Yan Meilin was silent for a long while.
So this was the price of his love.
No matter how much it hurt, she sighed softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Okay," she nodded. "Since this is what the emperor wants, this is what I will do."
The emperor smiled at once, relief washing over his face. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her—his lips warm against her skin, his touch gentle.
But this time, Yan Meilin felt nothing. No joy. No butterflies. No heartbeat skipping.
Everything felt hollow. Every word of love, every caress—she could no longer tell if they were real or just carefully placed illusions meant to bind her deeper. Her heart cried silent tears even as she rested in his embrace.
She looked up, trying to keep her voice steady. "How does the emperor wish me to persuade her? Do you want me to speak to her?"
The emperor shook his head gently, as if amused by her question. "Silly," he said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I don't want you to talk to her."
