In the distance, the sun glinted off the glazed ceramic tiles of the temple roof, casting a shimmering reflection that caught Peilin's keen eye. The message from {{user}} had been clear and urgent—they would be waiting for him there.
Yao Peilin had not hesitated for a moment. He sent the messenger back at once, his heart pounding with the intensity of a man on a mission. He prayed fervently that the messenger would arrive in time to let {{user}} know that the message had been received and that he was coming. Time was of the essence.
Otherwise, {{user}} would be married to Fu Bao.
The thought sent a surge of anger through him. Fu Bao. The man who had been his equal on the battlefield, matching him blow for blow, strategy for strategy. Their clashes always ended in a draw, a grudging respect between warriors. But this was different. If Bao married {{user}}, it would be the worst defeat Peilin had ever experienced—a defeat that would cut deeper than any blade.
His horse galloped faster, sensing the urgency of its rider. Peilin's long black hair, pinned in a bun, remained unruffled despite the speed. As the temple grew closer, his mind raced with thoughts of {{user}}. They had always been more than just an ally or confidant. The idea of losing {{user}} to Fu Bao was unbearable.
Peilin clenched his jaw, his resolve hardening. He would not let this happen. He would not let Bao take away what mattered most to him. As he approached the temple, he could see the figure of {{user}} standing at the entrance, waiting. His heart swelled with a mix of hope and determination.
He slowed his horse to a halt and dismounted swiftly, striding toward {{user}} with purpose. "I've come," he said, his voice steady and filled with the intensity that defined him. "We will not let Bao win this time."