When I met Xue Miaoyin face to face, I realized there are no lucky breaks in this world. Xue Miaoyin, whom I thought would be my future sister-in-law, was arranged by our royal family to be my husband’s wife. The future of the Great Qi Kingdom was indeed bleak.
Chapter Twenty-Six: The Shock of an Arranged Marriage
The empress left Miaoyin and me in the imperial garden, wanting us to “get along” first.
Miaoyin looked bewildered. After I explained the situation, her expression twisted into the character “囧”. The empress had mentioned arranging a marriage for her, and she was trying to hint to her aunt that she already had a love interest. Unexpectedly, she was matched with her beloved’s brother-in-law.
This pair was quite pitiful. What should have been a heaven-sent match, reunited after ten years, now faced tribulation. My older brother had recently excitedly revealed that Xue Yin was actually a girl. I pretended to complain, making him frown in anger, which amused me. We thought everything would fall into place, but now this unexpected turn of events occurred.
Ultimately, it was because of our involvement. I briefly explained to Miaoyin about the imperial physician’s diagnosis at the Xie Chen banquet that I might have difficulty bearing children and the entanglement with the Eastern Palace.
She felt the matter was suspicious and unlikely to be as simple as the Eastern Palace trying to steal a wife, with the empress assisting her son.
“Even if the empress indulges the Eastern Palace, wouldn’t His Majesty know about this?” Her words echoed my doubts. “The current emperor is wise; how could he allow such a thing? It seems more like the entire royal family wants to tear us apart…”
Miaoyin’s reasoning was sound. Moreover, I recalled another layer of complexity. Years ago, when the Seventh Princess was infatuated with An Jin, the emperor never agreed to their marriage. I had thought it was because he learned An Jin was unwilling. Now, it seemed that wasn’t the case. If they were going to force a marriage, why not grant the princess’s wish instead of arranging Xue Miaoyin, who had no connection to An Jin?
Was the entire royal family determined to tear us apart? How had our marriage provoked such anger?
Miaoyin comforted me, saying this matter wouldn’t be so simple. An Jin was not someone who could be manipulated, and she would find ways to resolve this marriage. If all else failed, she could imitate the Eastern Palace’s consort and elope, refusing to marry An Jin and become this so-called Hehuang and Nüying.
Her expression was resolute, her smile more brilliant than a pink peach just beginning to bloom. My future sister-in-law’s optimism brightened my mood, and I politely greeted the Eastern Palace on my way out.
The Eastern Palace was touring the garden with favored concubines, holding Fei Wu. He merely nodded with a smile when he saw me, extremely proper. I had thought he would be furious after his previous setback, but he seemed unperturbed, even asking me to send regards to An Jin, as if he had never tried to steal my wife.
I estimated that after being confronted by An Jin, the Eastern Palace had reflected and understood the importance of “keeping a low profile.”
I have a peculiar habit: when my mind is full of thoughts, my appetite increases. That evening, my meal portion doubled. My father-in-law and An Jin kept adding dishes to my bowl, and my usually calm mother-in-law glanced at my lower abdomen, seemingly misunderstanding something.
An Jin praised my submissive approach before the empress and promised to resolve the royal marriage arrangement. No matter my worries, they were dispelled by his single statement. He had never failed to keep a promise.
A few days later, during a break, the emperor summoned An Jin and me to the palace.
I knew it was about the marriage arrangement and felt somewhat nervous. However, as we ascended the dragon path in Yijing Hall, An Jin suddenly reached out and held my fist hidden in my sleeve. He interlaced his fingers with mine, palm to palm.
I looked at him in surprise. His features were blurred by the thin mist of the imperial city, but it made me feel at ease. In that moment, I understood his meaning: Don’t be afraid, I’m here.
Just thinking of those four words made my nervousness vanish. As long as he was by my side, I feared nothing.
The empress remained dignified, her expression unreadable. The emperor’s face was benevolent, his narrow eyes pausing momentarily on our tightly touching sleeves before his smile remained unchanged.
One was cold and heartless, the other cunning and sly—both equally difficult to deal with.
The emperor first exchanged pleasantries, praising our conjugal love as a model of harmony, then meandered through recent weather and popular spring outing spots in Yanfeng City. The irrelevant topics made me drowsy, and I would have been discourteous if I weren’t still standing in the hall.
This emperor was even more prone to digression than my own father.
An Jin appeared accustomed to the emperor’s meandering conversation, occasionally responding appropriately.
Feeling tired and hungry, my legs went numb. Was the emperor using fatigue as a tactic?
As the emperor continued rambling, An Jin interjected: “May I ask why Your Majesty has summoned us?”
The emperor then remembered: “Oh, right. Someone, bring seats.”
Being seated indicated the main topic was about to begin.
The emperor shifted from his verbose manner, speaking clearly: he wanted to bestow Xue Miaoyin in marriage to An Jin, while I would be demoted to a concubine after being childless for two years.
I felt angry. “At least the Empress has a ceremonial role, but I’m being demoted to a concubine?”
An Jin lowered his head: “Please forgive this subject for not being able to agree.”
The Emperor and the Empress exchanged a glance and laughed: “My dear official and his wife are deeply in love, no wonder he cannot accept. How about this: the two wives will stand side by side, without distinction?”
I was torn between laughter and tears, as it felt like they were bargaining over a cabbage.
An Jin continued to lower his head and firmly said: “This subject cannot agree.”
The Emperor seemed stunned. “Could it be that Miss Xue should become a concubine? This is really…” He stroked his mustache, looking at An Jin helplessly.
The Empress scrutinized An Jin, slightly frowning. They were indeed selling a cabbage named Xue Miao Yin.
An Jin remained resolute. “This subject cannot marry.”
The Emperor’s smile faded as he turned a cold gaze towards An Jin. “Are you defying the imperial decree?”
“Your Majesty is benevolent and will not issue a decree that goes against his subject’s wishes.”
An Jin’s defiance was clear. The Emperor understood immediately, and after a moment, he coldly laughed: “If your wife cannot bear you a child, what will you do?”
An Jin trembled slightly but quickly regained his composure. “Even if I have no offspring, I will never remarry.”
The Emperor narrowed his eyes. “Are you truly determined, with no regrets?”
“No regrets.”
“Good, good, good.” The Emperor clapped. “Bring wine.”
The Empress’s expression changed to one of disapproval. “Your Majesty—”
A palace maid brought a bronze wine cup. I wondered if it was poisoned. Would refusing marriage lead to death?
“Since you are so determined, I cannot force you,” the Emperor said with a benevolent smile.
