Chapter 6: Feigning Drunkenness

On the seventh day of the tenth month, news arrived of a grand victory in the southwest. The foreign invaders troubling the borderlands had either been slain or forced to surrender; Great Xing had officially entered a period of newfound stability.

The deadly Tiger Wing Army returned in triumph, its elite forces marching grandly through the southern city gates into the capital.

At this time, Arthur was still in the military encampment training soldiers when a guard rushed inside to deliver an urgent dispatch.

"General! An expedited message from the Tiger Wing Army!"

Arthur took the message, unrolled it, and let out a look that said, I knew this was coming.

When five o'clock arrived, Arthur left the camp and spurred his horse toward the city. Today, he did not return directly to the manor; instead, he headed straight for Changle Tavern on the West Street.

By the time he reached the tavern, dusk had not yet fallen. Handing his black-maned horse to a page, he went up to the second floor and quickly picked out Lucas from the noisy crowd.

Lucas was sitting by a street-facing window eating grapes. Seeing Arthur from afar, he waved his hand toward him.

"Brother Arthur, over here!"

Arthur walked over, though he did not sit down immediately. "Why did you choose to meet here?"

"Don't even mention it—it makes my blood boil just thinking about it. Guess what? I led the Tiger Wing Army to pacify the southwest in three months, and before I could even catch my breath upon returning, my mother began forcing me to propose to the Chancellor's eldest daughter!"

Lucas was not only the son of the Grand Princess Royal and a general of the Tiger Wing Army, but also Arthur's childhood brother. Arthur knew full well what kind of temperament the Grand Princess Royal possessed.

Lucas wore a helpless expression. "I heard that Chancellor's daughter is utterly talentless and hideously unattractive. I don't want to marry her, so I came here to drown my sorrows in wine."

Arthur was left speechless.

"Using an urgent dispatch from the Tiger Wing Army just to invite me out for drinks and old times—only you could pull a stunt like that."

Pouring himself a cup of wine, Arthur sat down squarely, assuming the rigid, upright posture natural to a military commander.

He wore a dark blue-black robe, his satin-like black hair bound high with a red silk ribbon. Throwing his head back to drain the cup, the man's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. His entire demeanor was quiet, solemn, and self-restrained—yet effortlessly striking.

Immediately, several young women felt inclined to approach and strike up a conversation. Arthur cast a cold, sharp glance in their direction; frightened by his glare, the women realized he was an unyielding, stern man and dared not take another step forward.

"Why are you still like this?" Lucas chuckled.

Arthur replied, "Princess Anyang and I are already wed. It is best not to give people any room for gossip."

Lucas rubbed his nose. "I completely forgot you were married. How is she?"

"How is who?"

"Princess Anyang of Shu, of course. I heard she is quite a beauty."

"Don't pry." Arthur didn't answer, asking instead, "How is the Grand Princess Royal's health?"

"She's doing wonderful, and she still keeps you in mind. She mentioned that when you have time, you should bring Princess Anyang to stay at her estate for a few days. When will you be free?"

The Grand Princess Royal treated him like her own son, so Arthur could hardly refuse. "His Majesty has an autumn hunt coming up soon. After returning from the hunt, I will have three days of leave. I shall visit then."

The two chatted idly, mostly discussing the recent campaign in the southwest. Both possessed immense capacities for alcohol; before long, seven or eight wine jars lay empty at their feet.

Lucas was the first to give in, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You win as always. I'll go relieve myself first—we'll continue when I get back."

Since it was still early, Arthur was in no hurry to return. He needed to compile the battle reports from the southwest into a memorial for the Emperor anyway, so hearing Lucas describe the battlefield conditions today was quite convenient.

As Arthur quietly drank alone, a pair of eyes behind a distant pillar was fixed intently on his back.

It was none other than Arthur’s aunt, Beatrice.

Standing beside Beatrice was a sixteen- or seventeen-year-old girl. She had attractive features, and her clever, lively fox-like eyes gave her a distinct charm. This was Peony, a niece from Beatrice's husband's side of the family.

"Aunt, should... should I really go over there?" Peony hesitated; seduction was a trick she had never attempted before.

"Of course! If you don't go, should I?" Beatrice urged earnestly. "Peony, your parents entrusted me with finding you a good match. After thinking it over, no one compares to my own nephew. Think about who Arthur is—who could possibly have a brighter future than him?"

"But he is already married to Anyang of Shu..."

