaled quietly, a sound almost swallowed by the stillness of the room.
He had long known that the curse required more than ritual or wealth.
It demanded something deeper, something far beyond what the ministers and nobles could understand.
“You will face many obstacles,” the witch said, spreading additional cards across the table.
“Those who seek to manipulate, those who misunderstand, and those who fear you will all attempt to interfere. The one who can endure your curse must also endure the world around you.”
Shaoyou’s eyes narrowed slightly, the edge of determination sharpening his expression.
The path the witch described was not simple. It would require strategy, patience, and courage.
Above all, it required the right person. The witch lifted her hand and drew one final card, placing it deliberately before him.
“You must bear his child for the curse to be fully undone,” the witch said, her voice firm but calm.
Shaoyou froze, his mind momentarily caught off guard.
He had anticipated many challenges, many conditions, but this, the demand of a child hit him differently.
He swallowed, his hands tightening slightly on the edges of the chair.
“Shuffle,” he said abruptly, the word sharp in the quiet room.
The witch raised an eyebrow, a faint flicker of surprise crossing her face. “Emperor Sheng—”
“I said shuffle the cards again,” Shaoyou interrupted, his voice steady, though a tension lingered beneath it.
The witch exhaled softly, clearly choosing to follow his command.
She shuffled the cards with practiced precision, her fingers moving quickly, and then spread them out again across the table in the exact same arrangement.
Shaoyou’s eyes narrowed as he studied the cards, disbelief mingling with a growing sense of urgency.
His hand hovered over the deck, but he did not touch it.
“This is impossible,” he murmured, more to himself than to the witch.
“Shuffle again. One more time. Flip it around.” The witch’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she obeyed, shuffling the cards thoroughly before laying them out once more.
Shaoyou’s heart sank as he saw the final card, the same one as before, positioned exactly where it had been the first two times.
“It is the same,” he said quietly, almost in disbelief. His voice carried a mixture of frustration and determination.
“Again.”
The witch regarded him carefully, her eyes were sharp.
“Emperor Sheng, the cards do not lie. Repetition indicates certainty, not error. The path is fixed, though the timing and action remain yours to command.”
Shaoyou’s jaw tightened.
He had known that breaking the curse would require more than ritual or magic, but the absolute clarity of this requirement.
The necessity of a child, a willing union, and mutual acceptance left no room for hesitation.
He exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. “Then it is clear,” he said finally, his voice firm.
“I must act. The choice must be found, the man must be willing, and the curse must end.”
The witch leaned back slightly, her expression unreadable.
“It will not be easy. The man who can bear this responsibility must be more than strong. He must understand the weight of what is asked, and he must accept it fully. Without his full consent, nothing will succeed.”
After Shaoyou’s journey, he returned to the South Palace, the familiar walls and corridors greeting him with quiet familiarity.
As he stepped into the main hall, Bo Chen appeared promptly, bowing deeply.
“Welcome back, Your Majesty,” he said, his voice steady and respectful. “How was your journey?”
“Terrible,” Shaoyou replied simply, his tone calm but carrying a trace of fatigue.
Bo Chen only nodded, understanding that the emperor seldom elaborated unless necessary.
“I had prepared the garden for your afternoon tea,” Bo Chen added, his hands folded neatly before him.
Shaoyou gave a brief nod, and the two walked through the halls, their footsteps echoing softly against the polished stone floors, until they reached the east wing of the palace.
The garden opened before them, sunlight filtering through the latticework and brushing over the carefully maintained flowers.
Shaoyou moved toward the chair placed under the shade of a flowering tree, the soft rustle of leaves accompanying his steps.
Bo Chen poured tea into the delicate porcelain cup and placed it in front of Shaoyou.
He picked up the cup, inhaling the fragrance briefly, and then took a measured sip.
The warmth of the tea did little to soothe the lingering tension in his shoulders.
Bo Chen broke the silence, his voice quiet but deliberate.
“A courier arrived some time ago while you were away, Your Majesty. He delivered a decree from the North.”
Shaoyou set down the cup with careful precision and reached for the scroll Bo Chen offered.
He unfurled it slowly, eyes scanning the elegant script. His left eyebrow rose slightly as he read.
“A matrimonial selection decree?” he asked, his voice measured, but there was a subtle shift in his posture, a flicker of recognition crossing his face.
Bo Chen inclined his head. “Yes, Your Majesty. It is for the prince of the North Palace, General Hua Yong.”
For a moment, Shaoyou remained still, the scroll held loosely in his hands.
Then a sudden idea sparked in his mind, sharp and deliberate, and he looked at Bo Chen with focused intent.
“Bo Chen,” he said, his voice quiet but firm.
