The morning arrived with a fresh layer of dust motes dancing in the sunbeams, lighting up the stagnant air of Tang Liu's chamber. Despite his carefully maintained facade of weakness, a subtle hum of anticipation resonated within him. Today, he would meet his fiancée, Saintess Lin Xian'er. The memories of the original prince provided a hazy image: a paragon of grace, her spiritual root of the highest quality, her talent prodigious, her beauty legendary. A true peerless genius of the Heavenly Sword Sect, destined for greatness. And now, she was to be bound to him, the broken prince, a political sacrifice.
His attendants, a sparse collection of nervous servants, helped him into a simple, elegant robe of deep blue silk. The fabric felt cool against his skin, a stark contrast to the burning phantom pains that still occasionally flared along his 'shattered' meridians. He was propped up on silken pillows on a chaise lounge, arranged to convey an impression of delicate convalescence. The room was meticulously tidied for the occasion, the jade statue conspicuously absent, but the lingering scent of lilies, now more subtle, still clung to the air.
A hushed commotion outside signaled her arrival. The sound of light, purposeful footsteps, accompanied by the swish of silk and the soft chime of jade pendants, preceded her. The doors opened, revealing a vision that almost made Tang Liu momentarily forget his calculated facade.
Lin Xian'er stepped into the room, and the air itself seemed to still, becoming charged with her presence. She was breathtaking. Her figure was slender, clad in robes of snowy white, embroidered with silver threads that shimmered like moonlight on a winter's night. Her face, framed by dark, cascading hair, was sculpted with an almost inhuman perfection – high cheekbones, delicate lips the color of rose petals, and eyes the deepest obsidian. They held an intelligence, a piercing sharpness that belied her serene beauty. She carried herself with an almost regal confidence, an aura of cultivated power that effortlessly commanded respect. Tang Liu, even with his hidden strength, recognized the immense spiritual presence of a Tier 4 Nascent Soul expert. She was, indeed, a prodigy, a force of nature.
Her gaze swept over the chamber, then landed on Tang Liu. There was no pity, no feigned sympathy in those obsidian depths, only a cool, dispassionate assessment, as if she were appraising a finely crafted, yet irrevocably broken, artifact. She took a single, elegant step forward, her movements fluid and economical, then stopped a respectful distance from his chaise.
"Third Prince," her voice was clear, resonant, like the chime of ancient bells, utterly devoid of warmth. "I trust your recovery progresses well." It was not a question, merely a formality.
Tang Liu managed a weak, almost imperceptible nod, a gesture of exhaustion. "Saintess Lin Xian'er. It is… an honor." His voice was thin, breathy, a carefully modulated performance of a man barely clinging to life. He watched her, observing every nuance. He had expected disdain, perhaps even open contempt, but her detached indifference was far more chilling. It spoke of a woman who viewed him not as a person, but as an inconvenience, a necessary political hurdle.
She remained still, her hands clasped elegantly before her. "Let us not pretend, Prince. This union is a political maneuver, orchestrated by our elders to secure the dynasty's stability and the sect's influence." Her words were blunt, direct, cutting through the thin veil of courtly pleasantries. "I have no interest in a life of domesticity, least of all with one whose cultivation has been… severed." The last two words were delivered with a subtle, almost imperceptible emphasis, a stark reminder of his perceived uselessness.
Tang Liu forced a gentle smile, one that he hoped conveyed resignation and acceptance. "I understand, Saintess. My condition… it is regrettable. I have no illusions. I am but a symbol, a means to an end." He paused, allowing a touch of self-deprecating weariness to enter his tone. "I would not presume to ask for your affection, only for your understanding. And perhaps, for the sake of the dynasty, a facade of harmony."
A flicker, subtle as a breath, passed through her obsidian eyes. It was not curiosity, not anger, but something deeper, an ancient, almost primordial stirring. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, leaving Tang Liu puzzled. He had no context for it, no knowledge of the demon empress's reincarnation, but he filed it away, another intriguing data point.
"A facade of harmony," she echoed, the words a cool caress. "That, I can provide. I will not share a bed with you, Prince. My focus remains on my cultivation and my sect's prosperity. I expect you to respect that." She looked at him with an intensity that seemed to penetrate his frail exterior, as if trying to gauge the true measure of the man beneath the crippled facade. "Do not embarrass me. Do not impede my path."
Tang Liu, the silent spider, met her gaze with an expression of gentle agreement, his eyes holding a calculated deference. "Your wishes are my command, Saintess. I will be no impediment. Only… a quiet shadow in your illustrious path." His words were meek, but his inner resolve was iron. He had just secured his most potent, unwitting shield. She would guard her honor, her dignity, and in doing so, unwittingly guard him. And behind that formidable shield, he would continue to plot, to cultivate, to strengthen himself, utterly undetected.
"Good," she replied, the single word a dismissal. With a final, piercing glance that seemed to linger for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, Lin Xian'er turned and swept out of the chamber, her departure leaving behind a lingering scent of rare mountain orchids and an even deeper silence.
Tang Liu let out a quiet sigh, the gentle smile fading from his lips. The meeting had been precisely as he predicted. He was a political tool, a symbol of royal weakness, destined to be discarded or forgotten. But in her words, in her very demeanor, he had found his opportunity. Her coldness was his cloak, her disdain his shield. They saw a crippled prince. They did not see the Primordial Heir. He closed his eyes, and beneath the silken robes, the Void-Shattering Primordial Physique continued its silent work, drawing power from the void, strengthening the nascent Qi Condensation Layer 3 that now simmered within his dantian.