The letter came at dawn.
The sky was still pale, smudged with the gray of passing clouds. Morning mist curled around the corners of the Yun household, and silence draped over the rear courtyard like a second layer of frost.
Yun Zhi sat alone, brushing dust from her embroidery frame with steady fingers. The thread between her fingers was the color of late spring peonies—pale pink, nearly white. She'd been working on the same pattern for three days. It didn't matter if it finished. No one asked to see her embroidery anymore.
The stillness broke with the sound of feet scuffing against stone.
A servant girl burst in through the garden gate, breathless, eyes wide. She stumbled on the uneven path, half-falling as she rushed forward, one hand clutching a red silk scroll to her chest.
"A decree—His Majesty sent a decree!" she gasped, her voice cracking. She dropped to her knees too quickly and bowed low, hair askew. "It's… it's for you, Fifth Miss."
Yun Zhi froze.
Her chest tightened. Her first instinct wasn't awe or fear. It was disbelief.
No. That doesn't make sense.
She blinked at the scroll. The red silk shimmered in the weak sunlight, gold thread glinting like fire.
Why would the Emperor send a decree to the Yun household?
Why address it to her?
She stood slowly, folding the half-finished embroidery with deliberate care. Her hands moved calmly. Her thoughts did not.
This isn't for me. It must be a mistake. Maybe Ruolan. Maybe Yuelan. Not me.
She hadn't left the rear courtyard in two days. No one came here unless they had to. She was used to that—forgotten, passed over, invisible. It was safe that way. Quiet. Predictable.
But the servant girl wasn't leaving.
"Fifth Miss," she said again, softer this time, as if unsure the world had shifted correctly. "You're summoned to the front hall. The decree… it names you."
Me.
Yun Zhi wrapped the embroidery cloth, set it down, and nodded once.
She followed the girl through the corridors. The house was still quiet. No footsteps, no morning greetings, not even the usual whispers from the maids. Word had already traveled ahead of her.
No one looked at her. No one spoke.
That was familiar too.
But this silence felt different—not apathy, but anticipation. Something sharp waited at the end of the hallway.
When she stepped into the front hall, the air changed.
Her father, Yun Heng, stood stiffly in his court robes, every inch the minister. His expression was unreadable. Her stepmother, Madam Lin, sat next to him, hands clasped tightly, lips pressed into a line so thin it might disappear altogether.
Her sisters were there, arrayed like jewels—Ruolan in scarlet, eyes narrowed; Yuelan with her arms folded, a single eyebrow raised; Meilan blinking back tears; and Xiaolan chewing her fingernails.
They all stared at Yun Zhi like she had walked in with a knife.
The imperial eunuch stepped forward. His voice was sharp and practiced as he unfurled the decree.
"By the grace of Heaven, His Majesty decrees: Yun Zhi, fifth daughter of the Yun household, is hereby bestowed in marriage to His Highness Li Shuyuan, Second Prince of the Great Jin. The wedding shall take place within ten days. The match is sealed and shall not be revoked. By imperial command."
The silence that followed roared louder than the words.
Yun Zhi stood still. Her body obeyed while her mind raced.
Li Shuyuan. The second prince. Cold. Sharp. Untouched by scandal, yet surrounded by fear. His soldiers called him "the Blade in Shadow." His enemies never saw him coming. Unmarried, disinterested in court beauty. A man built for war, not love.
Her legs moved before her mind did. She dropped to her knees, forehead to the polished wood floor. "Your servant obeys," she said. Her voice sounded distant, as though it came from someone else.
When she looked up, the eunuch was already gone.
Her father said nothing.
Her stepmother's hands trembled.
Ruolan broke the silence. "This… this must be a mistake," she said sharply. "Yun Zhi? The quiet one?"
Yuelan snorted. "The invisible one."
Meilan sniffled. "But she doesn't even—she's not even—"
Xiaolan just stared, wide-eyed and pale.
Yun Zhi kept her gaze low, her face blank. But inside, everything churned.
Confusion. Fear. And something colder.
This wasn't a mistake. Someone had done this on purpose. But why?
She wasn't the most beautiful. That was Ruolan. She wasn't the smartest. That was Yuelan. She had no ambition, no charm, no powerful mother backing her name.
She was quiet. She was obedient. She stayed out of the way.
And now, she was to marry the second prince of the empire.
Why me?
She risked a glance at her father. Yun Heng was still staring at her, but now his expression had shifted. Less surprise, more calculation. As if a puzzle piece had fallen into place.
"Leave us," he said.
Ruolan opened her mouth, ready to argue, but a single look from him silenced her. One by one, the others left, their footsteps fading into the silence of the corridor.
Yun Zhi remained kneeling.
Her father sat down. His voice was quieter now, but no less firm.
"This marriage will change the household's fate."
She said nothing.
"You've done nothing to earn it," he added. "That's not a judgment. That's fact. So the question is—why did His Majesty choose you?"
She didn't answer. She couldn't. Her mind reeled.
A test. A trap. A tool.
"I don't know," she said quietly.
"No. You don't." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "But you will go. You'll keep your head down. You'll listen. Watch. Speak little. Learn everything."
She nodded.
"You will no longer be Yun Zhi of the Yun household. You'll be the second prince's wife. From this day on, whatever that costs you—pay it."
She bowed her head.
That night, Yun Zhi lay awake in the tiny room behind the garden wall. It had once belonged to a servant. She'd been moved here quietly two years ago, after one too many of her sisters complained that her presence made them uncomfortable.
The servant girl had packed her things earlier. There weren't many. A few robes—plain, well-mended. Her embroidery box. A single jade comb that had once belonged to her mother. Nothing else.
Ten days.
Ten days, and she would be gone from this house.
No dowry had been discussed. No trousseau prepared. No joy, no fanfare. Just a sudden decree, and a quiet march to a place she'd never set foot in.
They'll send me off like a stranger.
She turned on her side, pulling the thin blanket tighter. The moonlight crept across the floor like a thief.
Why me?
She'd asked herself that question too many times already. And each time, it echoed back without answer.
She didn't believe in luck. Not in this household. Not in this empire. Nothing happened without purpose.
Someone had put her name before the Emperor.
Someone wanted her in the second prince's household.
Not Ruolan. Not Yuelan. Her.
Someone thought she was harmless.
Or someone thought she was useful.
Or maybe they didn't care who she was at all—maybe they just needed a girl to place between two blades and see which one cut first.
I won't ask why. Not yet.
She stared at the ceiling, the weight of silence pressing on her chest.