Perspective: Zhuge Su Yeon
When I was born into this world of cultivation, still carrying the memories of my previous life, I couldn't exactly call myself ignorant of the situation I was in.
Of course, it was still terrifying to find myself in the body of a baby — and worse, to endure the way people treat one.
Those were years I sincerely prefer not to recall.
Especially the diapers.
Even now, I still have recurring nightmares where, for some inexplicable reason, I'm walking through the palace halls — fully grown, wearing imperial robes — and suddenly realize I'm wearing diapers.
That kind of horror transcends the Dao itself.
But aside from those traumas, I had little difficulty understanding the new world around me.
After all, this was a world of cultivation — a setting absurdly familiar, almost identical to the countless ones I had read about in novels from my past life.
The biggest difference?
This time, it was real.
And, above all, my situation seemed far safer than that of most transmigrators I had read about.
I hadn't awakened in the body of a dead man, nor in the middle of a war.
I hadn't inherited debts, nor mortal enemies.
And, to top it off, there was no cursed seal hunting me down.
I had simply been born lucky.
First son of Emperor Zhuge — a man whose power was such that the very ground of the island trembled beneath his steps.
With a single strike of his fist, he could shift the balance of entire lands.
Living under his shadow was, paradoxically, both the safest and most dangerous place one could imagine.
And me?
I lived in peace.
No worries.
No tragedies.
With every advantage that the protagonist of a cheap novel could only dream of.
Yet, even so, there were certain things around me that constantly reminded me of the stories I'd once read.
Clichés that felt as if someone up there was writing my life just to test my patience.
And apparently, today — just when the issue with the Shu Clan had finally been resolved — those "clichés" decided to resurface, ready to keep me company.
The first reminder of that… was now standing right before me.
The Second Imperial Princess, Zhuge Yui Lan.
If I had to choose one thing that truly stood out about my younger sister, I wouldn't hesitate — it would be her beauty.
A beauty that bordered on the absurd — almost unreal, as if the heavens had placed in her all the remaining traces of purity the world had left.
Yui Lan was… beautiful.
Terrifyingly beautiful.
Her skin was pale, with the serene glow of morning snow.
Her hair — long, straight, and deep black — caught faint bluish tones under the light.
And her eyes… large and intensely blue, bright enough to make anyone believe they were staring into a spiritual lake.
Eyes that seemed to see through people.
Eyes that, for all their sweetness, always hid something deeper — as if carrying memories of a life she herself did not yet remember.
And yet, she bore one flaw.
A single imperfection on that living masterpiece.
A dark, uneven mark spread across part of her left cheek — a blemish that broke the purity of her skin, like an intentional stroke of ink left by the gods to remind the world that even beauty must have limits.
My father used to say it was a spiritual mark.
Something that would only fade when Yui Lan's body and mind achieved perfect harmony.
A kind of internal seal — a scar between what she was and what she was meant to become.
Honestly, even now, I still don't fully understand what he meant.
And to this day, with my sister already nineteen, the mark remained.
But, in time, it stopped bothering me.
What truly changed my view was when Yui Lan chose to become a spiritual physician.
At the time, I understood her intentions immediately.
She wanted to understand body and soul — so she could one day remove the mark herself.
It seemed noble… and, at the same time, predictable.
Yet there was irony in it.
A spiritual healer with a blemish on her face — it was exactly the kind of story I had read dozens of times in my previous life.
A marked woman, seeking healing, only to uncover truths far greater than the ones she sought.
Poetic.
And slightly tragic.
Yui Lan, however, didn't seem to care about the symbolism.
She simply followed her path with that same quiet determination she'd inherited from our father.
And over the years, she became someone I watched more closely with each passing season.
She was… different.
There was something about her that made me feel the island's balance would one day rest in her hands.
But today, unexpectedly, she came to me — and, without hesitation, dropped a bomb about another variable in our family's equation.
A variable that, personally, I found far more troublesome than any spiritual blemish.
Zhuge Han, the Third Imperial Prince.
You see — I never planned on taking another woman besides Bai Xuan Hua.
Even though my options were… extensive, to say the least.
And the reason was simple: it would be absolute insanity.
Hua already gave me enough headaches to drive me half-mad, and we weren't even formally married yet.
If she could turn an ordinary dinner into psychological warfare, I didn't dare imagine what handling two or three versions of her would be like.
No, thank you.
Asking for more than that would be mental suicide.
Besides, though imperial blood made us "desirable" by default, I had no desire to build a harem.
In a way, I understood the logic — the island's population was four women for every man, and polygamy had become as common as ice on the mountains.
But personally, I preferred breathing peacefully.
That was my choice.
And I never interfered with my brothers' preferences.
If any of them wished to follow in our beloved father's footsteps — the magnificent scoundrel — and take twenty-five wives, so be it.
The chaos, the headaches, and the loss of sanity would be theirs to bear.
I would stay in my corner, drinking tea, watching from afar — maybe even sending my condolences.
Still, there was one exception.
One situation where love — or anything resembling it — wasn't just reckless.
It was forbidden.
And that exception had a name:
Zhuge Han.
The Third Imperial Prince.
My brother.