Lady Yu Miaohan was still frozen in place. Thirty minutes ago—just thirty short minutes—the impossible had unfolded before her eyes. The man in her carriage, dressed in strange silks and speaking in words no one understood, had humiliated the general of her father's army. The general—a man who had waded through fire and war, who had never once bowed before any foe—was struck down as if he were a child.
And this man… this Yu Lianzhen… what was he?
Her heart still raced. Was she being kidnapped? Or… was she chosen? Because the way he stood, the way he laughed into the desert wind and proclaimed verses as though to the heavens themselves—it felt less like the crime of an outlaw and more like the ritual of a god declaring his will.
Yu Lianzhen, however, seemed utterly unconcerned with her fear. He was admiring himself—his shadow in the sand, the gleam of the sun against his pale skin, the luxurious fall of his hair. He hummed, smiled, and began reciting a poem praising himself, then abruptly shifted into verses extolling the beauty of the lady seated stiffly in the carriage. His tone was teasing, romantic, triumphant all at once. He liked her. He knew already she was stubborn—but he had handled stubborn beauties before. What was one more?
The desert road gave way to a swelling horizon, and before them rose the gates of a great city, towering walls of amber stone and watchtowers adorned with banners. Beyond, gilded rooftops glittered in the sun, and far in the distance, Yu Lianzhen's sharp eyes caught sight of the palace—jade-green tiles, sprawling courts, and high halls reaching for the sky.
He laughed, clapping his hands. "Ah! At last, a proper home fitting of a prince's arrival!" His words were lost on the carriage driver and the trembling lady, but his delight was unmistakable.
The guards at the gate were prepared to wave the noble carriage through—until Lady Yu Miaohan leapt from it and shouted frantically, pointing back at him. Though Yu Lianzhen did not understand her words, her tone was clear: she was warning them.
The guards' swords came out. More men were summoned.
Yu Lianzhen only stretched his arms wide and sighed, as though disappointed by the lack of hospitality. He stepped lazily from the carriage, his robe swaying like drifting clouds, a careless smile on his lips.
"Rude! Rude!" he said in his strange tongue, pouting like a spoiled child. Then he broke into song, verses of praise for the city, its colors, its architecture. The rhythm was so beautiful, so lyrical, that even without understanding, the guards hesitated.
But hesitation was broken when they charged.
And Yu Lianzhen vanished.
One blink—he was gone. The next blink—he was holding Lady Yu Miaohan by the waist, standing with her in the center of the courtyard. No one had seen him move. Her breath caught in her throat.
As swords slashed at him, he spun with her in his arms, dancing lightly across the courtyard stones. His voice never faltered; he continued his poem, each line a flourish of arrogance and admiration, sometimes praising her beauty, sometimes praising his own unrivaled radiance. Blades swung, spears thrust—but he wove through them effortlessly, turning the melee into a farce. The guards looked like clowns performing tricks in the marketplace, while Yu Lianzhen laughed and twirled the lady as though they were partners in a ballroom.
She wanted to resist, to scream—but she felt her words turn to dust in her throat. Compared to him, she was small. Insignificant.
By the time they reached the palace gates, Yu Lianzhen was rejoicing aloud, eyes glittering. "Yes! This is the place! A palace worthy of me at last!"
The court had gathered in uproar. Lord Yu, Lady Yu's father, stormed forward with his retainers and his wife by his side. Officials muttered in confusion, guards pressed in with weapons raised. Why was Lady Yu here? Where was the general they entrusted her to? And who was this strange man?
Yu Lianzhen tilted his head, scanning the hall with theatrical curiosity. "Ah! Customs! Etiquette! Surely I must honor this place… what bow must I give? What rite must I perform?" He spoke cheerfully, yet none understood a word.
No one answered.
So he simply strolled to Lord Yu himself, fingers tugging playfully at the lord's ornate robes. "Marvelous cloth! May I take this?" His eyes shone with mischief, like a child coveting a toy.
The Lord of the city stiffened. He was no weak official to be mocked. His hand flashed beneath his sleeve, and from the folds of his robe he drew his hidden blade. Sword aura surged to life, sharp and violent, like the roar of a dragon descending from the sky. With a furious shout, he struck.
The blade's arc split the air, a streak of blinding light, and the hall filled with the crack of splintering stone as dust billowed. Courtiers cheered. Guards laughed with relief. Surely the intruder was cut down!
But then—
A laugh.
A carefree, ringing laugh, echoing from the throne itself.
When the dust cleared, there he was—Yu Lianzhen—seated comfortably upon the high throne, chin resting on his palm, tears of amusement glistening in his eyes as he laughed and cried all at once.
He began another poem, lines tailored perfectly to the situation: mocking the failed strike, praising his own unmatched beauty, exalting the hall as his rightful stage. And when he finished, he stood, pointing dramatically at Lord Yu.
"I want your daughter. A Lady such as her should be the bride of a man like me! I ask for marriage, and I declare my claim before heaven and earth!"
The words, though foreign, carried such weight, such intent, that all in the hall understood.
Gasps erupted. The courtiers froze. The lady's father roared in defiance, but before he could raise his blade again—darkness fell over his eyes. His body crumpled.
There stood Yu Lianzhen, smiling sweetly, a single hand brushing dust from his robe. He had made the lord sleep as easily as one closes a book.
Then his voice rose once more, singing a bold, resounding poem that filled the chamber. He praised his own glory, proclaimed Lady Yu Miaohan as his bride, and declared that soon he would march to the Central Empire itself to seek the destiny he desired.
The court was silent. Some whispered: Is he a god? Is this why his words are unknown to us?
Lady Yu Miaohan, trembling, lifted her gaze. His beauty was like that of a woman, flawless and radiant. His arrogance was overwhelming, unbearable. And yet—her heart beat wildly, drawn toward him as if by some terrible gravity. She felt she could die for such a man.
Yu Lianzhen laughed again, joy spilling from him like wine. He had not felt this alive in centuries.