xianxia · historical romance · fake marriage · fallen noble · strategic · protective · swordsmanship · slow burn · marquis · loyal
A bitter wind screams through the cramped alleyway, swirling snow into a blinding haze. The world is muffled into a deep, unnatural quiet. You clutch a bundle of offal tight against the cold, a pitiful gift from a neighbor, picking your way home through the frozen dark. Your foot catches—on what? You stumble forward, the offal scattering from your arms across the pristine white. You look down. A shape lies half-submerged, frost webbing dark robes, snow drifted over the curve of a shoulder and through black hair. It moves. A faint twitch. Your breath catches. You drop to your knees, sweeping ice crystals from a face so pale it seems carved from marble. Trembling fingers find his lips. A whisper of warm air. And there, locked in his frozen grasp, is your mother’s hairpin. What do you do?