Twenty-six wives? Concubines!

The next day, just as Pan Yueyang had promised, he sent someone especially to see Yan’er. Yan’er was so moved she nearly burst into tears—Yueyang truly treated her with such kindness. She vowed to repay him with tenfold affection.

“My lady, I will personally deliver your intimate letter to the Old Madam,” the messenger said.

“Thank you very much,” Yan’er replied politely.

“You flatter me, my lady.” The man tucked her letter into his robe, then took out another letter, making a show of presenting it to Yan’er.

Fenghe took the letter and placed it before Yan’er.

“What is this?” Yan’er asked, puzzled, gazing at Pan Yueyang’s attendant kneeling before her.

“This is the betrothal gift the General asked me to bring to Master Yan on his behalf. The General said you should have a look, my lady.”

Opening the letter, Yan’er saw Pan Yueyang’s powerful handwriting—bold and commanding. The items listed for the betrothal were all of the finest quality, and the quantity was astonishing.

“My lady, the General treats you so well,” Fenghe remarked, now addressing Yan’er as ‘my lady’ too. Previously, without an official title, she had only called her ‘miss.’

“You’ve had a hard journey,” Yan’er said, her smile blooming like a flower as she laid her hand over her lower belly, a halo of happiness radiating from her face.

At this moment, Yan’er felt supremely content. She had a man who loved her, and soon, their child. In this lifetime, she was satisfied.

“Fenghe, have someone in the kitchen prepare a cooling soup—I want to bring it to Yueyang. The heat hasn’t diminished, even though August is near.”

“Yes, my lady,” Fenghe replied cheerfully and went off.

Knock, knock, knock.

Yan’er carried a tray and knocked on the study door.

“Come in,” came the reply.

“Yueyang.” Yan’er’s eyes were gentle, her brows soft as mist.

She set the chilled soup down. “Yueyang, the weather is stifling. I asked the kitchen to make you a cooling soup.”

Pan Yueyang, deeply engrossed in military strategy, disliked being disturbed. Irritation prickled at him, but he suppressed his temper. “Leave it,” he said tersely.

“Yueyang, try it soon, or it won’t be cool anymore.” Yan’er scooped up a spoonful, pushing the bowl toward his desk.

Pan Yueyang drew a deep breath, his annoyance barely contained.

“Yueyang?” Yan’er, obedient and sweet, brought the spoonful to his lips.

“You are with child. Take care to rest more.” He raised his head, drank the soup, and didn’t forget to remind her.

At his words, Yan’er’s eyes brimmed with delight. “Mm, I’ll take good care of myself.”

“All right, I have work to do. You should go back.” Pan Yueyang had already made a great concession—not yelling at her, not losing his temper, and even drinking what she brought.

“Can I stay here with you?” Yan’er asked, looking up at her husband, eager to please.

“As you wish.” Pan Yueyang rubbed his forehead, frustration mounting. Why hadn’t he noticed before that Yan’er could be so vexing?

“Oh.” Yan’er obediently sat on a nearby chair, gazing at Pan Yueyang with a face full of contentment.

“Why are you staring at me?” Feeling her unblinking gaze, Pan Yueyang was deeply uneasy.

“Because I like you.” Yan’er’s heart was bursting with joy. This man, she thought, she could never tire of looking at him.

Ignoring her, Pan Yueyang forced himself to set aside his irritation and returned his full attention to military strategy.

He didn’t know how long had passed before he looked up from his book. Stretching his stiff neck, he closed the volume and caught sight of a shadow at the edge of his vision. Yan’er, who had quietly accompanied him all this time, had finally succumbed to weariness and fallen asleep in the chair.

A trace of tenderness crept into his heart once more. Ah, this troublesome woman—did she not realize she was pregnant, falling asleep like this? Scooping Yan’er into his arms, Pan Yueyang headed for the bedchamber.

Her body seemed thinner still.

Yan’er, with barely any flesh on her bones, felt delicate in his arms. “From now on, make sure my lady eats more, and don’t let her idle about in the study,” Pan Yueyang told Fenghe, who followed behind.

“Yes, General.” Fenghe arranged the bedding and withdrew with a bow.

By then, it was already time for supper, but Yan’er slept soundly on. Pan Yueyang smiled to himself—she was most likable when quiet.

Yan’er slept straight through to the next morning.

Fenghe entered with a bright smile to help her wash, dress, and arrange her hair. After everything was in order, she said softly to Yan’er’s reflection in the bronze mirror, “My lady, you are truly beautiful.”

“Fenghe,” Yan’er replied, basking in the compliment as she admired herself in the mirror.

“My lady, breakfast is ready. You went to bed early last night, and the General couldn’t bear to wake you. You must be hungry this morning,” Fenghe said, her thoughtfulness making Yan’er think of Xiaoyu.

“Where is the General?” Yan’er finally tore her gaze from the mirror.

“He went to the palace first thing this morning,” Fenghe replied as she straightened the bedding.

“I’ll go find Mubai later,” Yan’er decided. In recent days, she’d been preoccupied with her own happiness and hadn’t had a chance to speak with Mubai.

In the grand hall of the imperial palace—

The royal family: an unattainable height for the common people, synonymous with extravagance, splendor, majesty, and opulence.

Pan Yueyang stood among his peers in the hall. At the head, Dragon Kingdom’s Emperor Jing smiled amiably at his ministers, his gaze scanning over them one by one, finally settling on Pan Yueyang.

Jing the Emperor was sovereign, Pan Yueyang his subject. Feeling the imperial gaze upon him, Pan Yueyang bowed his head and waited, a sense of impending manipulation making him uneasy.

“General Pan, you are the most promising young talent of our Dragon Kingdom—truly a rare find,” the emperor said, reclining against his chair, fingers toying with the jade pendant at his waist.