Bo Chen inclined his head immediately, sensing the weight behind the command.
“Prepare a dowry,” Shaoyou said, the words steady, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
Bo Chen blinked in surprise, his hands tightening slightly on the scroll.
“Come again, Your Majesty?” he asked, unsure if he had heard correctly.
“Prepare a dowry,” he repeated, his tone calm but commanding.
“For General Hua Yong of the North Palace. I will be visiting the North Palace at the said date of the ceremony.”
Bo Chen’s mind raced.
He had served Shaoyou for many years and understood the emperor’s decisions were never impulsive.
“Your Majesty… a dowry? For a general? Surely—”
Shaoyou cut him off sharply, though his voice remained controlled.
“No questions, Bo Chen. Prepare it as I have ordered. There will be no debate.”
Bo Chen bowed immediately, understanding the firmness in Shaoyou’s tone.
He knew better than to challenge the emperor’s decisions, for once Shaoyou had set his mind, nothing could sway him.
“The dowry will be arranged, Your Majesty,” Bo Chen said finally, his voice steady despite the surprise he still felt.
“Everything will be prepared according to your instructions.” Shaoyou gave a slow nod, his gaze returning to the scroll in his hands.
“Ensure it is sufficient. Do not spare anything that may secure his attention or make the proposal impossible to refuse. The North Emperor must not be able to decline.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Bo Chen replied, the weight of the order clear.
He straightened, already considering the scale of what would need to be prepared, gold, silks, land grants, and ceremonial treasures worthy of an emperor’s dowry.
Shaoyou set the scroll aside and rose from the chair.
Shaoyou knew of the North Emperor’s only heir, General Hua Yong, though he had never seen him in person.
His knowledge of the man came from careful observation, from whispered stories carried through the courts, and from the reports of merchants, soldiers, and envoys who had crossed paths with the general.
Hua Yong had a reputation that preceded him.
He was merciless on the battlefield, decisive in strategy, and disciplined in every action he took.
He had no interest in titles beyond what duty required, preferring the authority and freedom of command over ceremonial power.
Even so, nobles and commoners alike admired him, and both men and women sought his attention, hoping for favor, connection, or even a claim to his bloodline.
Shaoyou considered the implications carefully. The stories painted Hua Yong as confident and commanding, but not reckless.
He did not act from vanity or greed, and his loyalty to his father, his soldiers, and his people was absolute.
These qualities aligned precisely with what the witch had described: a man who would act willingly, not from obligation; a man whose loyalty and acceptance could break the curse.
The words of the witch echoed in Shaoyou’s mind, clear and unyielding.
“The outcome depends on the intentions of the one involved, not merely on the actions you take.”
He remembered her emphasis on choice, on freedom, on the bond that must exist beyond coercion or ceremony.
“The bond you seek, the man who can break the curse, must be chosen freely. His loyalty and acceptance are essential. Without it, the curse remains.”
He realized then that he did not need to fear Hua Yong’s reputation, nor the expectations of the North Court.
The general’s character was exactly what was required.
He possessed the strength, the discretion, and the willingness to endure what no ordinary man could.
Most importantly, he had the capacity to make his own choice.
Shaoyou knew, with quiet certainty, that the man would not act under pressure, and yet he would act when the truth of the situation was made clear.
A plan began to form in Shaoyou’s mind.
The journey to the North Palace would not be simple.
The court would scrutinize him, the ministers would question him, and the general himself might challenge or test him.
Yet none of that mattered compared to one certainty: Hua Yong possessed the qualities required to end the curse.
He was loyal, strong, disciplined, and above all, free in his decisions.
He allowed himself a single glance toward the courtyard, where the afternoon light cast long shadows across the palace grounds.
The calm of the South Palace felt temporary, fragile, yet it gave him the space to think and prepare.
“Bo Chen,” Shaoyou said, his voice quiet but resolute.
“Prepare the carriage. We leave for the North Palace in three days. Everything must be in order before then.”
Bo Chen bowed immediately, understanding the finality in Shaoyou’s tone.
“Yes, Your Majesty. I will ensure all preparations are complete.”
He did not doubt that Hua Yong was the one.
The question that remained was whether the general would recognize the significance of Shaoyou’s approach and respond with the loyalty and freedom that the curse required to finally be broken.
But above all, he would ensure that the man who could break the curse would choose him willingly.
Then came the ceremonial day.
The North Palace was already filled with nobles from every influential family, their presence turning the usually restrained halls into a crowded display of rank and ambition.
Noble daughters arrived in carefully chosen attire, escorted by parents who measured every step and glance.
Noble sons stood nearby, composed and attentive, aware that this occasion could shape their future standing within the court.
Even the sons and daughters of wealthy merchants had been permitted entry, their families eager to seize an opportunity rarely extended beyond the aristocracy.
