The skies over the Thousand Star Court burned in celebration. Vermilion petals fell like gentle rain, drifting from the wings of spirit cranes circling overhead. Golden banners swayed in the wind, embroidered with phoenixes and dragons—symbols of eternal union, though none here believed in such things.
This was no love story. It was a political alliance wrapped in red silk.
The guests came anyway.
The most powerful cultivators in the world sat in tiered balconies carved from white jade. Sects that hadn't spoken in centuries shared tea. A Sovereign King from the Southern Border cupped his hands toward a sect master of the North. Beneath their polite smiles and spiritual pressure, they whispered:
"She's just a minor sect girl, isn't she?"
"The Ji Clan allowed this? Strange…"
"What kind of woman forces a marriage with him?"
At the center of it all, standing beneath the ancient Wutong Tree, Ji Yuanheng looked up at the sky with thinly veiled boredom.
He was dressed in ink-black ceremonial robes lined with pale gold. His long hair was loosely tied with a single jade ring. A veil of divine suppression hung around his form—not from talismans, but from his own existence. Every breath he took carried weight. Every blink of his eyes pushed against Heaven's laws.
He did not speak.
He did not smile.
He simply stood there, tall and silent, as if the entire occasion was an unwanted ripple in an otherwise perfectly still lake.
Because it was.
---
Then came the bride.
---
A hush fell over the gathered immortals as she appeared at the edge of the platform.
Shen Liuyin.
Her white wedding robes flowed like frost-touched silk, trailing behind her in elegant rivers. The fine threadwork of phoenix feathers shimmered faintly with soul light, each stitch pulsing in tune with her heartbeat. Her face was hidden beneath a translucent veil, though the shape of her lips, the cut of her jaw, and the quiet stillness of her movements were enough to unsettle even the most jaded cultivators.
She walked alone.
No family. No sect sisters. No bridesmaids.
Only silence followed her.
And yet she walked with the bearing of a queen.
Her steps did not falter. Not even when she stood beside the man who once ordered her to be forgotten.
The ceremony priest stepped forward, voice amplified by spiritual wind.
"Today, under the gaze of Heaven and Earth, under oath of law and legacy, we bear witness to the union of—"
Ji Yuanheng's eyes didn't move. Not even to look at her.
Shen Liuyin lowered her head respectfully as tradition required. Still, he did not glance her way. He remained statue-still, unaffected by her presence, as if she were a passing breeze.
When the priest declared them husband and wife, the jade bell overhead chimed once—deep and resonant.
The crowd applauded lightly.
Ji Yuanheng said nothing.
---
She turned to face him and bowed as per custom, hands folded over her chest. A ritual to show obedience. A symbol of surrender.
He did not return the gesture.
Instead, he turned to the priest and said, voice smooth and dispassionate:
"It is done."
Then he began walking toward the inner court without a word to his new wife.
---
In the silence that followed, Shen Liuyin slowly straightened. Her hands remained folded in front of her, the sleeves of her robes covering her pale fingers. Her veil fluttered in the wind like the last flag of a forgotten war.
A moment passed.
Then another.
And finally, beneath her veil—the faintest curl of her lips appeared.
Not joy.
Not sorrow.
Just… stillness.
Like a match, unlit, resting beside a lake of oil.
---
As she followed him toward the palace halls, the crowd began to murmur again.
"Strange girl."
"Did you see her eyes?"
"No… I didn't dare look that closely."
In the distance, the Wutong Tree rustled gently.
But to Shen Liuyin, it sounded like a funeral bell.
----
The ceremonial hall doors closed with a deep, echoing thud, sealing away the murmurs of the outside world.
Inside, everything was silent.
No maids. No servants. No well-wishers.
Only the two of them, standing in a chamber gilded with cold moonlight and red lacquered walls.
The air was thick with the scent of sandalwood and a faint undertone of spirit wine.
Ji Yuanheng walked ahead without a word, loosening the collar of his robes with all the elegance of a bored emperor. His long black sleeves whispered against the air as he poured himself a cup of wine from the dragon-shaped kettle on the table.
He didn't turn around.
"You may remove the veil."
It wasn't a request. Just an instruction—like one might give a spirit beast that was trained well enough not to bite.
Shen Liuyin said nothing.
Her fingers moved with slow grace, lifting the silk from her face and letting it slide down her arms like snow melting off frostbitten branches.
She stood silently behind him, her expression calm, her posture perfect.
Ji Yuanheng glanced at her reflection in the bronze mirror across the room.
"I assume you understand your place here."
Still, she didn't respond.