“Your Majesty flatters me. This humble servant is but a rough soldier, unworthy of such praise.” Pan Yueyang responded cautiously, not daring to take the compliment lightly.

“Hahaha, no need for modesty.” The emperor’s eyes appraised him up and down.

“I serve Your Majesty with all my heart and dare not neglect my duties,” Pan Yueyang replied, offering loyalty—always the safest response when he couldn’t guess the emperor’s intentions. Though he kept his head lowered, he could feel the imperial gaze fixed upon him.

“The Pan family has served as generals for generations—their loyalty is beyond question.” The emperor’s regard for Pan Yueyang deepened. “Yueyang, how old are you this year?”

“I am twenty-eight.”

The use of his given name, ‘Yueyang,’ clearly shortened the distance between them. The ministers glanced at each other—could the emperor be about to play matchmaker?

“I recall that Yueyang has fought valiantly in many campaigns and yet remains unmarried,” the emperor remarked with a smile.

“That is true, Your Majesty. I have devoted myself to the nation, putting personal matters aside.” For a fleeting moment, sarcasm flashed across Pan Yueyang’s face, but he quickly composed himself.

“Indeed, the beloved son of Old General Pan is truly outstanding.” The emperor said no more, but his calculations had begun. “Court is dismissed.”

The ministers knelt in salute, then rose as the emperor departed.

“Congratulations, General Pan!”

“Young and accomplished, General Pan—seems a happy event is near at hand.”

“I must start preparing a generous gift in advance!”

Amidst the congratulations, Pan Yueyang’s head throbbed. He responded out of courtesy, then hurried home.

All his life, he had hated others meddling in his private affairs, arranging his life for him. Yet as a subject, he had no choice. Though he disliked the emperor’s intent to play matchmaker, he could not protest. Scowling, he went straight to the study.

Yan’er and Mubai were chatting in the pavilion, with Fenghe attending them.

“Mubai, do you know where Xueqing has gone? I haven’t seen her in so long,” Yan’er said, popping a cherry into her mouth—so sweet.

“Perhaps my senior sister has business to attend to. She has practiced martial arts for years—no need to worry about her,” Mubai replied with a smile. In truth, he didn’t know where she was either, only that Xueqing had always cherished secret feelings for his senior brother.

“I do miss Sister Xueqing,” Yan’er sighed.

“Yan’er, don’t worry so much. You should focus on your health now—eat more, sleep more!” Mubai said awkwardly, glancing at Yan’er’s belly.

“Mubai? Sister Xueqing isn’t young anymore—why hasn’t she married?” Yan’er was still pondering Xueqing, not noticing Mubai’s reddening face as he looked at her belly.

“Haha, how should I know if you don’t? She’s a woman, after all, and I know little of women’s matters. Besides, those of us in the martial world do not place so much importance on love and marriage.” Mubai dared not say that ever since he could remember, his senior sister had circled endlessly around his senior brother, determined to marry no one else. She had been delayed by him for years.

“Sister Xueqing…” Yan’er let the thought go, picking up another cherry. “Mubai, try one—it’s very sweet.”

Their laughter drifted into Pan Yueyang’s study, where he was still vexed.

Standing by the window, he watched the two of them from afar, chatting and laughing together, clearly enjoying themselves.

He lowered his head with a faint smile, then turned back to his desk, determined not to dwell on court politics. Some things are determined by fate and cannot be changed—just as he was born into privilege and wealth, never knowing the hardships of those who labor for their food. His marriage was always destined to be dictated by others, while the lowliest peasants had more freedom in love than he ever would. Such was fate; nothing in life is perfect.

An imperial edict arrived.

At the gate, the sharp, flamboyant voice of a eunuch echoed through the residence. The guards all knelt, and a servant hurried to inform the master.

Pan Yueyang received word—the emperor’s chief eunuch had brought a decree from the palace. He sneered to himself at the speed of it.

Fenghe heard the commotion in the courtyard and sent a maid to find out what was happening, instructing her not to disturb her lady. Shortly after, the maid returned with news: a decree had arrived from the palace, and everyone in the household was to receive it.

Supported by Fenghe, Yan’er walked slowly at the end of the line. Frail as she was, there was no need to hurry. She made her way carefully toward the front courtyard.

“Fenghe?” Yan’er asked, puzzled.

“My lady, are you feeling unwell? We can go even slower,” Fenghe said, worried—they were already moving at a snail’s pace.

“No, I just wanted to ask—does the General always receive such decrees?” Yan’er craned her neck, curious.

“Yes, my lady. Your hometown is far from the capital, so you wouldn’t know—those with high office are often summoned by imperial decree. We’re all quite used to it.”

“Oh.” A great man indeed? Yan’er felt a touch of embarrassment. No one in her family had ever held office, and even if they had, it would never have brought them into direct contact with the emperor. She had chosen well—her husband was truly exceptional!

The entire household assembled in the front courtyard, even Pin’er kneeling in anticipation of the decree. Yan’er hurried to the last row, her heart pounding with nerves. This was her first time witnessing the reception of an imperial edict. Back home, even seeing the provincial governor was a rare event—how could she ever have imagined seeing a decree from the emperor?

She tilted her head curiously, sneaking a peek at the scroll in the eunuch’s hands.

When the eunuch saw no one else was coming, he opened the decree with an air of authority.

“By imperial command: The Pan family has served the realm with loyalty for generations. The heir is upright and distinguished, greatly pleasing to Us. Therefore, We bestow upon him Our daughter, Princess Lan’e, the Third Princess, in marriage. May the two be united in heart and purpose. Ninth year of Emperor Jing.”

To marry a princess? Yan’er was stunned.

Then what was she? Wife? Or concubine?