The main hall had been arranged with deliberate care.
Rows of seats lined the polished floor, separated according to rank, while attendants moved quietly among the guests, offering tea and guiding them to their assigned places.
The air carried a low murmur of conversation, voices restrained but persistent, as speculation passed from one group to another.
Many wondered whether the general would appear at all, while others debated which family would gain favor by the end of the ceremony.
At the far end of the hall, the North Emperor sat upon the throne, his expression composed yet watchful.
His presence alone enforced order, though his gaze occasionally drifted across the assembly, assessing the gathered candidates with practiced scrutiny.
Beside him stood several senior ministers, their faces neutral but their eyes sharp, already calculating outcomes and alliances.
As the hour approached, the murmurs grew more focused.
The absence of Hua Yong had not gone unnoticed.
Some nobles exchanged uneasy glances, while others concealed their irritation behind polite smiles.
The ministers whispered among themselves, clearly displeased but careful not to let their frustration show openly.
A ceremonial selection without the presence of the one meant to choose was not merely improper; it bordered on defiance.
“The general has not arrived,” one minister muttered under his breath, his voice tight with disapproval.
“He was never fond of ceremony,” another replied quietly. “Still, his absence sends a message.”
The North Emperor said nothing, though the tension in the hall did not escape him.
He rested one arm against the throne, his posture relaxed, yet his eyes betrayed a growing impatience.
He had hoped that Hua Yong would appear, even briefly, to satisfy the court and conclude the matter swiftly.
The ceremonial officiant stepped forward at last, unrolling the prepared scroll and announcing the beginning of the selection.
His voice echoed through the hall, steady and practiced, listing the names of the families present and the purpose of the gathering.
The candidates rose one by one as instructed, bowing toward the throne before taking their seats again.
Despite the formality, the ceremony lacked its intended focus.
Without Hua Yong present, the proceedings felt incomplete, almost hollow.
Several nobles shifted uneasily, while others glanced repeatedly toward the entrance, as though expecting the general to arrive at the last possible moment.
The Emperor of the North had found no promise among the two hundred candidates presented before him.
Their pedigrees were adequate, their manners trained, and their appearances carefully arranged, yet none stood out as a choice worthy of binding the future of the North Palace.
With visible restraint, he signaled for the ceremony to conclude, and the assembled nobles were dismissed shortly after, their disappointment concealed behind polite expressions as they began to leave the hall.
As attendants began clearing the seating and restoring order, the emperor turned to one of his closest aides.
“Are we yet to expect any other candidates?” he asked, his tone neutral but edged with fatigue.
The attendant shook his head promptly. “None at all, Your Majesty—”
He was cut off as a voice rang out from the entrance, clear, controlled, and impossible to ignore.
“The Emperor of the South Palace has arrived.”
The massive doors of the hall opened slowly, their movement deliberate, and the noise within the chamber died at once.
Conversations ceased, footsteps halted, and every gaze turned toward the entrance.
Sheng Shaoyou stepped inside, dressed in black hanfu that marked both mourning and authority.
His presence was composed, his expression revealed nothing, neither hesitation nor arrogance, as he advanced into the hall.
Behind him followed several attendants carrying lacquered chests, each one handled with careful precision, their weight evident in the way the bearers moved in unison.
Servants and soldiers stationed throughout the hall stiffened in surprise.
None had anticipated the Emperor of the South to appear in the North Palace without prior notice.
His arrival alone disrupted the careful order of the court, and the sudden shift in atmosphere was unmistakable.
The North Emperor rose slowly from his throne, his expression controlled but unmistakably startled.
“Emperor Sheng,” he said, his voice measured as he descended a single step from the dais. “Your arrival was not expected.”
Shaoyou stopped several paces from the throne and bowed with proper courtesy, neither too deeply nor too briefly.
“I apologize for the suddenness of my visit,” he replied evenly. “This matter required my personal presence.”
Around them, murmurs rose despite attempts to contain them.
The Widower Emperor of the South had arrived at a matrimonial selection that was not his own.
The meaning of such an appearance was immediate and deeply unsettling.
Whispers spread rapidly through the hall, speculation sharpening with every exchanged glance.
Shaoyou straightened and lifted his gaze to meet the North Emperor’s directly. His voice remained calm, carrying clearly through the hall without effort.
“I have come to make a proposal,” he said. “I seek the hand of General Hua Yong.”
The reaction was immediate. Gasps followed, followed by a surge of voices rising in disbelief.
Ministers turned toward one another, some visibly alarmed, others stunned into silence.
The attendants froze where they stood, unsure whether to continue their tasks or await further instruction.
“Silence,” the North Emperor commanded sharply.
