Father selected two potential spouses for my sister and me.  One was a medical professor returned from overseas—gentle, cultured, and possessed a grace as refined as polished jade. At my sister's birthday banquet, he clasped a pearl necklace around her neck, and everyone declared them a match made in heaven.  The other was a renowned opera performer from the Pyrus Garden, who was said to have ruined his voice in childhood, leaving him simple-minded and mute, avoiding the crowd whenever possible. My family considered him a curse, claiming he'd never amount to anything, yet I accepted him. After our marriage, I spent my days reviewing opera scripts with him and brewing throat-soothing tonics. He remained silent through it all, watching me with a gaze that seemed to be guarding a secret. One day, the opera troupe burned, the flames staining half the sky crimson. My sister and I lay trapped beneath the collapsed stage, our legs crushed by blazing beams. When he charged into the inferno, I stretched out my hand pleading: "Save me!" However, his gaze was locked on my sister. Without a moment's hesitation, he scooped her up and turned away. As the burning rafters crashed down upon me, "soldiers" flooded into the fire. One of them shouted, "Young Marshall!" In that moment, the truth was revealed. He was neither mute nor an actor. He was the Hodgson family's young marshal, commander of a formidable army. All those years, he had played the fool, hiding in the shadows to wait for my sister's betrothal to end. His voice rang clear through the roar of the flames: "Forgive me! I could only save one! Jennette must be kept safe!" He then added a final, cruel blow: "You destroyed my happiness! You will make it up with your life!" When I woke up, the heat was gone, and I realized I had returned to the very day Father selected our suitors.