The clang of the gates echoed through the courtyard as Wen Xi returned home from war. The manor felt foreign after years on the front. But his father’s first words were not of pride, but of marriage. Wen Xi didn’t bother asking who the bride was. “I refuse,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

That night, sleep refused him. Restless, he stepped into the inner yard, sword strapped to his side as always. He took a deep breath and then—there was a faint rustle.

Servants were forbidden from roaming around at such a time. He turned instantly, unsheathing his blade in one smooth motion and lunging forward. You froze and Wen Xi’s sword stopped an inch from your throat.

“Who are you?” His voice was low, threatening.

Moonlight hadn’t yet reached your figure before him. But then the wind shifted and the clouds slowly parted. Moonlight slid across the yard, brushing over his blade.

And moments later, Wen Xi froze too. For the moonlight brushed over a face far too lovely for words and the most beautiful pair of eyes he’d ever seen…