As the man in her arms slowly stilled, the Princess let out a long, shaky breath of relief.
A‑Zhao… she whispered silently to herself. Let your memories return a little later. Wait until you have learned to love me more.
Even before she had crossed into this story, she had loved the hero Wen Zhao: so handsome, so true of heart, so fearless in battle perfect in every way.
In the original tale, he had been cast ashore in a strange land and lost his memory for years. Once his memories returned, he had hurried back to Tianqi only to find that Zhou Du had already wed Gu Yanshan. Yet knowing her unhappiness, he had flung himself into battle again and again, caring nothing for his own life, striving to earn merit enough to beg the Emperor for a decree that would set her free. And in the end, the Kingdom of Qiyang fell to Wen Zhao’s hand.
So when the Princess realized she had become Qiyang’s own princess, fear had seized her first. She did not wish to be a princess of a fallen kingdom, nor a prisoner led in chains.
When she found Wen Zhao unconscious, rescued from the shore by a farmer she had stood over him with a blade in her heart, thinking: If I kill him now, none of it will ever come to pass.
But she could not. This was the man she had loved from the pages of a book living, breathing, standing before her. How could she strike him down?
And then she saw it: he had lost his memory. Wen Zhao is a man of such pure and faithful heart, she thought. If in these years he learns to love me… then when his memories return, surely for my sake he will spare this land. Surely he will not turn his armies against Qiyang.
“A‑Zhao…” she murmured, holding him close. “I know you love me. Forget her, I beg you. Let me be the one in your story.”
At the Marquis of Yong Ning’s Manor
“Brother Yanshan… it is all my fault. If not for me, Uncle would never have struck you so.”
Song Qingqing wept softly as she tended Gu Yanshan’s wounds, her tears falling upon his back like salt in a cut. Every drop stung fresh fire into his pain.
“Qingqing, do not weep… wipe your tears away. It pains me to see you grieve.”
Song Qingqing’s heart swelled sweetly even broken and bleeding, he thought only of her.
Gu Yanshan sighed as her sobs at last eased. “My father still held back his hand. Had he not feared delaying the wedding, I think he would have beaten me to death.”
“This Lady Zhou has not yet crossed our threshold and already he loves her as his own daughter. His own son means nothing to him at all.”
Song Qingqing spoke softly, with careful hesitation. “Brother Yanshan… what sort of woman is this Lady Zhou? Uncle honors her so highly will she not be spoiled and proud? Once she enters this house, I fear she will look down even on you… and upon me, a humble concubine, she will show no kindness at all.”
Gu Yanshan gave a short, cold laugh. “They say she is a paragon of dignity and virtue so highly praised that even Master Yuqing spoke of her with respect. I imagine her as nothing more than a lifeless block of wood, cold and dull. She could never shine beside you bright, sweet, and full of life.”
Song Qingqing bit back a smile, her eyes gleaming with quiet triumph.
Gu Yanshan continued, his tone hardening. “Yet you speak wisely, Qingqing. All the world bows and scrapes to this Lady Zhou. I shall not. Once we are wed, I am her husband and a wife obeys her husband. I shall bow to no one, and least of all her.”
He would find a way to humble her pride, and teach her her place.
“Ah, Brother Yanshan you are the truest, bravest man in all the world!” Song Qingqing cried. “You are worth more than all five of my brothers put together!”
Gu Yanshan drank in her praise like wine.
Just then, Chang Song entered carrying a basin of water and stopped short, eyes wide. “Young Mistress? What are you doing here?”
His master sat half‑bare, his back raw with wounds and here stood an unmarried maiden alone in his chamber! Had she no sense of propriety at all? Even though the Emperor had issued a decree naming her Gu Yanshan’s noble concubine, the ceremony had not yet been performed. Such boldness was scandalous!
Song Qingqing seemed suddenly to realize how improper their situation was. She blushed bright red and shrank shyly toward the wall.
“Lady,” Chang Song said firmly, “the Marquis bids me see you home at dawn tomorrow. Pray gather your things you are to leave.”
This young woman had made a habit of lingering in the manor, though there was no mistress of the house nor lady of her own age to keep her company. Now that the betrothal was sealed, she still clung to the household and the Marquis had at last grown tired of it.
Song Qingqing paid Chang Song no heed. She turned instead to Gu Yanshan, eyes brimming with fresh tears. “Brother Yanshan… how shall I bear to be parted from you?”
