A cold moon over a foreign land, a captive phoenix with broken wings.

The Liang wedding procession, after a long journey, finally arrived at Shangjing, the capital of the enemy state, the Great Yan, at dusk on the third day.

This capital city, built of black stone, possessed a rugged and austere style, a stark contrast to the bustling and magnificent capital of Liang. A cold wind swirled sand and gravel, lashing against the carriage with a dull thud. The streets were crowded with Yan citizens, their eyes filled with curiosity, scrutiny, and even undisguised contempt. They held little respect for the princess sent by the defeated nation to sue for peace.

Princess Fenghua, Zhao Yiru, sat in her ornately decorated carriage, her hands icy cold, clutching the hem of her wedding dress tightly. The heavy jeweled crown weighed her down, making it almost impossible to lift her head, and the elaborate gown hindered her movement. Through the gaps in the curtain, she gazed at the unfamiliar, oppressive scenery outside, her heart filled with fear and despair. Here, there was no father's favor, no mother's care, no familiar palaces and pavilions, only an unknown fate and chilling hostility.

The ceremony for entering the palace was simple and perfunctory.

There was no grand welcoming ceremony, only a few expressionless Yan palace attendants leading the way. She was taken to a palace called "Lanyue Pavilion". Compared to the palaces of the Great Liang Imperial Palace, it appeared small and old, and the furnishings exuded a shabby atmosphere of the northern desert.

That evening, Emperor Murong Hong of the Great Yan finally appeared. He was about forty years old, tall and robust, with a cold and stern face and sharp, eagle-like eyes. He exuded the oppressive aura of someone who had long held a high position and the ruthless spirit of the battlefield. He sized up Princess Fenghua, who was kneeling on the ground, his eyes showing no tenderness for his newlywed wife, only the scrutiny and indifference of a conqueror examining his spoils.

"Raise your head." His voice was deep and carried an unquestionable command.

Princess Fenghua raised her head with trembling hands, revealing a pale but still beautiful face.

Murong Hong stared at her for a moment, then a cruel smile curved his lips: "She does have some beauty, but unfortunately, she's a princess of Liang." The contempt in his tone pierced Feng Hua's heart like an ice pick.

He didn't hold any ceremony, nor did he even let her get up. He simply instructed the chief eunuch beside him, "Since she has come for a marriage alliance, proceed according to the rules. Grant her the title of 'Consort An,' and have her reside in the Lanyue Pavilion. She is not allowed to leave or come out at will unless necessary."

"Consort An"? A title that seems noble, but is actually full of irony. "An" (安)? Does it mean she should be content with her lot, or does it imply that the Great Liang needs her to secure "peace"?

The chief eunuch bowed in agreement, his gaze toward Princess Fenghua filled with pity, but more so with a perfunctory indifference.

From that day on, Princess Fenghua, Zhao Yiru, became a "Consort An" in name only in the Great Yan imperial harem.

Her situation was more difficult than she had imagined.

After throwing her into Lan Yue Pavilion, Murong Hong never set foot there again. Nominally a concubine, she was no different from a prisoner. Murong Hong issued strict orders forbidding her from leaving Lan Yue Pavilion at will, and also forbidding other concubines in the harem from having too much contact with her. Most of the Liang maids she brought were reduced to two timid and cowardly palace maids, surrounded by eunuchs and maids sent by Yan Kingdom ostensibly to serve her, but in reality, to monitor her.

Although her food and lodging were provided according to the rank of a concubine, most of what was sent were Yan-style dishes that didn't suit her taste, and her clothing was also made of rough Yan-style fabric. The north was bitterly cold, and the Lan Yue Pavilion was located in a remote area, freezing cold in winter, yet the charcoal sent was never enough. The books, musical instruments, and chess pieces that she brought, which belonged to the Great Liang and symbolized the culture of her homeland, were all confiscated on the grounds that they were "not in accordance with the rules."

She was like a phoenix with broken wings, imprisoned in this cold cage, gazing at the sky every day, her face wet with tears. The luxurious life she once enjoyed, the favor of her father and mother, the care of her brothers—all had become unattainable dreams. She longed for her homeland, worried about her parents, and dreaded this dark and hopeless future.

Occasionally, she could hear the clamor and celebrations of the victors coming from outside the palace walls—a mockery of the Great Liang and a trampling of her dignity. Each time she heard it, her heart ached.

In the dead of night, she would often hug the only old rag doll she had brought from Daliang that had not been taken away (a gift from her brother when she was young), curl up on the cold bed, and weep silently.

She didn't understand why the grievances of the nation had to be borne by a weak woman like her.

She hated the cruelty and ruthlessness of the Great Yan Dynasty, and also resented the weakness and powerlessness of the Great Liang Dynasty.

But more than anything, there was a deep-seated loneliness and despair.

A cold moon hangs high in the foreign night sky, its clear light shining on the windowpanes of the Moon-Viewing Pavilion, illuminating the shattered dreams and silent weeping of the princess from her homeland.

Her marriage alliance did not bring true peace; it merely sowed the seeds of hatred for a more intense conflict to come.

And this seed was quietly taking root and sprouting in her heart, which was filled with humiliation.