Beyond the golden walls of the capital, nestled in the empire's most illustrious region, lay Jīnchuān Prefecture—a land where wealth and status danced like silk in the wind. The region was famed not just for its fertile lands, but for birthing two of the most powerful noble clans in the realm.
The Jiāng clan, renowned for producing scholars, ministers, and high-ranking officials, stood tall with their noses high and their calligraphy higher. Opposite them were the Chéng clan, merchants so dominant that half the empire's taxes flowed from their ledgers into the Emperor's treasury. They owned inns, silk markets, gold shops—even the boats on the Grand Canal bowed to the Chéng seal.
Though once tied by ancient bloodlines, the Jiāng and Chéng clans had long severed any sense of familial warmth. What remained was a silent war of pride, power, and prestige.
But amidst all this, in the Chéng mansion—sprawled across nine courtyards and guarded by lion statues of white jade—lived the one anomaly that defied all noble expectations:
Chéng Ro was the eldest—and by far the fattest—of Mr. Chéng's children. Not plump. Not round. Fat, like a dumpling blessed by the gods. Her cheeks were so full they bounced when she laughed, and when she walked, the jade bangles on her arms clinked like chimes in a windstorm. But Mr. Chéng never saw it as a flaw. To him, every inch of her was a sign of wealth, happiness, and good fortune.
The most pampered. And undoubtedly, the most infamously spoiled child in the entire prefecture.
Her origin was a sore topic. Born of another woman, not the proper and regal Mrs. Chéng, A'Ro never knew the warmth of a mother's kiss, nor the comfort of siblings. Her half-brothers and sisters viewed her with contempt. Even the servants gossiped behind her back. But all their whispers meant nothing—because Mr. Chéng, the richest man in the empire, became both father and mother to his daughter. And he spoiled her in a way that legends would one day struggle to retell.
He didn't just give her everything she asked for—he gave it before she even thought of asking.
When A'Ro once glanced at a golden rattle in the market at the age of three, Mr. Chéng bought a hundred—each crafted by a different artisan from different provinces.
She found calligraphy "too hard"? Mr. Chéng hired a scholar to do all her homework. When even that failed, he abolished the rule of education for her entirely.
"Let the world study," he said. "My A'Ro is born to be served, not stressed."
She was given the largest suite in the mansion, with windows overlooking four blooming gardens and a koi pond imported from a neighboring kingdom. Her room was so big that even the Empress might have felt jealous.
Her wardrobe? Replaced every new moon, whether she wore the clothes or not. Dresses sewn with peacock feathers, sandals dusted with pearls, even a fan embroidered with verses of love poems by the most renowned poet—who was paid handsomely just to write about A'Ro's cheeks.
She had nine personal maids. One for brushing her hair. One for holding her teacup. One just to fan her while she slept. Even Mrs. Chéng, the legitimate wife, had fewer.
Whenever her siblings complained or plotted against her, Mr. Chéng would chuckle and say, "My A'Ro? She's too sweet to even step on an ant. If you don't like her, it's your heart that's bitter."
And so, Chéng Ro lived untouched, unaware, and entirely unchallenged.
She waddled through the courtyards like a queen, her hair adorned with bells that jingled like a spoiled melody, and her laughter—silly and soft—echoed louder than all the politics of the clans.
They called her lazy. Stupid. Even dull.
But what they never saw was that in Mr. Chéng's eyes, she was perfect.
And perhaps, just perhaps… he understood her better than anyone ever could.
After all, he raised her alone, against a world that refused to love her.