Perspective: Zhuge Yu Jin
See, Zhuge Island wasn't all bad.
There were beautiful women.
Plenty of them, actually.
The kind of beauty that seemed to bloom alongside the cold — rare, serene, and absurdly disciplined.
If that alone were enough, Yu Jin could almost call himself a lucky man.
There was also comfort.
That island was a paradise for any cultivator too lazy to worry about basic needs.
Resources? Abundant.
Food, shelter, clothing, spiritual treasures? Always available — often served before one even thought to ask.
The Zhuge servants seemed born with the gift of anticipating desires — and for someone like Yu Jin, who hated asking for anything, that had its perks.
Yes, those were the positives.
Unfortunately, they were the only ones.
Because in his opinion, Zhuge Island's flaws far outweighed its charms.
Returning to the imperial castle — that cluster of frozen palaces and sanctuaries — meant only one thing:
stagnation.
A kind of death that didn't come from blood or blade, but from the absence of any real feeling.
Yu Jin despised it.
The imperial castle was… dead.
Utterly dead.
Each of his father's wives lived within her own domain, surrounded by gardens and servants, spending their days in meditation, tea ceremonies, and endless chatter about spiritual flowers.
Even the birds there seemed to fly slower.
And the worst part was — that stillness was contagious.
The serenity of that island was so suffocating that Yu Jin wouldn't be surprised if the air itself was laced with some secret spiritual technique of tranquilization.
He could already picture what awaited him:
silent halls, measured footsteps, whispered voices, restrained smiles… and, of course, the endless series of silent meals where the loudest sound would be a spoon touching porcelain.
A porcelain hell of etiquette.
In Yu Jin's mind, the only sound worth hearing was that of something breaking.
And in that place, even that was forbidden.
He snorted, crossing his arms as he gazed at the white horizon ahead.
The frozen sea reflected the sky like a cracked mirror, and the wind blew with the monotony of someone reciting the same chant for centuries.
"Stagnation…" he muttered with disdain. "That's this island's real name."
It wasn't hard to understand where all that calm came from.
The entire Zhuge Empire seemed molded by the personalities of those who ruled it — including his mother and sister.
Two women who, in his view, could spend days watching flowers wilt without the slightest sign of boredom.
And they weren't alone.
Truth was, all his siblings were the same — calm, composed, infuriatingly balanced.
Each one seemed born to embody a virtue that Yu Jin considered a curse.
He had lost count of how many times he'd heard lectures about patience, wisdom, and "understanding one's inner Dao."
To him, all that sounded like an excuse for emotional emptiness.
The only one who escaped that curse was the old man — his father.
The magnificent scoundrel.
Yes, that man might have every flaw imaginable, but at least he lived.
Even with twenty-six wives, he somehow found time to vanish on mysterious journeys, visit distant kingdoms, and cause chaos wherever he went.
Unpredictable, reckless — and for that reason alone, worthy of respect.
But now, even he was gone.
And in his place reigned the eldest brother — the most insufferably calm man on the continent.
Zhuge Su Yeon.
The very thought made Yu Jin's body tense.
The "wise emperor," the "monarch of ice," the "mirror of the Dao."
They called him by many titles — all cold, all unbearably polished.
A man who, according to rumor, could watch the sunrise for three hours without moving.
Yu Jin, on the other hand, couldn't last three minutes.
So the closer he drew to Zhuge Island, the stronger the restlessness in his chest grew.
It wasn't fear — Yu Jin feared nothing.
It was something worse: boredom.
The kind of boredom that kills slower than poison.
If he didn't find something — anything — to make him feel alive again…
Well, then the heir of the Zhuge fire wouldn't die in battle —
but of sheer boredom.
Yet even with all that internal suffering — and his near-physical urge to turn back and never see the island again — Yu Jin knew he had no choice.
The old monk traveling with him was simply… impossible.
No matter how much he tried to escape, provoke, or annoy him, the man never reacted.
No anger, no impatience, no emotion at all.
Only that same calm, distant, impenetrable look — like a living mountain.
And worst of all: the monk was two full cultivation levels above Yu Jin.
Two.
That meant any resistance was as effective as punching the ocean and expecting it to retreat.
Yu Jin had tried everything: running away, lying, threatening, even pretending to be gravely injured.
Nothing worked.
The monk always dragged him back — same slow pace, same torturous silence.
No matter what Yu Jin said, the man would just look at him with that expression that said "your penance isn't over," and keep walking.
In short:
if hell had a spiritual guide, it would be that monk.
Yu Jin's fate was sealed.
He would return to Zhuge Island — whether he liked it or not.
But for now, fate seemed to be toying with him.
A temporary reprieve, perhaps — a small "intermission" before the final imprisonment.
They hadn't reached Zhuge Island yet.
The spiritual ship descending from the wind currents now sailed over lands Yu Jin had never seen before.
The sky was more golden than blue, and the valleys below were covered with green forests and temples carved in spiraling black stone.
The Wu Dynasty Empire.
A name he had only heard in passing — a southern empire known for extravagance, artistry, and, above all, for the political "alliances of convenience" his father so often arranged.
Yu Jin had no idea why they were there… until the monk finally spoke — for the first time in days.
"We'll make a stop. There's someone you must see before returning to Zhuge Island."
Yu Jin raised an eyebrow.
"See someone?"
At first, he imagined it was some elder — one of the countless old men who owed his father favors.
But then, when he heard the name, he almost laughed.
Wu Xian Yue.
A girl he had never met — yet whose name had been tied to his since childhood.
The "betrothed of fire and ice," the documents said.
An arranged marriage decided long before he even knew what the word bride meant.
And honestly, that was the last thing he wanted.
Yu Jin didn't believe in destiny.
And he believed even less in marriages sealed by ink and spiritual seals.
Yet here he was — a man bound to a contract he'd never signed, being taken to meet a woman he'd never asked for.
As the spiritual ship crossed the horizon and the golden mountains of the Wu Dynasty came into view — their temples glimmering beside mirrored lakes — Yu Jin crossed his arms and let out a long, heavy sigh.
"Perfect," he muttered with a half-sarcastic smile. "First I get kicked out of a temple, now I'm going to be trapped in another."
The irony made him chuckle — but the sound was quickly swallowed by the wind.
The golden sunlight caught in his eyes, and for an instant, he thought about how much he hated the idea that fate was still trying to make his choices for him.
But one thing was certain:
if he truly was forced to meet his so-called fiancée,
the Wu Empire was about to learn that no sacred promise could ever tame a catastrophe.