[The Bitter Sweetness]
In the quiet of the infirmary, Li Yan stared at the box of Osmanthus cakes left by Princess Si Yirou. He had pushed her away with cold words the night before, claiming her reputation as a Princess was more important than his own life.
"You should not come again," he had said. "The court is filled with rumors. I will not have you shamed because of me."
He remembered the flame in her eyes when she replied, "My liking you is my choice. If they speak ill, it is their filth, not my shame!"
Now, alone in the dawn light, he picked up a piece of the cake. It was sweet on his tongue but turned to ash in his throat. He clenched the box until his knuckles turned white. "I'm sorry, Princess," he whispered to the empty room. He had protected her from the world, but in doing so, he had broken the only heart that beat for him.
[The Cracked Wall]
At Chang-Le Palace, Yirou learned from a maid that Li Yan had eaten every single cake she left. A faint, bitter smile touched her lips. "That stubborn stone," she murmured, her eyes stinging. "He pushes me away with his mouth, but his heart can't resist a single pastry."
She closed her account books, her resolve hardening. She wouldn't retreat. If the court wanted to talk, let them. She would make that man realize that some things—like her—were worth the scandal.
[The Coldest Encounter]
A few days later, they crossed paths in the busy West Market. Li Yan, still healing, was out buying herbs. Yirou approached him, her voice light but sharp with hidden pain.
"General Li, out buying medicine? Or are you just hiding from more cakes?"
Li Yan stiffened, his eyes downcast. "Princess, you should not be here. The rumors... the ministers are watching."
"Let them watch!" Yirou snapped, her eyes flashing with a regal fury. "Do you care so much for your 'honor' that you'd rather let me suffer alone?"
Li Yan's chest heaved. The words he wanted to say—I love you, I want to protect you—stayed trapped behind his iron resolve. He closed his eyes and uttered the three words that cut deeper than any blade:
"Please... respect yourself."
Yirou froze. The words were a slap to her pride, a rejection of her very soul. Her eyes welled with tears she refused to shed. Without a word, she turned and vanished into the crowded streets, her silhouette a picture of lonely defiance.
Li Yan stood paralyzed in the middle of the bustling market, the silence in his heart louder than the roar of the city. He had won the battle for her reputation, but he had lost the war for her heart.