Weeks passed, and the air within the Han estate grew thick with anticipation. Lanterns of red and gold lined the courtyards, silk banners stretched between pavilions, and servants hurried to and fro carrying bolts of fabric, crates of wine, and ceremonial ornaments. The Han, Xue, and He families moved like great beasts preparing to meet, every branch of their households converging for what would be a union of power as much as of people. Even the Lu family, bound to the Han through years of friendship, took part in the labor.
For Han Zhennan, each day of preparation carried its own weight. He had no wish to choose one bride before the other—He Ruying with her quiet warmth, or Xue Lian with her fierce devotion. To him, placing one first would be to wound the other. So, after nights of restless thought, he declared his decision: a joint wedding, one ceremony, one oath, both brides at his side.
When he had voiced it, his father gave no objection. Han Zhenwu's expression was unreadable as ever, his approval spoken with the flat tone of a man who cared little for sentiment. "As you wish," he had said, dismissing the concern as though it were no more than the setting of a banquet table. Zhennan had wondered, not for the first time, if his father truly saw people, or only pieces on a board.
Still, the choice brought him a measure of peace. He could walk into the day without guilt, knowing he had treated them both with the same hand. Yet as the days shortened and the wedding drums drew nearer, he could not still the storm in his chest. Excitement mingled with unease, affection tangled with fear. The thought of their smiles warmed him, yet the shadow of his father's designs lingered like smoke behind the gilded halls.
The days of preparation blurred into one another, a storm of movement across the Han estate. Red lanterns glowed even in the late afternoon sun, casting a warm haze over pavilions polished until they gleamed. Servants dressed in crisp uniforms bustled in every direction, hanging banners of silk embroidered with phoenixes and dragons, carrying trays laden with fruits and jars of wine, while musicians tested their zithers and flutes in a corner, the soft notes weaving into the hum of activity.
Han Zhennan had not known that preparing for marriage could feel more exhausting than training under his father's relentless watch. He was quickly buried under the tide of tasks—ceremonial robes to choose, ancestral offerings to prepare, greetings to memorize. His expression was calm, but his heart longed to simply escape into the forest, where silence reigned.
That was when Lu Zhenhai found him.
Or rather, when Zhennan dragged Lu Zhenhai into his troubles.
"Why me?" Zhenhai groaned, hauling a bundle of red silk higher over his shoulder, his face contorted in mock agony. "I'm not the one getting married. Why must I be your mule, your errand boy, your—your servant? This is injustice!"
Zhennan, carrying a tray of jade cups with surprising steadiness, smirked faintly. "Because you're my sworn brother. That means you share my burdens."
Zhenhai threw his free hand in the air dramatically. "I thought sharing burdens meant fighting enemies together, not choosing flower arrangements and carrying dowry lists!"
"Both require endurance," Zhennan said simply.
Zhenhai stumbled over a loose stone and almost toppled into a servant, earning himself a glare. "Endurance, he says. My endurance is for blades and battles, not ribbons and rouge."
Yet despite his complaints, Zhenhai helped. He followed Zhennan into the crowded halls, where they inspected rows of ceremonial gifts—crates of tea leaves from the He family, bolts of blue silk from the Xue, golden incense burners from the Han. He trailed him into the kitchen courtyards, where chefs tested dishes for the wedding banquet. He even suffered through being fitted for ceremonial attire himself, standing stiff as an old tailor circled him with a tape, muttering about his shoulders.
By the time night fell, the two of them sat side by side under a pavilion, watching the lanterns sway like fireflies against the indigo sky. The clamor of the estate had dimmed, replaced by the soft rustle of night wind through the gardens.
Zhenhai leaned back, yawning. "If marriage is this tiring, I will remain single for life. Let me live free of silk, wine, and meddling elders."
Zhennan chuckled, the sound rare and unguarded. "You say that now. Until you fall for someone who makes you carry her burdens willingly."
Zhenhai groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Spare me your wisdom, oh groom-to-be."
Their laughter echoed through the quiet courtyards, carrying warmth that pushed aside the weight of duty, if only for a moment.
Morning dawned bright and golden. The Han estate transformed into a world of red and gold, banners fluttering like flames, the air filled with the scent of incense and fresh blossoms. Guests poured in from every direction—disciples in uniformed rows, wandering cultivators eager to witness the union, minor nobles hoping to curry favor. The courtyards thrummed with life, yet at the heart of it all stood Han Zhennan, clad in scarlet robes embroidered with golden clouds, his face calm though his heart pounded.
To his right walked He Ruying, serene and radiant in her green and gold bridal dress. Her emerald eyes, usually shy, now shone with quiet pride. To his left was Xue Lian, bold even in her finery, crimson silk swirling around her like flame, her smile dazzling as she refused to stray a single step from his side. Their hands brushed his sleeves now and then, and each time, warmth spread through him like fire.
At the head of the gathering, three patriarchs presided.
Han Zhenwu, Zhennan's father, was as stone-faced as ever. Yet when his son passed before him, for the briefest flicker of a moment, his lips curved into the shadow of a smile. It was gone as soon as it appeared, but Zhennan noticed. A son's worth, acknowledged only in silence.