The hall obeyed at once. Servants lowered their heads and resumed their duties with careful restraint, while the nobles fell quiet, though the tension remained thick and unmistakable.
The North Emperor studied Shaoyou closely, his expression darkening with concern.
“You are aware of what you ask,” he said slowly. “General Hua Yong is the sole heir of the North Palace. Your reputation precedes you, Emperor Sheng, and I will not pretend ignorance of it.”
Shaoyou inclined his head slightly.
“I am fully aware,” he replied. “It is precisely because of his position that I have come in person.”
The emperor’s eyes flicked briefly toward the lacquered chests behind Shaoyou before returning to his face.
“And what assurance do you offer,” he asked, “that this proposal will not end as your previous ones have?”
Shaoyou did not flinch.
“I offer what is within my power to give,” he said evenly. “Wealth, territory, and alliance. More importantly, I offer transparency. General Hua Yong will not be bound by ignorance or deception.”
A ripple of unease passed through the ministers at those words.
The North Emperor exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening.
“This is not a decision I can make alone,” he said. “I will speak with my son. Until then, no answer will be given.”
Shaoyou bowed once more, accepting the condition without resistance.
“That is acceptable. I will await his response.”
As Shaoyou turned to leave the hall, his steps unhurried, a figure stood partially concealed near one of the pillars by the entrance.
Hua Yong had arrived moments earlier, intending only to observe the conclusion of the ceremony from a distance.
He had not expected to witness this.
His eyes followed the black-clad emperor in silence, his expression unreadable. He did not speak, nor did he move to announce his presence.
Yet something in Shaoyou’s posture, in the certainty with which he had spoken, lingered with him.
Before Hua Yong could step forward, the emperor called after Shaoyou.
“Emperor Sheng,” the North Emperor said, his voice measured.
“You will remain in the palace until I have spoken with my son.”
Shaoyou paused and turned back, meeting his gaze calmly. “Of course,” he replied.
“I will not leave until an answer is given.”
As Shaoyou exited under escort, Hua Yong remained where he stood, his thoughts unsettled for the first time in months.
Hua Yong remained standing near the entrance of the palace hall, his posture rigid as the echoes of the earlier announcement still lingered in his mind.
Bao Ming approached him shortly after, bowing with practiced precision.
“Your Highness,” he said, lowering his voice out of respect for their surroundings, “His Majesty requests your presence in the audience hall.”
Hua Yong nodded without hesitation, his expression composed.
He turned away from the entrance and followed Bao Ming through the corridor, his steps steady against the polished stone floor.
As they walked, Hua Yong found that the sounds of the palace seemed distant, as though muted by his thoughts.
He had not fully registered the murmurs of the court, nor the reactions of the ministers.
The only words that remained clear in his mind were the ones spoken moments earlier.
The implications of those statements settled heavily in his thoughts.
Sheng Shaoyou’s presence was no longer a passing disruption.
Hua Yong’s jaw tightened slightly as he continued forward.
He had heard enough about the Widower Emperor to know that nothing about this situation was accidental.
The timing, the setting, and the certainty with which the proposal had been delivered suggested careful planning rather than impulse.
They reached the audience hall in silence. Guards stepped aside immediately, opening the doors without question.
Bao Ming halted at the threshold and bowed, allowing Hua Yong to enter alone.
Inside, the hall was quieter than before, stripped of ceremony and spectators.
Only his father remained, standing near the throne with his hands clasped behind his back.
Hua Yong approached and bowed, placing a hand over his chest.
“You wished to speak with me, Your Majesty,” he said evenly.
The emperor turned to face him, his expression unreadable.
He studied Hua Yong for a long moment before speaking, as though weighing not only his words, but the consequences of what had already been set into motion.
“You saw him,” the emperor said finally. It was not a question.
“Yes,” Hua Yong replied. “I did.”
The emperor exhaled slowly.
“Then you understand why this matter cannot be dismissed lightly. Sheng Shaoyou did not come to negotiate through ministers. He came himself, and he came prepared.”
Hua Yong’s gaze remained steady, though his thoughts were far from settled.
He had not spoken to Shaoyou directly, yet the man’s presence had already disrupted the careful distance Hua Yong maintained from court affairs.
“You will speak with him,” the emperor continued.
“I will not refuse him outright, nor will I accept his proposal without your consent. This decision concerns you as much as it concerns the North.”
Hua Yong inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the weight of his father’s words.
He understood what was being asked of him, and more importantly, what was being placed in his hands.
“Until then,” the emperor added, his tone firm, “Emperor Sheng will remain within the palace. You will meet him privately and decide for yourself whether this proposal has merit.”
Hua Yong said nothing for a moment.