Before she could finish, Beatrice interrupted her: "Did you forget what I told you earlier? I heard it with my own ears—that Princess Anyang is a hen that cannot lay eggs! She has been fragile since birth and cannot conceive. Even if she holds my nephew's favor for now, her beauty will fade with age. Add to that her inability to bear children, and what man would continue to care for her? She is destined to wither away and die in the inner quarters!"

"Peony, running into Arthur at the tavern today is a rare opportunity. I am your aunt; why would I ever harm you? Just think about it—Princess Anyang cannot bear children, so my nephew is bound to take concubines in the future. Since he will take someone eventually, why not leave this opportunity to you? That way, our families can deepen our ties."

"If you marry in and bear Arthur's child, your life will be set forever. That princess from Shu is nothing but a sickly creature. Once you enter the manor, with your beauty, you can steal his heart away in just a few days!"

"And as for your father's gambling debts—what ordinary young man could afford to pay them off? Even if someone could, can you guarantee the people from the gambling den wouldn't cause trouble later?"

Peony didn't think her aunt's reasoning made much sense, and she was certainly unwilling to become a concubine. Yet that final sentence struck her right where it hurt most...

Looking from afar, General Shaw was peerlessly handsome, keeping to himself even in a lively tavern like Changle Tavern, clearly unlike other men.

If she could truly forge a bond with the world-famous General Shaw, her father's gambling debts would be settled, and no one would ever dare bully her again.

Gritting her teeth, Peony nodded. "Fine, Aunt. I'll go."

Beatrice's eyes lit up as she handed over a tray carrying a pot of fine wine.

"Go on then, and be sure to use every charm you have. But remember—once it's done, do not forget to honor your aunt with a generous portion of the betrothal gifts."

·

The sun tilted westward, its golden rays scattering across the wine cup and shattering into shimmering ripples.

Arthur held his wine cup, though for some reason, the shimmering light in the cup reminded him of Evelyn’s eyes. On the night of the family banquet, after drinking fruit wine, her eyes had glowed with that exact same bright, tear-misted luster.

Arthur stroked the rim of the cup with his thumb, then raised his hand to drain the contents in one gulp.

As he drank alone, a delicate fragrance brushed past his nose, and a woman seated herself gracefully beside him. She held a wine pot in her hands, her eyes filled with gentle, flowing glances.

Arthur’s brow furrowed. Lucas had many female companions; his first instinct was that she was here looking for Lucas.

He pulled back to create distance, but to his surprise, the woman leaned in closer, speaking softly: "General Shaw, do you not remember me?"

Hearing his surname mentioned suddenly, Arthur grew alert, his eyes turning as cold as ice.

Startled by his gaze, Peony dared not press any closer. "I met the General once when I was small. My aunt is your aunt—does the General have any recollection?"

"You said yourself it was when you were small. How could I possibly remember?" Standing up without a second thought, Arthur moved to change seats. He set his wine cup on the table with a crisp, sharp clack, refusing to say another word.

Peony smiled faintly. "It matters not if you don't remember. Since we met by chance, why not share a drink with Peony before you leave, General?"

As she spoke, she lifted the wine pot, swayed her body, and "accidentally" spilled the contents of the cup all over Arthur’s cloak.

Peony immediately pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at the cloak, her eyes brimming with faint tears: "Forgive me, General! I accidentally wetted your cloak. Why don't you leave it with me, and I shall return it to you with both hands after washing it clean?"

Peony knew her trick was far from subtle. However, men often took advantage of such situations to go along with the act, turning a blind eye to create an opportunity for future interactions.

What she failed to understand was that the man before her was completely impenetrable. He pulled the cloak back from her hands without a shred of leniency.

Arthur said, "No need."

Peony wasn't particularly enamored with Arthur, but she prided herself on her good looks. Usually, a crook of her finger would draw plenty of suitors to follow her. Having her pride crushed so thoroughly today made her ears burn with embarrassment.

Just then, Lucas returned and witnessed the scene.

"Who might this be?" Lucas asked.

Arthur, who had been completely sober a moment ago, raised a hand to press against his temple and slumped wobblingly against Lucas.

Burdened by the sudden weight, Lucas let out a muffled grunt, asking in astonishment, "What's wrong with you?"

"I drank too much... my head is spinning terribly. Call my wife to come pick me up."

"Why bother calling your wife? I can—"

Before Lucas could finish, Arthur shot him a razor-sharp glare. Lucas was a seasoned rogue in matters of the heart, and realization struck him instantly.

He turned to Bull, who was standing nearby: "Bull, what are you standing there dazed for? Your General is drunk!"