Beside him sat Xue Feng, patriarch of the Xue family, and He Jian, patriarch of the He. Their faces were stiff, their postures rigid. Both men looked as though they sat on thorns, their eyes betraying what their voices could not: that they had been pressed into this alliance by Han Zhenwu's will, not by their own. To them, the wedding was not a celebration but a binding chain.
Yet none of that shadow touched the laughter of the brides.
As the rites concluded Ruying and Lian clung to Zhennan's sides, their smiles bright, their laughter spilling like bells. They teased him softly, argued over who he should sit beside first at the banquet, each refusing to yield an inch. Their joy was infectious, and though Zhennan felt the weight of watching eyes and heavy schemes, in their laughter he found something genuine, untainted.
Lu Zhenhai made sure no silence lasted long. He wove through the crowd with his usual smirk, shouting congratulations loud enough to draw chuckles even from hardened elders, teasing Zhennan without mercy. "Look at you, groom of two! Even heroes of old couldn't boast such fortune. Remember me when you're drowning in affection—I'll bring a rope!"
He earned curses from Xue Lian and silent glares from Ruying, but he only laughed louder, making the newlyweds laugh as well.
And so, beneath the lantern light and the gaze of hundreds, the wedding of Han Zhennan began.
Not perfect, not without shadows, but filled with laughter all the same.
The year following the wedding passed in warmth and laughter.
Han Zhennan often felt as if he had conquered the world, though not through battle or cultivation, but by waking each day to the smiles of Xue Lian and He Ruying. The once lonely and cold youth found his home filled with laughter—Xue Lian's fiery teasing, Ruying's quiet grace, and Lu Zhenhai's constant intrusions that never allowed life to grow dull.
Yet even amidst this happiness, Han Zhenwu never allowed his son to grow idle. Training continued without pause—blade forms repeated until Zhennan's muscles screamed, cultivation pressed to its limits, and endless lectures about responsibility. For Han Zhenwu, joy was fleeting; strength was eternal. And so, between moments of warmth with his wives, Zhennan still bled on the training grounds.
But today, even the iron will of Han Zhenwu bent slightly before the tide of joy.
Xue Lian was pregnant.
The entire Han estate seemed to buzz with excitement. Servants whispered about the child who might inherit both his father's terrifying talent and his mother's fierce will. Disciples lit incense to bless the unborn. Even the usually stoic Han Zhenwu's eyes gleamed with something sharp—ambition disguised as pride.
For Zhennan, however, the news brought not pride but a storm of nerves. He was a warrior, trained to slay beasts larger than houses, to face blades without flinching. But the thought of holding a fragile life, his own child, filled him with a fear he had never known.
He would sit awake at night, watching Xue Lian sleep, her hand gently resting on her swelling belly. Can I truly be a father? Can I protect not just my wives, but a child who will depend on me for everything?
He remembered the awkwardness of learning to be a husband—how every laugh, every touch, every word had been a lesson. Perhaps fatherhood would be the same. He told himself, If I could learn to love, I can learn to guide.
Xue Lian herself was radiant, glowing with energy despite her sharp tongue. She often laughed at his anxious looks.
"Don't frown so much, Zhennan," she teased one evening as they rested in the garden. "You look like you're about to face a thousand enemies. It's just one child. And besides, I'll be the one doing all the hard work."
Her smile disarmed him, as it always did, though his heart still raced with equal parts worry and love.
He Ruying, though she smiled for her closest friend, carried a quieter burden. Though she had shared her life with Zhennan just as much as Xue Lian, her womb remained empty. No matter how many nights she hoped, no life stirred within her.
She hid her sorrow well, never letting bitterness shadow her gentle expression. Instead, she supported Lian with all her heart—preparing her meals, accompanying her walks, even massaging her shoulders late into the night. Yet when she was alone, her emerald eyes sometimes dimmed with longing.
Han Zhenwu noticed.
One afternoon, he summoned her and his son. His voice was calm but carried weight.
"Ruying, zhennan ,do not let your heart grow heavy. I know of your… difficulty. But there are ways to correct it. A friend of mine is skilled in such matters and is a renowned cultivator of the medicine path so you can rest assured on this matter. Soon, you too will bear the Han family's bloodline. You have my word."
Ruying bowed, her voice steady though her hands trembled slightly. "I am grateful, Father-in-law. Truly."
Her heart swelled with hope. If Han Zhenwu promised aid, then perhaps her sadness would finally end. Perhaps one day she would hold her child, and she and Lian could laugh together as mothers, not just wives.
That night, as Xue Lian leaned against Zhennan, humming happily while tracing circles on her belly, Ruying leaned on the other side, smiling softly.
"You'll be a wonderful father," she whispered.
Zhennan, embarrassed, turned his face away. "I… I can only try."
Both women laughed, their voices like music in the quiet night, and for a while, even Zhennan's fears felt distant.
It was a time of joy, of expectation, of dreams for the future.
But in the shadowed chambers of the Han estate, Han Zhenwu's eyes gleamed coldly.
For him, a child was not joy—it was a tool, a key. And every promise he gave was only another step toward the power he sought.