The situation was already unfolding beyond his control, yet the final choice had been placed squarely before him.
“I understand,” he said at last.
As he straightened, one thought remained clear in his mind.
Whatever decision he made would not be simple, and it would not be without consequence.
The Emperor of the South had crossed a boundary by coming here himself, and Hua Yong would not ignore that fact.
Hua Yong, accompanied by his attendant Bao Ming, approached the west garden in silence.
The path was lined with carefully tended trees, their branches trimmed to cast orderly shade over the stone walkway.
The setting was calm, and far removed from the tension of the audience hall.
At the center of the garden, Emperor Sheng Shaoyou sat at a small table, a porcelain cup held loosely in one hand.
Steam rose faintly from the tea, though his posture suggested he had been seated there for some time.
His attention appeared focused on the cup before him rather than his surroundings, as though he had already settled into the space.
As Hua Yong and Bao Ming drew closer, both men stopped and bowed in unison. “Your Majesty,” Hua Yong said, his voice steady and respectful.
Shaoyou did not look at him immediately. He took another measured sip of his tea before responding.
“At ease, General,” he said calmly. His tone carried neither warmth nor dismissal, only quiet authority.
He finally lifted his gaze, gesturing toward the empty chair across from him.
“Have a seat,” he added. “I do not like speaking to someone while looking up.”
Hua Yong straightened and moved forward without hesitation, taking the offered seat.
Bao Ming remained standing a short distance behind him, his posture attentive but unobtrusive.
The distance between the two men was deliberate, close enough for conversation yet restrained enough to maintain formality.
Shaoyou set his cup down carefully, folding his hands on the table.
He studied Hua Yong openly now, his expression composed, his gaze direct but not intrusive.
There was no immediate judgment in his eyes, only assessment.
“You arrived sooner than I expected,” Shaoyou said after a moment, his voice even.
“I was informed that you do not favor ceremonies or prolonged audiences.”
Hua Yong met his gaze without hesitation. “I do not,” he replied.
“But my father requested that I speak with you directly.”
Shaoyou nodded slightly, as though this confirmed something he already knew.
“Then let us speak plainly,” he said. “There is no need for formalities beyond this point.”
The garden remained quiet around them, the faint sound of water flowing from a nearby fountain filling the pauses between their words.
Shaoyou leaned back slightly in his chair. “You know why I am here,” he continued.
“And you know what I have asked of your father.”
“Yes,” Hua Yong said. “I am aware of the proposal.”
“And you are also aware of my reputation,” Shaoyou added, his tone unchanged.
“The stories attached to my name are not secrets, even beyond my borders.”
Hua Yong did not look away. “I am aware,” he replied.
“Which is why I find your approach unusual.”
Shaoyou regarded him for a moment longer before responding.
“Unusual does not mean without purpose,” he said. “I did not come to the North Palace without certainty.”
Hua Yong’s posture remained straight, his expression controlled, but the tension between them was undeniable.
“I will be direct,” Shaoyou continued.
“I am not here to persuade you with flattery or threats. You will not be forced into anything, and I will not accept an answer given out of obligation.”
He paused briefly, allowing the weight of his words to settle.
“If you refuse me, I will withdraw peacefully. If you accept, I will give you everything I am allowed to give.”
The statement was delivered without emphasis, yet it carried a gravity that Hua Yong could not dismiss.
He studied Shaoyou carefully, searching for signs of manipulation or arrogance, but found neither.
For the first time since entering the garden, Hua Yong felt the conversation shift.
This was not a negotiation shaped by the court. It was an offer made directly, one that placed the choice entirely in his hands.
“Why me?” Hua Yong asked, his voice calm but firm.
“The South has its own generals. You could have chosen from among them.”
Shaoyou did not answer immediately.
He regarded Hua Yong in silence, as though considering not the question itself, but the intent behind it.
After a brief pause, he reached for his teacup and set it aside, giving the conversation his full attention.
“This has nothing to do with military strength,” Shaoyou said evenly.
“If it did, I would not have crossed borders to make this proposal. The South does not lack capable commanders, nor do I lack allies who would accept a marriage for power alone.”
Hua Yong’s brow tightened slightly, though his posture remained composed.
“Then you should understand why this raises questions,” he replied.
“Your request places me at risk, politically and personally.”
“I understand that,” Shaoyou said without hesitation.
“Which is why I came myself. This is not a decision I would leave to ministers or intermediaries.”
Hua Yong studied him closely, weighing the measured certainty in his tone.
“You are asking for more than a union,” he said.
“You are asking me to step into your reputation, into the consequences attached to it.”
“Yes,” Shaoyou replied. “I am.”
The admission was delivered without defensiveness.
He did not attempt to soften the reality of what he carried, nor did he deny the weight of it.
