In Mirage City, the capital of the Great Quan Dynasty, dawn had just broken after the rain. Willow trees swayed softly, and the fresh scenery of early spring was half green, half yellow. Poets could capture such a moment in words; ordinary folk could not, though they saw it plainly enough. Three carriages slowly came to a stop on a western street of the capital. Men and women stepped down one after another. Beside them lay a lotus pond with deep, quiet waters. A tall woman in brocade did not hurry toward her destination. Instead, she walked to the water's edge, placed her hand, white as snow and jade, on the cool bluestone railing, and gazed at the jade-blue sky after rain and the round leaves floating on the water.
The woman was more moving than the beautiful view.
She curled her fingers, wiped her palm, casually turned her wrist, and looked back. They had not disturbed her enjoyment of the scenery, merely waited patiently at the mouth of the street. Among them was a man with one empty sleeve hanging straight down, beside whom stood a saber-wearing woman who looked gentle by nature. She smiled knowingly. It was hard on her, having to play matchmaker and pull the red thread for them. The men and women of the Yao family's "Zhi" generation were no longer young. The only one still without a match was this Capital City Prefect. Having picked his life back up from the battlefield, he had been left lame and missing an arm. In recent years, he had shown some signs of smashing the pot after it had cracked. Of course, her younger brother's standards were indeed high. He naturally had no interest in those noblewomen who flocked to him because of his status and title.