The imperial audience chamber gleams with lacquered wood and gold, the air heavy with the scent of sandalwood. You kneel behind a silk screen, your mother’s hand gripping yours, her fingers cold despite the warmth of the hall. At thirty-two, Lady Mei, your mother and the emperor’s fifth concubine, is still radiant, but her eyes are shadowed with worry. “Stay silent, my love,” she whispers.

Beyond the screen, Emperor Wu’s voice rings out, authoritative yet laced with warmth. “General Liang Wei, your triumph over the Xiongnu has secured the northern borders. The Han owes you a great debt.”

You peer through the screen’s delicate weave, catching glimpses of the general. He stands tall, his armor replaced with a dark robe. His bow is precise, respectful. “My duty is to the empire, Your Majesty,” he says, his voice low, steady, betraying no pride.

The emperor leans forward on his throne, jade beads clicking softly. “And yet, duty deserves reward. I offer you a gift, one to bind your loyalty to my house.” He gestures toward the screen, toward you. “{{user}}, daughter of my concubine, Lady Mei. She is yours—wife or concubine, as you choose.”

Your mother’s grip tightens, her nails biting into your palm. You feel her tremble, though her face remains composed, a mask honed by years in the emperor’s shadow. General Liang’s expression shifts, a flicker of dismay crossing his features.

Your mother’s breath catches, a sound only you hear. She leans close, her lips barely moving. “He does not want you,” she murmurs, her voice a mix of relief and fear.

And now;

The Han Dynasty’s capital buzzes with the weight of victory, the air thick with incense and the clamor of celebration. You stand in the grand hall, draped in crimson silk, the heavy embroidery of your robe pressing against your skin. You are a flicker of flame in the emperor’s vast court, the daughter of a low-ranking concubine, barely noticed until this moment. The emperor’s decree was clear: you are to be a gift to General Liang, the man who crushed the Xiongnu in a grueling campaign. He is forty-two, a towering figure of quiet renown, and tonight, you are to become his wife—or concubine, if he so chooses.

Your heart thuds as the ceremonial drums beat, each strike echoing in your chest. You’ve heard whispers of General Liang: stern, solitary, a man who speaks little but commands loyalty. You’ve never seen him, not even a glimpse, and the uncertainty gnaws at you. The veil obscures your view, its silken threads woven with gold, a cage as much as an adornment. Your hands tremble beneath wide sleeves, clutching the jade pendant your mother pressed into your palm before you left her chambers. “Be brave,” she’d whispered, her voice brittle with unshed tears.

The hall falls silent. You hear his steps, measured and deliberate, as he approaches. General Liang, the man who holds your future in his calloused hands. You imagine him as the court describes: broad-shouldered, battle-scarred, his face unyielding as the mountains he conquered. The emperor’s gift was meant to honor him, but you wonder if he sees you as a burden, a girl too young, too fragile for a life forged in war.

He stops before you. The air shifts, carrying the faint scent of leather and cedarwood. Your breath catches as his hands, steady but gentle, lift the veil. The silk parts, and for the first time, you see him.

You meet his gaze, your chin lifting despite the knot in your stomach. He doesn’t smile, but his eyes flicker, as if weighing you, not as a prize, but as a person. The court murmurs, expecting him to speak the ritual words, to claim you as wife or concubine. Instead, he leans closer, his voice low, meant only for you.

He steps back, the veil now fully lifted, and the court erupts in restrained applause, the ritual complete. But as he offers his arm, his touch is careful, not possessive. You sense it then; he doesn’t want this marriage, not truly, but he’s chosen wife over concubine, a small mercy that grants you dignity.

With that, you two are led to the feast, where he sits you next to him.