“You are known for refusing to act under pressure,” Shaoyou continued.
“You choose your battles, and you accept responsibility for the outcomes. That is precisely why you were not summoned through court channels, and why I did not disguise my intent.”
Hua Yong remained silent, allowing Shaoyou to continue.
“I do not need someone who desires my throne, my wealth, or my appearance,” Shaoyou said.
“I need someone who will decide with clarity, knowing exactly what is being asked.”
The garden remained still around them.
Bao Ming stood quietly behind Hua Yong, his expression carefully neutral, though he listened closely.
“You could have refused to speak with me,” Shaoyou added.
“You could have allowed your father to decide for you. Yet you are here. That alone tells me you are not indifferent.”
Hua Yong exhaled slowly, his gaze steady. “Curiosity is not agreement,” he said.
“I am not asking for agreement today,” Shaoyou replied.
“I am asking for consideration.”
The words were simple, but they carried intent.
This was not a demand framed as generosity, nor a plea disguised as humility.
Hua Yong leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable.
“Then answer me clearly,” he said. “Why me, and not another man who would accept without hesitation?”
Shaoyou met his gaze directly. “Because hesitation matters to me,” he said.
“And because you will not accept unless you understand everything first.”
The Emperor of the South was not seeking advantage. He was seeking consent.
“Do you think I killed them with my own hands?” Shaoyou asked.
His voice remained even, neither defensive nor confrontational, as though he were asking about a matter already discussed many times before.
He did not look away from Hua Yong, waiting without urgency for a reaction.
Hua Yong did not answer at once.
He had heard the rumors, all of them, repeated in different forms across the courts.
Some spoke of poison, others of hired hands or secret rituals, and a few insisted the deaths were nothing more than coincidence dressed up as fear.
None of those explanations had ever been proven.
“I think the timing is difficult to ignore,” Hua Yong said carefully.
“Five deaths, all before the wedding, all at the same hour. That alone invites suspicion.”
Shaoyou inclined his head slightly, accepting the response without offense.
“Suspicion is reasonable,” he said.
He folded his hands together, resting them on the table between them.
“Every investigation conducted by the South found nothing. No poison, no signs of force, no witnesses. Their physicians recorded natural causes, though none could explain the pattern.”
Hua Yong’s gaze remained fixed on him. “Patterns have meaning,” he replied. “Especially in politics.”
“They do,” Shaoyou agreed. “And they are often used when truth is inconvenient.”
There was no bitterness in his tone, only a quiet acknowledgment of reality.
“If I had wanted them dead, there would have been no need for repetition. One death would have been enough to secure my reputation.”
Hua Yong’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
The logic was difficult to dismiss.
“You are asking me to place my life in proximity to that pattern,” Hua Yong said.
“Whether it is rumor or coincidence, it does not stop being dangerous.”
Shaoyou met his gaze without flinching.
“That is why I am asking you directly,” he said. “Not to dismiss the fear, but to confront it.”
He paused briefly before continuing.
“If you believe I am capable of killing those bound to me, then you should refuse me now. I will not argue, and I will not retaliate.”
The statement was delivered with certainty, not as a challenge, but as a boundary.
Hua Yong studied him in silence.
He saw no desperation, no attempt to persuade through emotion.
What stood before him was a ruler accustomed to judgment, prepared for refusal, and unwilling to lie for acceptance.
“And if I do not believe that?” Hua Yong asked quietly.
“Then you will still need to decide whether the risk is acceptable,” Shaoyou replied. “Belief does not remove consequence, General.”
Shaoyou rose from his seat, smoothing the folds of his hanfu with practiced composure.
His expression remained calm, as though the conversation had ended exactly as he expected.
“Thank you for your time, General,” he said evenly. “I will take my leave.”
He turned slightly, and Bo Chen stepped forward at once, ready to escort him from the garden.
The matter appeared settled, the silence between them closing with quiet finality.
“I will accept it.” Hua Yong’s voice cut through the space before Shaoyou could take another step.
Shaoyou paused. The movement was subtle, but deliberate.
He turned back, one brow lifting as his gaze settled on Hua Yong again, searching his expression for certainty rather than surprise.
He did not speak, waiting.
“But on one condition,” Hua Yong continued. The words landed with control, not hesitation.
His posture remained firm, his eyes steady as he met Shaoyou’s gaze, making it clear that this was not a concession made lightly.
Bo Chen halted beside Shaoyou, his attention sharpening at once, though he said nothing.
Shaoyou folded his hands behind his back, his tone calm when he finally spoke.
“State it.”
Hua Yong drew a slow breath, fully aware that whatever he said next would define not only the terms of their union, but the balance of power between them.
