From Bai Xuan Hua's Perspective
Bai Xuan Hua considered herself something of an expert on Zhuge Su Yeon.
And, in her opinion, that was only natural.
What girl wouldn't be curious — or even fascinated — by the man she had been promised to since childhood?
Of course, in the beginning, she hated the idea.
Back then, young and stubborn, she swore she would never submit to an arranged engagement — not with him, not with anyone.
She dreamed of freedom, of adventure beyond the shadow of the great clans, of the right to choose her own path.
But that rebellion didn't last long.
Because, unfortunately — or perhaps fortunately, depending on how one saw it — Zhuge Su Yeon wasn't an ordinary fiancé.
When she first saw him, still a teenager, Hua knew running away would be pointless.
He was, without exaggeration, the most beautiful boy she had ever seen.
That serene, untouchable kind of beauty — the kind that didn't need to demand attention to be noticed. It simply existed, imposing, subtle, and inevitable.
But it wasn't just that.
Yeon was polite, respectful, and impossibly calm.
He spoke little, but each word seemed carefully chosen — always courteous, always measured.
He never embarrassed her, never looked down on her, never let emotions dictate his actions.
He was the kind of man who made even anger feel useless — because there was simply no place for it around him.
And above all, he already belonged to her.
Promised by decree, blessed by lineage, guaranteed by the word of two of the most powerful families in the North.
A handsome, powerful, impossible-to-hate fiancé.
A proposal too good to refuse.
So, Hua didn't refuse.
Her desire to escape gradually changed into something else — a persistent, almost tender curiosity.
A desire to understand who he was, what he thought, what he felt.
And over the years, that curiosity matured into a small, healthy obsession — or at least, that's how she justified it to herself.
Hua watched Yeon in every way possible: discreetly during meetings, during walks through the castle gardens, during formal meals, and sometimes even through the reflections in the windows when he thought no one was looking.
And the more she watched him, the more she believed she understood him.
To her, Yeon was an open book of repetitions.
Always the same behavior.
Always the same serenity.
A predictable man — but fascinating in his predictability.
He was like a flawless actor in an endless play — a character who never stepped out of his role.
Hua had even coined a term for the rare moments when he broke that pattern:
she called them "nonstandard events."
She could count them on one hand.
That intense look after the battle with the Shu Clan.
The kiss — which, to this day, she still couldn't tell if it had been real or just the product of tension.
And now, this morning, before her eyes, there was another such moment.
Because the man sitting at the table, eating in silence, was not the Yeon she knew.
He was different.
His face was the same — handsome, serene, perfectly composed — but there was something new in the way he moved, the way he breathed.
The usual calm had been replaced by a subtle unease, almost imperceptible, but Hua, with her years of observation, noticed it immediately.
Yeon was worried.
Not as someone reflecting on administrative matters or political strategy, but as a man carrying an invisible weight — a burden that made him seem more human and, paradoxically, more distant.
His eyes, normally clear and unreadable, were fixed on some invisible point, lost in thoughts that didn't belong to that hall.
And strangest of all — he was barely eating.
Hua watched silently from behind the marble column near the window.
Yeon raised his fork from time to time, but the motion was mechanical, devoid of appetite.
Every gesture looked forced, as if eating were a duty, not a pleasure.
He chewed slowly, without taste, his mind clearly elsewhere.
And in that moment, Bai Xuan Hua felt something uncomfortable stirring within her — a feeling she hated to admit.
Worry.
Because this wasn't just another nonstandard event.
It was an omen.
And if there was one thing she had learned over the years, it was that whenever Zhuge Su Yeon lost his balance…
the entire world shifted with him.
In that instant, Bai Xuan Hua completely forgot her own plans.
The careful strategy she had crafted over the past few days — her wounded pride, her desire to punish him with silence, to make him feel the same emptiness she had endured while he was in isolation — all of it vanished like smoke.
She no longer thought of the solemn promise she had made to "ignore him gracefully" once he returned from cultivation.
She didn't think of the endless, exhausting politeness of Yeon's sisters, whom she had endured alone.
Nor the tedious conversations with her own brother, while her fiancé hid away in silence.
None of that mattered anymore.
All Hua could see, all that existed in that moment, was him — sitting at the table, surrounded by golden morning light and the faint aroma of lotus tea, yet completely detached from all of it.
Yeon looked like a painting of perfection — and yet, something was wrong with the canvas.
His usual serenity had cracked, like a frozen surface ready to shatter.
His eyes, normally steady, drifted to places she couldn't follow.
And every time he breathed, it looked as though he carried the weight of something unseen.
She watched him in silence for what felt like an eternity.
Her heart beat slowly, heavily, each pulse pressing against her chest with an urgency she couldn't explain.
It was as though a part of her — the part she had always kept disciplined, cold, and controlled — had suddenly chosen to move on its own.
And before she could realize it, her pride was gone.
The anger, the resentment, the need to punish him — all of it dissolved before the unease that consumed him.
He's suffering, she thought.
And suddenly, that was all that mattered.
Without thinking, Hua took her first step.
The hem of her dress brushed against the jade floor, releasing a faint sound.
One step, then another, each one drawing her closer to the center of the hall.
The soft echo of her footsteps filled the silence, and the morning light reflected in her dark hair, turning it into strands of crimson and gold.