From Bai Xuan Hua's Perspective Hua had promised herself that no matter what happened, she would act properly.
Since childhood, she had learned that a true lady of the Bai Clan must know when to speak — and, above all, when to stay silent.
The duty of an imperial fiancée was not to question the emperor, but to stand beside him — whether that path led to the throne or the battlefield.
She had decided this with absolute conviction.
If his decision was to face the Shu Clan head-on, she would follow him.
Even if fear tightened her chest — even if the thought of his death seeped through her mind like ice in her veins — she would stay by his side.
She would not try to convince him to flee.
She would not try to persuade him to send others in his place.
And if, in the end, he were to fall…
then she would fall with him.
Simple.
That was how she had prepared for this day.
But when the time came — when the moment to prove her own courage finally arrived — Hua realized her resolve was not as unshakable as she had imagined.
Because the instant she saw him rise from the table — calm, composed, and walking toward the palace doors — something inside her broke.
The fear she had sworn to suppress flared to life like fire in her chest.
The thought of watching him leave… and perhaps never return… was unbearable.
Zhuge Su Yeon might be many things — cold, calculating, distant, unyielding — but to her, he was the man she had learned to admire, and against all logic, to love.
And she didn't want to see him die.
It didn't matter if he lost the throne.
It didn't matter if they called him a coward.
It didn't matter what the world would say.
She just wanted him to live.
And in that moment, driven by a desperation as silent as it was profound, she made her choice.
Hua would use the only weapon she had —
the only thing she knew he could never refuse: herself.
His mother had insisted that he change clothes before meeting the Shu Clan.
She turned that small formality into her temporary salvation.
She took his arm gently, hiding her intention behind a mask of duty and courtesy, and said calmly:
"Come. I'll help you change."
Before he could respond, Hua was already pulling him out of the room.
Her hands trembled slightly, but she forced her face to remain composed.
She walked quickly, almost dragging the man who, if he wished, could have easily stopped her — yet, for some reason, didn't.
The palace corridors were silent.
Only the sound of their footsteps echoed across the polished jade floor, mingled with the soft rustle of their garments.
Spiritual lights glowed along the walls, casting golden reflections over his dark hair and her blue dress.
Each step she took felt like a small victory against time.
One more second.
One more minute.
Hua didn't know what she would do next — there was no plan, no miracle hidden in her mind.
She only wanted to delay.
Delay as much as possible.
Until a brilliant idea appeared.
Until some hope revealed itself.
Until fate, by some mercy of the heavens, showed her a path that didn't end with his death.
And as she led him through the corridors, gripping his hand a little tighter, she repeated to herself like a prayer:
Just a little longer…
Just a little more time.
But in the end, it felt as though even fate itself was against me.
Nothing — absolutely nothing — helped in my attempt to stall him.
Not even the imperial garments, which I had always imagined to be impossibly complex — layers of fabric, symbols, details that surely demanded half an hour of careful dressing and a team of attendants — posed any resistance.
Zhuge Su Yeon entered his chambers with the same calm expression as always — that infuriating serenity that made it seem nothing in the world could shake him.
The soft spiritual light filtering through the curtains surrounded him in silver hues, highlighting the sharpness of his features, the precision in every movement.
Without a word, he walked to the dark jade wardrobe, opened its doors, retrieved the ceremonial robes, and began dressing himself as if it were no more than a routine change for a meeting.
No ceremony.
No hesitation.
No delay.
With the ease of breathing, he slipped on the outer layers of his imperial uniform — the white and gray robe trimmed in gold, the dark sash embroidered with subtle protective runes, and the high collar bearing the Zhuge Clan's crest: a white swan in flight, stitched in jade thread.
For any other man, such attire would have demanded patience and discipline.
For him, it molded itself effortlessly — almost insultingly so.
Before I realized it, he was ready.
Then he turned toward me, holding the two golden ribbons of his ceremonial belt.
His eyes lifted to meet mine, and without a word, I understood.
He wanted me to tie it.
I couldn't blame him.
After all, I had offered to help.
I stepped forward and took the ribbons between my fingers. The fabric was firm and cool to the touch — like spiritual silk dyed in gold.
I began weaving them together slowly, making the most intricate, time-consuming, and deliberately perfect knot I had ever tied.
Every movement was calculated to steal a few more seconds.
Every adjustment, every tug, every subtle breath disguised as focus.
As I worked, I felt his gaze on me.
Calm.
Steady.
And then, inevitably, his voice broke the silence.
"You're worried."
The words struck softly, but with precision.
It wasn't a question — it was a statement.
I wanted to say yes — that I was worried, that fear was eating me alive, that all I wanted was to beg him to send someone else, to let the empire handle the Shu Clan without him.
But the words that came out were different.
"I don't understand why you have to do this personally."
He didn't answer immediately.
He simply watched me.
The silence stretched long enough for me to pause my hands.
Then he spoke, in that low, steady voice that never sounded like it belonged to a man, but to something far greater — a voice that carried the weight of time itself.
"Some burdens… only I can bear."
The calm in his tone was almost cosmic.
There was no pride in it, no arrogance — only a quiet, absolute acceptance.
I turned slowly to face him.
His face was close, his dark eyes reflecting the soft morning light.
And he smiled — faintly, almost teasingly — as if he weren't about to face life and death within minutes.
"Well, if we're done here, we should go," he said, glancing at the perfectly tied knot I had just finished.
I looked at him in silence.
I could feel the air between us vibrating — thick, heavy with all the words I couldn't say.
So I did the only thing left to me — the only thing that could give me a few more seconds by his side.
I grabbed his collar, pulled him down toward me, and before he could react, pressed my lips to his.
It was a quick, fierce, desperate kiss.
A wordless plea.
A request for time.
The taste of morning tea lingered on his lips, and the warmth that radiated from him crashed through me like a wave, shattering every ounce of composure I had fought to maintain.
If that moment was to be our last…
then at least, let it last long enough for the world to stop spinning.