Everyone was stunned, except for Li Yuanjing, who set down his wine cup and addressed Zhao Yang at the honored seat: "Zhao Yang, what are your thoughts?"
If Zhao Yang refused, Li Yuanjing would select another noblewoman from the imperial clan to marry off in her stead.
The truce between the two nations was already set in stone.
The Yue Kingdom's emperor’s desire to wed Zhao Yang was merely an embellishment—neither essential nor binding.
Curious glances flickered between Princess Zhao Yang and Yan Yunting.
Princess Zhao Yang rose slowly, curtsying to the emperor seated high above before replying, "Imperial Brother. As a princess of Da Qing, I have enjoyed the support of the people and must bear the responsibilities befitting my station. I have heard the Yue Kingdom’s emperor is benevolent and cares deeply for his subjects—"
She paused, closing her eyes briefly before continuing in a calm voice, "I am willing to marry him."
She accepted it without hesitation.
Marrying the Yue emperor would secure decades of peace between the two nations, ensuring the people’s safety and prosperity. It was a worthy sacrifice.
The crowd gasped in surprise—no one had expected Princess Zhao Yang to agree!
Yan Yunting was dumbfounded, his mind blank.
How could this be?
How could Zhao Yang possibly consent?
A sharp pain pierced his heart, as though something that belonged to him was slipping away. He nearly lost control.
He stood, intending to petition the emperor to grant Zhao Yang’s hand to him instead. But his attendant quickly grabbed his shoulder, whispering urgently, "My lord! Do not act rashly! This is a state banquet—if you behave recklessly, His Majesty will surely be furious!"
Tonight’s banquet was of great significance, a display of Qing State’s dignity.
If Yan Yunting acted impulsively, he risked severe punishment.
The attendant added, "Princess Zhao Yang cares for you deeply—that won’t change. Perhaps she’s merely upset with you tonight. Tomorrow, visit her at the princess’s residence, apologize sincerely, and she will surely forgive you as before."
Yan Yunting forced himself to calm down.
His fingers trembled as he clutched his wine cup, downing it in one gulp. The fiery liquor burned his throat, numbing his senses. He deluded himself into thinking Zhao Yang was only acting out of spite.
Earlier that evening, Tantai Rou had brought him a cloak, and the jealous Zhao Yang had witnessed it.
Surely, she had agreed to marry the Yue emperor just to provoke him.
He resolved to visit her the next day, humble himself, and offer her favorite pastries as a peace offering. She would forgive him, just as she always had.
The night deepened, and the palace banquet drew to a close.
Li Yuanjing departed first, followed by the officials and noble guests.
The spring night was cool, the wind rustling across the vast palace square. Yan Yunting, heavily intoxicated, staggered as his attendant struggled to support him toward the Yan Family’s carriage.
"Brother Yunting!" Tantai Rou’s anxious voice rang out.
She hurried over, lifting her skirts, her face etched with worry.
The pungent scent of alcohol filled the air.
Tantai Rou tenderly wiped Yan Yunting’s face and told the attendant, "He’s had too much to drink. I’ll accompany you back to the Yan Family’s estate to care for him."
The attendant dared not refuse.
Yan Yunting’s devotion to Tantai Rou was well-known, and those around them already treated her as his unofficial concubine.
The carriage rolled slowly toward Yan Yunting’s private residence. Tantai Rou helped him to bed, fetching sobering soup and spoon-feeding him.
"My lady, Princess Zhao Yang remains in the palace—she went to the Empress Dowager’s Cining Palace," a maid whispered to Tantai Rou.
Tantai Rou: "Are the arrangements on the street ready?"
The maid: "All is prepared."
The maid slipped away silently.
Tantai Rou continued tending to Yan Yunting. Soon, groaning from the throbbing pain of intoxication, he stirred, his bleary eyes opening.
In the dim candlelight, Tantai Rou’s face blurred into that of the woman he longed for—Princess Zhao Yang.
Lovely as a peony, radiant in her nobility.
Yan Yunting’s heart melted. Unable to resist, he wrapped his arms around "Zhao Yang," murmuring tenderly, "I knew you still cared for me..."
