The interior of the pavilion was the exact opposite of what the rumors about General Huáng had painted.
There were no weapons displayed on the walls, nor war banners stained with dried blood. It was a private dining hall, spacious and warmed by bronze braziers, with a long dark wooden table already set with steaming platters. The smell of roasted meat and aged rice wine hung in the air, almost too domestic for the weight emanating from the man sitting at the head of the table.
General Huáng Zōng occupied the head of the table the way a mountain would occupy a valley. His body was broad, his shoulders almost as wide as the back of the chair itself, and his skin, weathered by centuries of campaigning, bore scars that no healing pill would ever completely erase. His hair was an even darker auburn than Huáng Bìyǔ's when he first met her. Small, sunken eyes beneath thick eyebrows pinned themselves on Zhì Yuǎn the moment the double doors closed.
He alone had entered.
The old general's aura crashed down upon the room without warning. It was not a subtle probing. It was a raw, primitive pressure, the kind of weight designed to make enemy officers kneel before the first spear could even be raised. The ceiling beams creaked. The flames in the braziers bent sideways.
In a discreet corner, standing against the wall, Huáng Bìyǔ's father and mother endured the tension in absolute silence. Her father—a middle-aged man with broad shoulders forged in the military, but lacking his father-in-law's crushing presence—merely clenched his jaw, keeping his gaze fixed rigidly on the floor. Her mother gripped the sleeves of her own dress, still as a wax statue.
Zhì Yuǎn walked into the room like someone walking into his own kitchen after a long day.
The pressure crashed against his gray tunic and evaporated without a trace, swallowed by an invisible abyss. He did not even alter the rhythm of his steps. He reached the first open chair on the side of the table, pulled it back with a tranquil gesture, and sat down. Without waiting for an invitation, he reached out, poured himself a cup of wine from the nearest jug, and took a sip, evaluating the taste.
"A decent wine," he commented, setting down the jade cup. "Better than most I have tried in the capital."
The silence that followed was dense.
General Huáng continued to stare at him, the pressure hanging in the air like a suspended blade.
The only sound in the pavilion was the soft clinking of Zhì Yuǎn's cup tapping against the table.
Then General Huáng threw his head back and let out a laugh so violent that the platters on the table rattled. The pressure vanished all at once, sucked out of the room. Huáng Bìyǔ's father let out a heavy breath, the stiffness in his shoulders yielding to a silent relief.
"HAHA!" the old man slammed his closed fist against the wood, making the porcelain plates jump. "A spine of steel! I've seen generals with a thousand years of service break into a cold sweat under half that pressure, boy!"
He turned his face toward the entrance and roared, his deep voice echoing through the pavilion:
"Open these doors and let my granddaughter in! Stop acting like tomb guards!"
The heavy jasper doors were pushed back. Huáng Bìyǔ crossed the threshold with hurried steps, her hand hovering dangerously close to her waist out of reflex, but stopped abruptly.
Alternating her gaze between her laughing grandfather, her relieved parents, and her already relaxed husband holding a cup, she slowly sat down in the chair next to Zhì Yuǎn, her heart still hammering. The old general wiped a tear of laughter from the corner of his eye. The mask of an absolute commander had melted away, revealing a broad and absurdly affectionate smile.
"'Born of a constellation,'" the General quoted, shaking his head at his granddaughter with mischievous delight. "I needed to see if the man from your letters had the backbone to back up so much talk, Bìyǔ'er."
The Warrior Fairy's face ignited into a deep red.
"That's not even what I wrote!" the redhead scolded.
Zhì Yuǎn raised an eyebrow toward his wife, the corner of his mouth curving into a discreet smile, while Huáng Bìyǔ sank into her chair and covered her eyes with her hand. The General turned his attention back to the young man, and this time the weight in his gaze was different.
"You've taken good care of my granddaughter," he said directly. "And of the other one, too. Little Qīng Yǔ, the Holy Healer's girl, has practically been my own blood since they were both the size of rice pots. They grew up drowning each other in that same fountain outside."
He slapped his own thigh, satisfied.
"That old witch Yáo Wǎnyíng spent weeks brooding over this marriage of yours, sending messages and checking the 'circumstances'. Paranoid. If a man can make two of the most beautiful fairies in the world fall for him at the same time, he's already proven himself more competent than any man."
Zhì Yuǎn inclined his head, accepting the words without false modesty.
"A sensible man is suspicious of what he does not understand, General. It is merely the Elder's concern talking."
"Concern my foot, she's just afraid of losing her favorite disciple," the old man grumbled, his smile refusing to fade. He waved impatiently at the couple in the corner. "Sit down. Don't just stand there like posts, the boy doesn't bite."
Huáng Bìyǔ's father and mother took the empty seats next to their daughter with a polite, silent haste.
