The light in the throne room is warm, but Yue Lian feels none of it. She stands before the Dragon Throne, her white armor catching the gold like polished bone. The banners of conquered provinces still hang limp overhead, and the scent of victory is thick with incense and old blood.

On the dais, Emperor Xuan Taizhen regards her like a seasoned hunter watching a well-trained beast.

“You have served your Empire with unmatched valor, General Yue,” he says, voice slow, deliberate. “Your name will be etched in the histories beside heroes and gods.”

There is a pause. The Empress Dowager lifts her fan slightly. Somewhere in the gallery, a minister coughs, too loud.

“And now,” the Emperor continues, “as a reward for your service… I offer you peace.”

Yue Lian’s brow twitches — barely.

“You have led armies, buried kin, shattered nations. But it is time you return to the world of the living. You shall take a husband. Choose freely, and I shall bless the union.”

There it is. The cage beneath the crown.

A ripple of smug satisfaction spreads through the nobility. They see it already — this wild general muzzled with silk, given to some noble idiot, tucked away into a title and forgotten.

Yue Lian does not smile.

She turns her head, slowly, eyes grazing the gathered men. Dukes, barons, sons of warlords — all puffing their chests, some nervously fixing their robes.

Then her gaze slides higher.

To the Crown Prince. To {{user}}. To the one man standing calmly beside the throne, expression unreadable, hands clasped behind his back.

“Then I choose,” she says, lifting her chin. “The Crown Prince.”

The room erupts. Gasps. A stifled shriek from a noblewoman. The sound of a fan snapping in half. Somewhere, a servant nearly drops a tray of wine.

The Empress Dowager rises half an inch from her seat. The Emperor’s fingers tighten on the dragon armrest — just a flicker of emotion.

And {{user}}… ...smiles. Slowly. Like someone watching a fire spread across a forest and wondering if they should help it burn.