Drunk on wine and passion,
the bed curtains swayed and fell shut.
On the peachwood table by the bed, the half-finished sobering soup grew cold.
Meanwhile, in the Cining Palace at night...
The inner hall was brightly lit as the Empress Dowager scolded Zhao Yang, "The Yue emperor’s wish to marry you is absurd! And you—how could you agree so publicly?"
Zhao Yang knelt obediently.
She saw no fault in her decision and defended herself firmly, "Mother, Yue and Qing have been at war for decades—countless people have lost their homes, children left orphaned. The new Yue emperor seeks peace, and if my marriage can secure—"
The Empress Dowager cut her off angrily, "Enough of this nonsense!"
Tears streamed down Zhao Yang’s face, but her voice remained resolute, "Mother... You and Father have protected me all these years. Now, I wish to do something for Qing State."
The Empress Dowager turned away, her eyes reddening.
Zhao Yang quickly stood, sidling up to her mother as she had always done, hugging her arm. Her voice trembled, "Don’t worry, Mother. Once I’m in Yue, I’ll write often. I’ve grown up—I can’t rely on you and Imperial Brother forever. The road ahead is mine to walk."
The Empress Dowager’s tears fell.
Heartbroken, yet powerless.
Imperial princesses had always been tools—to bind ministers or forge alliances. Such was their fate.
After comforting the Empress Dowager, Zhao Yang personally attended to her until she retired. Only late at night did Zhao Yang finally return to her residence by carriage.
The streets were quiet, the paper lanterns along the road swaying in the breeze. The wheels of the princess’s carriage rumbled over the cobblestones as her guards kept watch.
Inside the carriage, Zhao Yang clutched a worn cloth tiger, her thoughts heavy.
Though she had told everyone she was willing to marry the Yue emperor, in truth, she felt uncertain.
Even after receiving his personal letter, the future remained shrouded in doubt.
What if the Yue emperor was deceitful?
What if his harem was already filled with wives and concubines?
Men’s words were often lies and empty promises.
Suddenly, the horses reared in fright.
"What’s happening?" Zhao Yang gasped, nearly dropping the cloth tiger.
Outside, a guard answered grimly, "Assassins."
Zhao Yang was baffled, "A-Assassins?"
In the heart of the imperial city, right outside the palace gates—where security was always tight—how could assassins appear?
The guard reassured her calmly, "Do not fear, Your Highness. Stay inside the carriage. I will protect you with my life."
His voice was steady, instilling a strange sense of security.
Zhao Yang’s heart pounded as she gripped the cloth tiger tightly. She racked her brain but couldn’t fathom who would dare plot against her—risking the extermination of their entire clan.
The clash of steel erupted outside. Within moments, the thunder of hooves approached—the city patrol had arrived.
The main streets of the capital were always guarded by skilled patrols, ensuring order.
The commotion around the princess’s carriage had drawn their attention.
A moment later, the air was thick with the heavy scent of blood. Zhao Yang heard the voice of her guard outside the carriage, saying, "Your Highness, the assassins have been dealt with."
Zhao Yang cautiously lifted the carriage curtain.
The silvery moonlight spilled like water, illuminating the street. On the cold, bluestone pavement, two black-clad assassins lay sprawled, both having taken poison to end their own lives.
The city defense soldiers were carrying stretchers, lifting the bodies of the assassins to be sent to the Ministry of Justice for examination.
Holding a stuffed tiger in her arms, Zhao Yang turned to the guard who had protected her and praised, "Your skills are impressive. You shall be rewarded upon our return."
Tonight, she had only brought two guards from the princess’s residence to the palace banquet, neither of whom were particularly skilled. She hadn’t expected this guard’s martial prowess to be so remarkable—worthy of commendation.
The guard lowered his head, the moonlight stretching his shadow long across the ground. "Protecting Your Highness is my duty," he said.
A strange ripple stirred in Zhao Yang’s heart. Something about the guard’s stature struck her as odd.
He wore a black wide-brimmed hat, its shadow obscuring his face, revealing only the sharp, chiseled line of his jaw.
Her pulse quickened slightly. "Look up," she commanded.
