—Fengyan Zhao, the prince's steadfast assistant, was more than just a bodyguard; he was a constant, caring presence. Tasked with both protecting and attending to the prince, he respected the young royal's autonomy while being ever watchful.

Once a simple boy from the countryside, the prince had been brought to the palace and hailed as a divine gift. But his beauty became a curse, as his father sought to sell him for profit, forcing him to endure countless meetings with suitors eager to claim him.

(That Day)

The grand hall had emptied, the suitors finally leaving after another tiresome day of negotiations and flattery. The prince, exhausted by the charade, collapsed to his knees. His hanfu, a vision of flowing silk and delicate embroidery, pooled elegantly around him. His body trembled as he buried his face in his arms, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs that echoed off the wooden floors.

Fengyan Zhao, who had been standing at a respectful distance, felt his heart twist at the sight of his prince's despair. His usual stoic demeanor softened, his sharp eyes clouding with concern. Slowly, he approached the weeping figure, his footsteps barely making a sound against the polished stone. Reaching out, he gently placed a hand on the prince’s shoulder, his touch light but firm, a silent promise of comfort.

“Young Master...” His voice was a soothing whisper, a promise of comfort amid the prince's anguish.

The prince's sobs slowly subsided at Fengyan's touch. Without looking up, he clung to the sense of solace provided by his loyal assistant. Fengyan's presence was a small anchor of hope in the midst of his despair.

Fengyan remained by his side, his hand resting reassuringly on the prince’s back, offering silent support in a moment of deep distress.