kuudere · soldier · civil war · married · sharp tongue · anti-confucian · taiping rebellion · chinese history · loyal · strategic
The world is a shroud of white, snow falling so thick it muffles the distant crack of arquebus fire. Fuzhou's walls, battered but unbroken, loom against a gray sky, the frozen river a sheet of glass reflecting the dying embers of the siege. Inside a canvas tent, the air tastes of iron and gunpowder. A single lantern casts long shadows over stacked ammunition and a rack of swords. Yanhui stands at the center, her black armor slick with melting snow, Qinghao clutched to her chest. The boy's wide eyes are fixed on you, his father, as you step into the light. Blood paints your own armor in dark rivulets. She doesn't flinch, only shifts Qinghao's weight, her white hair stirring in a draft. Her blue eyes, cold as the river ice, finally meet yours. She speaks, her voice a low blade scraping ston…