Jin Xiyue walked briskly back to her chambers, mind racing faster than her feet. The Zhao family. Her fiancé. How could she have forgotten such a critical detail?
As she changed into more appropriate attire, fragments of memories surfaced—not her memories, but those of the original Jin Xiyue. Three meetings, each more uncomfortable than the last. The first when they were children, a formal introduction where young Zhao Wei had looked at her with undisguised disappointment upon learning of her crippled meridians.
The second at twelve year old, where he'd barely acknowledged her presence at a family gathering, choosing instead to flaunt his cultivation achievements before other potential matches.
The third and final meeting had been barely six months ago. Zhao Wei, emboldened by wine and his recent advancement to Qi Condensation Rank 5, had cornered her in a garden during a festival.
His hands had wandered, his breath hot against her neck as he'd murmured about "sampling his future bride." The original Jin Xiyue had shoved him away with surprising strength, her rejection clear and cutting.
"You should be grateful," he'd snarled, face twisted with humiliation. "A cripple like you would never find a husband otherwise."
The argument that followed had nearly dissolved the engagement, but the families' political ties were too valuable to sacrifice over "youthful misunderstandings."
Jin Xiyue's hands stilled as she secured her outer robe. There was another truth lurking beneath these unpleasant memories, one the original Jin Xiyue had recognized but never dared voice.
She simply wasn't attracted to men—not Zhao Wei, not any of the young masters who occasionally visited the estate.
The realization settled over her like a familiar cloak. Even in her previous life as Jennifer, she had known this about herself, though she'd never had the opportunity to explore relationships of any kind. Her gaze had always lingered on women, drawn to their grace, their strength, their beauty.
But in this world of strict family hierarchies and rigid expectations, such preferences were irrelevant. Marriage was a contract between families, not individuals. Personal desires took distant second place to duty and honor, especially for women.
Jin Xiyue closed her eyes briefly, centering herself. This was yet another challenge to navigate in her new life one that would require all her newfound strength and cunning.
Jin Xiyue's stomach twisted as she gathered herself for the meeting ahead. The memories of Zhao Wei his arrogance, his entitlement, his wandering hands—left a bitter taste in her mouth. In in the past she was the crippled daughter, she had endured his contempt silently, believing she had no choice.
The original Jin Xiyue had accepted her fate as a political pawn, knowing her parents had struggled to secure even this match for their "defective" daughter.
But now? The thought of that man touching her, claiming her, made her skin crawl. She was no longer powerless. No longer broken. Yet the weight of family obligation pressed down on her shoulders like a physical burden.
"Young Mistress, they're waiting," a servant murmured outside her door.
Jin Xiyue straightened her spine. "I'm ready."
The walk to the main hall stretched longer than she remembered. With each step, her resentment hardened into resolve. She would not be the same docile, grateful bride they expected. Not anymore.
When she entered the hall, the conversation stopped abruptly. All eyes turned to her—some widening in surprise, others narrowing in calculation. The tension in the room was palpable, hanging heavy like storm clouds before lightning strikes.
Her parents sat stiffly at the head of the room. Jin Haoran's face was a carefully composed mask, but she caught the subtle tightening of his jaw.
Beside him, her mother's hands were clasped so tightly her knuckles had whitened. They looked angry, nervous, and something else—protective? The realization sent an unexpected warmth through her chest.
Across from them sat the Zhao family. Elder Zhao, a broad-shouldered man with a meticulously trimmed beard, nodded curtly at her entrance. His wife, thin-lipped and sharp-eyed, assessed Jin Xiyue with undisguised scrutiny. And there, lounging with practiced casualness, was Zhao Wei himself.
He had grown more handsome since their last meeting—tall and well-built, with the unmistakable glow of a cultivator who had recently broken through to mid-stage Qi Condensation. But his eyes remained the same—cold, calculating, and utterly devoid of genuine warmth as they raked over her form.
No one in the room could sense her cultivation. To them, she appeared the same as always—the crippled Jin daughter, valuable only for her family name.
Elder Zhao cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the tension like a blade. "Jin Haoran, old friend, it's been too long since our families have gathered like this."
Jin Haoran inclined his head slightly. "Indeed. What brings such an... unexpected visit from the Zhao family?"
Elder Zhao's gaze flickered to Jin Xiyue before returning to her father. "As you know, my son has made remarkable progress in his cultivation. He's been accepted into the Cloud Sect quite the achievement."
"Congratulations," Jin Haoran said, his tone carefully neutral. "The Cloud Sect is indeed prestigious."
"Which brings us to the matter at hand." Elder Zhao straightened, his expression hardening. "Given these new circumstances, we believe the original terms of our agreement require... adjustment."
Jin Xiyue felt her mother stiffen beside her.
"What sort of adjustment?" Jin Haoran asked, voice dangerously quiet.
Zhao Wei leaned forward, a smirk playing at his lips. "Father believes and I agree that having a wife who cannot cultivate would be detrimental to my future in the sect. It would reflect poorly on me."
