Perspective: Wu Xian Yue
Yue couldn't understand where she had failed.
Fine — she could admit she wasn't perfect.
Too competitive, perhaps.
Stubborn, definitely.
And according to her masters, she "pushed things past the point where body and spirit should stop."
Yet even so… she truly believed her accomplishments outweighed her flaws.
She was the youngest daughter of Emperor Wu — the only girl among seven brothers.
Since childhood, that difference had never served as an excuse for her — on the contrary, it became her reason to push harder.
While her brothers celebrated victories in tournaments or supervised hunts, she spent her nights alone, training beneath the cold light of the moon, repeating forms until her fingers bled and her body forgot exhaustion.
And it hadn't been in vain.
By twelve, she had surpassed two of her brothers in spiritual sword technique.
By fifteen, she'd defeated veteran masters in the training courts without using Qi amplifiers.
By seventeen, she'd earned the right to carry her own blade — not by inheritance, but by merit.
And now, at eighteen, she was recognized by the court elders as one of the greatest prodigies of the Wu lineage.
Even so… none of that seemed to reach her father's heart.
The Emperor Wu was a man of steel.
And like steel, he did not bend.
In his eyes, Yue was just another piece on a political board.
It didn't matter how swift her blade was, how pure her spiritual energy, or how far she was willing to go to prove her worth.
None of it mattered when her fate had already been sealed before she could even speak.
A marriage.
An alliance.
A chain wrapped in silk.
The idea of her life being handed to another man had always been her greatest fear — the only kind of prison she could never endure.
And ironically, that was exactly what destiny had in store for her.
Wu Xian Yue didn't ignore the strategic value of a union between the Wu Dynasty and the Zhuge Imperial Clan.
She perfectly understood the political reasoning behind it — the strengthening of alliances, the exchange of promises, the assurance of peace between neighboring empires.
But understanding didn't mean acceptance.
She trained, fought, and bled to prove she could choose her own path.
And yet, all that strength wasn't enough to move her father's heart.
He had listened to her pleas in silence.
Looked at her with the same neutral expression he used when assessing a general who had failed.
Then, with a calm, cutting tone, declared:
"The treaty will stand."
Those were the heaviest words she had ever heard.
Short, simple sentences — yet they sounded like the click of a cell door closing shut.
And now, the inevitable had arrived.
Her fiancé — the man destiny had chosen for her — had finally reached the capital.
Yue stood on her terrace, the cold wind tugging at the silver ribbons of her training uniform.
From that height, she could see the flow of people entering through the main gate.
She knew who was there.
Zhuge Yu Jin.
The one they called the Catastrophe.
A man who had never wanted this marriage, and, by all accounts, despised it as much as she did.
The irony was cruel — two enemies of fate bound by a promise made long before they had learned to choose.
For a moment, Yue clenched her fists.
The cold breeze brushed her face, carrying the distant sound of ceremonial drums.
She stood straight, her expression calm and composed — just as she had been taught.
But inside, a single question echoed like the hollow ring of a bell:
"Where did I go wrong?"
But, as always, fate had no patience for introspection.
It seemed determined to remind her that hesitation was a luxury she was never allowed to have.
Three knocks sounded at the door.
Sharp. Rhythmic.
Each one like a reminder of the obedience she despised.
"My lady…" a woman's voice called softly yet formally from the other side.
Yue recognized it instantly.
Han Ruo, her personal attendant since she was eleven.
Discreet, gentle, devoted to the point of fanaticism — the kind of person who believed discipline was a divine virtue.
The girl didn't need to explain why she was there.
Yue already knew.
The presentation ceremony.
The "official meeting."
The moment she would cease to be the daughter of Emperor Wu and become the betrothed of the Zhuge heir.
Her stomach turned — not from fear, but from restrained revolt.
Han Ruo was probably waiting outside with a small army of maids, dressers, and trunks filled with ceremonial garments — clothes that would turn Wu Xian Yue, the general, disciple, and warrior, into a "princess fit for introduction."
She could picture it without opening the door:
robes of white and silver-blue silk, embroidered with golden threads and inlaid with spiritual crystals; an elaborate hairstyle pinned with delicate ornaments; the imperial necklace of lunar silver — symbol of purity and submission.
Everything meticulously designed to make her an image of serenity and grace.
A doll of the empire.
Yue felt her chest tighten.
Serenity and grace.
Two words she had learned to hate.
She knew what that dress represented.
It wasn't a robe of honor — it was packaging.
And she, the gift.
For a moment, the reflection in the mirror before her seemed to mock her.
There stood a woman who had trained under sun and snow, whose wrists bore scars and whose hands were calloused.
A woman who had learned to read the wind to predict the movement of a blade.
And now, she would be dressed like an ornamental flower.
"My lady, may I come in?" Han Ruo called again.
Yue stayed silent.
Her fingers tapped lightly against the table — a habit she'd developed to keep her anger in check.
She had spent her entire life obeying.
Training when ordered.
Fighting when demanded.
Bleeding when needed.
And what had she gained from it?
A fate chosen by others.
Fine then.
If the world insisted on treating her as a symbol, she would at least be a symbol of herself — not of a treaty, nor a name, nor an empire.
Yue rose to her feet and walked toward the mirror.
The reflection that met her gaze was firm, cold, determined.
She untied the ribbon of her training robe and let it slip from her shoulders, revealing the faint scars across her skin.
There was no hesitation in her movement.
The decision had already been made.
Today, Wu Xian Yue would not be the princess of the Wu Dynasty.
Nor the fiancée of the Zhuge heir.
Nor the obedient daughter of an emperor of iron.
Today, she would be only herself — the person she had always wanted to be, the one she had always feared to be.
And no matter who might be disappointed…
she would finally be free.