“I will still continue my duty as the War General of the North,” Hua Yong said, his voice steady and firm.
“My responsibilities to my troops and to my father do not end because of a marriage. Nothing about this changes my position or my obligations.”
Shaoyou listened carefully, his expression calm but his eyes sharp.
He understood the weight behind the words.
Hua Yong was not simply making a statement; he was setting boundaries, establishing that his acceptance would not come at the cost of his autonomy or his duties.
“That is acceptable,” Shaoyou replied after a measured pause.
“Your role will remain intact. I do not intend to interfere with what you have built or the authority you hold. The South and the North are different realms, and neither should compromise the other unnecessarily.”
Hua Yong’s gaze did not waver. “Then understand this as well,” he continued.
“While I may consent to the union, it is conditional. I will not allow my position or my men to be used as leverage. I will not be compelled to act against my judgment or my loyalty to my father.”
Shaoyou inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the terms without question.
“I expect nothing less,” he said.
“My proposal is not meant to bind you in chains. It is meant to ensure choice, freedom, and the willingness required to make the union meaningful. Nothing beyond that is demanded.”
The garden fell silent for a moment, the only sound the soft rustle of leaves in the afternoon breeze.
Both men studied one another carefully, measuring intent and resolve.
Neither sought to dominate the conversation; instead, they acknowledged the unspoken understanding forming between them.
Hua Yong shifted slightly in his seat, his tone deliberate.
“If your intentions are true, they must convince me, not persuade me through ceremony.”
Shaoyou allowed a faint nod, the gesture precise but restrained.
“Then you understand exactly why I came myself. This is not a matter for ministers, not a performance for the court, and not an obligation imposed by protocol. You will choose freely, and that freedom is absolute.”
A subtle tension lingered in the air, not of hostility, but of gravity.
Each man recognized the stakes: for Shaoyou, the curse hung over him like a shadow; for Hua Yong, the expectations of his father and the court weighed heavily on his decisions.
Yet, in that moment, they shared one certainty: the choice, and the responsibility, rested entirely in their own hands.
Hua Yong’s expression softened imperceptibly, the faintest trace of acknowledgment passing through his eyes.
“Then we proceed,” he said finally, his tone controlled but resolute.
“I accept your proposal, with the understanding that my life and my duties remain mine to govern.”
Shaoyou’s posture remained calm, his hands folded neatly behind his back.
“Then it is settled,” he said evenly. “We will inform the North Emperor, and preparations will follow. Your terms are noted and respected. Nothing further will compromise your autonomy.”
Bo Chen, standing a step behind, bowed slightly, signaling that the immediate exchange had concluded.
The tension that had been held in careful balance between the two men relaxed just enough for the formalities of their agreement to solidify.
Shaoyou exited the garden and moved through the palace corridors, his presence commanding yet unobtrusive.
Servants and attendants paused respectfully as he passed, bowing low in acknowledgment.
Shaoyou’s expression remained unreadable, the calm authority of an emperor settling naturally into his posture.
When he reached the audience hall, the doors were opened swiftly by attendants, and the North Emperor looked up from his seat on the throne, his composure poised but alert.
Shaoyou stopped several steps from the throne, bowing deeply as he had been taught, though his movement carried the certainty of someone delivering news of consequence.
“Your Majesty,” Shaoyou began, his voice even and steady, carrying the weight of his presence without a trace of hesitation.
“I have spoken with General Hua Yong.”
The North Emperor’s brow lifted slightly, his expression cautious but expectant.
“And?” he prompted, his voice measured, betraying a hint of curiosity beneath the veneer of authority.
Shaoyou straightened, his hands folding neatly behind his back.
“He has accepted my proposal,” he said clearly, without embellishment or apology.
“The terms he has set were acknowledged, and I have agreed to respect them fully.”
A subtle shift passed across the North Emperor’s face, a mixture of surprise and contemplation.
He leaned back slightly, fingers steepled together, taking in the gravity of the news.
“He accepted? On his own terms?” he asked, his voice calm but carrying a note of incredulity.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Shaoyou replied without hesitation.
“The decision was his, freely made. He acknowledged his responsibilities as War General of the North and has agreed that they will remain intact. Nothing in this union will compromise his duties or autonomy.”
The North Emperor’s gaze lingered on Shaoyou, searching for any sign of coercion or manipulation, but found none.
Shaoyou’s demeanor, calm and deliberate, left no room for doubt.
This was a proposal accepted freely, with clarity, and without pressure.
“You came yourself to ensure this,” the North Emperor said, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative.
“You did not send emissaries, you did not leave the matter to ministers. You chose to speak with him directly.”
Shaoyou inclined his head slightly.