Gu Yanshan soothed her gently. “Go home, Qingqing, and prepare yourself. Once Lady Zhou has entered this house, I shall perform the ceremony and take you formally as my concubine. Then we shall never be parted again.”
Chang Song watched the scene unfold and felt a dull ache rise in his chest. His master was ever sensible and steady until it came to Song Qingqing. Then he was no longer himself.
The Zhou procession had set forth at the appointed hour, Zhou Ze riding beside his sister all the way to the capital. There, anticipating the wedding, they had purchased a grand residence in the city. They rested there for a day and then the wedding dawned.
“Uncle… what is this you say? Gu Yanshan has relapsed from old wounds and cannot come to claim his bride?”
Zhou Ze’s voice rang cold with fury. Never in his life had he been so enraged.
“He falls ill he loses consciousness today of all days at the very hour he should come to lead her to the altar! Does he seek to brand my sister as an accursed bride before she has even crossed his threshold?”
“Very well! If this is how your house regards ours then we shall defy the decree! Let the whole of my clan suffer for it but this marriage shall not take place!”
“Insolent, faithless cur you have wronged us beyond bearing!”
Zhou Ze, always poised and gentle, stood trembling with rage.
Gu Wu’s face burned crimson. He stood utterly in the wrong. He had never dreamed his fool son would do something so shameless leaving his father to bear the brunt of the insult, bowing and apologizing before a youth half his age.
He knew Gu Yanshan feigned illness. And he knew Zhou Ze knew it too. Yet he could not admit it he must cover for his son, invent excuses, and swallow his pride. The humiliation was bitter.
“Peace, young sir, I beg you!” Gu Wu pleaded, face flushing hot. “That ungrateful boy when I learned he had traded his merit for an imperial writ of concubinage, I struck him in wrath, and struck him too hard. His wounds reopened through my own rashness. For this and for every wrong I ask your forgiveness, and Lady Du’er’s.”
“But today the hall is filled with guests. The Emperor himself shall attend. We cannot cast aside all honor and the Emperor’s decree in a moment of anger!”
Zhou Ze laughed a sharp, icy sound. “If Gu Yanshan had a shred of honor, he would crawl here on his hands and knees to meet his bride! Instead he closes his eyes and casts the burden and the shame upon my sister! Tell me, Lord Marquis how shall this be resolved?”
Gu Wu spoke quickly, desperate for a way out. “Then… let it be this. I have another son. Gu Yanchuan. Fourteen years of age. Steady, respectful, and comely. Let him stand in his brother’s place to meet the bride and lead the ceremony. Let the rites be honored, and all proceed as it should.”
To have a younger brother stand in for the groom was a custom only invoked when the elder lay dying to bring him luck and healing through the wedding rites. To make a bride a token of such a rite…
Zhou Ze struck the table with his fist, half‑mad with indignation. “My sister my Du’er is to be made a bride of a deathbed healing rite?!”
She was the jewel of her family, cherished and guarded. How dare they use her so?
Gu Wu hurried to calm him. “He shall not die! I swear it! When he wakes and wake he shall he shall be punished most severely!”
“Lady Du’er is blessed beloved even by Master Yuqing for her grace and virtue. When Yanshan wakes and is restored to health… shall that not prove her great blessing? Who then shall dare speak ill of her?”
The hours were slipping away. Zhou Ze drew a sharp breath. “I shall ask my sister. If she refuses we depart at once for Qinghe. Let the worst befall we shall face it together as a family!”
Gu Wu blanched. He had sought a daughter‑in‑law not the ruin of an entire house. That wretched boy… he cursed inwardly.
Moments later, Zhou Ze returned. His face was dark as storm clouds.
“Well?” he snapped. “Bid Gu Yanchuan dress and come at once!”
Zhou Ze, ever graceful and respectful, now spoke to the elder Marquis as though he were a servant. His fury knew no bounds.
Gu Wu, too relieved to care about the disrespect, leaped up. “At once! I go at once! Wait but a moment!”
As Gu Wu hurried away, Zhou Ze watched him go and burned with quiet rage. Wait for you? I am not the one being married! You dare wrong my sister so? If you wanted someone to subdue and bear your insults you should have taken me instead! I would show you the meaning of honor!
The bridal sedan swayed and came at last to rest. Before Zhou Du appeared a hand slender, pale, and fine‑boned. A length of red silk was held out to her. A young voice spoke, soft and clear:
“Pray step down, Sister‑in‑Law.”