It was yet another gloomy, rainy day in Biancheng. The whole town looked even more desolate under the ceaseless drizzle.

Clara Thurley sat stiffly on the edge of the bed in her wedding robes, nervously twisting her fingers beneath her sleeves. Today was, after all, her wedding day.

She, Clara Thurley, had married the commanding General of Biancheng, Evan Whitley.

And the whole thing was... well, it honestly just felt ridiculous.

Mrs. Whitley was on her deathbed, and her only wish was to see her son married. General Whitley’s last bride had been brutally murdered before she even stepped through the door—killed by raiders who’d slipped into the city. Her entire family, over sixty people, had perished with her. After that, no one in the surrounding villages dared marry him.

Except her—Clara.

She didn’t really have a choice. Her grandmother was gravely ill, and though Clara knew medicine, she didn’t have a single coin to buy the herbs. There was no way to find the medicine in such a desolate place. Every day they waited, her grandmother's life hung by a thinner thread.

So she had gone and knelt in front of the general’s mansion, offering herself.

Mrs. Whitley had been desperate enough not to care that she looked like a poor village girl with nothing to her name. The old lady agreed on the spot.

And now here she was.

They hadn’t even performed the formal rites. She was just stuffed into the bridal chamber.

Mrs. Whitley had said the general was still busy at the camp and hoped Clara wouldn't mind skipping the ceremony. Of course she didn’t mind. All she needed was a few copper coins to buy some ginseng for her grandmother.

“Absurd!”

A deep, thunderous male voice suddenly rang out from outside the door.

Clara flinched. Was that... the general?

"You can’t even grant my dying wish? Huh? You’re over thirty and still sleeping alone—how do you expect me to rest easy in the afterlife?" Mrs. Whitley's angry voice shook with emotion.

People nearby rushed to calm her down, but the arguing went on for a bit before the door finally creaked open.

Clara’s nerves flared again. She’d picked up enough from that argument—General Whitley hadn’t agreed to this marriage. His mother had made the decision behind his back.

So if he decided to throw her out... what was she supposed to do then? Where would she find the money to get the herbs?

Footsteps came in—steady, purposeful. The door closed behind them, then the footsteps stopped right in front of her.

“My apologies. My mother acted without asking. You’ve been put in a difficult spot.”

His voice was deep and level, and Clara’s eyes darted nervously behind the veil, unsure where to look.

Then the veil was lifted.

Startled, Clara’s head shot up to meet the man’s gaze. Her small face showed both shock and anxiety.

So this was General Whitley?

Tall, broad-shouldered, and serious, he had the presence of a man born to command. Clara, a simple village girl, suddenly felt painfully small next to him.

Though older, the lines at the corners of his eyes only added to the steadiness in his expression. He looked reliable in a way that came with age and battle.

Evan Whitley, on his part, was taken aback.

He’d expected a plain, desperate girl from nowhere, not someone this young and delicate. Her eyes were wide and clear under the flickering candlelight, full of uncertainty and fear. She looked barely grown.

His brow furrowed deeply. “Mother’s taken this too far.” Even if she insisted on finding him a wife, why choose someone so young?

Without another word, he turned sharply to leave the room.

Panic set in. Clara rushed forward and grabbed his robe with both hands.He froze for a moment, then turned to look at her. Her eyes were red and glossy, lips bitten tight—it looked like she could break into tears any second. "General… I know I’m not worthy, but… but my grandma’s sick, and I really didn’t have a choice… please, don’t turn me away…”

Her voice got softer with each word.

What she said was messy, but Evan Whitley understood well enough.

No parents, only a sick grandma. No money for treatment, so she tried to marry into the general’s house to save her.

Quite the devoted girl.

Evan still frowned though. “You’re too young.”

He was over thirty! Old enough to be her father.

But she shook her head hard. "I’m not that young, I’m seventeen. Really!” Then her cheeks reddened and she mumbled, “I... I’ll grow…”

He blinked, unsure, glanced at her chest unintentionally—and had to hold back a chuckle. Is that what she meant?

Still, his face stayed cold. “Seventeen’s still young.”

“I’m not!” she quickly shot back. “Auntie Zhang’s daughter Iris at the village is sixteen, and already has two kids!” She peeked up and caught the surprise on his face, instantly flushing even deeper.

She lowered her head, nervously twisting the fabric of her sleeve. “P-please, General… don’t make me leave…”

If she was kicked out, she and her grandma wouldn’t survive.

Evan glanced down at her hands twisting like that. Finally, he sighed. “You keep wringing it, and it'll tear.”

Clara Thurley paused, startled, and quickly let go—then, worried he might leave, she hesitated before reaching out again and clutching the corner of his robe. Her voice barely audible, “I’m not wringing anymore.”

He saw what she meant and shook his head, a little amused. “I’ll have someone bring your grandma here.”

She looked up, wide-eyed. "You mean…”

“If she’s that ill, she can’t be left on her own.”

Her face lit up like a lantern. “Thank you, General! Thank you!”

“Mm.” He nodded, then looked at the part of his robe she was holding.

Clara noticed and quickly let go, flustered.

Evan stepped out for a while, and when he came back, he was dressed in ceremonial red robes.

Clara stared, startled, and he simply said, “The wedding’s rushed, I know. But we can’t skip the ceremony just because of that.”

Dressing up properly was his way of showing respect.

And something she’d said earlier hit him—it was true. Now that she was through this door, there was no way back.

The city had been infiltrated by the Tujue. Even if the wedding felt sudden, they might already know. If she stepped out of here, she might not survive.

Besides… he couldn’t just ruin a girl’s reputation for no reason.

Clara blushed again. Evan was willing to acknowledge her, even bring her grandma into the home. She hadn’t dared to hope for this much… and now he even thought of protecting her reputation.

She gave a small nod and walked silently to his side, obediently completing the marriage rites.

Afterward, he picked up two wine cups from the table, handing one to her.

She knew what this was—joining cups. A symbol of unity between husband and wife.

Once she drank this, she’d be his wife in every sense.

After setting his cup down, his voice came low and steady. “Sleep.”

Clara blinked, and her cheeks flushed again.

Oh right—it was their wedding night. And “sleep”… pretty much summed it up.