The sound of laughter echoed through the Zhi Dynasty, each laughter full of joys. Golden sunlight spilled across the vermilion gates, glinting off the polished armor of the imperial guards.

"Two buns per one silver coin."

"A piece of candy for a silver coin"

"This hairpin costs 4 silver, young lady"

Shopkeepers shouting out of their lungs hoping to sell their goods, while some buying stuffs for their partners ,while others hanging out with their friends.

But somewhere in the Chen's estate's backyard, sword's fighting sound echoed.

"My lady, I have to admit you are good at swordsmanship. I give up, you win" said the general Jingwou as he sighed.

"Why does everyone have to give up after just fighting with me for a while?" said a female figure.

That same female figure continue, "Alright, general Jingwou I respect your decision."

"Thank you, my lady. Now if you may excuse me, I shall head towards the Imperial Deputy ministry."

Jingwou bowed and headed back to the imperial Deputy ministry.

The female figure put down her sword and walked into a room where there were her father and uncle with full of chatter and laughter.

"Ooh well well well look who's here!" said her uncle Chen Ruilin.

The female figure, with a sarcasm in her smile said, "Your so called niece is here uncle."

Ruilin, her uncle also not backing down said, "You still haven't changed your rebellious personality, have you?"

Then he continued with a teasing tone, "Who would even want to be husband of someone rebellious as you are?"

"Then my dear uncle, let me remind you. It will be good if NO ONE WANTS TO BE MY HUSBAND. Thank you"

"Alright, enough fighting with your uncle, Chen Fengying."

Chen Fengying turned her head towards her father, Chen Haotian who was the loyal right hand man of the emperor.

Before she could reply, her younger sister Chen Qiaolin came from the behind, taking her hand— whispering.

"Don't even try to say anything. Let's go, I just found a new herb in the backyard of my chamber."

Again Fengying couldn't protest, before she could even say anything Qiaolin dragged her out of the room by taking her hand.

"You are so obsessed with your hobby of finding herbs." said Fengying, sighing. Yet she still followed her younger sister, Qiaolin.

______

After showing the herb she had found, Qiaolin dragged her elder sister, Fengying in the marketplace.

The streets were packed so tightly that Fengying could barely breathe. Children sat on rooftops, shopkeepers leaned out their doors, and flower petals rained from every direction. Qiaolin’s hand gripped her wrist like an iron chain, dragging her forward through the crowd.

“Slow down! You’re going to pull my arm off,” Fengying complained.

“We’ll miss the best spot if you don’t hurry!” Qiaolin shot back, weaving through the throng.

Best spot for what, Fengying wondered. She thought her sister wanted to catch a glimpse of Zhang Zhengyu, the famed general who was returning victorious from war. But when the soldiers appeared at the far end of the street — banners snapping, armor gleaming — Qiaolin’s eyes didn’t go to the tall, calm figure of the man on horseback at the front who was Zhang Zhengyu.

Qiaolin's eyes went further back.

To a certain second son of the Zhang family.

The moment Zhang Zihan spotted her in the crowd, his steps slowed. A faint smile tugged at his lips. He murmured something to his elder brother who was beside him, then made his way to the edge of the procession.

His elder brother Zhengyu glanced at him but didn’t stop him — though his expression said don't be long.

“Lady Qiaolin,” Zihan greeted softly, bowing slightly as he reached them.

“Sir Zihan,” Qiaolin said, her voice uncharacteristically shy.

Fengying stood between them, watching the air grow warm and sparkly around the two of them. Their voices dipped into private tones, Qiaolin’s cheeks flushed, Zihan’s smile deepened.

Fengying covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. She’d thought her sister dragged her out here for the victory parade. But clearly, this was a mission.

From the front of the procession, Zhang Zhengyu’s eyes were on his younger brother, Zhang Zihan, moving carefully along the crowd. A faint crease appeared between his brows as he observed Zihan’s deliberate steps.

But then, his gaze shifted. Beside Qiaolin, a figure drew his attention effortlessly. Chen Fengying.

People said even from a distance, she was impossible to ignore. Her laughter, soft yet clear, punctuated the warm, bustling air of the parade. She leaned slightly toward her sister, covering her mouth with delicate fingers as she tried not to laugh too loudly, eyes sparkling with amusement at the private exchange between Qiaolin and Zihan.

Zhengyu had heard of her reputation: flawless etiquette, composure beyond her years, and perfect swordsmanship that left seasoned generals humbled and the authority she holds.

