“Commander, it is time to present yourselves.”
They turned away from one another in perfect unison, and walked toward the door.
As the doors opened, the master of ceremonies announced their entrance. The hall was thronged with guests, alive with warmth and celebration. Song Bo led Su Fuying down the grand staircase, every step drawing every eye. Several of the city’s scarce cameras had been brought out; flashes lit the air, and the whir of shutters mingled with the murmur of voices.
Among the guests, young ladies attending with their parents gazed at Su Fuying with undisguised envy. Commander Song might not be the most famously handsome man in the city, yet he was the most coveted match. His future shone bright and certain. Young though he was, he had risen entirely through military merit. He stood as the most likely candidate to become the city’s next Military Governor. Though his title still recalled his father’s rank, Song Bo was no mere heir—he held actual command. Two-thirds of the city’s garrison answered to him. Had it not been for his leadership, the city itself might not have survived.
Five years prior, the enemy nation had invaded, bombarding the city with aircraft and artillery. The city had teetered on the edge of ruin. It was Song Bo who led a strike team through enemy lines, stormed their stronghold, and seized an enemy aircraft—turning the tide of the war. That battle had made his name. Men flocked to his banner, drawn by devotion to country and family. His influence grew—but he remained unaligned to any political faction. This formidable tiger became the most sought-after ally in the land.
Yet power attracts treachery. Whatever faction he might choose, the excluded rivals would conspire against him. Even before he had made his choice, one faction had already struck. His father had been attacked and crippled, confined ever after to a wheelchair. That atrocity forced Song Bo’s hand. The Qing Dynasty had only recently fallen, and the Northern political factions were rife with corruption and intrigue—one of which had orchestrated the attack on his father. He would never join them. He chose instead the Southern Faction.
Upon joining, he led a daring second raid into enemy territory. Employing a brilliant diversionary tactic, he flew a captured bomber over their headquarters while their forces were distracted elsewhere. The enemy command was destroyed, communications severed, and more aircraft seized. The invasion collapsed. Every piece of advanced enemy equipment was captured and placed under his care for study. That victory cemented his reputation as a living legend.
Song Bo knew, however, that his success had come from the enemy’s own arrogance—they had dismissed the Chinese as helpless and defenceless, and so let their guard fall. The enemy had not dared to strike again in the years since. Yet as his fame endured, the Southern Faction’s high-ranking officials grew uneasy. Song Bo was too powerful, and too independent. He served them, but he was not their pawn. Should he strike out on his own, the Southern Faction itself might be swallowed whole. They needed him rooted in place, bound by marriage and duty.
Song Bo had no intention of leaving or building a rival power base. His parents were frail and could not endure hardship or flight. Marriage would also serve him well—it would put an end to the endless stream of daughters forced upon his household by ambitious officials. Su Hanhai, though City Secretary, was modest in influence; the alliance served both families equally. Song Bo would not be unduly encumbered, and the Su family would rise alongside him. He had not, however, counted on meeting Su Fuying—and everything had begun to shift. Yet by every measure, matters remained firmly within his control.
The master of ceremonies unrolled the betrothal scroll and read aloud:
“Upon this joyous day, a fine union is formed. As the Osprey sings, so hearts are joined in harmony. May this union prosper through all generations. One heart, one purpose; a home built in virtue. Mutual respect, enduring devotion. May your counsel strengthen one another, and your vows remain as true as those of the mandarin ducks. This is your pledge.”
“Sign the betrothal scroll, and let this union be formally sealed!”
Song Bo and Su Fuying stepped forward and signed their names. As Su Fuying wrote, her emerald bracelet, rings, and necklace caught the light, dazzling all who watched. The young ladies murmured in admiration.
“Look at her jewellery—emeralds, the finest set!”
“I heard the eldest Miss Zhang had already reserved them, but Commander Song purchased the entire collection there and then—for her.”
“Had I known he cared so little for pedigree, I should have made my suit sooner.”
Several nearby ladies turned upon the speaker with disdain.
“Look to a mirror before you speak. Su Fuying is hardly lacking—and I hear she is an exceptional scholar.”
“One might admire the Commander, yet one must also know one’s own worth.”
“Her father is the City Secretary—hardly a humble background.”
Cao Jiayue bit her lip, consumed by envy. She remembered school days—back then Su Fuying had been quiet and unassuming, yet somehow always admired. Now even the Commander had chosen her.
The ceremony concluded in triumph. Returning to the lounge to rest, Su Fuying found the day’s newspaper waiting for her. On the front page was a photograph from the previous day—Song Bo standing guard, shielding her as she entered his carriage. Her face, however, had been kept from view.
She smiled, recalling the formal portraits taken earlier. Song Bo had stood perfectly straight, solemn and utterly earnest.
She knew well how such things worked. Newspapers bowed to power and influence. A man such as Song Bo could decide exactly what the public saw. The Qin family, by contrast, simply bought praise—coin could turn even the worst blackguard into a hero.
A knock came at the door. “Enter.”
The door opened. The measured tread of polished military boots drew near. Su Fuying turned to see Song Bo walking toward her, cap in hand.
“Are you hungry? I have sent for refreshments—they shall be brought shortly.”
Drawing near, he noticed the newspaper spread upon the table. He glanced up at her, his eyes bright with quiet meaning. “Do these reports displease you?”
Su Fuying glanced at the bold headline: COMMANDER SONG’S MYSTERIOUS MEETING.
“I do not care for the word ‘mysterious,’” she said calmly. “We are entering a marriage—not conducting a secret affair.”
Song Bo caught the deeper meaning. Did she mean… did she care for him too?
Su Fuying met his gaze steadily. “You are Song Bo—the man who holds this city’s fate in his hands. You were never meant to remain hidden. And beyond that—I am the woman you intend to bring home with full ceremony, three betrothals and six rites, nothing less. There is no reason to hide what is honourable. My dignity is involved, and this is far from a trivial matter.”