He turned, raising the wine to his lips. His gaze met hers for the first time that evening—and found nothing. No nervousness. No resentment. No awe. Just silence deep enough to drown in.
He frowned faintly.
"This marriage is a formality. You may walk the halls, but do not disturb my cultivation or my guests. I don't care where you sleep. Just not in my chamber."
Shen Liuyin tilted her head ever so slightly.
"Understood, my lord."
Her voice was soft, pleasant, almost sweet. But it carried no warmth. No emotion. It was like hearing a melody that had long forgotten its meaning.
Something about it made his fingertips tighten around the wine cup.
---
She moved toward the low table by the window and knelt without being asked. Her every movement was as smooth as flowing ink.
She poured him another cup.
Carefully.
Precisely.
Like a scene she had acted out before.
Ji Yuanheng watched her for a moment longer than necessary.
"You've done this before."
It wasn't a question. It was an instinct. A faint itch at the back of his mind, a flicker of something unplaceable.
She placed the full cup in front of him and smiled.
"Yes. Many times."
A beat of silence. A memory fluttered just out of reach. Something involving tea… and blood… and a girl kneeling in the rain. But it was gone as quickly as it came.
---
He waved her away.
"You may go."
She remained seated.
"Not yet, my lord. There is one thing I would like to ask."
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Speak."
Shen Liuyin looked up at him. For the first time that night, her eyes seemed to carry something—a glimmer of interest, or perhaps pity. It was hard to tell.
"Do you remember the girl who once knelt before you… and begged for her sister's life?"
Ji Yuanheng froze.
Just slightly.
Just for half a breath.
But in that brief hesitation, the air in the room shifted.
She didn't wait for an answer. She stood, bowed again with perfect grace, and walked toward the far room reserved for her.
Her robes whispered behind her like a phantom's sigh.
"No," she murmured just loud enough for him to hear,
"Of course you don't."
And then she was gone.
Leaving Ji Yuanheng standing in the middle of a palace painted in celebration, suddenly feeling like the only color left in the world was ash.
The chamber had no sound but the flicker of spirit lanterns, their pale flames reflected across lacquered red walls.
Ji Yuanheng remained where she left him—still holding the empty cup of wine she had poured, though he hadn't touched it. The curve of her voice lingered in the room like the echo of a spell.
"Do you remember the girl who once knelt before you… and begged for her sister's life?"
He didn't.
Of course he didn't.
He was certain of it.
Ji Yuanheng prided himself on the clarity of his mind. He did not clutter it with the names of servants or the faces of people he never needed to remember.
And yet—
As the silence thickened, a faint pulse stirred in his mind.
He set the cup down. It made a soft clink against the table that sounded strangely loud in the emptiness.
She was in the side room now. The door hadn't closed completely, and from his angle, he could see her silhouette lying on the floorbed.
Her back was to him.
Not turned. Not curled.
Just still.
Perfectly still.
Like someone who was not resting, but remembering.
---
He sat down slowly, his gaze slipping toward the darkness beyond the window.
And then it happened.
A sound.
Not from the world, but from his mind.
Rain.
Soft. Soaked. Endless.
A courtyard in the rain.
A girl, kneeling on wet stone—her hands bloodied from banging on the sealed gate, her voice hoarse from screaming.
She wasn't beautiful. She wasn't refined. She wore the rough, patched robes of a servant.
But her eyes—
"Please… I beg you—my sister—she's dying! If I could just… if you would just let me—"
She looked up at someone.
Someone standing on the steps.
A man dressed in dark robes. Tall. Composed.
A man who looked down at her like she was something he might've stepped over without noticing.
"You are not important enough to be remembered."
The memory ended as quickly as it came, like the flick of a sleeve.
Ji Yuanheng's fingers dug into his palm.
No… no, that wasn't real. He didn't remember anyone like that. He would never have said something so—
Except he had. He felt it. Not just the words.
The tone. Cold. Thoughtless.
Casual cruelty from a man who had no reason to care.
He looked back toward the side room.
The veil she had worn lay neatly folded beside the doorway. Her figure under the silken quilt did not move.
She had said nothing accusatory.
She had raised no voice.
She hadn't even asked for an apology.
She'd only asked a question.
And that question had become a knife in his mind.
---
Ji Yuanheng exhaled slowly, but it did not bring peace.
His immortal body, impervious to all things, felt strangely heavy. As though one forgotten sentence from the past had bypassed flesh and soul and gone straight to the space between.
The space where people kept their guilt.
Or the ghosts of things they never thought they'd regret.
---
He closed his eyes.
"You are not important enough to be remembered."
The words echoed.
And this time… they hurt.