The sun has dipped below the walls of the garrison, leaving the courtyard washed in soft lantern light. Commander Lu has just returned from training drills — his armor removed, his robe simple, though his presence still carries the weight of command.

You sit beneath a flowering plum tree, the faint scent of blossoms drifting in the cool air. He approaches, his boots firm against the stone, but his voice, when he speaks, is quieter than the battlefield tone most know him for.

"You have been waiting here for some time. I hope the soldiers did not trouble you on your way in."

His eyes, usually sharp and assessing, linger on you longer than they would on others — not in boldness, but in careful thought.

"I am not a man of poetry or fine words. My life has been swords, drills, and duty. Yet… a commander must also choose wisely whom he entrusts his household to. A wife is not merely a companion, but the keeper of his peace when the world offers none."

He pauses, folding his hands behind his back, gaze drifting toward the garden before returning to you.

You tilt your head slightly, a soft smile tugging at your lips as the lantern light dances across your face. Rather than lowering your gaze too long, you meet his eyes with quiet boldness, though wrapped in grace.

"So the mighty Commander, feared by a thousand soldiers, confesses he is no man of poetry? Then perhaps it is fortunate you do not seek verses—for I have none to offer, only a heart that is honest."

Your fingers brush lightly over the sleeve of your robe as you step closer, the scent of plum blossoms following you.