Coming to his senses, Bull dashed out of the tavern in a flash, rushing back to the manor to fetch help.

·

Having nothing to do, Evelyn had bathed and changed into clean clothes early in the evening.

She was currently leaning against a rosewood armchair reading a book when Bull sprinted back to the estate in a frenzy, claiming that the General was drunk and needed his mistress to come pick him up.

Evelyn had no desire to go personally; she intended to dismiss Bull and send a carriage to retrieve him instead. Yet just as she gave the order, a realization struck her.

She had always heard that General Shaw had an immense capacity for alcohol and rarely got drunk. Demanding that she come pick him up explicitly suggested there was a deeper reason behind it.

Recalling how Arthur had come to her rescue at the family banquet last time, Evelyn decided to return the favor.

"Wait. I'll go. Prepare the carriage."

Changle Tavern was less than a five-minute drive from the General’s Manor. Stepping through the night air, the carriage soon came to a halt outside the tavern's entrance.

The night had grown chilly. Having bathed recently, her hair was not yet completely dry. Dew reached up to pull the hood of the snow-white cloak over her princess's head, taking care not to let her catch a chill.

"Your Highness, please be careful."

Bull brought over a stepping stool. Evelyn wrapped the white cloak tightly around herself, extended a foot, and stepped down gently. "Is the General on the second floor?"

"Yes," Bull said with embarrassment. "Our General has a great tolerance for alcohol; drinking two or three times today's amount usually poses no problem at all. I don't know what happened today—he just mysteriously got drunk."

"Let us head upstairs first."

Evelyn asked as she walked upstairs. Changle Tavern was at its liveliest hour, with diners gathered together chatting and drinking in bustling cheer.

Yet the moment Evelyn stepped upstairs, the noisy chatter in the tavern seemed to quiet down significantly. Diners everywhere cast subtle, covert glances in her direction.

A glorious moon rose from behind the clouds.

Evelyn wore no makeup, yet she remained breathlessly striking. Wrapped in the snow-white cloak like exquisite porcelain, she was utterly devoid of a single flaw.

Perhaps tired from climbing the stairs, her delicate hand gently rested against her chest. That frail, sickly grace gave her an added touch of unique elegance—fragile, yet possessing an unmistakable, untouchable nobility.

Evelyn had long grown accustomed to such gazes. She casually searched the crowd for that familiar figure.

A gentle breeze ruffled his long hair. Beneath the dimming lantern lights, Arthur leaned drunkenly against the second-floor railing, staring down at her with a deep, heavy gaze.

Chapter 7: The Explanation

"Your Highness, the General is over there."

Dew supported Evelyn as they walked toward Arthur, only to notice a glamorous woman standing at a subtle distance from General Shaw. Slender of posture, with fine eyebrows and red lips, she appeared as if she wanted to support him.

A faint guess formed in Evelyn’s mind.

She walked forward, completely ignoring Peony, radiating the composed, dignified air of the main lady of the household despite her delicate appearance: "Husband, Bull said you were drunk and rushed back to the estate so I could come pick you up. Are you feeling all right?"

Her response was somewhat unexpected—not just her effortless demeanor, but also the fact that this was the very first time Princess Anyang had ever addressed him as "Husband."

A string in Arthur’s heart seemed to be plucked, like a lone leaf falling onto a calm lake, sending ripples across the water. Instinctively avoiding Peony's reaching hand, he slowly walked over to Evelyn.

Coming closer, he noticed the still-damp hair along the temples beneath her white hood.

When Bull went to fetch her, she must have just finished bathing.

"Wife, my head hurts from drinking."

His voice was husky, and his tall frame swayed slightly. For a moment, Evelyn found it hard to tell just how drunk he actually was. She offered a faint smile and looked toward the stairs: "I have sobering soup prepared in the carriage. You have to go to the military camp tomorrow, so you must not overindulge again."

With that, Evelyn turned, intending to lead the way down.

Arthur took a step forward, lightly resting a long arm across her shoulder. The heat of the man’s body transferred through the fabric, accompanied by a faint scent of wine brushing against her earlobe.

Evelyn’s heart skipped a beat, and a suspicious blush crept over her pale cheeks.

Arthur was heavy; although he did not put his full weight on her, she still felt as though she were carrying a boulder.

Was he truly drunk? How could he be this drunk?

Lowering her voice, Evelyn scolded him in a tone only the two of them could hear: "General, what are you doing? You promised me that without my consent, you wouldn't touch me."

"Hold onto me," he said. "On the night of the family banquet, didn't you do the exact same thing—embracing me without my permission as well?"

