Seven years ago, in her second life—
Yu Meishan was ten again.
Her limbs were small, her voice still soft and high-pitched, and her sleeves far too long. But her heart — her heart was full of grief, rage, and a terrifying clarity that no child should possess.
She had died. She remembered it all — the tower, the blood in her throat, Luo Zhenyu's hollow eyes. And when she opened her eyes again, she was back in the inner courtyard of the Yu family, sitting on a bamboo mat while her maid combed her long hair.
Her engagement to Luo Zhenyu had just been announced.
Just like last time.
But this time — this time she would not marry him.
That day, she had seen the three of them playing in the plum garden — Luo Zhenyu, with his smug grin and loud voice, chasing pigeons with a wooden sword; Wen Renshu, quiet and awkward, building a trap out of sticks and string nearby.
They had always played together. But she had only ever paid attention to Luo Zhenyu in her first life.
Now, she saw it differently.
She had stared openly at Wen Renshu from across the garden path. How come I never noticed him before?
He had been handsome even then — black hair, tanned skin from sword practice, a serene gaze that didn't suit a boy of twelve.
He will be easy to shake off later, she thought, watching him poke at ants. Quiet boys don't cling. If I must marry someone, it shall be him. Anyone but Luo Zhenyu.
And so—
---
That night, in the Yu ancestral hall, where red candles flickered and elders sat in long rows sipping bitter tea—
Yu Meishan barged in.
She fell to her knees before her parents, her crimson dress sleeves trailing across the jade tiles.
Her mother gasped, "Meimei—!"
"Father. Mother." Her voice trembled, but her eyes burned like twin stars. "I want to marry Renshu."
The room fell silent.
Her father, General Yu Zhongxian, narrowed his eyes. "Do you know what you are saying, child?"
Yu Meishan bowed deeply, her forehead touching the floor. "Yes, Father. I wish to be engaged to Wen Renshu. Please bestow this marriage."
There was a sharp sound — porcelain cracking.
Across the room, Luo Zhenyu stood with fists clenched and face twisted in disbelief. His lip curled. "What nonsense is this, Meimei?"
Wen Renshu, who had only just stepped into the room with his father, blinked.
"Eh?" he said quietly.
Yu Meishan did not lift her head. 'He's clueless. That's perfect.'
Luo Zhenyu took a furious step forward. "You said you liked me. You gave me that inkstone last spring!"
"That was in the past," Meishan replied coldly, rising to her feet with a grace far beyond her years. "I've changed my mind."
Her mother began to protest, "But—"
"—It is done," General Yu said, stroking his beard. "A woman who knows her own heart is rare. So be it. Wen Renshu, do you accept?"
Wen Renshu, who had been frozen like a startled deer, suddenly straightened. He glanced at Meishan, then gave a respectful bow.
"I... accept, if Lady Meishan so wishes."
Meishan nodded once, hiding her victorious smile. 'I just need to hold this engagement for a few years. Once I grow up, I'll end it. It's not like he has feelings for me or anything.'
---
But fate is a wretched thing.
Because as the years passed, Wen Renshu changed.
He grew sharper. Taller. A little more dangerous. A little less clueless.
And when he looked at her — truly looked — there was a storm behind his dark eyes.
The kind of storm that did not ask permission to fall in love.
He had fallen. Quietly. Hopelessly.
And Yu Meishan had no idea how to make him stop.
---
Yu Meishan watched Wen Renshu with a measured gaze, the candlelight dancing in her sky-blue eyes.
"I said I would shake him off…" Her fingers brushed against the edge of her sleeve, where the golden plum blossoms shimmered faintly.
"…but I suppose it won't be that simple."
Wen Renshu leaned in suddenly, his breath warm against her ear — a proximity that startled her far more than she let show.
"Did you purposely make me stay at a brothel," he murmured, "and pay a courtesan to try and seduce me?"
Yu Meishan stiffened, her eyes widening ever so slightly before she could suppress the reaction. She turned her face just enough to meet his gaze from the corner of her eye.
"That… I…" she faltered, the cool mask slipping for the briefest second.
He smiled — not mocking, not cruel, but with a knowing gentleness that sent a strange warmth down her spine.
"Meishan," he said quietly, his voice like a solemn vow, "I will never leave your side."
