Two days later…
The morning sun fell warm upon the inner courtyard of the Autumn Wind Pavilion, filtered through the high leaves of the willows. The sweet scent of ripe fruit mingled with the fresh smell of dew that had not yet completely dried on the grass.
In the main chamber, Yù Qíng, Mò Yán, Lín Jié, and Qīng Yǔ were bent over maps, charting countless scenarios and plans with Mèng Lián through a voice transmission stone.
Outside, the courtyard belonged to idleness. Sprawled on her side across a long silk-upholstered divan, Yù Méi chewed a slice of peach with the expression of someone without a single care in the world.
Kneeling on the wooden floor, right beside the divan, Xú Lán worked in silence.
The white-haired woman's pale hands glided over a basket of chilled grapes. A thin thread of silver Qi slipped from her fingertips, peeling each grape with a cut so precise that the skin came off whole, like a thin petal of ice. Instead of piling them, she fed each peeled fruit directly into her master's mouth, with the flawless, mechanical movements of a lethal assassin reduced to a servant.
But her eyes were not on the grapes.
Xú Lán looked up every few moments, pinning her gaze across the courtyard before forcing it back to her work.
Yù Méi stopped chewing. She turned her face slowly, staring at the kneeling servant with a raised eyebrow.
"Do you want to lose those eyes, slave?" the youngest sister asked, her voice dripping with a threat so exaggerated it sounded almost childish. "I know that look. Keep ogling my husband like that and I'll pluck them both out and turn them into earrings."
Xú Lán choked. The thread of Qi flickered, and the grape she held narrowly escaped freezing completely.
"This servant begs forgiveness, Second Lady," she murmured, forcing her rigid gaze back to the fruit, her pale cheeks taking on a faint rosy tint. "It will not happen again."
"Uh-huh," Yù Méi grumbled, not believing a single word, and merely opened her mouth, waiting. "Another grape."
Xú Lán obeyed, peeling another chilled fruit and bringing it to Yù Méi's lips with her head bowed.
On the other side of the courtyard, beneath the wider shade of an ancient pine, Zhì Yuǎn reclined on a bamboo lounger, his legs crossed at the ankles and his gray tunic half-open at the chest as he held a woman on either side.
Bái Wǎn was nestled against his left side, her cheek pressed to her husband's chest, her eyes closed, a low, contented purr escaping now and then as his fingers traced her face and neck in a lazy caress.
On the right, Huáng Bìyǔ leaned against him, her body still rigid despite Zhì Yuǎn's large hand resting on the curve of her hip, moving up and down in slow strokes that made her bite her lower lip.
"H-husband," she murmured, her face already deeply flushed, her voice low enough not to carry across the courtyard. "About today's visit…"
He did not open his eyes, but the corner of his mouth curved up.
"We will have lunch with him."
Huáng Bìyǔ released the breath she had been holding.
"Grandfather set aside the entire day," she admitted, still lacking the courage to lift her face to meet his, though her finger was already tracing slow circles on her husband's chest. "He never takes a day off. Never. But when I…" she hesitated, her face growing even hotter, "when he found out I sent those letters, he insisted on meeting you, my Heaven, personally."
"The letters where you praised me so much that your own grandfather thought I was born of a constellation?" Zhì Yuǎn teased, finally opening one eye.
"I did not exaggerate a single thing," Huáng Bìyù protested in a stiff whisper, straightening her spine in a futile attempt to regain her composure.
He laughed, low and raspy, and the hand stroking her hip slid up to her chin, lifting the warrior's face to meet his gaze.
Her relief that he had agreed to go without complaint overflowed into a small, genuine smile. She leaned in and brushed her lips against his, a quick, shy kiss, almost a silent thank-you.
Zhì Yuǎn did not let it end there.
His hand at the nape of her neck closed firmly, pulling her back before she could retreat. The kiss deepened, slow and wet, his tongue invading her mouth without haste, but leaving no room for escape.
Huáng Bìyǔ melted against him with a muffled moan.
Against his chest, Bái Wǎn felt her husband's body shift and opened her eyes. Seeing the scene, a sulky pout formed on her lips. Without waiting for an invitation, she rose onto his lap, her hair cascading down her back like an oceanic waterfall, and began trailing kisses up her husband's neck, trying to draw his attention back to her.
Across the courtyard, Xú Lán's hand froze in midair.
The slave held the freshly peeled grape between her thumb and index finger, suspended near Yù Méi's half-open lips. Xú Lán bit her own lower lip, her silver eyes glued to the lounger, the freezing Qi flickering around her stalled fingers.
She remained frozen there for too long.
Chomp.
Xú Lán's eyes widened, and she let out a sharp grunt. Yù Méi had bypassed the fruit and sank her teeth firmly into the tip of the servant's index finger.
