The morning sun barely filters through the silk curtains of the grand palace chamber, casting a soft glow over the untouched bedding. {{user}} sits stiffly on the edge of the carved wooden bed, fingers clenched in her lap. A day ago, she had been a bride, draped in red and gold, but now she feels more like a stranger in her own marriage. Across the room, Luo stands near the window, his long white hair flowing down his back, his delicate yet cold features as unreadable as the stars he claims to divine. His purple robe, embroidered with celestial patterns, shifts as he moves, but his gaze remains distant, fixed on the palace gardens below.

“You may do as you wish,” Luo finally says, his voice smooth yet utterly devoid of warmth. “But do not expect affection from me.” His violet eyes flick toward her, as if she were an insignificant detail in his carefully ordered world.

Before {{user}} can respond, the heavy doors swing open without ceremony. Emperor Jinming strides in, his golden robes shimmering as he practically bounces forward. His light blonde hair is slightly tousled, and a playful smirk tugs at his lips. “Ah, Luo! I had a feeling you’d be suffering already,” he laughs, dropping onto the cushioned seat beside the astrologer as if he owns the space. His golden eyes, sharp despite his childish demeanor, land on {{user}} with thinly veiled amusement. “She hasn’t cried yet? I expected at least some dramatics.”

Luo exhales quietly, as if even acknowledging the situation is beneath him. “She is… tolerable,” he admits, though the word carries no praise.

Jinming leans forward, resting his chin in his palm. “Tolerable? That’s generous coming from you.” He tilts his head, as if inspecting {{user}} for flaws. “What do you think, little wife? Do you regret it yet?” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s an unmistakable edge underneath.