I strolled through my garden, the gravel crunching beneath my steps. The pond lay ahead, glassy and still—too still to trust. Beneath its surface, a single goldfish darted between the shadows. It moved with the confidence of purpose, but there were no choices in that pond. Only boundaries. Invisible lines it would never cross.
People are not so different. They believe they move freely. But the current, the edges, the illusion of will? All of that—I design.
Yiren.
The smile came unbidden. That poor, pale creature wrapped in the skin of a prince. For all his meekness, he still asked for her—Lady Zhao. Not with guile, no. With honesty. Desire is the one language all men speak fluently.
And make no mistake—Yiren knows I'm using him. How could he not? A hostage learns early that kindness is currency. But he's not a fool. He waited. He watched. And then—he asked. Not too early, not too late. That is instinct. That is timing.
I clasped my hands behind my back and watched the goldfish flick its tail—controlled, fluid, utterly unaware of the hand that fed it.
Yiren is the same. A prince in name, a pawn in truth. But even a pawn has moves. In asking for her, he bound me to him a little tighter. Clever. Subtle.
My fingers twitched behind me, as if pulling threads only I could see. He knew I would say yes. He knew it was too perfect a move.
And he wasn't wrong.
He gets the woman. She gets a future. And I? I get them both.
Lady Zhao was always mine. Raised beneath my gaze, shaped by my hand. This union secures her. Secures him. And secures me—above them, between them, within them.
I straightened, gaze rising from the pond.
Yiren. My investment. My little resurrection project.
I took him from a dark, forgotten corner and gave him light. I funded his dignity. I gave him a house, clothes, servants—enough to make him a man worth looking at again. I smoothed out the rough bits and left just enough edge for others to believe in his strength.
And now, this final step. The knot that binds.
It's rare—so very rare—that a single move can benefit every player on the board. But this? This is one of those moments. And I, a merchant by birth, know how to spot rare things.
He was the prince no one remembered. The last card in the deck.
Until I played him.
I turned from the water, my steps unhurried, the corners of my mouth curled just slightly.
It wasn't luck. No, luck is for gamblers. This—this was skill. And skill, after all, is the truest currency of all.
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Lady Zhao entered Yiren's life as quietly as spring air slips through a half-shut door. No celebrations, no rituals, not even the feasts that peasants throw in muddy fields. And yet—Yiren was still a prince. A hostage, yes. But royal blood remains royal, even in exile.
Had he stood in his rightful place within Qin's court, the union would have been sanctioned with pomp and scrutiny. Lineage would be examined. Omens consulted. Even the wind would need to blow from the right direction.
But here, in Zhao—far from Qin's gaze—everything was ambiguous. And ambiguity, I've found, is fertile ground. It blurs lines, softens certainties. In its shadow, one can shape reality to their liking.
And so, Lady Zhao stepped over the threshold of Yiren's modest house. No parade. No drums. Just silk against stone and the faint scent of lotus trailing behind her. Her entry was quiet—but irreversible.
She was no longer the daughter of a fading house. Not merely a dancer cloaked in silk. She had become something else—bound to Yiren's life and to the future I had drafted in ink long before either of them knew it.
I watched from a distance, pleased by how naturally it all unfolded. No resistance. No noise. The silence itself was elegant. This was not a wedding. It was a maneuver.
Yiren gained what he longed for. Lady Zhao gained what she never dared name.
And I? I gained both.
A web doesn't need applause when it tightens.
A quiet victory is still a victory.
—————————
Hardly had the dust settled on Lady Zhao's quiet arrival at Yiren's house when news reached me—unexpected and impossible to ignore.
It was a quiet evening when I arrived at Yiren's humble home. Ever the eager host, he excused himself briefly to fetch us hot water. The moment the door closed behind him, I noticed Lady Zhao move—not hurriedly, not nervously, but with a deliberate grace that drew my attention. Her hand brushed my sleeve, a light touch, but enough to make me glance at her.
"Lü Buwei," she murmured, her voice low and measured, as if her words were meant for me alone. She leaned in slightly, the faintest pull of her fingers on my arm drawing me closer. There was no hesitation in her movement, only purpose.
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Yes, Lady Zhao?"
She hesitated—not out of doubt, but as if savoring the moment, ensuring her words would land precisely as intended. Then, barely above a whisper: "I am pregnant."
For a fleeting moment, the world seemed to tilt ever so slightly. I stared at her, my mind racing even as my face betrayed nothing but a faint, practiced smile.
"Pregnant?" I repeated, the word slipping from my lips as if testing its weight. My voice remained calm, but inside, a thousand thoughts collided.
Already?
Yiren—efficient, apparently. More so than I had assumed. The thought almost made me laugh, but I held it back, focusing instead on the woman before me.
Lady Zhao met my gaze, her expression faltering ever so slightly, as if unsure whether to speak. But her eyes… her eyes held a flicker of something unspoken. Fear? Hope? Or was it desperation? The ambiguity was maddening, fragile yet piercing.
"You mustn't tell him yet," she added quickly, her fingers still on my arm. Her tone softened, almost conspiratorial. "I thought you should know first."
I tilted my head slightly, watching her closely. Why me first? The question hung unspoken between us. I said nothing for a moment, allowing the silence to stretch, letting her words settle in the air like a fragile thread.
"And you intend to tell Yiren?" I asked finally, my voice smooth, probing.
She smiled faintly, but the gesture wavered, her fingers slipping from my arm as she stepped back. "Not yet," she said, her tone quiet, almost hesitant. Her gaze flickered toward me, searching. "Should I tell him?"
I studied her for a moment, the corners of my mouth curling faintly, though my gaze remained sharp. "In time," I said, my voice calm and deliberate. "When the moment is right."
As she stepped back, I chuckled softly, my gaze lingering on Lady Zhao. Her movements were light yet deliberate, as if every step carried a quiet purpose.
A sly smile crept onto my face as I turned toward the door, just as Yiren reappeared, carrying a tray with two steaming cups and an oblivious grin.
The pieces were falling into place, but this piece—this unexpected move—left me wondering. Her timing, her tone, her touch… everything about her delivery carried just enough ambiguity to set my mind spinning.
Was it Yiren's child? Or had she unknowingly sown a seed of doubt herself?
I shook my head, brushing the thought aside—though not completely. It mattered little in the grand scheme. A child, regardless of its parentage, was a blessing to the game. An heir would anchor Yiren, give him purpose, and tie Lady Zhao to him even more tightly.
As I sipped the steaming liquid Yiren poured, my mind was already working through the possibilities.
A child. Fortuitous. Timely.
And, as always, useful.