The meal proceeded at a pace vastly different from the hostile tension of the corridors.
Huáng Bìyǔ's father tried to strike up a formal conversation a few times—questions about Zhì Yuǎn's origins or future plans. But every attempt died quickly before the General himself, who cut his son-in-law off mid-sentence with a practical gesture.
"Leave it be," the patriarch grumbled, downing his own jug. "If I approve, you approve. Eat and spare the boy the interrogation, we'll have plenty of time to get to know each other."
Zhì Yuǎn's father-in-law closed his mouth and nodded, returning to his meal in silence. The mother limited herself to short smiles, adding more meat to Zhì Yuǎn's plate.
At one point, as the General and the young man casually debated the fluidity of the Dao in ancient currents of war, the woman leaned subtly toward her daughter.
"He hasn't even broken a sweat," the mother whispered, her eyes shining with genuine amusement.
Huáng Bìyǔ covered her mouth with her dress sleeve to muffle a proud giggle.
"I told you he was different, mother."
It was only when the platters were half empty that the General set down his chopsticks and crossed his broad arms. The gleam in his small eyes shifted again.
"I'll be direct, boy. A man of your caliber, hiding away cultivating in peace while the Empire boils with intrigue out there... is a waste."
The Purple Mist Ebony chair creaked as he leaned forward.
"I can offer you a post. High-ranking, directly under the command of the Huánglóng Clan. No climbing the ranks as a recruit, you enter as a commander. My name behind you would be enough to shut any envious mouths. No one would dare touch you or any of your women."
The offer hung heavy over the table. Huáng Bìyǔ, however, merely watched her husband.
Zhì Yuǎn finished chewing, swallowed, and calmly set down his jade cup.
"The offer honors your generosity, General," he replied, his voice unchanged. "And your name is, indeed, an unbreakable shield."
His dark eyes held the patriarch's gaze.
"But my family already has other priorities. A post, no matter how high, is still a leash. I walk without needing to ask anyone's permission to decide where to step."
General Huáng narrowed his eyes, chewing on the young man's words for a long time.
Then, the heavy tension evaporated. He let out a boisterous laugh, waving his hand dismissively.
"Good answer! It was just a test, boy, just a test. If you had accepted it so readily, I'd be the one getting suspicious." He raised his cup to the young man. "You can call me grandfather. This family's door is open to you. Always."
Zhì Yuǎn raised his jade cup and clinked it against the old man's.
—---
When the Jasper doors finally opened from the inside out, the old guard lined up in the corridor straightened up in unison.
General Huáng emerged first. His face was flushed, a heavy arm slung over Zhì Yuǎn's shoulders.
"…and if you ever decide you want to test your sword against a decrepit old man, my door is always open!" the General roared with laughter, delivering a friendly slap to Zhì Yuǎn's back hard enough to crack stone.
Zhì Yuǎn didn't even flinch, his expression perfectly serene.
"I'll keep that in mind, Grandpa Zōng."
Right behind them, Huáng Bìyǔ's parents matched their pace, agreeing with the patriarch's every word, the final relief showing in their relaxed shoulders.
The veteran guards stood paralyzed at the display.
Huáng Bìyǔ walked past her subordinates with her chin held high, her arm firmly linked with Zhì Yuǎn's, proud of her husband's invisible dominance.
The General accompanied them all the way to the main gates, where the massive scaled wyvern was beating its tail against the stone of the palace roads.
"Take good care of her, boy," the patriarch said, his smile receding just enough for the old military seriousness to leak into his words. "Or I'll come out of seclusion just to remind you who I am."
"That will not be necessary, Grandfather," Zhì Yuǎn replied, helping his Sixth Wife up into the luxurious carriage before turning to the old man. His voice came out cold. "What is mine is never left unprotected."
The territorial warning was enough. The old man took a step back and nodded, letting out another laugh as the wheels began to turn.
Behind the iron gates, the old guard remained frozen at their posts, unable to reconcile the serene image of the departing youth with the General's blessings.
Huáng Bìyǔ's father stopped beside the patriarch, watching the carriage turn the corner. He let out a sigh, relief relaxing his shoulders completely.
"For a moment, I was almost startled, father-in-law," he commented, in a confessional tone. "The boy is spectacular, and if Bìyǔ loves him and you approve of him, he has my blessing. But... offering direct command to a stranger? I almost believed you were being serious in there."
The warm smile vanished from General Huáng's face. He turned his neck slowly, pinning his son-in-law with the same heavy, inscrutable gaze he used to command.
"I was serious," the old man replied, his cold voice cutting the air as he turned his back to return to the pavilion. "I just didn't want to embarrass him for having refused me."
Huáng Bìyǔ's father locked in place, becoming just as paralyzed as the guards around him.