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Hearing that, the ministers burst into easy laughter and looked at the pair of lovers with the fondness of elders.
Speaking a young girl's heart always felt beautiful; when lovers finally united, blessings naturally followed.
Youwei didn't care how others reacted. She only wanted to see Li Chengjue's expression.
But the throne stood too high, too far. She couldn't see anything.
She saw only the dark-robed figure on the dragon seat, still toying with his cup. Gilded light from the lamps poured over his sharply cut face—a warm hue without warmth, nothing but cold.
She thought he wouldn't care.
But even with her gentle nature and pliant ways, she had a temper of her own.
She wouldn't let him see her as a joke. She wouldn't let anyone belittle her.
So she suddenly rose from her seat and raised her voice.
Her words shook faintly, yet held a stubborn edge that rang through the hall.
"Your servant-mistress isn't crying—the orange peel's juice splashed into my eye."
The laughing ministers paused, startled.
Yu Tuohai hadn't expected his timid, obedient daughter to speak like that. He jolted and squeezed her hand beneath the table, as if to say: Don't be afraid. Father is here.
On the throne, the figure seemed surprised too. She felt a gaze drop from above and land straight on her.
Light, almost offhand, yet undeniable—like regarding an amusing trinket.
Youwei swallowed. She gently slipped free of Father's hand and stepped out from behind the table, walking across the soft felt carpet to the center of the hall, standing beside that elegant figure.
She lifted her chin—small, youthful face with only a plain ebony hairpin. She looked soft, but her neck held firm.
Now she stood close—close enough to see his face clearly.
But she didn't want to look.
She kept her eyes on the throne—only the throne's direction. Whoever sat there felt unimportant.
Youwei folded her arms across her chest—right hand above—leaned forward slightly.
Then she bowed. Knees to the carpet, back straight, words crisp and clear.
"Your servant-mistress, Yu Youwei, bows to thank Your Majesty's grace. You grant me marriage, let me fulfill my long wish, and wed my beloved. I hold this favor in my bones and have no way to repay it—only pray Your Majesty's power fills the four seas and Dayuan's rivers rest in peace, the realm prospers. Long live, long live, long live!"
She knocked her head to the new emperor—not the ordinary salute but the heaviest bow.
Her small body rose and fell, hitting the felt again and again.
She had wound herself too tight; her throat trembled, fingertips shook.
Even so, she forced her body to show nothing out of place.
Though she thanked imperial grace, everyone felt a strange, unspeakable weight.
Perhaps the bow lay too heavy—and the emperor too silent.
It felt less like thanks and more like a severing—cutting bone to return flesh.
But wasn't this a happy union? What severing could there be?
Ministers snagged on the thought, blamed their wine, and shook off the haze.
Zhuang Huaixu watched in surprise.
He knelt with a thump and bowed repeatedly to the throne. "This humble minister, Zhuang Huaixu, thanks Your Majesty's grace. I pray Your Majesty's power fills the four seas and Dayuan's rivers rest in peace, the realm prospers. Long live, long live, long live!"
Two figures knelt side by side—hair falling neat, sleeves flowing together like a united pair.
But Zhuang Huaixu felt, through cloth, the arm he touched trembling without pause.
The emperor's gaze fell on their overlapping hair, their bodies. He studied them.
His other hand slowly stroked the jade ring on his left hand.
After a long time, he let out a soft laugh.
"Why such a heavy bow? Rise, young couple. Editor Zhuang—this is my first imperial marriage grant. Treat her well."
He turned slightly and let his gaze rest on Yu Youwei.
"Miss Yu, if my minister ever neglects you, come to the palace and find me. Don't worry—I will stand up for you."
His low voice had a metallic polish.
His words sounded like a benevolent sovereign—ready to shelter her, ready to shelter the realm.
Youwei curled her fingers, nails biting into her palm.
She lifted her head and showed a small, bright, obedient smile.
"Then I thank Your Majesty."
Still innocent—just like before.
No one saw through it.
The figure on the throne didn't move, only said mildly, "Rise."
Youwei rose slowly. Beside her, Zhuang Huaixu raised his arm to support her. "Miss Yu, if you don't mind, lean on me."
She didn't pretend strength. She took his arm and stood.
He carried a clean, subtle aroma—something like ink and paper, a bookish charm.
