Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Wedding

September 16th, Ye An’s wedding day.

At dusk, a grand procession set out from the Ye residence. Clad in brilliant red wedding robes, Ye An rode a white horse in the midst of the bridal entourage. The evening glow stretched across the sky, painting the clouds crimson, and the red procession beneath looked like a colossal scarlet dragon winding through the city. Citizens of the capital flocked from their homes to witness the spectacle—the wedding was known to all, even the beggars, who slumbered away their days, were aware that today, the Ye family was marrying the daughter of the Minister’s household.

As the bridal procession passed by the Warm Pavilion, the girls there leaned out from the doorway, whispering amongst themselves, their faces flashing with envy and longing. In every woman’s heart, there must be a yearning for such a wedding—an eight-carried bridal sedan, radiant and grand, and the beloved, a peerless man among men.

One of the girls sighed with deep emotion, “If ever someone were willing to marry me with such ceremony, I’d gladly die for him, without regret.”

The girl beside her, seeing her so wistful, burst into laughter, covering her smile with a handkerchief. “Ziyan, when will you stop your hopeless dreaming? It’s not becoming, always like this.”

Laughter rippled through the group. Ziyan’s face clouded with displeasure at the jibe, and she retorted, unwilling to concede, “This isn’t hopeless dreaming. Who says a courtesan can’t be married off in splendor?”

The laughter died away. The girls exchanged glances, finding the question both amusing and endearing. After a pause, a sharp voice sounded, tinged with regret and something unspoken, “I was as naive as you once. I thought I might win a true heart, too. But I’ve come to realize, no one in this world would marry a courtesan. Look at Qingcheng—Young Master Wei treats her so well, yet there’s never talk of marriage.”

Sighs and headshakes followed, some for themselves, some for others. Only Ziyan, eyes bright as apricots, persisted, “Who exactly is this Young Master Wei? There are endless rumors, but I don’t understand it at all.”

A slightly older woman, her tone laced with a hint of envy, explained, “You came a little late, so you might not know. Young Master Wei has been Qingcheng’s old flame since she sold herself to the Pavilion three years ago. But as to who he really is, where he comes from, whether he has family—we haven’t a clue. He’s always been shrouded in mystery.”

Curiosity flickered in Ziyan’s eyes. “They say he’s fabulously wealthy. Is it true?”

The older woman exchanged a look with another. “All we know is that he’s generous. Whether he’s rich, or just how rich, no one can really say. Some claim his fortune exceeds even the wealthiest in the capital, others say he’s just an ordinary merchant. The truth is tangled with lies.”

Another girl chimed in, “I don’t know if he’s rich or not. I just know this—he and Qingcheng, there’s no future there,” her words tinged with lingering resentment.

Everyone knew she had always been at odds with Qingcheng, and took it as another bout of jealousy. The laughter soon scattered, and the group dispersed.

Standing on the second floor, gazing outside, Gu Qingcheng’s face was expressionless. It was her maid who bristled with indignation on her behalf. Gu Qingcheng merely smiled to comfort her; these words had surely been uttered behind her back countless times, and she did not care at all.

Yet, when she glimpsed the dazzling light of the bridal procession, a flicker of emotion was quickly concealed. She told herself she was indifferent, but perhaps it was only instinct—protecting her own vulnerability. Whether she truly cared or not, only she herself knew.

The bridal procession moved slowly beneath the myriad gazes of the crowd. The wind made the red robes rustle and snap. Ye An waved endlessly to the onlookers, his smile stiffening with effort, but the thought of Meng Lanyi, dressed in her phoenix coronet and scarlet gown, waiting for him, filled him with strength. He smiled even more brightly and waved more vigorously.

As night deepened, a lone evening star hung in the boundless sky. The Ye residence was alive with joyous commotion, red wedding characters plastered everywhere, and guests came in an unending stream. Amidst the boisterous clamor, Ye An and Meng Lanyi, both resplendent in red, completed the wedding rites. Seated in the place of honor, Ye Yuandao and Meng Jiang’s eyes brimmed with joy. Meng Lanyi was led to the bridal chamber, while Ye An remained to toast the guests. After several rounds, with the moon now high, the guests still pressed him relentlessly. At last, Qingfeng and Liuyun stepped in to shield him, sparing him from being thoroughly drunk.

From afar, Ye Qianran watched Liuyun, who stood among the crowd helping her brother ward off drinks, feeling her heart soften. This courteous, genteel young man was the one she loved. Long ago, she thought she would never win his affection, but now, he was right there before her. Occasionally, his gaze met hers across the throng, and in that moment, tenderness shone in his eyes, quieting her heart to utter stillness.

The guests did not disperse until nearly midnight. As Zhuge Liuyun left, he said nothing, only looked at her with eyes deep as water, as if to carve her into memory. Ye Qianran bit her lip, suppressing the urge to throw herself into his arms, and smiling, waved them farewell.