Was he complaining that she had embraced him without permission back then?

Evelyn immediately snapped back: "You never said I wasn't allowed to touch you."

Arthur was left speechlessly quiet.

At this moment, she had genuine doubts about whether Arthur had truly drunk too much. Yet looking at Arthur’s expression, she saw nothing but complete sincerity. It was as if he were discussing military tactics or battle strategies with her, devoid of any improper thoughts.

"Hold my waist," Arthur lowered his voice, leaning close to her ear. "Affectionate couples always do this, just like on the night of the family banquet."

"I... but I don't want to. I'm not your maidservant."

At home was at home, and outside was outside. With so many people watching, Evelyn had no desire to do things meant for servants.

Even if the man was her husband in name.

Furthermore, Arthur had come straight from the military camp without bathing and was covered in the smell of wine. Having just bathed herself, she truly did not wish to touch him.

Arthur coaxed softly: "Princess Anyang, for the sake of me helping you at the family banquet, hmm?"

Evelyn’s body went rigid. Stuck in a dilemma, she maintained her posture without making any move to support him.

Everyone assumed Evelyn was merely shy.

Peony alone seemed to sense something amiss. She stepped forward and said, "The Princess is frail and delicate. If she cannot support the General, why don't I..."

Unexpectedly, Peony speaking up proved far more effective than Arthur’s reasoning. Evelyn’s hand instantly rested upon Arthur’s waist. Turning her head, the confusion in her eyes was entirely flawless: "I didn't notice earlier—who might this young lady be?"

"The General and I are distant relatives. My aunt is the General's aunt."

Evelyn let out a meaningful "Oh," her eyes narrowing as she cast a sideways glance at Arthur, giving off a subtle illusion of jealousy: "The General certainly knows how to order people around. Had I known you had a soft-spoken distant cousin here to tend to you, I wouldn't have come tonight."

As that sudden, delicate hand rested on Arthur’s waist, the man’s entire body tensed up, a surge of heat roaming wildly through him.

He raised an eyebrow, cast a brief glance at Peony, and then declared with utter composure: "Wife, I do not know her. You must believe me."

The corners of Evelyn’s lips curled into a subtle arc.

The situation before her was crystal clear.

Arthur’s sole purpose tonight was using her presence as a pretext to nip this young woman's improper intentions in the bud.

Now that the goal was achieved, Evelyn had no intention of dwelling on it further.

"Do not mind it, young lady. The General is drunk; perhaps he will remember once he wakes up. Bull, pull the carriage closer. It is time for the General to return and rest."

"Yes!"

Bull hurried downstairs. Supporting Arthur, Evelyn followed closely behind.

As their figures supporting each other vanished around the second-floor corner, Peony's raised hand froze in the air for a moment before dropping uselessly.

She understood now that General Shaw was no womanizer; using her beauty to entice him was a path that led nowhere.

As dusk deepened under the bright moonlight, their shadows merged into one. The magnificent general and the noble, dignified princess made a peerlessly matched couple.

Watching them from afar, Peony let out a self-deprecating laugh. Her aunt’s idea had been terrible, and she had degraded her own worth by falling for it.

·

The night was deep and serene as the wheels rolled onward, the carriage making its way toward the General’s Manor.

Once inside the carriage, Evelyn and Arthur released their hold on each other with unspoken tacit understanding.

Neither spoke, leaving the atmosphere somewhat awkward.

Ever since their wedding, they had kept strictly to their own bounds. Had it not been for the family banquet and today's intervention at the tavern, Evelyn would likely never have taken the initiative to make physical contact with this man.

She turned her head to look into the empty space, her back straight and rigid, her hand idly fidgeting with the warm hand-stove carved with orchid patterns, maintaining her usual nobility.

"Thank you for tonight," Arthur spoke first.

An eight-legged low table sat between them, where a bronze candle stand held several burning red candles, illuminating the side of Evelyn’s face.

In the warm glow, the fine, delicate fuzz on her cheek was clearly visible.

Sitting so close to him made Evelyn feel unsettled. Unable to remain still, she shifted her gaze over: "The General is too polite."

She then raised her chin slightly toward the surface of the table. Atop a small red-clay stove, a lidded bowl of sobering soup was keeping warm. The fire burned brightly, and the soup pot let out soft bubbling sounds as a rich fragrance escaped the rim.

"Please help yourself, General."

Arthur realized that back at Changle Tavern, Evelyn had not merely been making polite conversation—she had genuinely prepared sobering soup for him.