His sharp gaze flicked to her hands and noticed something concealed, hidden carefully, protected with instinctive precision. A small dagger, perhaps, or a secret tool, guarded as though it were an extension of herself. The way she shielded it, alert yet casual, was telling.

"Rumours weren't wrong." said Zhengyu flatly with no facial expression on his face.

Then he took back his gaze. Looking at the crowd who were celebrating the victory.

The Chen estate was unusually quiet that afternoon.

The usual clatter of servants’ footsteps on the flagstones was gone, replaced by the gentle hum of cicadas in the distance. A warm breeze drifted through the inner courtyard, carrying with it the faint scent of plum blossoms from the southern garden.

In the center of the courtyard, Chen Fengying lay sprawled across a wooden bench, entirely unbothered by the sun spilling over her face. She hung upside down, her head dangling just above the cool stone floor, hair brushing against it in loose strands. Her legs swung lazily in the air, one boot slipping halfway off her foot.

She was bored. Dangerously bored.

And boredom, for Fengying, was always the first step toward trouble.

Her eyes traced the clouds drifting above, and she wondered whether sneaking into the western guard post to challenge the night watch would be worth the trouble it might cause.

She could already imagine their startled faces when she disarmed them one by one, a delicious thought that almost convinced her to get up.

Before she could, a shadow detached itself from the far wall. Silent as water, a figure slipped into the courtyard, robes whispering against the ground.

“My lady,” came a low voice.

Fengying tilted her head or rather, from her upside-down vantage, looked right-side-up at the masked figure now kneeling before her. The familiar silver-thread mask glinted faintly in the sunlight, but his breathing was quick, his posture tense.

“I have found out how to scheme the third prince for all his wrong doings.”

At that, Fengying swung herself upright with practiced ease, boots hitting the ground in a quiet thud. “Now we can take down the third prince for his wrongdoings,” she said, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeves. Her voice was calm, almost amused, but her eyes sharpened mixed with interest and chaos. “Let me guess ,you’ve also discovered how he became crown prince?”

“Yes, my lady. I discovered why the first prince never received the title.”

Fengying’s expression turned calculating. “Continue.”

“It was the third prince,” the agent said grimly. “The first prince uncovered his schemes and confronted him in private. But the third prince silenced the matter before it could ever reach the emperor’s ears.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Good. Anything else?”

The agent hesitated. Even with the mask covering half his face, she could tell his jaw had tightened. His voice dropped to a whisper. “No solid evidence yet. He is always surrounded by his personal guards. His movements are unpredictable, and one wrong step will expose all of us. This mission is dangerous, even if it seems quite easy my lady.”

She waved her hand dismissively, as if brushing away an insect. “The success rate is still fifty percent. That will be more than enough. I’ll spy on him myself. You and other agents don’t need to get involved further.”

The agent’s head bowed until his forehead nearly touched the ground. “As you command, my lady.” With that, he melted back into the shadows, leaving only the scent of dust and wind in his wake.

---

Across the city, the air carried a different weight.

Inside a stone-walled courtyard lined with weapon racks and battle maps, Zhang Zhengyu stood like a statue before a table, its surface covered with parchment and half-burnt candles. His armor gleamed faintly under the dim light, the metal catching the flame’s reflection as though it were alive.

Before him, a man knelt with his head lowered, speaking in a careful, measured tone.

“You said you had news on the third prince,” Zhengyu said. His voice was deep but controlled, the kind of voice that carried both command and warning.

“Yes, General,” the informant replied. “The first prince never lost the title, it was stolen from him. My trail led me to the third prince’s private guards. There was… interference. And a witness, one who might have confirmed the truth, but vanished days before the title was bestowed.”

Zhengyu’s eyes narrowed, though the rest of his face remained unreadable. “Evidence?”

“Not yet. The third prince’s inner circle is sealed tighter than a fortress gate. No one gets close without an invitation or without paying the price with their life. Not even maids.”

The general’s gaze dropped briefly to the candle flame flickering on the table. The shadows it cast swayed like soldiers in formation, moving but never breaking line.

“And if the wrong person hears of this?” he asked quietly.

“It could mean charges of treason for everyone involved,” the informant admitted. His fingers twitched against the ground, betraying the strain in his voice.

Zhengyu straightened to his full height, the quiet authority in his presence enough to make the air feel heavier. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, not in threat, but in readiness.

“Then I’ll handle it,” he said. “Alone.”

The informant bowed deeply and withdrew into the corridor beyond, his footsteps fading until there was only the sound of the candle sputtering in the stillness.

