Song Bo studied the photograph for a long moment before turning to the second. This one was far less striking—it captured only a glimpse of Su Fuying’s feet, while Song Bo himself appeared clearly in frame.
He held up the first photograph so Yu Sui could see it. “This one. Ensure it is never circulated.”
Yu Sui reached out to take it, but Song Bo drew his arm back sharply, his posture protective as though guarding something precious. His tone cooled. “Did you not look at it? You know which one I mean.”
Yu Sui swallowed hard beneath that steady gaze. He had seen the photographs—of course he had, the moment they were handed to him. But the Commander had never before shown interest in such things, so he had assumed the prints were meant for him. He withdrew his hand, faintly chagrined. “I remember. I shall speak with the reporter at once.”
Song Bo wished the world to know he was betrothed—but not yet. He did not want these images circulating prematurely. Their first public portrait together ought to be unveiled with proper ceremony, and all due pomp.
In the days that followed, Su Fuying immersed herself in her studies—though she still had to make time to arrange the engagement. Curiously, they had not met again since that afternoon together. When next they saw one another, he arrived at the Su estate in a pristine new uniform to escort her to the hotel for the engagement ceremony.
Su Fuying studied him. He seemed paler than before, though she told herself it might only be her imagination. Or perhaps he was simply the kind of man whose good looks grew more striking the longer one looked.
Su Fuying wore her crimson gown and heels, her hair half-loosed in soft waves. She descended the staircase, and with every step it felt as though she walked upon the very hearts of those watching.
Yu Sui snapped out of his daze and nudged his fellow aide Xu Meng beside him. “I take it all back.”
On the journey home that day, Yu Sui had remarked to Xu Meng that their Commander appeared to have fallen in love. When Xu Meng asked what the future Madame Song looked like, Yu Sui had replied: “Just a quiet, obedient student girl.”
Seeing her now, Yu Sui could only conclude that his Commander possessed exceptional taste.
The Su household was thronged with guests: relatives of every degree, and officials and their wives who counted themselves friends of Su Hanhai. In years past, when the eldest Miss Su had been seen, they had offered only polite remarks about her quiet propriety. Today, every voice was raised in unreserved praise.
“Fuying always looked so plain and studious before—see how she shines when she is properly dressed!”
“She is to be the Commander’s wife, after all. It is only fitting she should present herself with grace.”
“Truly fortunate, too—do you know, at first it was said she was to marry into the Qin family?”
“That worthless Qin boy! He will no doubt keep a dozen concubines before the year is out. What a wretched life that would have been!”
“Speaking of the Qin family—was not the younger daughter betrothed to him? Why has nothing been heard of their engagement?”
Su Qingwan ground her teeth listening to every word. Worse still, a cold dread was creeping over her. In her past life, the Song family had moved far more slowly—and it was the Qin family who should have been announcing an engagement at this very time. Everything was unfolding in reverse.
Su Qingwan rode in a carriage following the military vehicle carrying Song Bo and Su Fuying, staring at the faint shapes visible through the rear window, her heart churning. In her past life, she had dreamed of becoming Commander Song’s wife. But once married, he had never once come home to spend the night. She had ridden in his official carriage exactly once. Betrothal, wedding, return visits—all hollow rituals.
The engagement banquet was held in the grandest hall at the Peace Hotel. In her past life, Su Qingwan had stood in this very building—but in a lesser hall, far removed from splendour. Arriving now, her heart hammered so fiercely she feared it might burst from her chest. She began to suspect with terrible certainty that she had walked into a trap. Did everyone here carry memories of a past life? Had they all turned against her?
The carriage pulled up before the hotel entrance. Su Fuying waited calmly within until Song Bo stepped down and opened her door, offering his hand to guide her. She had come to expect it—and he did not disappoint. When the hem of her gown caught on the step, he bent and lifted it for her, naturally and without hesitation.
The gesture was gentle, yet dazzling enough to stir every onlooker’s heart. At that moment, Su Qingwan’s emotions curdled into something unbearably tangled.
The watching crowd murmured approvingly. Su Fuying’s relatives—kinsfolk near and distant—swarmed around her, suddenly eager to claim kinship. It struck Su Fuying as bitterly ironic. Her mother had died when the girls were small; not one of these relatives had ever shown their faces. Now that the Song family—and Song Bo—held her in high regard, they came flocking like moths to flame.
Before the banquet formally began, Song Bo saw Su Fuying settled in a private lounge. She was glad of the quiet. Sitting before the mirror, smoothing her appearance, she found herself thinking of him. She had come to realise that beneath his quiet reserve, Song Bo saw everything. Even in companionable silence, he never let the moment turn awkward—and she always felt safe, and cared for.
Out in the hall, the chattering continued. Su Qingwan stood nearby, unnoticed by all. Or rather—unremarked upon, because she was of no consequence. It was true Su Qingwan was informally betrothed to the Qin heir, but the Qin family remained silent. Who could say whether they truly intended to honour the match? In everyone’s eyes, Su Fuying was the true prize.
“Depend upon it—the Commander is genuinely fond of her.”
“Did you see him help her down from the carriage? So attentive.”
“They say he is cold as ice and cares nothing for company—but seeing is believing, is it not?”
“Gossip is all it is. Best take it lightly.”
Then one woman leaned in, lowering her voice. “Have you heard the news of the Red Six Pavilion?”
“What news?”
“The Commander himself raided it. They say it was full of the loveliest women in the city—and he did not so much as blink.”
“No wonder it closed its doors shortly after! Said they were travelling abroad.”
“Men have their diversions, that is understood—but that place grew far too bold. It had become a den of vice, and word had spread all the way to the Northern Garrison. Something had to be done.” The woman dropped her voice further. “And mark this—they found women there, too! Women visiting such places!”
“What do you mean?”
“Ladies of quality, sneaking in for pleasure.”
“Good heavens—if their husbands knew what shame they would face!”
“Nay—some were unmarried girls, too. Though whose daughters they were, no one will say.”
“Doubtless their families paid a fortune to hush it up. A girl’s reputation is still worth a great deal in these times.”
Su Qingwan listened to the fragments of conversation, her brow furrowed. Something important eluded her.
As the hall filled, the women turned from scandal to praise Su Fuying—her beauty, her education, the Commander’s evident affection. With every word, Su Qingwan’s envy deepened into bitterness. Then one remark struck her like a blow.
“See how she has changed! Once she studied all day and spoke to no one. Now she speaks with such grace and poise—one word from her lifts the heart.”
Something within Su Qingwan snapped. In her past life, Su Fuying had never possessed such composure. She would never have stood so calm amid flattery and scrutiny. Nor had she seemed so unshaken when the betrothals were swapped.
Su Qingwan rose abruptly, eyes burning bright with resentment, and hurried toward the lounge.