He was not actually drunk, nor had he ever been truly intoxicated in his life, so no one had ever brewed a bowl of sobering soup for him after drinking in all these years.

Arthur poured himself a cup, replaced the lid, and drank the warm soup down into his stomach: "The Tiger Wing Army returned in victory today. I had an appointment to meet Lucas, their deputy commander, at Changle Tavern tonight. I had no idea beforehand that I would run into that young woman."

Evelyn didn't understand why Arthur was telling her all this. She didn't particularly care, letting out a simple "Oh" without following up.

Arthur continued on his own: "When I left the estate this morning, I heard my mother mention that my aunt seemed eager to find a suitable match for a niece from her husband's family. I didn't expect to run into her niece tonight. It was likely no coincidence—my aunt must have set her sights on me, which is why I asked Bull to fetch you."

"No wonder your aunt tried so hard to frame me and test us repeatedly at the family banquet that day," Evelyn said with sudden realization. "So, General Shaw could have simply walked away tonight, but to thoroughly cut off your aunt's ambitions, you had no choice but to do this."

"Yes." Arthur also felt his aunt's actions were utterly disgraceful, adding earnestly, "Even without her testing, I would never marry her niece."

It was a calm statement, yet it carried the tone of an explanation.

He looked at her so intently that a blush flushed across Evelyn's face. No matter how she heard it, those words sounded like a personal guarantee to her.

"The General may decide such matters on his own; there is no need to explain them to me."

Sensitive to the cold, the carriage's heater burned brightly.

Perhaps the fire was too intense or the carriage too confined, but the heat on Evelyn’s cheeks refused to fade.

She lifted the window curtain, intending to catch a breath of fresh air. Yet the moment a small gap was opened, the chilly night wind rushed inside, causing Evelyn’s throat to itch again as she broke into intermittent coughing.

"Why are you coughing again?" Arthur reached out and pulled the curtain back down.

"I left in a hurry tonight and forgot to take my medicine... call Dew... my licorice pills."

Evelyn’s face flushed even redder from coughing, tears clinging to her eyelashes. She covered her mouth with a handkerchief, looking as though her internal organs might be coughed out at any second.

Bull and Dew were driving the carriage from the front. Arthur immediately pushed open the front compartment door to fetch the medicine from Dew.

The licorice pills were stored in a small, pale-green porcelain bottle. Uncorking the stopper, a faint, bitter-sweet medicinal fragrance drifted out.

Arthur’s brow furrowed tightly. "How many pills?"

Evelyn raised a hand, gesturing a "five," and opened her palm to receive the medicine. Yet she was coughing so violently that her hand could barely stay steady.

Arthur paused for a moment, then took her tiny hand in his, deftly shaking the pills from the porcelain bottle into Evelyn’s palm.

Her hand was far too cold, lacking the warm temperature a normal person should have. Shrouded inside the snow-white cloak, she looked like a delicate, finely carved snow figure that might melt at any moment.

Arthur let go of her hand. Evelyn quickly placed the pills into her mouth, and a cup of warm water was handed over at the same time.

"Are you feeling a bit better?"

The coughing softened considerably. Evelyn nodded, using her handkerchief to wipe away the tears clinging to her lashes.

"Thank you."

Her voice sounded somewhat raspy, carrying a thick nasal tone.

Arthur felt a wave of guilt, regretting that he had dragged the fragile Princess Anyang out in the cold night just to free himself from his own troubles.

"I am the one who should thank you."

"General, are you feeling pity for me?"

Evelyn shook her head decisively: "The General truly does not need to thank me. I do not require your gratitude, nor do you need to express it to me."

Arthur’s expression turned solemn.

Evelyn looked at him, her light brown pupils appearing even lighter and paler under the candlelight.

"Since the General and I are united in marriage, helping you solve your troubles is my duty. Only then can Xing and Shu remain peaceful and harmonious. As a Princess of Shu, this is what I ought to do—it is my fate. I did it for myself, so why should the General thank me?"

Those words sounded remarkably familiar. On the night of the family banquet, when she had thanked him, he had thought the exact same thing in his heart.

Their eyes met—one pair pure black like a bottomless dark pool, deep and icy cold.

Arthur’s expression changed subtly. Remaining silent, an inexplicable heaviness pressed against his chest.

Chapter 8: Mindful

The moonlight was like clear water, throwing dappled tree shadows across the silent grounds of the General’s Manor in a gentle shower of silver frost.

Bull walked ahead carrying a lantern to guide the way carefully, its inner candle casting a swaying, warm glow.

In a few days,