Once more alone in the room, Yu Meilin could not help but think about the words the elders left her with.
Her fingers curled slightly over the armrest of her chair.
"They think I'll hand over my daughter for status?" She murmured, her voice cold now.
"They think I'm blind to their selfishness?"
Her expression hardened.
"Yu Ming is not a tool to be traded. I don't care what name he carries. No one decides her fate but me."
The light from the lanterns in the sky danced across her features.
Her face was sculpted and regal, with high cheekbones and a straight nose that spoke of noble blood.
Her skin was smooth, pale as porcelain, with a faint, natural glow that came from decades of refined cultivation.
A soft crease rested between her brows—not from age, but from the heavy thoughts she carried daily.
Her green eyes, usually sharp and unreadable like jade under ice, now held a rare flicker of something gentler. Not weakness—never that—but warmth.