The youngest sister pulled the grape in with her lips, chewed calmly, and scorched the white-haired woman with a venomous glare.
"Pay attention to your duties, slave," Yù Méi growled, wiping the corner of her mouth. "Or would you prefer I tell Eldest Sister that her appointed guard has her eyes glued to our husband again?"
Xú Lán swallowed hard. She pulled back her throbbing finger and gave a hurried bow, returning her attention to the fruit basket with clumsy haste, her cheeks burning hotter than ever.
------
The estate of the Huáng Family's secondary branch was an imposing mansion nestled in the Palace's inner ring. Since the General had taken the day off to await their visit, the grounds did not buzz with the noise of regular troops. The silence in the corridors was profound, guarded not by common soldiers, but by her grandfather's old personal guard—war veterans with faces torn by ancient scars.
When the sun reached its zenith, a luxurious carriage, glowing with various formations, stopped before the main gates.
The one who pulled the reins of the massive wyvern to halt the carriage was Jiāng Wúshāng. He steadied the scaled beast and opened the door with the precision of a professional coachman, a sight that would make anyone who knew his past swallow hard.
The Sixth Lady stepped down first. She had traded her morning silks for practical, dark-toned martial attire. The moment she set foot in her own family's courtyard, the rigid posture of the "Warrior Fairy" returned to her body.
But seeing Zhì Yuǎn step down right behind her in his usual, simple gray tunic, Huáng Bìyǔ retreated half a step.
To her, the family's opinion did not matter. Handing control of the empire to her husband was merely the natural outcome. All she truly desired within those walls was for her grandfather—whom she loved so dearly—to make a good impression on Zhì Yuǎn.
Before she could position herself behind him, however, Zhì Yuǎn's hand slipped to the curve of her waist.
With casual firmness, he pulled her forward, pressing her to his side. Huáng Bìyǔ widened her eyes slightly, but the relaxed smile on her husband's face disarmed any tension.
"So this is where you grew up…" Zhì Yuǎn murmured, his eyes sweeping over the massive pillars carved with war dragons and the thick walls. "No wonder you have such posture. Even I felt like straightening my back before your clan's grandeur."
The words melted Huáng Bìyǔ's martial mask in an instant. Her face burned bright red, and she lowered her head, hiding a proud smile as she instinctively leaned against his shoulder.
The old guard watching the corridors noticed. Retired veterans and elite guards began releasing their killing intent from the shadows, attempting to gauge the young outsider. It was not a flashy display of Qi, but the sharp hostility of men who slept with swords under their pillows.
The air grew thick, but Zhì Yuǎn did not so much as change the rhythm of his breathing. Instead of raising defenses, he kept walking with his arm around his wife, paying attention only to her.
Guiding him through the long corridors of dark jade, Huáng Bìyǔ's embarrassment gave way to a nostalgic enthusiasm. She pointed to a massive courtyard of black stone, recounting how she had broken her first training spear there at the age of eight. A little further ahead, she showed him an old koi fountain of crystalline water, letting out a soft laugh as she recalled how she and Qīng Yǔ used to drown their more arrogant cousins in it during childhood summers, ignoring the elders' scoldings.
While the Sixth Wife relived her past, the storm of killing intent converging on Zhì Yuǎn simply vanished. The crushing pressure touched his gray tunic and tumbled into an invisible abyss. He strolled through the hostile environment like a man taking a walk through a romantic garden, listening to his wife with genuine attention.
The visitor's apathy began to draw cold sweat from the veterans in their hidden posts.
At the end of the corridor, the double doors of the central pavilion were closed. From within, a dense, raw, and primitive aura leaked out, heavy enough to make the wooden floorboards creak on their own. It was the presence of the great General.
Two armed guards crossed their halberds before the door the moment the couple approached.
"Fairy Bìyǔ is always welcome home," one of the veterans said, his voice as raspy as stone scraping against stone. He then pinned his severe eyes on Zhì Yuǎn. "But the General instructed that your husband enter alone."
Huáng Bìyǔ gritted her teeth, a flash of anger shattering her joy. Her previously flushed face hardened into a mask of fury.
"How dare you try to isolate my husband—"
"It is fine, Bìyǔ," Zhì Yuǎn interrupted. His voice came out polished and perfectly calm, without a drop of the offended pride the guards had hoped to provoke.
He gave her shoulder a comforting pat. Instantly, the young warrior swallowed the words she was about to spit at the guards, dropped her aggression, and lowered her head in an obedient nod to him, falling completely silent.
The blind submission of the indomitable fairy made the two veterans swallow hard.
Zhì Yuǎn took a step forward, releasing his wife's waist. He adjusted the collar of his gray tunic with one hand and waited, his dark eyes tranquil, as the guards pulled back their halberds and pushed open the heavy doors of Profound Iron Jasper to let him enter the dragon's den alone.