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In the grand halls of the Imperial Palace, Emperor Wen sat upon his golden throne, frowning at the latest report from his ever-loyal spies. This was no report of border conflicts or political intrigue—no, it was far more pressing.
Rumors had reached his ears that his adopted son, General Ling Buyi, had gotten too close to the ever-troublesome Cheng Shaoshang, daughter of the General Cheng. And, if the reports were to be believed, Buyi had even suffered in the process.
Emperor Wen stroked his beard, mulling over the implications. Was it a romantic injury? A case of heartbreak? Did she reject him? Did she accept him and it broke his mind? Or was she, as expected, an absolute disaster and set him on fire?
“Summon Ling Buyi,” the Emperor ordered. “And Cheng Shaoshang. It is time to get to the bottom of this.”
His eunuchs scurried away to carry out the order, whispering excitedly amongst themselves.
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The esteemed General Ling Buyi, feared across battlefields and known for his cold, unwavering demeanor, stood before the Emperor with the expression of a man suffering greatly. He did not, however, look physically wounded.
The Emperor squinted at him. “So,” he said gravely, “I hear you were hurt because of Cheng Shaoshang.”
Ling Buyi sighed. “It’s not as serious as it sounds.”
“Ah,” the Emperor nodded knowingly, rubbing his chin. “So it was your heart that was hurt.”
Ling Buyi blinked. “No, Your Majesty. It was my face.”
There was a beat of silence. The Emperor’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”
Ling Buyi exhaled, his patience wearing thin. “Shaoshang was testing her latest invention—an automatic ink-splashing device—meant to paint beautiful patterns effortlessly.”
Emperor Jintian leaned in, intrigued. “And?”
“It exploded,” Ling Buyi deadpanned. “Directly onto my face.”
A snort escaped one of the nearby palace guards. The Emperor shot him a look, but even he was struggling to keep his royal composure. “You mean to tell me,” he said slowly, “that the reason the entire court is gossiping about you and Cheng Shaoshang is because she inked you?”
Ling Buyi’s jaw tightened. “Yes.”
“Ah. And this is all that happened between you two?”
Ling Buyi hesitated. Technically… no. There was also the part where Shaoshang had laughed at him so hard she fell off her chair, and then, when trying to apologize, wiped his face—with more ink on her sleeve, making it worse. And then she had reassured him, with complete sincerity, that his new warrior-like appearance might actually intimidate his enemies.
But the Emperor did not need to know all of that.
“Yes,” Ling Buyi confirmed.
The Emperor sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “How is it that you’ve fought countless battles, brought enemies to their knees, and yet, you still cannot dodge a flying invention?”
Ling Buyi scowled. “It came from above.”
At that moment, a palace eunuch entered. “Your Majesty, Lady Cheng Shaoshang has arrived.”
The Emperor waved his hand. “Bring her in. We shall see if her version of events matches yours.”
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Cheng Shaoshang entered with the confidence of a woman who had caused absolute destruction but was somehow proud of it. She bowed respectfully, but her eyes sparkled with mischief as she straightened.
“Your Majesty,” she greeted with a dazzling smile. “How wonderful to see you. Ah, and General Ling is here too! Still brooding, I see.”
Ling Buyi sighed. “I do not brood.”
“You do, but that’s alright. It suits you.”
The Emperor raised a hand before the bickering could escalate. “Shaoshang,” he said sternly, “I have summoned you here to answer for your crime.”
Shaoshang gasped dramatically. “A crime? Your Majesty, I am wounded! I have spent my days dedicated to the arts and sciences, creating wonders for the Empire, and now I stand accused?”
“You assaulted the General.”
“I improved him,” she corrected. “A simple mishap with my invention, which was meant to revolutionize painting! Now, if I recall, General Ling was standing in exactly the wrong place at exactly the wrong time.” She turned to Ling Buyi. “Really, you should be grateful. I’ve given you a new aesthetic. Very avant-garde.”
Ling Buyi gave her a flat look. “I looked like a walking ink scroll.”
Shaoshang tapped her chin. “Now that you mention it, you did resemble an elegant landscape painting.” She sighed wistfully. “If only I had framed you instead of cleaning you up.”
Ling Buyi turned to the Emperor. “You see what I’ve endured?”
The Emperor was now massaging his temples. “Enough. There are rumors about the two of you, and it must be put to rest.”
Shaoshang perked up. “Oh! Do tell! What rumors? Are they good? I always prefer the dramatic ones—perhaps one where we fell madly in love after a heated argument?”
Ling Buyi sighed. “They said you hurt me.”
“Well, in my defense, I didn’t intend to,” Shaoshang said, clasping her hands together. “And I did try to help afterward!”
Ling Buyi arched a brow. “By laughing at me?”
Shaoshang smiled sweetly. “It was my coping mechanism.”
The Emperor, watching them closely, smirked suddenly. “Well, I see only one solution.”
Shaoshang and Ling Buyi straightened warily.
The Emperor grinned. “A match.”
Shaoshang blinked. “A what now?”
Ling Buyi’s face darkened. “Your Majesty—”
The Emperor waved his hand dismissively. “Enough. It is decided! A marriage between you two shall resolve all rumors and strengthen ties between our families.”
Shaoshang opened her mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again. “Your Majesty, I have a question.”
The Emperor raised an eyebrow. “Speak.”
“Are you sure you want to tie me permanently to your adopted son? You do realize I could set him on fire next time?”
The Emperor shrugged. “I think he’ll survive.”
Ling Buyi muttered, “That’s debatable.”
Shaoshang sighed. “Well, I suppose there are worse fates.” Then, grinning wickedly, she nudged Ling Buyi. “At least you’ll never be bored.”
Ling Buyi looked to the heavens as if seeking divine intervention.
The Emperor, satisfied with his matchmaking, clapped his hands. “Good! It’s settled. Now, Shaoshang, no more explosions in the palace.”
Shaoshang pouted. “What about small ones?”
“No.”
She turned to Ling Buyi. “What do you think, fiancé?”
“I think,” he said dryly, “that I am doomed.”