CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
The First Fight
The air in the private chambers had turned from quiet grief to sharp, biting lightning. It was the first time they had truly fought since their wedding, and the silence that followed was terrifying.
Mingzhu stood by the window, her hands clasped tightly before her. It had all spilled out — the hidden truth of her life before he had returned, the attempt upon her life that she had barely survived, and Baozi's confession of the threats he had been living under. She had kept it buried to protect the peace, to keep the household running, and because she hadn't wanted to burden the Marquis with the schemes of a merchant's past.
Zhanyuan stood in the center of the room, his face darkened by a storm of emotions. He wasn't just angry; he was shaking. His hands, which had gripped swords in the heat of a thousand battles, were clenched into fists at his sides.
"You hid this?" his voice was dangerously low, vibrating through the room. "You looked at the shadows closing in around you and decided I was not fit to know? Or was it that you did not trust your husband to protect you?"
Mingzhu did not look back at him. She kept her gaze fixed on the darkening courtyard outside. "I did not want to worry you, Zhanyuan. I handled it."
"You handled it?" he let out a harsh, jagged laugh. "What if the hands that reached for you had succeeded? Tell me, Mingzhu! If the danger you faced had taken you from this world, would I be standing here arguing with a ghost? Do you think I am so incompetent that I cannot guard my own wife from a snake in my own house?"
He was speaking out of pure, frantic fear. The thought of losing her after everything they had been through was a blade to his own heart.
Mingzhu remained silent. She sat on the edge of the chair, her shoulders slumped, staring at her feet. She knew he was right. She knew her secrecy had come from a place of pride, not wisdom. The guilt pressed down on her like a mountain. She had no clever argument, no sharp rebuttal. She just felt small and incredibly foolish.
Zhanyuan raked a hand through his hair, his chest heaving. "I cannot be in this room tonight. I have forgotten what it feels like to breathe in here."
He turned on his heel and strode out, leaving the door swinging in his wake.
In the war room — a place of maps, strategy scrolls, and cold military planning, the three subordinates were sitting in a respectful, bored silence. They were reviewing supply lines when the heavy door was kicked open.
Wei Zhanyuan stomped in, his face a mask of iron. He marched to his old desk, sat down, and unrolled a massive battle map with a loud thwack.
Liu Dazhu, Chen Xiaopi, and Tang Wuyan froze. They looked at each other, their eyes wide. Their General, the man who had abandoned this room the very day he married, had returned.
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Is he... back? Liu Dazhu thought, his heart pounding. Did he get kicked out?
Zhanyuan cleared his throat loudly. "Right. The Northern border reports. Let us discuss the logistics of the defense. It has been far too long since I focused on... real matters." He spoke with the tone of a man trying to convince himself as much as his subordinates.
Chen Xiaopi shifted uncomfortably. "My Lord, the Northern border is currently at peace. The only logistics we have are regarding the grain harvest."
"Grain!" Zhanyuan shouted, a bit too loudly. "Excellent. Grain is the backbone of the army. Discuss it. I am not married to anything but my duty tonight."
Tang Wuyan stared at the General's back. His internal monologue, usually unhinged, was unusually loud: He is acting like a bachelor, but his eyes are twitching. He is literally twitching. Does he think we don't know he's miserable?
Zhanyuan sat there for an hour, pretending to study a map of a campaign that had ended three years ago. Then, he tapped his finger on the desk. "Dazhu."
"Yes, my Lord?"
"Go to the inner chambers. Just... walk past them. See if the lights are still on."
Dazhu blinked. "The lights, my Lord?"
"Yes. It is late. It is irresponsible to keep candles burning at this hour. Go and check."
Dazhu nodded, confused, and stood up. He walked out, returned five minutes later, and bowed. "The lights are still on, my Lord."
Zhanyuan leaned back, a smug, satisfied expression crossing his face. "Yes. Of course they are. She is restless. She loves me too much to sleep while I am angry. It is impossible for her to close her eyes when she knows I am disappointed in her."
The three subordinates exchanged a look of pure agony.
"Should I... put out the lights, my Lord?" Dazhu asked.
"No!" Zhanyuan snapped. "Don't touch them. Let her stew in her guilt. She needs to understand the gravity of her secrets."
He turned back to the maps. Twenty minutes later, he tapped his finger again. "Xiaopi."
"Yes, my Lord?"
"Go back. See if she has stopped pacing. She is probably pacing. She is likely crying into a pillow, regretting her choices."
Xiaopi left, his feet dragging. He returned, bowing low. "Madam is sitting quietly, my Lord. She is just staring at the wall."
Zhanyuan nodded, his ego clearly soothed. "Staring at the wall. Yes. Reflecting. Good. She understands."
He tried to go back to "military matters," but he kept drumming his fingers. He looked at the window, then at the door, then back at the map. He looked like a man trapped in a burning building who refused to jump because of his pride.
Inside the inner chambers, Mingzhu was indeed sitting quietly. Her guilt was real, but so was her frustration. She knew she should go to him, but she didn't know how to bridge the gap without making him more angry. She felt ridiculous sitting in a bed that felt like an entire kingdom's worth of empty space. She missed him, and she knew he was being stubborn — but he was right, and that made her even more annoyed.
Back in the war room, midnight had long since passed. The three subordinates were exhausted. Tang Wuyan was staring at the ceiling, wondering if he could petition the Emperor for a transfer to a quieter post.
Zhanyuan stood up, his armor clinking softly. He paced the length of the room three times. He looked at the map, then at his loyal men.
"I am going to check on her," Zhanyuan announced, his voice stiff.
"Oh, thank the heavens," Xiaopi whispered under his breath.
Zhanyuan turned, glaring at them. "I am not going because I miss her. Do not be ridiculous. I am only going because she is with child, and the air in the chamber is likely too stale for her condition. It is a matter of medical concern, not personal affection. Understand?"
"Understood, my Lord," the three said in perfect, weary unison.
Zhanyuan strode to the door, his chest puffed out, maintaining the dignity of a General marching into a siege. He reached the door, stopped, and smoothed his robes, a look of desperate, boyish hope crossing his face for a split second before he opened the door and vanished down the hall, leaving his subordinates to collapse in a heap of confusion and relief.