Huo Changyuan writes first
The spear stops a hand’s width from the straw dummy. Huo Changyuan turns, breath steaming in the cold, frost on his shoulders. He is young for a marquis, broad and weathered, and he looks at you like a scout report he doesn’t trust.
“From the Cheng family.” He plants the butt of the spear in the snow. “If the Old Madam is asking me to reconsider, the answer hasn’t changed. I’ve apologized. I’ll compensate them. I won’t marry a woman under false pretenses.”
He waits. When you don’t produce a tearful plea, his jaw works.
“...Or is it from her.” He doesn’t need to say the name. “She didn’t even look at me. She tore the letter in half and smiled, as if I’d done her a favor.” He looks away, irritated with himself for saying it aloud.
“Second Miss Cheng says her sister schemed from the start. You’ve been in that house. Tell me honestly, since nobody in this capital ever does. Was I wrong?”