Before she could respond — or deny that her heart had stumbled at those words — the hall doors opened again.
Another figure entered.
Tall, poised, robed in navy silk and bronze thread — the son of General Luo Yuanhai: Luo Zhenyu.
The murmurs returned like ripples across a still lake.
Yu Meishan's hand returned to her cup, this time careful not to grip it too tightly.
"Greetings to all the esteemed elders," Luo Zhenyu said smoothly, offering a respectful bow. "I apologize for the delay. My father… is unwell and sends his regrets."
General Yu, seated at the head of the table, nodded gravely. "General Luo is a man of iron spirit. May he recover swiftly."
Luo Zhenyu bowed once more. "I thank the General for his kind words."
Then, his gaze shifted — from the honored guests, to the arrangement of dishes, to the one table he clearly cared about most.
His eyes landed on Wen Renshu, then slid to Yu Meishan.
For a moment, something sharp flickered in his gaze — a shadow of something too well hidden for the others to name.
He offered a slight smile.
"General Wen. Lady Meishan." A pause, just long enough to be deliberate. "Congratulations."
The air turned colder.
Yu Meishan inclined her head with perfect grace. "Thank you, Young Master Luo."
Wen Renshu, standing beside her, did not smile. "You're very gracious."
The tension was subtle, but undeniable — like the tautness of a bowstring drawn just short of breaking.
Yu Meishan exhaled silently and lifted her teacup once more, her lips barely touching the rim.
She wasn't surprised Luo Zhenyu had come.
But even with all her plans — her schemes to avoid one man and mislead another — she hadn't accounted for this: Wen Renshu returning, saying the things she never thought anyone would say to her, looking at her like she mattered.
Luo Zhenyu's gaze lingered on her, heavy with an emotion that might have once been love — warped now into something darker
"I don't trust either of you," she thought coolly, "but I've already died once. This time, I choose my battlefield."
---
General Yu raised his cup, the flickering candlelight casting deep shadows across his weathered face.
"Tonight," he said, voice firm and resonant, "we celebrate a union not only between two young hearts, but between two honorable families who have stood together in war and peace."
All heads turned toward the head table, where Yu Meishan and Wen Renshu sat side by side — a pair both unlikely and strangely harmonious. One all poise and quiet fire, the other steady as a mountain yet unreadable behind his calm expression.
The General's gaze softened as it fell on his daughter. "Meishan has always been headstrong," he said, eliciting a ripple of fond chuckles, "but she has never spoken without reason. Tonight, we recognize her choice. And we honor it."
He turned slightly. "Wen Renshu. As her father, I place my trust in your hands. See that you do not break it."
Wen Renshu rose to his feet and bowed deeply, his voice clear and solemn. "I give you my word, General."
"Good." General Yu lifted his cup high. "To the engagement of Lady Yu Meishan and Young Master Wen Renshu — may it be steadfast, wise, and worthy."
"To the engagement!" the elders echoed, raising their cups.
The banquet began in full — music rising from the corner where musicians plucked the pipa and tapped wooden clappers in rhythm, while maids streamed in with lacquered trays bearing plum wine and fragrant dishes.
But even as laughter and toasts filled the hall, Yu Meishan remained still, her fingers poised over the rim of her cup.
She could feel both gazes on her — one like moonlight filtered through clouds, the other like flint struck too close to kindling.
Wen Renshu leaned just slightly closer, his voice low enough to hide in the sound of the guzheng strings. "You didn't answer my question."
She turned her head fractionally. "Which one?"
He looked at her — that quiet, piercing look that always felt like it could undo her composure stitch by stitch. "Did you send the courtesan?"
Yu Meishan said nothing for a moment. Then, lifting her wine to her lips, she murmured just loud enough for him to hear:
"She wasn't your type."
Wen Renshu blinked. Then, very softly — he laughed.
It was the smallest sound, but it reached her ears like a drop of warm rain on cold stone.
Across the hall, Luo Zhenyu's knuckles whitened around his wine cup.
He had never seen Meishan laugh like that before — not even a shadow of it. Not for him. Never for him.
His jaw tightened, and a smile slid across his face like a blade sheathed in velvet.
Let her think she'd escaped. Let her think the game was over.
Because Luo Zhenyu hadn't come to toast their happiness.
He had come to watch it crack.
---