"So we propose two options," Elder Zhao continued smoothly. "Either we dissolve the engagement entirely, or..." He paused, eyes calculating. "Your daughter takes the position of concubine rather than wife."
The silence that followed was absolute. Jin Xiyue felt her face burn with humiliation, but kept her expression carefully blank.
"A concubine," Jin Haoran repeated, each syllable like ice. "After all these years of betrothal, you wish to demote my daughter to a concubine?"
"It's a generous offer, considering her... condition," Madam Zhao interjected, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "Many families wouldn't offer even this much for a girl who can't cultivate."
Jin Haoran's teacup shattered in his grip. Tea splashed across the table as he rose to his feet, face flushed with fury.
"Generous?" he thundered. "You approached ME for this marriage years ago! You BEGGED for this alliance when your family business was failing!"
Elder Zhao paled slightly but held his ground. "Circumstances change—"
"Circumstances?" Jin Haoran slammed his fist on the table. "I've pulled strings for your family at every turn!
When the magistrate was investigating your tax discrepancies, who intervened? When you needed capital to expand your mines, whose silver filled your coffers?"
Jin Xiyue had never seen her father so enraged. Veins bulged at his temples as he continued, "And now you dare come into my home and suggest my daughter isn't good enough for your precious son?"
As Jin Haoran and Elder Zhao continued their heated exchange, Zhao Wei's eyes remained fixed on Jin Xiyue. His gaze traveled over her with a mixture of contempt and hunger that made her skin crawl.
The corner of his mouth curled upward in a smirk, as if her humiliation provided him some perverse pleasure.
"Father," he drawled, interrupting the argument, "perhaps we're being too harsh. After all..." He tilted his head, studying Jin Xiyue like a merchant appraising damaged goods. "A cripple from the Jin family still carries more value than most women."
The room fell silent. Jin Xiyue felt her mother's hand squeeze her arm in warning, but something inside her had finally snapped.
She rose to her feet with deliberate grace, her movements fluid and controlled despite the rage burning beneath her skin. The room's attention shifted to her immediately.
"Father," she said, her voice clear and steady, cutting through the tension like a blade. "I request that you break this engagement."
Gasps echoed around the room. Jin Haoran turned to her, surprise evident on his face.
"Xiyue—"
"Not because I am unworthy," she continued, her gaze locked with Zhao Wei's smug expression. "But because I refuse to be tied to filth."
Zhao Wei's smirk vanished, replaced by shock and then fury. "How dare you—"
"I dare because I am a daughter of the Jin family," Jin Xiyue cut him off, her voice cold as winter frost. "And while I may not cultivate, I still have my dignity and self-respect. Something you clearly lack, Young Master Zhao."
She turned to face Elder Zhao directly, shoulders squared and chin raised. "Your son cornered me at the Spring Festival six months ago. He attempted to force himself on me, claiming it was his right as my future husband. Is this the behavior of a cultivator worthy of the Cloud Sect?"
Elder Zhao's face darkened with rage, but uncertainty flickered in his eyes. He hadn't known.
"Xiyue," Jin Haoran said softly, "are you certain of this decision?"
She met her father's gaze without wavering. "I would rather remain unmarried for life than spend a single day as his wife or concubine."
Silence fell over the room like a heavy shroud. Jin Xiyue's words hung in the air, sharp as drawn blades. No one moved. No one spoke.
The Zhao family sat frozen in their seats, mouths agape at the audacity of a supposedly powerless girl who had just publicly rejected and humiliated their son.
Elder Zhao's face cycled through shades of red and purple, his composure cracking like thin ice under pressure. His wife clutched at her chest, eyes darting between her husband and son as if uncertain which explosion to brace for first.
Zhao Wei looked as though he'd been struck. The arrogant smirk had vanished completely, replaced by a stunned disbelief that slowly morphed into fury. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly his knuckles whitened.
Jin Haoran and Jin Lihua appeared no less shocked, though a careful observer might have noticed the flicker of pride that crossed Jin Haoran's face before he masked it with appropriate gravity.
Jin Xiyue didn't wait for anyone to recover. With deliberate calm, she bowed respectfully to her parents—and only her parents—then turned on her heel. Her steps were measured and unhurried as she crossed the polished floor, her back straight, her head held high.
Not a word of protest followed her. Not a single voice called her back.
She closed the door behind her with a soft click that somehow echoed louder than a slam would have.
Only when she was safely in the corridor, out of sight from both families, did Jin Xiyue allow herself to breathe. A warmth spread through her chest—not the heat of embarrassment or shame, but something lighter, cleaner. Freedom.
As she walked away from the main hall, the corner of her mouth quirked upward. A small, satisfied smile played across her lips. She had been racking her brain for trying to figure out how to extricate herself from this unwanted engagement without causing her family to lose face.
And then the Zhaos had simply walked in and handed her the perfect opportunity.
Jin Xiyue couldn't have planned it better herself. They had come to demote her, to humiliate her—and instead had provided her the perfect stage to reject them first.
The irony was delicious.