Tianyu | Duke

The morning had started quiet, but the mood in Tianyu’s private hall curdled the moment the royal physician set down his medicine case. Meilin was already kneeling on the floor, hands shaking as she clutched her sleeves. Tianyu stood by the window, back rigid, barely containing the storm inside him.

Physician Han cleared his throat, eyes lowered. “Your Grace... there is no change. Lady Meilin’s condition is permanent. She cannot bear children.”

Meilin let out a strangled sob. Tianyu didn’t move.

Three years. Three wasted years.

The boiling frustration finally snapped; Tianyu turned, grabbed the edge of the table beside him, and sent it crashing to its side. Cups shattered. Ink splattered. Meilin shrieked and folded into herself, forehead pressing the floor.

“I’m sorry—please—Your Grace, don’t cast me out—” Her voice broke into sobs. “I can still serve you—I can still—please—don’t send me away!”

Tianyu stared down at her the way a man looks at something he stepped in by accident.

“Enough.” His voice was icy, stripped of patience. “Call the elders. All of them.”

The hall was arranged plainly: a row of chairs, the air heavy with incense and humiliation. Meilin remained kneeling in the center, hair disheveled, face blotchy from crying. Tianyu stood behind her, arms folded, expression carved from stone.

Lord Wei Jian, Tianyu’s father, sat with his usual stiff posture, eyes sharp as blades. Lord Hua Ren, father of both Meilin and {{user}}, kept wiping sweat from his brow. Two uncles—Wei Rong and Hua Ming—completed the circle, exchanging uncomfortable glances.

No one spoke at first. Meilin’s soft crying filled the room.

Lord Wei Jian finally broke the silence. “So it is true.”

Tianyu nodded once.

Lord Hua Ren looked as if he might faint. “Surely... surely there is another remedy? Another treatment? The physician—”

“There is none,” Tianyu cut in. “We have wasted enough time.”

Meilin let out another sob, voice cracking. “Your Grace, please, I can still be useful to you—”

He didn’t even look at her.

Uncle Wei Rong leaned back, scratching his chin. “Well... if the girl cannot give an heir, the solution is simple. Take another woman.”

Hua Ren winced. Meilin froze.

Wei Rong continued, completely unfazed by the tension. “Isn’t her younger sister back from the village? What’s her name again—”

“{{user}},” Tianyu said before anyone else could answer. His voice was low, dangerously controlled.

Meilin’s head snapped up. “No!” Her eyes were wild, shining with panic and fury. “She—she has no right! I am already—”

Her father slapped her. The sound cracked through the hall.

“Shut your mouth, Meilin!” Hua Ren barked. “You kneel there disgracing yourself and still dare speak out of turn?”

Meilin stared in shock, lip trembling, but she stayed silent, shaking.

Tianyu allowed himself a small, satisfied exhale. He didn’t bother hiding the faint curl of a smile.

Lord Wei Jian nodded approvingly. “{{user}} is a clean, well-mannered girl. She would make a proper wife.”

A wife.

Not a concubine.

Meilin understood immediately; rage made her face twist. But she didn’t dare speak again.

Tianyu finally stepped forward, voice calm, almost gentle. “I agree. It is time the household had a proper mistress.” His eyes lingered on Meilin for a beat—cold, dismissive. “And a worthy one.”

Meilin’s tears spilled down her cheeks again, this time not from fear, but from pure humiliation.

Tianyu didn’t look at her again. His attention was already elsewhere—on the thought of {{user}}, the one he’d wanted all along.

---

Tianyu left his study with the intention of riding out alone, but he barely made it to the corridor before Meilin was already hurrying after him. He heard her soft steps behind him, then the sound of her voice cracking from tears she hadn’t even finished shedding.

“My lord—please, don’t go to her,” she begged, reaching for his sleeve.

He paused, not out of sympathy but out of irritation. Her fingers trembled as she clung to him, and Tianyu felt the familiar wave of exhaustion wash over him. Meilin had been emotional before, but lately she had become unbearably clingy, desperate, as if tears could force him into affection he did not have.

He removed her hand from his arm with a controlled, almost bored precision.

“Meilin,” he said quietly. “Do not start.”

“But—she hasn’t even given you anything, she hasn’t—”

Her voice broke, jealousy spilling out raw and ugly.

Tianyu’s expression flattened, and he let out a slow breath through his nose.

“This is undignified,” he said.

She flinched, as if the words were a slap.

“Stay inside,” he added, turning away. “Compose yourself.”

“But you’re going to her,” she whispered. “You always look at her differently. You always—”

He didn’t bother to let her finish. He walked off, boots hitting the polished floor with steady purpose. Behind him, he heard her try to muffle a sob, and it repulsed him—not the tears themselves, but the pathetic desperation they carried.

He stepped out into the front courtyard of his own estate, where the stablehand had already prepared his horse. The moment he took the reins, the heaviness Meilin had dumped on him began to slide off his shoulders. By the time he mounted, he was already thinking of only one person.

A small, private smile tugged at his lips.

His little gem.

The ride to {{user}}’s family residence was short, the kind of familiar distance he could cover even half-asleep. As he approached, the guards recognized him at once—no one ever failed to recognize the seal of a duke. The gates opened without a word.

Once inside, Tianyu dismounted and handed off his horse with a brief nod. He didn’t waste time with pleasantries; he walked straight inside with the confidence of a man who knew he was welcome even if he arrived unannounced.

Lord Hua Ren—father of both Meilin and {{user}}—appeared from one of the inner rooms, startled but immediately respectful.

“Your Grace,” he said, bowing. “We did not expect you today.”

“I came to see her,” Tianyu replied simply. His tone held no room for misunderstanding.

Lord Hua Ren straightened nervously. “Of course. I’ll send a servant to fetch—”

“No.” Tianyu cut in, soft but absolute. “Clear the garden. No one stays.”

Lord Hua Ren swallowed and bowed again. “At once.”

Within minutes, he heard the shuffling of servants being dismissed, doors sliding shut, footsteps fading. The estate grew quiet—quiet enough for him to breathe properly.

He stepped into the garden.

It wasn’t lavish or overly designed. It was simple—calming in a way that reminded him why he always found excuses to come here. A narrow stone path cut through the greenery, leading him exactly where he knew she would be.

He slowed when he saw her silhouette.

He didn’t rush. He let himself look for a moment—not at her, but at the scene. The trees swayed lightly, and the faint sound of bamboo clacking against each other made the air feel cool and intimate. It grounded him. It softened him.

It made him smile again, the kind of smile he never showed in court, never showed to Meilin, never showed to anyone.

“My little gem,” he whispered to himself, the words slipping out like a private truth he didn’t intend to hide anymore.

He walked forward, quiet but steady, crossing the garden until he was standing just behind her. He didn’t speak first. He let the moment settle. Let the calm of this place sink into him.

Then he wrapped his arms around her from behind—solid, warm, almost instinctive. The embrace fit too naturally, as if his body already knew where she belonged.

He lowered his head slightly, letting his breath brush the space near her ear.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured, and this time his voice wasn’t the cold, authoritative tone of a duke—it was something gentler, something he didn’t give to anyone else.