The agreement was signed with the formality demanded by dealings between great families. The documents, inked in black upon rice parchment, were carefully sealed with the red wax emblem of the Wei clan. The dowry Meixin brought was considerable: chests of imported fabrics, black lacquer boxes filled with ancient coins, hand-painted vases depicting scenes of the Yellow River, jade and gold jewelry, and contracts linked to caravans trading in spices and porcelain. In every sense, it was a union that sealed power and stability.
Wei Jin and Zhang Tao sat face to face, separated by a low sandalwood table polished to a mirror sheen. Between them, a blue porcelain teapot and two small cups rested as silent witnesses to a pact that extended beyond paper. The golden rays of sunset streamed through the carved folding screens, casting warm shadows.
Wei Jin lifted his cup, took a slow sip, and set it down carefully.
—The agreement is sealed, Zhang Tao.— His voice was firm, unadorned. —From this day on, our families will be joined not only by words, but by blood.
Zhang Tao, tall and upright, retained the martial elegance of his younger years, though time had etched deeper lines across his brow and carved harsh contours into his cheeks. His hair, streaked with silver, was combed back and held in place with a black jade hairpin. He had high cheekbones, a squared jaw, and narrow eyes dark as ink. He wore a black silk hanfu embroidered with silver threads, and jade rings gleamed on his fingers. Every movement he made was measured, calculated.
—So it must be, old friend,— he responded in a diplomatic tone. —Your daughter will be treated with the respect she deserves. My son was raised with honor. He will understand the value this union represents.
Wei Jin clasped his hands before him, his eyes fixed on the other man, unblinking.
—I trust so. My Meixin has been raised to be more than a decorative wife. She has spirit, resolve… and ambition. She will not tolerate a cage, even if it's made of gold.
Zhang Tao tilted his head, a barely perceptible smile curving his lips.
—That is precisely why my son needs her. Zhang Yun has spent too long buried in books and strategy. It will do him good to have a wife who not only admires him—but challenges him.
Wei Jin arched a brow, as if weighing whether those words were a subtle threat or a genuine compliment.
—I hope this alliance proves prosperous,— he said at last. —But let me warn you, Zhang Tao: if my daughter sheds a single tear due to injustice, you and I will meet again… not over tea, but in the imperial court.
Zhang Tao let out a dry, humorless laugh.
—Do not underestimate your daughter, Wei Jin. I suspect that if anyone ends up crying in that marriage… it won't be her.
The two men held each other's gaze in silence. They were neither friends nor willing allies. They were two titans of the city, sealing a pact with courtesy but with swords sheathed—ready to be drawn if necessary.
The cup of tea between them remained untouched.
When Zhang Yun was informed of the engagement, he said nothing. It was his cousin, Huang Fei—pale-faced, with eyes as dark as ink—who first planted the seed of doubt.
—I've heard that Miss Zhao is frivolous. She only thinks of pleasure and dresses. How could you build a life with such a… shallow woman?
Fei spoke sweetly, but her gaze burned with suppressed fire. She had loved Yun since they were children, and her heart now cracked silently beneath her calm exterior.
The Zhang family's grand hall, decorated with elegant silk tapestries and lacquered wood furniture, was bathed in the yellow glow of oil lamps, casting long shadows across the walls adorned with images of ancient emperors and legendary battles. On a white marble table, the papers certifying the agreement between the two families sat untouched for more than a few seconds, while the Zhang family members—dressed in sober shades of blue and black—spoke in hushed tones.
Zhang Tao, patriarch of the family, sat at the head of the table, his hands firmly pressed against the marble. His face, hardened by years of commerce and negotiation, showed no trace of emotion, but his small, sharp eyes gleamed with palpable tension.
—This... this is not what I expected,— Zhang Tao said in a deep, restrained voice as he stared at the documents. —The Wei family are merchants; their lineage does not compare to ours, but… we believe this marriage is what best serves Zhang Yun. They offer a great dowry.
Across from him, his son Zhang Yun remained silent. He wore a dark silk hanfu with silver embroidery, his posture upright, his expression unreadable—as though his mind were elsewhere, beyond the walls of the hall.
The tension in the room was thick. Everyone waited for him to speak.
At last, Zhang Yun broke the silence, his voice clear and resolute:
—I do not care about the dowry. My duty is to the family, and if this marriage secures an alliance that strengthens us, I will fulfill it. But I've heard rumors, Father… rumors we cannot ignore.
Zhang Tao raised an eyebrow.
—Rumors? What are you talking about?
—About Meixin,— Zhang Yun continued, his eyes narrowing. —I've heard some say she's frivolous—that she cares only for pleasure and luxury… That her heart leans more toward indulgence than duty. We cannot afford a wife who dismisses responsibility.
The room fell into tense silence. The servants, who had kept to the background, exchanged discreet glances, and the faint crackling of the oil lamps seemed to fill the void.
Zhang Tao observed his son, his lips tight for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh.
—Zhang Yun, you know that families are not chosen by sentiment. The marriage to the Wei will bring power—and that is what matters most. But I understand your concern… This is a commitment that goes beyond the personal.
Zhang Yun nodded, his eyes revealing resignation, though his face remained composed.
—I understand, Father. I will accept the engagement, even if my thoughts do not fully align with it.
Zhang Tao smiled in satisfaction, though it was a cold, calculated smile.
—That's all I needed to hear. We'll sign the agreement and ensure that this marriage is carried out as it should be.
To the side, the figure of Huang Fei—Zhang Yun's cousin—watched in silence from the threshold of the room. Her face was delicately framed with graceful lines, her hair tied in an elaborate bun adorned with jade flowers. Though her presence was discreet, her eyes followed the scene with a mix of jealousy and sorrow.
Zhang Yun hesitated. His father, however, was unyielding:
—Then you'll do what is expected of you.
And so, the fate of Meixin and Zhang Yun began to intertwine—not by love, but through promises, impressions, and decisions made by others. And unknowingly, they walked toward a bond that would be tested by secrets, pride, and a truth that only time would unveil.