"Bow to Heaven and Earth!"
The booming voice echoed inside a grand ancestral hall draped in crimson silk.
Yan Qingling's head spun as her body stiffly bent at the waist, guided by unseen hands. She could taste the heavy scent of incense mingled with the faint metallic tang of blood in her mouth.
Where am I?
A memory, sharp as a scalpel, sliced through the haze.
Moments ago — no, in another life — she had been digging survivors from the rubble of a collapsed school during the earthquake. One after another, she pulled them out, even when her hands bled raw. And then… darkness.
But now, she was no longer wearing her bloodied combat fatigues. She was clad in layers of embroidered silk so heavy she could barely breathe. Her limbs were weak, her bones aching like they belonged to someone else.
A chorus of blessings blurred into a dull roar.
"Second bow, to the high hall!"
Hands pressed her shoulder down again. She glimpsed the flicker of candlelight dancing on red curtains, saw the faint silhouette of a man standing beside her — tall, unyielding, dressed in ceremonial armor under his wedding robe.
Who is he? Where am I?
An unfamiliar memory collided with her own: the life of the original Yan Qingling — eldest daughter of the disgraced Yan clan, pawned off to marry the empire's War God, Prince Li Zeyan. Tonight was their wedding night, but tomorrow would be their family's funeral.
A single cold fact rang clear: by dawn, the Yan clan and the Li clan would be charged with treason. Wealth confiscated. Blood spilled. The hero of the northern border reduced to a criminal.
Qingling's pulse hammered in her ears.
She was no stranger to death, but to watch innocent people be destroyed by court schemers? Never again.
"Bride and groom, bow to each other!"
A hush fell as she slowly lifted her gaze. For the first time, she met the eyes of the man she'd known only from the body's memories — Li Zeyan, the War God of Daliang.
Even through the bridal veil, she felt the weight of that gaze: sharp as a blade, cold as winter frost, and yet — beneath it, exhaustion and unspoken wounds hidden behind rigid pride.
This man had defended borders with iron and blood — only to be betrayed by the throne he protected.
Qingling's new heart clenched in her chest.
No. She wouldn't allow it.
Not on her watch.
"Into the bridal chamber!"
The crowd erupted in laughter and drunken teasing. Qingling's small hands were seized by a servant girl who guided her step by step through the maze of corridors, deeper into a chamber glowing with candlelight and the scent of wine.
She was pushed to sit on the crimson wedding bed, a veil still covering her face.
Outside the carved window lattice, thunder rumbled. She inhaled sharply, feeling for the first time the flicker of warmth at her core.
Evergreen Pavilion.
A name rose in her mind like a whisper from the void. She closed her eyes — and in her vision, a jade-green courtyard unfurled: shimmering spirit herbs, bubbling spring water, neat rows of sealed chests glittering with gold.
A mystical space, born from her merging souls. A new life. A hidden power.
Outside, the heavy footsteps of her new husband drew near.
Li Zeyan's shadow loomed at the doorway, broad shoulders blocking the flicker of lanterns. He stood silent for a long breath, then stepped forward to lift the red veil.
Qingling stared boldly back at him, unflinching.
They were strangers in name but bound by fate.
Tomorrow, they would be enemies of the empire.
Tonight, they were allies by necessity.
"Princess Consort Yan," he said at last, his voice low and cold as a winter wind. "I do not know what poison your father brewed to force this marriage — but do not think you can earn my favor with petty tricks."
Qingling's lips curved into the faintest smile beneath her veil of reincarnation and secrets.
"Your Highness," she said softly, her voice steady as a soldier's oath, "if you want to survive what comes at dawn, you would do well to listen to your unwanted wife tonight."
Outside, thunder cracked. Somewhere in the capital, conspirators toasted to the Li family's ruin.
Inside this chamber, a lone woman planned to rewrite destiny — armed with the healing hands of a miracle doctor, and a space brimming with hope.
Thunder growled over the capital as rain tapped gently against the carved wooden windows of the bridal chamber.
Yan Qingling sat upright on the edge of the wedding bed, her fingers brushing the embroidered silk sheets she hadn't chosen, in a marriage she hadn't asked for.
Across from her, Li Zeyan stood silent. A lone oil lamp flickered near his side, carving shadows into the lines of his strong jaw and stern eyes.
Neither spoke for a long while. Outside, the laughter of drunken wedding guests drifted faintly through the corridor — oblivious to the storm both within and without.
Finally, Qingling broke the silence. Her voice was calm, steady, every word weighed like a soldier's command:
"Your Highness, if you step into the palace tonight, you will not return unharmed."
Li Zeyan's gaze, as sharp as a drawn sword, locked onto hers.
"How do you know that?" he asked, his voice low but laced with frost. "Did your father tell you to say this? Or are you here to distract me with a pretty lie?"
Qingling's lips curved into the faintest, almost mocking smile.
"In my dreams, I have seen your blood stain the marble steps of the Emperor's hall. I have seen iron chains on your wrists and the heads of your loyal guards displayed like trophies. If you don't believe me — go. But you will crawl back tonight half-dead."
A flicker of surprise flashed in Li Zeyan's eyes, gone in an instant.
In truth, he too felt the tightening noose of the Emperor's suspicion. The summons that arrived an hour ago was curt, too sudden, too conveniently on his wedding night — when he should have been with his new bride, away from watchful eyes.
He clenched his fist inside his sleeve, veins straining against the leather bracer on his wrist.
"Do you expect me to cower in my bed like a frightened dog?"
Qingling rose from the bed. Though her frame was slender in layers of red silk, her steps were steady, her chin tilted high — a soldier's daughter, through and through.
"No, Your Highness. I expect you to survive."
Without waiting for his permission, she moved past him to a lacquered chest in the corner. She flipped it open, rummaged beneath wedding jewelry until her fingers closed around a thick, palm-sized herbal poultice wrapped in waxed cloth.
She turned and pressed it to his hand.
"Strap this beneath your robes at the base of your spine. If they flog you — and they will — this will save your bones from shattering. It won't stop the pain, but you'll walk out alive."
Li Zeyan stared at the small bundle, then at her unflinching eyes.
"What exactly are you?" he asked, voice softer now, suspicion mixed with reluctant curiosity.
"Your wife, for tonight at least." Qingling said evenly. "And tomorrow, if you live, I'll be the wife who makes sure you're never dragged to your knees again."
A rumble of distant drums sounded from the outer gate — the Emperor's guards had arrived, demanding the War God's presence.
Li Zeyan gripped the poultice so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"If you dare lie to me—"
"You'll kill me yourself?" Qingling cut him off, lifting her chin higher. "Fine. But only after I save you first."
Li Zeyan's lips tightened — a faint, unwilling smile ghosted there before vanishing like morning mist.
Without another word, he turned on his heel, striding to the door where armored soldiers waited with flickering lanterns.
He did not look back.
Qingling watched his back disappear into the storm-lit courtyard, her heart pounding so hard she thought her ribs would crack.
She clenched her fists, whispering to the shadows:
You saved the border from a thousand invaders. Now, War God Li Zeyan, let me save you from the dagger at your back.
Behind her eyes, the Evergreen Pavilion glowed — a secret world where life bloomed, and tonight, it would feed her courage.