At dawn, the Frostroot estate’s training grounds rang with the crisp clash of blades. Even during her brief return, Yun Xueyan did not allow her daily routine to slip — each movement of her froststeel sword drew thin arcs through the mist, a silent vow that no softness would ever rot her edges.
Near the edge of the courtyard, Zhao Fei knelt on the flagstones. His wrists were unchained now — Han Ye had removed the shackles before branding the Frostroot sigil into his shoulder. The fresh mark was hidden under clean linen, but he showed no sign of pain. Instead, he watched her — eyes patient, too calm for a boy discarded as a slave.
---
When her final strike landed, Xueyan sheathed the blade and tossed her sweat-dampened cloak at Han Ye.
“Feed him,” she said, without glancing at Zhao Fei. “Then dress him properly. He’s not to crawl around this estate like a stray dog.”
Han Ye dipped his head, voice mild. “Yes, Mistress.”
---
---
Inside the Frostroot manor, word of the branded boy spread like wildfire through the servants’ halls and the minor cousins’ quarters. Whispers flickered — some daring to wonder if the Heir meant to take him to the capital court. What use could a Frostroot Matriarch have for a lowborn male, if not as a bed slave or bait?
---
By mid-morning, a summons arrived — silken scroll sealed with the Imperial Li sigil, the Empress’s personal command: Attend the Jade Phoenix Hall before dusk.
---
Xueyan read the summons once, then set it aside on her desk. Zhao Fei stood near the doorway, his hair combed back neatly, dressed in a pale robe that made him look almost noble — if not for the thin silver collar locked around his throat.
“Do you know how to read?” she asked suddenly.
He blinked once, then nodded. “Enough to serve, Mistress.”
“Good.” She handed him a stack of older court decrees. “Memorize these. If you’re to stand behind me, you’ll carry what I won’t waste space for.”
He bowed his head, taking the papers without a word of protest.
---
Han Ye watched from the side, arms crossed. “He’s quiet,” he noted when Zhao Fei left the chamber to kneel in the outer hall.
“He’s meant to be,” Xueyan said. “If he starts talking too much, cut out his tongue.”
She said it without venom — a plain statement of fact. Han Ye only smirked. “Understood.”
---
---
By dusk, the Frostroot carriage once more rolled through the capital gates — this time toward the Jade Phoenix Hall, seat of the Imperial Li clan. Lanterns bobbed in the winter twilight, guarded by soldiers clad in crimson armor worked with gold thread.
Outside the great bronze doors, the marble steps crawled with courtiers in embroidered silks — each bowing low as the Frostroot heir passed. Many eyes darted to Zhao Fei, who followed two steps behind her, his collar hidden under a high collar of pale blue silk.
---
Inside the hall, warmth pressed close — sweet incense, drifting harp music, the rustle of sleeves as the nobility gathered for the seasonal audience.
At the dais, the Empress — Li Mingzhu — sat draped in robes so heavy with pearls they shimmered like frost under torchlight. Beside her, the Crown Princess Li Jiawen, her only daughter, leaned close to whisper now and then, lips curved in a half-smile that never reached her cold eyes.
---
Yun Xueyan stepped forward, spine straight, froststeel crest glittering at her collarbone. She bowed, but did not kneel — the Frostroot line only knelt to their own dead.
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The Empress’s dark gaze flicked from Xueyan’s face to Zhao Fei, then back again. The corner of her mouth twitched in something like amusement.
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> “Xueyan.” Her voice rang soft and clear. “Twelve years we have not seen you in my hall. You return with… a pet?”
---
Murmurs rippled down the length of the gathering. Some ministers hid smiles behind painted fans.
Xueyan met the Empress’s eyes without blinking. “He is Frostroot property now — a pawn to be used as needed.”
Li Jiawen spoke next, voice sugar-sweet, laced with barbs. “A slave bought from the street? Dear cousin — did the Frostroot coffers empty while you hid in your mountain nest?”
A few courtiers chuckled under their breath.
---
Xueyan did not turn her head toward the Crown Princess — to her, Li Jiawen’s taunts were as fleeting as mist.
“I purchased what others wasted. Waste is offensive.”
---
A flicker of irritation crossed Jiawen’s painted face — the Frostroot girl never rose to bait. Beside her, the Empress only laughed softly.
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> “Spoken like your mother,” Li Mingzhu said. “Cold as the steel she wields. But steel must be tempered in fire, not just frost.”
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She leaned back on her throne, fingering a pearl ring. “The court expects your betrothal to be settled this season. You’ve refused every name I sent. Tell me, niece — what sort of man will the Frostroot accept?”
---
A hush fell. Courtiers leaned closer, eager for fresh scandal — perhaps a glimpse of the famous heir’s heart, rumored to be colder than the northern peaks.
---
Yun Xueyan’s gaze drifted briefly toward the golden pillars, the silk banners dancing in the heated air. Love meant nothing to her — a puzzle piece for other people’s games.
“I will wed a man when it is useful to the Frostroot. Not before.”
---
Some gasped at the blunt defiance. Li Jiawen’s fan snapped shut with a crack like ice breaking.
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The Empress only smiled, slow and sharp. “So be it. But remember — every unwed branch weakens the trunk. Even a Frostroot withers alone.”
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A veiled threat, but Xueyan felt no sting. She dipped her head once more — a bow, not submission.
---
Behind her, Zhao Fei kept his eyes on the floor, unreadable. Only Han Ye, lingering in the shadows near the doors, caught the flicker of cold calculation in Xueyan’s eyes — the gears turning beneath her perfect stillness.
---
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When the audience ended, and the Jade Phoenix Hall emptied, Li Jiawen lingered at the steps outside. Her lacquered nails tapped on her jade fan.
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“Cousin,” she called, as Xueyan passed with Zhao Fei in tow. “Take care. Some pets bite when the leash snaps.”
---
Xueyan didn’t break stride. Zhao Fei lifted his head slightly — his eyes met the Crown Princess’s for half a breath. Something in that silent look made Jiawen’s fan still for an instant — just long enough for Han Ye to catch the faint, cold smile ghosting across Zhao Fei’s mouth before he lowered his head again.
---
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The carriage rolled back through the frostlit streets. In the shadows of the capital, rumors coiled tighter — a Frostroot heir who would not wed, a branded slave too calm to break, an Empress whose patience thinned by the season.
---
Inside the carriage, Yun Xueyan sat in silence, eyes half-closed, mind turning over plots she’d once skimmed as fiction. If the world demanded she play villain, she would be the final villain — but she would do it cleanly, logically, and on her terms.
Beside her, Zhao Fei sat straight-backed on the floorboards, shackled in loyalty for now — but even a pawn might be useful if one knew when to sacrifice it.
---
Outside, the frost began to fall again — thin flakes drifting down to cloak the capital in pale silence.
---
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