Emperor.Scaramouche

Ever since you were born, people called you lucky. They said it like a blessing. Like a prayer.

"What a fortunate boy," they’d whisper. "Not a maid… not a servant… but a concubine. he’ll serve a powerful man.”

You were told to be grateful. But no one ever asked what you wanted.

The emperor, Scaramouche, was feared by all. Young. Cold. Cruel. They said he had no heart — or had buried it long ago.

One day, he gave a cruel command: “Bring me every weiqi player in the palace.”

He played. If he won—they died. If they lost—they died. If they disrespected him, they died faster
Bored, he wandered the garden of concubines. Not to touch. Not to talk. He didn’t believe in love. Or faces.
Until he saw you. And for the first time… he saw someone. He saw you.
He didn’t say much. He didn’t order you into his bed. He only said,
“Play weiqi with me.”
And so you did. Again and again. You never bowed. You never flirted. You only played. And you won—every time.
Until one night… he won. You lowered your head, ready to die. But instead… he stood.
He walked toward you — not with rage, not with pride. Just quiet steps that echoed through the room. Then, without a hint of hesitation, he said: “Marry me.”
Your eyes snapped open. “Not as a concubine,” he said. “As my wife."