Having Met a Gentleman

As He Zhanmei lay dying, she counted on her fingers and carefully tallied up her life. Over the course of several decades, she had married three times and been widowed three times. With each passing year, she had climbed higher and lived better, rising from a nobleman's daughter battered by life's storms to the Lady of Wei, a woman even the current emperor had to address as his aunt.

No one in the world liked her. Everyone thought her a venomous, wicked woman. Scholars cursed her, her birth family had cut ties with her, and her in-laws all saw her as a monster, wishing they could tear her apart. Even the young emperor, who called her Aunt with every appearance of respect, hated her to the core. He resented her for poisoning his beloved uncle and for throwing her weight around over his head.

He Zhanmei felt instantly at peace, and even the young emperor's eunuch, who stood before her with a cup of poisoned wine, seemed easy on the eyes.

By that reckoning, I'd spent decades making so many people miserable. I really did live a good life.

There was only one person who had treated her with unwavering respect from beginning to end. He Zhanmei had looked after him in return, always showing him kindness.

Everyone said the young man was her lover, and crude rumors about them never ceased. She only smiled to herself. That wasn't the truth.

The boy, barely in his teens, simply reminded her of someone she had once known.

Someone who had been dead for twenty-six years, and might not even have known her.

In the damp moonlight, she was fifteen, hiding beneath a tree and sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. A young man's hand lifted a heavy branch of blossoms. His fingers were long and distinct, his movements calm and steady.

She had seen the moon for fifteen years.

Yet it felt as if she were seeing it for the first time.

Everyone said the Lady of Wei loved apricot blossoms best.

It wasn't that she loved apricot blossoms. They simply bloomed beautifully.

Beautiful, just like that night when she was fifteen.

If there was ever anything in her life that was pure, untouched by dust, and hers alone,

then surely it was the memory of that sprig of apricot blossoms on a spring night when she was fifteen.

1. A proper, upright male lead x a lawless, shameless, bewitchingly wicked, thoroughly improper female lead

2. Happy ending

3. The premise and character concepts are set, but the title and blurb may still change.

Theme: Be brave enough to love.