Dressed in a regal red Hanfu, Yuwen Yue stood apart from the world, his presence striking and distant, like a figure carved from ice. The crimson robe he wore clung to his form, the fabric rippling like liquid fire in the breeze. In his hand, he held a gift for Chu Qiao: a red veil and an exquisitely embroidered wedding gown, perfectly matching his own attire. The deep, vibrant hue mirrored the passion and destiny entwining their fates.
Chu Qiao, clothed in the elegant red gown, appeared like a dream brought to life. The fabric flowed around her with every graceful step, its intricate embroidery catching the light and shimmering like the stars themselves. The gown, tailored with precision, hugged her frame perfectly, as if it had been woven from the essence of beauty itself.
Her veil, a masterpiece of gold-threaded artistry, framed her delicate face with a touch of mystery. Its intricate patterns shimmered in the light, casting her in an aura of ethereal elegance. Her hair, swept into a traditional topknot, was adorned with delicate ornaments that sparkled like tiny constellations scattered across the heavens.
As she walked, the radiance of her beauty was amplified by the rich, fiery hue of her gown. She moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly, each step both regal and ephemeral, as though she floated between the realms of reality and myth.
Yuwen Yue, watching her approach, felt a tightness in his chest. His breath caught, his thoughts scattered, and for a fleeting moment, he forgot everything—his journey, his duty, the very reason he stood there. In her presence, time seemed to still, and all he could do was stare, overwhelmed by her beauty. He felt as though he were in a dream, yet the vividness of the moment assured him that she was real. The woman before him was not an imposter, but the true Chu Qiao, the one he had sought for so long.
His heart swelled with a mixture of awe and disbelief. How could this radiant figure be the same woman he had first encountered in the chaos of the past? His mind drifted, unbidden, to the hunting fields of Wei.
"Do you remember the hunting grounds?" he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else, his gaze distant.
He could still see it clearly—the first time he laid eyes on her. Back then, she had been just a maid, fighting for her life in a brutal spectacle of blood and survival. Yuwen Huai, famed for his archery, had been off his game that day, his arrows missing their marks in frustration. No one could have predicted that a mere maid would throw him so completely off balance.
Huai's frustration had boiled over, leading him to challenge Prince Yan Xun. The contest had been fierce, and Chu Qiao, with a kind of wild grace, had evaded every arrow sent her way. Yan Xun, seizing the opportunity, began targeting the wild beasts around her, pushing Huai further into humiliation.
A grim smile touched Yuwen Yue's lips as he recalled the twisted bet that had been made: If Huai missed, Chu Qiao would be claimed by Yan Xun. The cruelty of it had been chilling, but more than that, the moment had marked the beginning of something profound in Yuwen Yue.
He remembered the robe Chu Qiao had worn that day—bearing the Yuwen Household insignia, yet marked by her precarious status. It was a stark reminder of the dangerous world she had navigated, a world filled with power plays and bitter rivalries.
Yuwen Yue's voice softened, filled with admiration as he reflected on how far she had come. From the desperate girl in the hunting fields to the radiant figure before him now, her strength and resilience had been nothing short of extraordinary.
His thoughts drifted to the Bing Xue arrow, the prized weapon he had once held in his hands, meant only for the Empire's most critical moments. That day, however, the arrow had felt like something more personal—like a promise, a vow to protect her. The pulse of his heart had quickened with the weight of it in his grip. In that moment, he had realized how deeply he had become entangled in her fate.
Yuwen Yue had always prided himself on his detachment, his cold logic. But that day, watching Chu Qiao fight for her life, something inside him had shifted. He had felt an unguarded moment of vulnerability, a rare glimpse of compassion that he had seldom allowed himself. It was a realization that struck him with the force of an arrow: one encounter had changed everything.
Even now, standing on the brink of the present, the memory of that day continued to shape his perspective. The desire to protect her, to stand against the cruelty of their world, had only grown stronger. His usual distance and detachment had crumbled, leaving him exposed to emotions he had long kept buried.
In the chaos of that past, another figure emerged—Yuan Song, whose soul was deeply troubled by the violence and bloodshed of the hunt. The young man, once indifferent, now pleaded with the princes to put an end to the slaughter of the maids. His newfound clarity, borne from witnessing the brutality firsthand, reflected a sudden maturity that none had anticipated.
And then there was Yuwen Yue, the aloof Fourth Young Master, who had never indulged in such barbaric displays. But that day, something had shifted in him as well. Seated on his horse, he had watched Chu Qiao from a distance, and for the first time, felt an unfamiliar pull—a softening of the heart he had thought invulnerable.
The decision he made that day was not one of duty or strategy. It had come from a place far deeper, a rare act of compassion that defied his usual logic. He should not have been there, should not have cared. But he did. And in that moment, he claimed her fate as his own.
"The Star is mine," Yuwen Yue had whispered to himself that day, unaware of the love that would blossom between them. Now, as he stood before her, the reality of their bond was undeniable. Chu Qiao, his Xinger, was finally his—forever.