Vivian
The ceremonial courtyard was wrapped in silver mist, floating between light and cloud. Lanterns drifted above the jade-tiled platform, pulsing gently with spell-threaded glow. All around them, the inner circle of the Li family stood assembled in layered robes of deep crimson, dusk blue, and bone white. Even the air seemed hushed.
Vivian stood at the center, spine straight, silk robes whispering against her ankles. In her hands was the sword.
Qinglan's Silence.
A weapon of white starmetal—flawless, balanced, devastating.
It gleamed faintly inside its velvet-lined case, pulsing with the kind of quiet power that didn't ask to be noticed. It demanded to be respected.
This was the moment where she would gift it to her new husband.
A gift few here believed he deserved.
Her father stood with arms folded behind his back, chin lifted, eyes unreadable. Her mother was seated, as tradition required, in the elder's chair—the only one raised above the platform itself. And her brothers—Gavin, Lucas, and Nathan—watched from the front ranks. All three had fought with custom-forged blades designed by the Empire's greatest smiths.
None of them had a starforged blade.
The silence was agonizing. Still, Vivian didn't know what to make of Ethan Zhou.
He hadn't asked where she went last night. Hadn't questioned the message crystal. Hadn't pressed her for answers. He hadn't even looked surprised. She had returned late. He was meditating when she arrived. As if her absence had never registered.
Instead, he'd looked up and said only:
"Welcome back."
Not cold. Not warm.
Just... steady.
Vivian lifted her chin slightly as the sound of soft steps broke the hush.
He should have said something. Complained. Raged. Done something.
Her thoughts were interrupted.
He was here.
Ethan approached without urgency, his robes perfectly tailored in a deep gray overcast with Li-gold embroidery. But the inner layer was unmistakably Zhou-cut: sharp-collared, efficient, unflinching. A quiet marriage of both houses stitched into every fold.
He walked straight to her father first.
A low, respectful bow.
"General Li," he said. "It is my honor. Thank you for welcoming me into your home."
Then to her mother—slightly deeper, as custom demanded.
"Matriarch. I ask for your guidance, and your forbearance."
Then each brother, one by one. No fear. No arrogance. Just formal clarity.
Gavin nodded back—short and cool.
Lucas blinked, clearly surprised.
Nathan—always the most cheeky—studied him just a moment too long. Then grinned.
Daniel turned toward her.
Vivian stepped forward, holding the case in both hands.
As she extended it, she recited the formal vow:
"By ancestral bond and blood-sealed union, I present this blade—Qinglan's Silence. A gift from wife to husband, forged in strength, and offered in trust."
She expected hesitation. Maybe confusion.
He took the case without a word. Bowed—not to her, but to the sword—and cradled it like a relic.
No trembling.
No theatrics.
He didn't even open it.
Just held it, reverent, as if it had always belonged to him.
Why does that bother me? she thought.
A quiet murmur ran through the crowd—elders shifting, a few eyebrows raised.
Then the voice came.
Soft. Sweet. Cutting.
"I see the groom is calm this morning. He must be well-rested," said Su Lin, wife of her eldest brother.
Vivian's head turned slightly.
Su Lin stood near the side rail, pretending to study the carved trees at the edge of the courtyard. Her tone was light, the smile on her face sharper than it should've been.
"Not everyone retires alone on their wedding night, of course," she added, letting her voice drift just far enough.
A few polite chuckles followed. One of the younger cousins tried to hide a laugh.
Vivian's jaw locked. She opened her mouth.
Daniel spoke first.
He turned—not sharply, not defensively—just enough to address Su Lin directly. Calmly.
"The wind," he said, "cannot be caught by force. It doesn't answer to ropes or cages. It bends only to patience, not pressure."
Su Lin blinked.
He went on, his voice low but clear.
"She doesn't know me. She didn't ask for this union, just as I didn't. And no one," he said, letting the words settle like quiet iron, "has the right to demand loyalty from someone born to soar above them."
He bowed—just slightly.
"Trust is earned. Slowly. And I am in no rush."
Silence.
It stretched long enough to feel permanent.
Then her mother nodded once—just once—and the room moved on.
Vivian stared at him.
He still held the sword.
He had not once raised his voice.
He had not once apologized.
And yet no one questioned his place.
Not even Su Lin.
Her brothers were watching now. Nathan's mouth was twisted into the beginning of a thoughtful smile.
Even her father's hands shifted behind his back.
This wasn't supposed to happen, she thought.
He was supposed to fail with grace. Not... answer with poetry.
She looked at his profile—measured, quiet, unreadable.
And for the first time since the vows were sealed, Vivian Li felt something she hadn't expected to feel.
Uncertainty.