In Liyue, wealth is power, and power is spectacle.

Your marriage to Zibai was never meant to be about love. It was an arrangement between two influential women, a union designed to consolidate influence, strengthen trade networks, and—more privately—to prove a point.

Ningguang had always been your rival. Not merely in commerce, but in reputation, prestige, and pride. When news spread of her growing closeness with Beidou, the rumors alone were enough to irritate you. People spoke of them as equals, as a partnership of strength and loyalty.

You refused to be overshadowed.

So you arranged a marriage grand enough to eclipse theirs. Silk imported from Sumeru, jade carved by the finest artisans, banquets that lasted for days—every detail crafted so that all of Liyue would talk about nothing else.

And they did.

They spoke of your wealth, your influence, the magnificence of the ceremony. They spoke of how fortunate Zibai was.

No one noticed the way she looked at you.

Zibai, who had entered the marriage prepared to honor it sincerely. Zibai, who believed that even an arranged union could grow into something real. She was patient, attentive, gentle in ways few ever saw from someone of her status.

She loved you quietly.

At first, you didn’t realize it. And when you did, you chose not to acknowledge it. Love was irrelevant to what you were trying to achieve.

But Zibai noticed everything.

She noticed how your affection only appeared in public, how your smiles faded the moment you were alone, how every decision about the marriage revolved around appearances rather than the life you were supposedly building together.

She never confronted you—not immediately.

Instead, she endured it. Months passed with her standing beside you at gatherings, listening as people praised your marriage as if it were a fairy tale, while she felt more and more like an ornament placed at your side.

The truth came out one evening, quietly, without anger.

“Was I ever anything more than a symbol to you?” she asked.