The moment Xueyi stepped through the gates of the Yang residence, everything broke.
Her mother reached her first.
Tears that had been restrained for an entire day finally spilled as she pulled Xueyi into her arms, holding her as if afraid she might disappear again. Her father stood frozen for a heartbeat too long before placing a steady hand on Xueyi's shoulder—his grip firm, grounding, relief hidden behind rigid composure.
"You're home," he said, voice low but unsteady.
Her brothers gathered around her, speaking all at once—questions, anger, relief, disbelief tangled together. Servants hovered at a careful distance, eyes red, whispers trembling through the courtyard.
Only then did Xueyi realize how close everyone had been to losing control.
She was safe.
Truly safe.
And yet, she couldn't bring herself to turn around.
Jin Wei stood a few steps behind her.
Blood had been cleaned from his armor. His posture was as straight as ever, expression unreadable. He exchanged brief words with her father—short, formal, precise. There were no dramatics, no explanations offered beyond what was necessary.
When Xueyi finally looked back at him, their eyes met.
For a fleeting moment, she thought he might say something.
He didn't.
He simply nodded once.
And then he left.
Jin Wei's boots echoed in the palace halls, each step a drumbeat of controlled anger. His mind replayed the day in relentless detail—Xueyi's fear, the Crown Prince's audacity, the suffocating helplessness that had clawed at him.
*She was too scared. Too small, too fragile… too human.*
When he was summoned to the throne, he already knew what awaited him. His father's voice had come like an order, not a plea.
*Show yourself. Now.*
The anticipation sharpened every sense. This was not a summons for warmth or reconciliation. This was protocol. Authority. Expectation.
But Jin Wei felt nothing resembling filial affection. When his mother died, he had looked for a father. There had been none—only cold walls, endless training under generals, and a childhood carved from violence. At ten, he had been sent to prepare for battle. Fifteen years later, he returned, not as a son, but as a general forged in fire.
*Today, if Majesty demands I forgive… no. Not today.*
The King regarded him with measured eyes. "Jin Wei, your actions today—reckless, brazen—cannot be condoned. You must remember your place. You are my son."
Jin Wei's jaw tightened. *Son? That word has no weight here.*
"I am not a child," he said, voice cold. "Nor have I been a son in this palace for years. Today, I acted as a general and a man. That is enough."
The King's gaze flickered. "Do not mistake leniency for weakness. Even as my son, you must respect authority."
Jin Wei's lips curved, barely—a shadow of disdain. "Respect must be earned. Not demanded by title or blood."
The air thickened with unspoken history—the years of abuse, of training, of neglect. Jin Wei's mind flashed to battlefields, fire, and pain, and yet he had emerged stronger than any palace wall could contain.
"Enough words," the King said finally. "The Crown Prince has been punished. His title as heir is revoked. The matter is settled."
Jin Wei paused, absorbing the words. He had never expected the King to act decisively—much less against his own son. There was no relief in him. Only acknowledgment that the world could surprise, even if rarely.
The King leaned back. "After the wedding… you will remain in the palace. You will stay at my side. You are my son."
Jin Wei's gaze did not waver. There was no warmth. Only clarity forged in hardship. "Majesty," he said evenly, "I am your son in blood only. In duty, I am a general. My place is with my troops. I will remain in the general's residence. The palace… is no home of mine."
For the first time in years, the King's eyes widened—not in anger, but faint recognition. Jin Wei would never kneel to the crown. He would never bend for the father who never was.
Jin Wei turned, boots echoing on marble, the distance between them both physical and eternal. *I am a general. I am a protector. That is all that matters.*
Back at the Yang residence, Xueyi sat alone in her room, knees drawn close to her chest, staring out at the darkening sky. The events of the day clawed at her mind—the Crown Prince's hand around her wrist, the suffocating fear, and most of all… Jin Wei.
He had said nothing the entire journey home. Not a word of reassurance. Not a question. Only his presence, solid and unyielding, a wall between her and the chaos she had endured.
What unsettled her more—his silence, or the fact that she didn't know what to say even if he spoke.
She pressed her fingers into the quilt, breathing slowly. *Tomorrow,* she told herself. *I'll think about it tomorrow.*
Sleep came quietly, a reluctant truce, pulling her under.
"Miss… Miss, wake up."
Xueyi stirred, blinking against soft morning light.
Xiaomei stood beside the bed, eyes bright with nervous excitement. "It's time. Everyone is awake."
Xueyi sat up slowly, heart beating louder with every breath.
Today.
Her wedding day.
Outside, the residence was alive—footsteps, hushed voices, preparations underway. Red silk would soon replace yesterday's shadows.
Xueyi looked down at her hands. They were steady. Whatever had been taken from her yesterday, today demanded strength. And she would not falter.