At the palace, the golden morning light filtered through the tall lattice windows of the throne room, casting intricate patterns across the polished marble floor. Incense curled lazily toward the high ceiling, carrying the faint scent of sandalwood and jasmine.

On the Dragon Throne sat the Emperor of the Zhi Dynasty, his gaze sharp and commanding. His voice rang out, cutting through the quiet murmur of the court:

“Spread my word,” he said. “General Zhang Zhengyu, the heir of my left-hand man, has returned victorious. A banquet shall be held for his glory.”

The courtiers and officials bowed in unison, their voices echoing together, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Then, with a gesture of his hand, the Emperor summoned two particular men forward.

Chen Haotian — tall, composed, and the loyal right-hand man of the Emperor — stepped forward with practiced grace. Beside him came Zhang Xuanwei, Zhengyu’s father and the Emperor’s left-hand man, a figure of equal stature and prestige.

“I have long trusted both of you,” the Emperor began, his gaze shifting between them. “In war and in peace, you have stood by me. The time has come to bind our houses closer — not merely as comrades, but as family.”

The two men exchanged quick glances. They had known each other for years, yet the Emperor’s tone hinted at something deeper.

“I intend,” the Emperor continued, “for General Zhengyu to take Lady Chen Fengying as his wife.”

The words fell into the air with the weight of imperial decree.

Both fathers broke into smiles, bowing low in acceptance. “It would be an honor, Your Majesty.”

The Emperor nodded, satisfied. “It shall be announced at the banquet — Zhengyu has come of age to marry. And while we bind one pair, we may as well bind another.”

His eyes glinted with quiet amusement as he added, “The younger son of the Zhang family, Zhang Zihan, shall be betrothed to Lady Chen Qiaolin.”

A hum of approval rippled through the hall.

—––

That afternoon, the news traveled quickly to both estates.

At the Chen residence, Chen Haotian called his daughters to the main hall. Fengying arrived first, her sword still at her side, while Qiaolin practically skipped in, her eyes bright with curiosity.

“Fengying. Qiaolin.” Their father’s voice held unusual cheer. “His Majesty has spoken. You, Fengying, will marry General Zhang Zhengyu.”

Fengying froze mid-step. “...What?”

“And Qiaolin,” he continued, undeterred, “you will be wed to Zhang Zihan.”

Qiaolin gasped, hands flying to her mouth. “Truly?” She was practically glowing.

Fengying’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And if I refuse?”

From the side, their mother, Chen Mingxia, glided into the room, her elegant silk sleeves brushing the floor. She had heard everything.

“Fengying,” her voice was smooth but firm, “do not even think about causing trouble on the wedding day.”

Her daughter blinked, caught off guard. “...I didn’t say—”

“You didn’t have to,” Mingxia interrupted with a knowing smile. “I can read your thoughts as easily as I read the weather. Your father and I are happy. Do not cause any scandal during this joyful moment.”

Fengying exhaled slowly, schooling her expression into something resembling obedience, though a flicker of rebellion still danced in her eyes.

Meanwhile, Qiaolin was still floating in her own world, imagining the moment she’d stand beside Zihan. “I can’t believe it… It’s like a dream.”

—––

Across the city, in the Zhang estate, a very different reaction was unfolding.

Zhang Zihan was in the garden when his father found him. The moment the words left Xuanwei’s lips, Zihan’s entire face lit up.

“Lady Qiaolin?” he said, grinning. “Truly father?”

“Yes,” his father replied, chuckling at his son’s unhidden joy.

In the tea pavilion nearby, Zhang Zhengyu was enjoying a quiet moment after returning from the long campaign. He had just lifted his teacup when his father walked over.

“Oh, and Zhengyu,” Xuanwei said as if it were casual news, “you’ll be marrying Chen Fengying.”

The words hit harder than an enemy’s sword. Zhengyu choked mid-sip, coughing violently until the tea splattered onto the table.

“...I’ll be what?” His voice was sharp, his usually calm eyes narrowing.

“You heard me,” his father replied, entirely unfazed.

From the main hall, a delighted voice chimed in, Zhang Zhiqing, his mother, appearing in her finest brocade robes. “Ah, how wonderful! I’ve always wanted a daughter-in-laws, and Lady Fengying and Qiaolin will be perfect!”

Zhengyu set his cup down with deliberate care, his jaw tightening. “Mother—”

But she was already smiling like the spring sun, clearly imagining wedding robes and banquet halls.

For Zhengyu, the battlefield had been simpler.

---