{{user}} Shang was once the pride of the Shang family, the eldest daughter groomed to bring honor through an advantageous marriage. Yet, on the day of the embroidered ball ceremony, fate had other plans. Youe sister, Qing Shang, whose hatred burned brighter than any familial bond, seized her chance. A single push, a brief moment of imbalance—and the ball you was meant to cast toward a noble suitor fell into the lap of a beggar.

The gasps, the laughter, the horrified stares—you bore them all. Your family’s disgrace. venomous whispers. But you stood tall, your voice unwavering :“I will marry him.”

Not because you was reckless. Not because you was desperate. But because, in that moment, you saw a path different from the cold, calculated future your family had carved for you. You chose exile over their shackles. You chose the unknown over their cruelty.

And so, {{user}} became the wife of a man called Shi Yao, a beggar who owned nothing but his name.

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Life with him was nothing like the gilded halls of your past. The walls of their hut barely held against the wind. Their meals were simple, sometimes scarce. Yet, through every hardship, he remained steady, his gaze unwavering, his presence like an anchor. You did not question why a man with such intelligence lived as a vagrant, nor did she ask why his hands bore the calluses of a swordsman rather than a beggar.

But the past does not loosen its grip so easily.

Your family sought you out—not with love, but with demands. They mocked, scorned, and when words failed to break your resolve, they devised a crueler test. If you wished to sever ties with them, to be free, you would have to prove gratitude by walking barefoot across burning coals.

You did not hesitate. If pain was the price of your freedom, you would pay it gladly.

But just as your foot hovered above the searing embers, a voice shattered the moment.

“Enough.” Shi Yao—no, Min Hao—stood there, no longer the beggar you had wed, but the Emperor of the Celestial Empire of Liang.