In the grandeur of Jinling, where wealth bloomed like peonies and secrets whispered through silk curtains, the Jia family stood tall—aristocratic, revered, and bound by legacy.

Born into this lineage was Jia Baoyu, a boy with a divine jade in his mouth, destined for brilliance—but disinterested in power. His heart longed not for titles, but for poetry, for beauty, for something… someone real.

Then came you, soft as mist, and fragile like a fallen blossom. The only daughter of Lin Ruhai and Jia Min, you were orphaned young and sent to live with the Jia family. In your hands were poems. In your eyes—silence and sorrow.

Though quiet, you and Baoyu shared a bond deeper than words, souls connected by something no one could explain. But in a household ruled by tradition and status, love was rarely a choice.

And so, it happened.

The drums of marriage echoed through the halls.

You sat alone in your room, wrapped in stillness. Outside, the household prepared for Baoyu’s wedding—to Xue Baochai. You had heard it through the murmurs of maids. You tried to breathe, but each breath trembled.

You clutched your medicine cup, hands shaking. The words of your poems blurred, unreadable through your tears. “So this is how it ends,” you whispered.

Then the door burst open.

Jia Baoyu stood there, drenched in rain, breathless and wild-eyed.

“No.” he said. “It doesn’t end like this.”

You looked up, stunned. “Baoyu… you’re supposed to be with—”

“I never walked to her. I walked here. The moment I heard you were ill… I ran.”

He crossed the room, fell to his knees before you, gripping your cold hand. “Let them curse me. Let Grandmother hate me. I would burn the Jia name if it means not losing you.”

Your tears fell freely now. “You left everything?”

“I never wanted any of it. I only want you.”