Yueli had never wanted to be a spectacle.
The confines of her world had always been quiet, humble. She had married with the hope that her talents, her knowledge, would quietly support her husband's household. That her work would speak for itself. But her world—her true world—was much wider than these walls, and in time, Xu Jin had insisted.
"There is more for you," he had said. "You must come to court. The emperor has heard of your skill with herbs and your knowledge of politics. You should not hide them. The world should know who you are."
She had resisted at first, but Xu Jin's arguments had been gentle, coaxing. And so, at last, she had agreed to accompany him.
The day she arrived at the court, Yuan was there too.
Not because he wanted to be, but because duty pulled him to the emperor's chambers. He had long been accustomed to the flicker of polite indifference when he walked into the palace halls—his name whispered like an afterthought. But today, as he entered the great audience hall, the sound of murmurs was different.
She's here.
Yueli entered quietly, head held high, her steps calm but purposeful. Her beauty was as understated as it was striking. Her delicate features framed by the elegance of her robes—a deep blue that reflected the sky, her hair twisted simply, with a single gold pin holding it in place.
She stood with Xu Jin at the emperor's side, a few words exchanged, before she turned to face the assembly of ministers. Yuan watched, eyes narrowing.
She was so much more than the woman he had married.
"Lady Lin," the emperor addressed her, his voice warm with familiarity. "Please, tell us of your thoughts on the matter of trade routes."
She stepped forward, graceful and composed. Yuan's heart gave an unbidden lurch as he heard her speak. Her voice, soft and steady, carried clearly through the room, not just to the emperor, but to every courtier, every official, who seemed to listen with rapt attention.
She spoke of borders, of strategic alliances, of the delicate dance between power and influence. Her words were sharp, intelligent, and woven with a knowledge that went far beyond what anyone had expected. The ministers—many of whom were older and far more seasoned in statecraft—nodded at her insights, their expressions unreadable, but their respect undeniable.
Yuan stood frozen at the back of the room, unable to look away.
His mind was full of questions. How did I miss this? Why did I think she was just a woman, to be protected or sheltered in the confines of the house?
The answer struck him suddenly—he hadn't known her at all.
….
After the council, the whispers lingered. Officials crowded around her, speaking eagerly, their voices hushed in deference. Yuan, unable to leave, stood behind a pillar, watching as his wife—his wife, whom he had neglected and misunderstood—was now the object of admiration and respect.
Xu Jin stood beside her, guiding the conversation, but Yueli was the one who commanded the room. Her smile was brief, but it was the smile of someone who knew her worth.
The realness of it hit Yuan with the force of a storm. He had always known she was clever—had seen her brilliance from time to time, but never like this. Never as the woman everyone else saw. The woman who had captivated the court.
….
When the council ended, Yueli walked past him without a glance, her posture tall and proud. Yuan, who had never before felt the weight of his wife's absence in the halls of his own home, found it unbearable now.
He watched her, the image of grace, strength, and intelligence—a woman who had always been more than he had allowed her to be.
And then, with no more ceremony than a passing breeze, she was gone.
Xu Jin approached him, his gaze calculating.
"You didn't expect this, did you?"
Yuan's throat tightened. "No," he whispered.
"Sometimes we don't see what's right in front of us," Xu Jin said softly. "Perhaps now you will."
….
Later, in the quiet of the night, Yuan found himself in their shared quarters, but Yueli was not there. He was alone—alone with the knowledge that the woman who had stood before the emperor today had been by his side all along. And he had never truly seen her.
He sank down on the edge of their bed, head in his hands, overwhelmed by regret and guilt.
The door opened slowly.
Yueli stepped inside, her robes trailing behind her, the faintest trace of exhaustion in her eyes. But there was something else—something almost imperceptible in the way she carried herself now. As if the world outside had seen her, had given her space to breathe, and she was no longer waiting to be seen by him.
"I don't need your apology," she said softly, as she passed him to remove her outer robe.
Yuan looked up, his heart aching. "I know," he replied hoarsely. "I have no right to ask for your forgiveness."
She didn't answer, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes. The wall she had built around herself was still there, but now, it had more cracks than it once did.