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,

Chapter 9: The Argument

"Who goes there?! How dare you lay a hand on our big boss—"

Before the burly men could finish shouting their curses, a team of well-trained soldiers surrounded them completely.

There were about fifty soldiers, all clad in the uniform of the Southern Encampment. Every singl