The bridal chamber was awash in red silk and gauze. The full moon hung on the branches, its clear glow flooding the world. The dragon-and-phoenix candles flickered, casting floral shadows on the wall. When Ye An, dressed in wedding attire, stepped inside, Meng Lanyi instinctively edged away.

She could not say why she reacted so. At first, she was unaccustomed to the thought of Ye An as her future husband. As the wedding drew near, she had been anxious, unsettled, agitated, and even regretful. She had never loved anyone before; her vague feelings for Ye An—were they affection? She did not know. But she did not dislike him. She was always destined to marry, and though unsure of her feelings, it was better to marry Ye An, who liked her so much, than be wed to another. Besides, their families were close; she would not be left friendless and alone.

With such thoughts, she married Ye An. She remembered what her mother told her before the wedding: Outwardly composed and dignified, she was still a child inside. She had always studied affairs of state with her father, rarely concerning herself with matters of the heart. She’d never experienced love, never tasted its sweetness, nor learned how to care for another. Now was too late for such lessons. Her mother warned her that too much independence and strength were not traits men cherished. On her wedding night, she must act tender, shy, and gentle—never bring out her usual coldness, or she would frighten the groom. At the time, she had laughed at her mother’s worries. Yet now, she realized marriage was nothing like she had imagined. From the ceremony until now, she had maintained a calm façade, but inside she was anxious and on edge. The slightest noise from outside left her as startled as a bird. She’d never known she could be so timid, her palms damp with sweat.

His footsteps stopped before her. Lowering her eyes, she could see his red brocade boots swaying behind the beaded veil. The scent of wine clung to him. Ye An tilted his head and gazed at the red veil for a long moment before finally lifting it with the ceremonial scale.

Meng Lanyi’s snow-pale face, tinged with a faint red glow from the bed curtains, was downcast as she stared at the golden bracelet on her wrist. Her dark lashes, fluttering like butterfly wings, trembled ceaselessly. It seemed to Meng Lanyi that such feigned shyness was merely a way to please him, and flustered, she looked up—only to meet his deep, unreadable gaze. In that instant, all her nervous uncertainty vanished, and her eyes resumed their usual cool indifference toward him.

Ye An raised a hand to caress her delicate cheek. At his touch, she stiffened and instinctively leaned away. His slender hand hovered in the air. After a long pause, he gave a self-mocking smile. “To marry me, are you truly so unwilling?”

The flames of the dragon-and-phoenix candles flickered uncertainly. Meng Lanyi’s faint smile grew inscrutable. “It is the will of my parents, the words of the matchmaker. Willing or unwilling—what does it matter?”

Irritation flashed in Ye An’s eyes. “I thought tonight, our wedding night, you would not treat me as you always have. I was wrong.” He paused, his expression softening slightly. “I kept thinking what you said that day at the Warm Pavilion were just words of anger. I believed that as long as I married you, made you my wife, we could find happiness together. But I forgot—you never liked me. All those excuses I made for myself seem so laughable now.”

A cool, mocking smile touched Meng Lanyi’s brow. “You’re right, Ye An. I never liked you. Marrying you is no different from marrying any Zhang, Wang, or Li on the street. What I need is a title—not a specific person.”

Ye An’s face turned pale, all color draining from his lips. His voice was icy, almost frozen. “Is saying such things what brings you comfort? Do you find it amusing to see me like this?”

Rising with a smile, Meng Lanyi picked up the wedding wine cup and offered it to him, her expression bright. Ignoring his question, she said, “Isn’t it tradition to drink the wedding cup together on our nuptial night? Shall we?”

The dragon-and-phoenix candle flared. Looking at his scarlet wedding robes, Ye An suddenly found it all bitterly ironic. He stared at her, then took the cup. Arms entwined, they drank. As she tried to withdraw, he pulled her into his embrace. Meng Lanyi did not resist, remaining still in his arms. Ye An’s words, spoken with restrained pain, were low and determined. “You don’t love me, and you won’t love anyone else either. That’s fine. I have plenty of time to make you love me. Even if you never do, I’ll still be the one by your side at the end. I have nothing to fear.”

The candlelight stretched his departing shadow long across the floor. On the bed, moonlight lay shattered. Red bedding, red curtains, red robes—an ocean of festivity. At last, Meng Lanyi sat in exhaustion, her head resting against the bed’s canopy. Closing her eyes, she felt suddenly weary. She had not meant for things to be this way. Though she did not love him, he was her husband; she ought to treat him well. Yet, for some reason, before him, she could not bring herself to speak tender words. She was too used to meeting him with cold indifference. Now, even wanting to change, she found herself powerless.

Pressing a hand to her brow, she regretted it each time she treated him so, but when faced with him again, she was like a runaway carriage, unable to halt her cold words.

Her mother was right—she truly understood nothing of love.

Outside, the scent of flowers drifted through the night, light and shadow flickered, and the dappled moon cast patterns across a heart full of untold feelings.