The snow fell steadily, soft and slow, dusting the stone courtyard with a layer of white that felt almost dreamlike.
Inside the Peace Pavilion, the firelight flickered and danced, casting shadows that seemed to move with the rhythm of their breath. Lin Ruoyi sat perfectly still, sipping the tea she'd been offered. Her fingers hovered over the treaty scroll, her expression unreadable.
Then Yan Xuan's voice cut through the stillness.
"I have three requests."
She lowered the scroll, calm as ever. "I'm listening."
"First," he said smoothly, "Liang will withdraw its troops from the Seven Rivers border within three days. Second, Yan's physicians will be allowed to inspect your wounded soldiers. No guards. No conditions."
She gave a slow, sideways glance. "Your kingdom doesn't seem the charitable kind to offer free medicine. I suppose peace now comes with a side of surveillance?"
He smiled faintly. "I call it compassion. You've been camped at our borders for weeks. Someone should offer help."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "And your third demand?"
Yan Xuan stepped around the table slowly, without rush, without sound—like someone perfectly aware of the effect he had. His presence was disarming, but impossible to ignore. He stood tall, poised, wrapped in white robes that shimmered faintly with phoenix feathers under the firelight. Even with half his face hidden by a dark mask, the man didn't need both eyes to command the room.
He came closer. She didn't move.
Then, suddenly, he pressed two fingers to her left shoulder.
She hissed.
Pain flared through her body, and blood bloomed through the fabric. Her injury, hidden until now, betrayed her.
Yan Xuan's voice dropped low. "You're injured. Let me tend to it."
"It's nothing," she said flatly, though her face was a shade paler now.
"I'm the best physician in Yan," he murmured. "You'd be a fool to refuse."
He turned to the servant at the door. "Bring my medical kit."
The servant bowed and vanished instantly.
Ruoyi exhaled slowly, visibly annoyed—but she didn't stop him.
Moments later, she sat on the bench beside the hearth as Yan Xuan knelt gracefully in front of her, rolling up the bloodstained fabric of her armor with careful, practiced hands.
His touch was gentle. Too gentle. It infuriated her.
"Arrow wound," he said, inspecting the raw flesh near her ribs. "It didn't go deep, but you didn't clean it. You just let it bleed."
"I had a war to fight."
"And I have a healer's pride," he said, dipping a cloth in warm herbal water and brushing it against her skin with expert ease.
His movements were slow, precise—every dab of salve, every bandage pull measured like a ritual. When he finally met her eyes again, his face was closer than before, his breath steady and warm against her cheek.
"Your Crown Prince proposed to you last winter," he murmured.
Ruoyi's gaze turned colder. "I don't remember it being your concern."
"I just wondered," he said, wrapping the last bandage around her side, "if you'd accepted."
She paused. Then asked, "Why?"
He leaned in, eyes locked on hers, and his voice dropped to a whisper.
"Because if you had… I'd ask you to cancel it."
She blinked.
"You're suggesting I marry you? Why should I?" she asked, her tone a mix of sarcasm and disbelief.
He smiled again—but this time, it was real. And dangerous.
"I find you beautiful," he said plainly. "Just… my type. Maybe I'm in love. Or maybe I'm just being strategic. Either way—Liang's icy general and Yan's cursed third prince? It would create such delicious uproar."
Her heart skipped.
Not from rage. From shock. From how easily he said it. Like complimenting the weather.
She laughed—short, disbelieving. "You want to reduce me to a political pawn?"
"No," he said, brushing his index finger lightly along her cheek. "I'm offering peace. And a little fun along the way. I think you'd enjoy it. I certainly would."
Her breath caught for half a second, then she stood quickly, yanking her sleeve back into place. She'd seen his face fully now—the curve of his lips, the unmasked golden eye that saw too much, and the jawline sharp enough to shame a blade.
It was unfair. He was too tall, too graceful, too smooth with his words.
Too good at making her forget she was at war.
"The talks are suspended," she said, grabbing the treaty scroll. "This proposal—" she tapped the paper with a snap, "—requires serious rethinking."
She turned and walked toward the door without looking back.
But just before stepping outside, she paused.
"I'm not the kind of woman who bends because a man shows interest," she said. "And I don't belong to anyone."
Behind her, there was silence.
Then Yan Xuan's voice reached her—calm, steady, and low:
"I never expected you to bend. That's what makes you impossible to ignore."
She didn't answer.
The wind outside was cold. But his gaze followed her out, like warmth she didn't ask for but couldn't shake off.