“Yes, Your Majesty. The matter required personal presence. The choice must be his alone. Nothing will be accepted on behalf of another, and no influence will override his decision.”
The North Emperor exhaled slowly, the weight of authority momentarily easing as he considered the implications.
The hall, usually tense with formality, held a quiet stillness.
Courtiers and ministers who had gathered earlier looked on with restrained attention, aware that something extraordinary had occurred beyond their calculations.
Shaoyou’s expression remained composed, unreadable as ever.
“The union will proceed according to the agreed terms,” he continued.
“Preparations will follow, and I will be back in three days to oversee the process, to make sure everything proceeds as agreed,” Shaoyou said, his voice calm but carrying the certainty of command.
“Nothing will be left to chance, and all arrangements will respect the terms set by General Hua Yong.”
The North Emperor leaned back in his throne, his fingers tapping lightly against the armrest as he considered the words.
The unprecedented nature of the situation weighed on him.
Not only had an external emperor come unannounced, but the general had consented on his own terms, asserting autonomy in a way that was rarely seen within the court.
A brief silence filled the hall as the North Emperor processed the implications.
Courtiers and ministers shifted slightly, some whispering quietly among themselves.
The audacity and precision of Shaoyou’s actions were not lost on them, and the weight of the agreement between the two men settled heavily over the room.
“Three days,” the North Emperor repeated, as if tasting the words.
“You will return in three days to oversee the preparations?”
“Correct,” Shaoyou confirmed, his gaze unwavering.
“By then, all arrangements must be ready, and nothing will be done without my review.”
He paused, allowing the significance of his statement to resonate.
“I will not allow uncertainty, negligence, or hesitation to interfere with what has been agreed.”
The North Emperor’s eyes narrowed slightly, observing the composure and discipline of the South Emperor.
He understood that Shaoyou’s words were not mere formalities.
The authority and decisiveness in his tone made it clear that this was a calculated action, and one that would not be compromised.
“Very well,” the North Emperor said finally, his voice controlled but carrying a hint of concession.
“If this is the arrangement, I will allow it. Ensure that nothing about this union disrupts the court or the stability of the North.”
“It will not, Your Majesty,” Shaoyou replied, bowing slightly.
“All preparations will be discreet, orderly, and in accordance with both courts’ expectations. I will take full responsibility for any disturbances that might arise from my personal involvement.”
The North Emperor exhaled slowly, leaning back into his throne.
“Then it seems the matter is settled. Return when necessary, and ensure that everything remains as you have promised.”
Shaoyou inclined his head once more, acknowledging the emperor’s words with quiet assurance.
“It will be as I have stated. Everything will proceed according to plan, and the choice of General Hua Yong will be respected at every step.”
With that, he turned smoothly, his robes flowing with the motion, and exited the audience hall.
Back in the garden, Bao Ming cleared his throat softly, drawing Hua Yong’s attention.
“Your Highness, are you truly certain about accepting the proposal?” he asked cautiously.
His voice was measured, but the concern underlying it was clear.
“Emperor Sheng is not merely the ruler of the South Palace,” Bao Ming continued, lowering his voice as he glanced around the garden.
“He carries the reputation of the Widower Emperor.”
“I am aware, Bao Ming,” Hua Yong said, rising from the chair with deliberate composure.
His movements were precise, each step measured, his posture straight and commanding despite the quiet of the garden.
“Prepare my carriage. We will be visiting the Emperor of the South tomorrow.”
Bao Ming’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, caught off guard by the immediacy of the decision.
“Tomorrow, Your Highness?” he asked, his voice laced with disbelief. “Is that—”
“Yes, tomorrow,” Hua Yong interrupted, his tone firm and unwavering.
“I do not see reason to delay. Make sure that everything we present is aligned with his preferences.”
Bao Ming nodded quickly, regaining his composure.
“Of course, Your Highness. I will ensure that all preparations are exact. It will be checked and approved before we depart.”
Hua Yong’s gaze shifted briefly toward the flowers that lined the garden paths, taking in the calm of the surroundings.
“Inform the palace staff and attendants immediately,” he continued, his voice steady.
“We leave at first light.”
Bao Ming inclined his head respectfully, absorbing the gravity in his master’s tone. “Understood, Your Highness.”
Hua Yong allowed himself a moment to straighten his robes and adjust the folds of his armor beneath the ceremonial garments.
Finally, he spoke again, his voice calm but carrying undeniable authority.
“Ensure that those accompanying us understand the purpose of tomorrow. The South Emperor is not to be underestimated.”
Bao Ming bowed deeply, a mix of respect and apprehension in his expression.
“It will be as you command, Your Highness. Everyone will be briefed and prepared.”
Hua Yong nodded, his eyes briefly meeting Bao Ming’s.