She looked up. Zhuang Huaixu's face gleamed like carved jade—skin pale to brightness, refined features that recalled the old comparison of a gentleman to plum, orchid, bamboo, and chrysanthemum. Such a man was hard to dislike.
Even if Youwei didn't like him, she couldn't bring herself to hate him.
She only sighed. Before entering the palace, she had come to see the man she loved—yet he publicly bestowed her to another. In less than an hour, she gained a husband she'd never truly met.
And it was the man every noblewoman in the capital longed to marry.
Fate played games.
They rose together, helping each other. Then Zhuang Huaixu quietly stepped back and set a proper distance.
Though betrothed, he kept a gentleman's courtesy. Others watching found it different from what they had pictured—yet fitting.
Youwei felt eyes like blades fall on her—one after another.
She sensed a probing gaze behind her as well.
Just then, a palace attendant exclaimed below the throne, "How generous—look at this matched pair. Perfectly suited!"
Youwei and Zhuang Huaixu nodded and parted. She lifted her skirt and returned to her father's table. A voice called from behind. "Miss Yu—you dropped something!"
She stopped. Dressed so plainly, what would she drop?
She turned. The attendant stood where she had knelt, holding a long ink-blue belt embroidered with a slightly crooked alpine azalea.
She reached for her sleeve—empty.
It must have slipped out while she bowed.
She stepped forward, then thought—did she need it back?
She wouldn't give it away now.
The man she had meant to gift—perhaps he had never truly looked forward to it.
She drew her toe back and stood still. She smiled gently at the attendant.
"Thank you. But it's nothing important. Please burn it for me."
What followed in the feast no longer interested Youwei. She sat and finished peeling the orange.
She stripped each white fiber away. Juice splashed her wrist; she wiped it off. In the end, every segment lay clean—only golden flesh remained.
She put a segment to her lips. Sweet—sweet with a touch of tart. The palace chose fine fruit. Why couldn't she ever choose so well? When she bought oranges, the seller said they were sweet; she brought them home and found them all sour. Why lie? Was truth so hard—or did she look easy to fool?
Yu Tuohai caught her arm and stopped that orange segment from reaching her mouth. She blinked back. "Father?"
"Mianmian, are you alright?"
"Mm?" She smiled like always. "I'm fine, Father."
He released her slowly and said nothing more.
Late into the night, the feast ended. Officials departed from the Hall of Talents. Carriages for third rank and above waited nearby.
Before they found their own carriage, Xie Mingshu called from behind. "Mianmian."
Youwei turned. Xie Mingshu stood with her maid—graceful figure, bright face.
"Sister Mingshu."
Yu Tuohai let the juniors talk and went to find the carriage.
Xie Mingshu's lips curved. "I haven't congratulated you on your match. I kept asking whether you had someone and offered introductions—and you kept refusing. So you had such a fine fate already and hid it from me."
Youwei thought, I barely knew it earlier than you did.
She said, "You're the best match under heaven. Don't tease me."
Xie Mingshu only smiled and didn't deny it. "You still haven't told me—how did you and Zhuang Huaixu meet?"
Youwei felt tired. With so much tonight, how could she craft a flawless lie?
She forced a reply. "If you want to know, I'll tell you at the Flower Festival when I visit."
Xie Mingshu let it go. She turned to leave, then paused, looked back, and her bright eyes searched Youwei's face. "Everyone says you're the timidest. Yet you publicly corrected an attendant tonight and showed no fear before the emperor. It was… unexpected."
She had sealed herself off during the latter half of the feast, trying to forget him.
Xie Mingshu's sudden mention tightened Youwei's hand around her skirt. She loosened it quickly.
She feigned shyness. "His Majesty granted me a marriage. I was too happy. He was merciful and didn't blame me. Don't embarrass me."
Xie Mingshu laughed lightly. "See you at the Flower Festival."
She left with her maid, stately and serene.
After that layered exchange, Youwei felt more tired. Her taut body slackened; she wanted to drop into bed and sleep three days.
She turned to find Father when the lingering scent of wine in the air mixed with the citrus she had eaten. Her stomach lurched.
She bit her lip until it lost all color. Nails dug into her palm. She barely held back the urge to retch.
She wanted to go home.