Su Fuying had been chatting quietly with her makeup artist when Su Qingwan’s shrill voice rang out from beyond the door.
“Let me in! Do you have any idea who I am!”
Su Fuying arched an eyebrow. Then came the sentry’s firm, steady reply.
“I apologise, Miss Su. The Commander has given orders—no one may enter until the engagement ceremony begins.”
“I am Su Fuying’s sister! Can a sister not speak with her and keep her company?”
How rich, Su Fuying thought. The sister who murdered her.
She paid it no mind and let the artist continue styling her hair. But Su Qingwan’s fury only grew. A scuffle broke out; the door shuddered and banged beneath her blows. Then a calm, unfamiliar voice cut through the noise.
“Knock her unconscious and take her to the storage room.”
Before Su Qingwan could cry out, her eyes rolled back and she slumped. Xu Meng looked down at her unconscious form, his expression complicated and edged with quiet disdain. He gestured to the soldier. “Take her away.”
Then he stepped to the door and spoke respectfully. “Miss Su. The guests have nearly all arrived. The Commander will come shortly to escort you out.”
Su Fuying adjusted the emerald bangle on her wrist. “Thank you. I am ready.”
Xu Meng nodded, posted another guard at the door, and returned to the hall. He found Yu Sui and spoke quietly. “Keep a close eye on Su Qingwan when you are near Miss Su.”
Yu Sui was in high spirits for the occasion. The mention of Su Qingwan dampened his mood slightly. “I know what she is like. You needn’t remind me.”
Xu Meng looked him steadily in the eye. “I mean—keep her away from Miss Su.”
Yu Sui’s smile faded. He glanced toward the lounge. “What happened just now?”
“She tried to force her way inside.”
“And where is she now?” Yu Sui’s impatience with Xu Meng’s deliberate tone was plain.
“Knocked out and locked in the storage room.”
Yu Sui turned on his heel. “Locked?”
Xu Meng laid a hand on his shoulder. “Secured and under watch. I am only telling you to be cautious. Do not be overly concerned.”
Yu Sui brushed his hand aside. “Careful? Did you see the Red Six Pavilion raid? You saw what those women were like when intoxicated!”
Xu Meng frowned. “Then make haste. The ceremony is about to begin.”
Yu Sui strode off toward the storage room. “I am going.”
Su Qingwan was still insensible when Yu Sui unlocked the door and let in a sliver of light. She showed faint signs of stirring. He regarded her coldly and spoke to the soldier. “Bind her hands and feet. Secure her.”
When they finished, she was trussed tightly and gagged with a cloth. Yu Sui surveyed the scene with satisfaction. Only then did he notice the hour—Xu Meng soon appeared, urging him back.
“Yu Sui—make haste. The Commander is on his way.”
Yu Sui shut the door and dusted off his hands. Matters such as these were best kept from the Commander until after the celebrations concluded.
When the guests were all assembled and the hour arrived, Song Bo came to the lounge to fetch Su Fuying. She had been ready for some time; his stylist had called at the Su estate that morning, and her appearance required only a final check.
As Song Bo entered, Su Fuying adjusted her emerald necklace and greeted him. “Commander Song.”
Song Bo walked toward her, removing his cap. “Miss Su.”
Crimson met his gaze once more—and his heart beat faster.
“Are you ready?”
Su Fuying stood. Her hair drifted behind her, and the emeralds at her throat seemed to pale beside her fairness. “I am.”
Song Bo looked away, his Adam’s apple bobbing—an action Su Fuying did not miss. She stepped to the tea table and poured a cup. “Drink something. You must be thirsty.”
The makeup artist withdrew discreetly. Silence settled over the room, warm and unhurried, save for the distant murmur of the gathering beyond.
Presently, the cup clicked softly against its saucer. Su Fuying looked up to find Song Bo watching her. For a heartbeat, a strange, tingling warmth coursed through her.
“After today’s ceremony,” he said, “I depart for the Northern Garrison. I shall be away—at minimum a fortnight, perhaps a month.”
Su Fuying faltered slightly at his voluntary candour. “I see. Safe travels.”
He studied her. “In the days after this, will you have free time?”
“Only my studies keep me occupied. Why?”
“The Song residence is being renovated—to serve as our marital home.”
Su Fuying’s breath caught. In her past life, Su Qingwan had lived in the main family house; the Song Estate had been merely Song Bo’s office and occasional lodging. Now it was to be their home.
Her pulse quickened. The answer was clear—Song Bo cared for her differently.
He continued. “It shall be your home as well. Everything ought to be arranged to your taste. If you are free, I shall call for you tomorrow. We may inspect the work together.”
Until this moment, Su Fuying had viewed this union as a matter of duty—something to be honoured and endured. But standing there, she began to believe it might become something far more precious.
“Very well. I shall await you tomorrow.”
A quiet, genuine smile touched Song Bo’s lips. Then Xu Meng’s voice came from outside.
“Commander. Shall we begin? Madam Song sent me to remind you.”
Song Bo checked his pocket watch, his tone turning crisp and official. “We are ready.”
The distant hubbub settled. An announcer’s voice carried clearly through the doors.
Song Bo stepped forward, offering his hand with easy grace. “Come.”
Su Fuying placed her hand in his. Heat passed between them, warm and thrilling, spreading through her veins. As she stepped forward, the hem of her gown caught against a chair leg. She stumbled—and Song Bo caught her firmly.
She looked up to find his face close, his jawline sharp and clear, his scent wrapping around her. Her breath caught. The air between them seemed to warm. Her cheeks burned. She turned slightly and caught sight of herself in the mirror—rouge applied lightly that morning now deepened to a vivid blush, lending her an added loveliness.
“Are you unhurt?”
Su Fuying shook her head. “Quite. Thank you.”
She stepped back, creating space between them. The heady warmth receded slightly. Her gaze fell upon his cap resting on the sofa.
“Wait—your cap.”
She guided him to the spot, picked it up, and held it out. Song Bo stood straight and took it—though a few strands of dark hair fell loose across his forehead.
“Your hair is disordered.”
On impulse, Su Fuying rose on tiptoe and smoothed it back. Her collar fell open slightly as she reached upward, and Song Bo’s gaze darkened. He closed his eyes—and his grip upon her hand tightened.
“Is something wrong?” she asked softly.
Song Bo opened his eyes. The air between them grew soft, sweet, and charged with feeling.