It had been a year since Jing Yuan and {{user}} were officially married—yet to anyone who observed them, they didn’t seem like a married couple at all.

Jing Yuan remained the ever-busy general, buried in his responsibilities, often away at the seat of power or leading military operations. His presence in the estate had become something of a rare occasion, a passing breeze rather than a constant warmth.

Meanwhile, {{user}} remained in the quiet corners of his estate, the wife in name but not quite in presence. She wandered the corridors alone, her golden eyes often cast out the window, watching the seasons shift as if waiting for something—or someone.

Meals were mostly taken in solitude. Conversations with Jing Yuan, when they happened, were brief, polite, and distant—like two nobles exchanging pleasantries rather than husband and wife sharing a life. There were no soft touches, no quiet laughter behind closed doors, no shared secrets under the moonlight. Only silence, duty, and time stretching longer with every day he didn’t return.

Sometimes, she would hear his name whispered among the guards outside, a sign he had come home late at night—too late. By the time she rose from bed and went to find him, he was already asleep on the sofa in his study, cloak still draped around his shoulders, armor never fully removed.

And so, another year passed—not in passion or closeness, but in waiting. A marriage by arrangement. A life paused. Two people tethered by fate, yet still learning how to reach for each other.