The Wedding Procession

Finally, the day of the wedding arrived with all the fanfare of a funeral.

Ling Xiuying stood stiffly in her heavy bridal robes, the crimson silk adorned with gold-threaded phoenixes that prickled against her skin. The phoenix headdress perched on her head was so absurdly heavy she wondered if ancient women had secretly evolved reinforced vertebrae.

Seriously, how did they even hold their heads up?

At her side, Ling Xiaolian sniffled into a handkerchief like a tiny, heartbroken faucet. The girl was barely eleven, too young to understand the politics, but old enough to know her sister was being sacrificed.

Ling Xiuying turned to her, brushing a tear from the girl's cheek with all the gentleness she could muster. She really couldn't see children heartbroken.

"Remember our promise?" she whispered, a smile tugging at her lips. "Candies and pearl hairpins every month. Double if you stop crying."

Xiaolian hiccuped but nodded, her lower lip wobbling like jelly.

Good. Bribery works across all timelines.

Ling Xiuying then turned to her 'mother,' Lady Li, whose composure had shattered under the weight of the occasion. 

"Ying'er," Lady Li's voice was barely above a whisper, heavy with emotion. "You honor our ancestors today."

Not 'You look beautiful.'

Not 'Be happy.'

But Ling Xiuying understood. Because this wasn't a celebration. It was a sacrifice—one the original Ling Xiuying had chosen death over.

"Mother, don't fear." The word mother tasted like expired yogurt for her—foreign, sour, but somehow familiar. For a heartbeat, she wondered about her real mom back in her previous life—had news of her death reached her yet? 

Focus.

She hugged Lady Li in a stiff but tight embrace. The woman wasn't her mother, but the raw grief in her grip was universal.

A gong shattered the moment.

Ling Zihan escorted her to the bridal sedan, his jaw clenched so tight she worried he'd crack a tooth. 

"Take care." the teenager muttered with an old-man face as he helped her inside.

"I will." She whispered back with a smile.

Then, came her 'father,' Ling Renshu. He stood rigid, with dark and weary eyes. He had argued, bargained, and ultimately bowed to the Emperor's decree. Now, he had nothing left but silence and regret.

"My child," he murmured, "I… I wish things were different." A pause, his eyes darting toward the watching servants. Then, barely audible: "If you ever need help, send word. I'll… I'll try."

Translation: I'm powerless, but here's some guilt to go with your dowry.

She nodded anyway, offering a faint smile in return.

What else was there to say? 

The sedan curtains fell and the wedding procession moved slowly through the capital, lined with soldiers in ceremonial armor and banners fluttering in auspicious red. Musicians played harmonious tunes on flutes and guzheng, and flower petals were scattered by palace maidens.

Despite the Seventh Prince's coma, the Emperor had decreed that the ceremony be held with full honors befitting a royal wedding—a clear indication of his affection for his son.

And yet, even so, the whispers couldn't be stopped.

"A third-rank family's daughter for a dying prince..."

"The Emperor's mercy is cruel."

"At least Duchess Yan was spared this humiliation."

Who the hell is Duchess Yan?

Before she could eavesdrop further, the sedan halted. The curtain lifted, revealing the Great Hall—a den of dragons. The palace attendants ushered her out, and as she stepped into the hall, the oppressive weight of the room closed in on her.

At the front sat the Emperor, draped in his regal dragon robes.

The Son of Heaven himself.

Do not make eye contact. Do not make eye contact. Do not—

Ling Xiuying, heart thumping, resisted the urge to glance at him. Lady Li's words echoed in her mind—never meet the Emperor's eyes. Never draw attention to yourself. 

She didn't dare.

She kowtowed, forehead kissing cold jade. Do not think about how many people have died on this floor.

"Rise, Wangfei of the Seventh Prince."

She stood, back screaming in protest, and nearly gagged on the incense-thick air. From the corner of her eye, she caught the Empress—a woman wearing enough jewelry to sink a ship—examining her like a rancid piece of fruit before smirking at another woman seated a tier lower. Likely, a high-ranked concubine.

The Empress's voice dripped honeyed venom: "A minor noble's daughter. How… practical. One hopes she'll bring vitality to the Eastern Palace." A pause. "Though I suppose she'll warm a bed, not a husband."

Oh-ho! Ling Xiuying's mental eyebrows shot up. Not even five minutes in and she was at the center of a political battleground.. or a royal catfight. 

A snort came from a royal son nearby, a prince—some smug bastard with the face of a man who'd never worked a day in his life.

The concubine fan stilled mid-wave, yet her expression remained serene and her voice soft as silk. "Your Majesty is too kind to take such an interest in my son's household." A pause. "Though I wonder—does your concern stem from affection… or regret?"

A shocked murmur rippled through the court. The Empress's smile stiffened, her gold nail guards tapping against the armrest.

"Regret?" she echoed, voice sweet as poisoned honey. "For what? A son who cannot rise? A bride who cannot shine?" She tilted her head. "Or perhaps you refer to… older matters?"

"I refer only to Your Majesty's… generous heart," she said, bowing her head just enough to feign respect. "After all, it was you who urged the Emperor to grant my son this marriage. One might almost think you wished to see him settled."

The Empress's eyes glittered. "Every prince deserves companionship. Even those who cannot appreciate it."

"How thoughtful." The concubine's smile didn't reach her eyes. "But then, you've always had a gift for ensuring others get exactly what they deserve."

A beat of silence. The air grew thick enough to choke on.

Then—

CRACK.

The fan splintered in the concubine's grip.

Ling Xiuying's stomach dropped. That wasn't just an insult. This was a declaration of war—wrapped in silk, laced with poison, and flung like a glove across the throne room floor.

Definitely not just a catty comment—it's a shot fired in a high-stakes power game!

Ling Xiuying stood there, spine still aching, but now her mind was racing.

That conversation wasn't small talk. It wasn't about her, not really. She was the match. The spark. The Empress and the concubine had been dancing this dance for years—but now, someone had lit the fuse.

She thought she'd gotten a free ride to quiet widowhood.

Turns out... It's Game of Thrones: Silk Sleeve Edition.

And she's the newest piece on the board...

The Emperor's fist came down on the armrest with a thud that silenced the hall. "Enough." His voice carried the weight of a coming storm. "We are here to celebrate a union, not entertain petty squabbles."

A prince—tall, handsome, oozing charm like a salesman—stepped forward.

"Imperial Father," he said, "Shall we proceed to the blessings? The hour is auspicious, and the court awaits your joy."

Ah, fortunately, he came. The Designated Reasonable Prince. Unlike his snorting brother at the back, this one oozed charm, drawing approving murmurs from the ministers.

Definitely a snake, Ling Xiuying decided.

The Emperor looked at him, then nodded slowly. "Very well."

Then came the moment Ling Xiuying had dreaded: the solo bow. Tradition demanded bride and groom bow together—but since her husband was busy not breathing consciously, all eyes drilled into her instead.

Damn it, all she had to suffer for a comfortable life, snacks, and no responsibilities.

She bowed to the Emperor, the Empress, and the concubine, her neck prickling under the weight of a hundred stares and that heavy headdress.

Congratulations, Me. You've officially become the palace's most pitied circus act.

As eunuchs led her toward the Eastern Palace—where her vegetable husband awaited—she caught a final whisper from that snorting prince.

"Let's hope Seventh Brother doesn't wake long enough to see his bride."

Ling Xiuying's eye twitched. 

Note to self: Research how to curse someone with explosive diarrhea in ancient times.