Chapter Sixty: Bestowal of Marriage (2)

After a sleepless night, Ye Qianran gazed at her own haggard and weary reflection in the mirror, and could not help but let out a bitter smile. If she could not marry the one she loved, what use was a face that could enchant a city? Setting the mirror aside, she glanced at the dishes on the table, but felt no appetite at all. With a wave of her hand, she ordered them to be taken away. After the morning meal, her mother arrived, bathed in the light of the rising sun, her face adorned with a graceful and gentle smile. A woman like her mother must have been a peerless beauty in her youth; marrying her father was probably the happiest event of her life. Her mother took her hand and sat down, smoothing away the stray hair at her temple, yet the words that followed were not of comfort as she had imagined. Her mother said, “When I was your age, I too loved someone with a passion that burned into my soul. When I fell for him, I thought he was my entire world, my reliance and my future. But your grandmother disapproved of him. I asked him to run away with me, but he never came. For a time, I thought I could not go on living, but in the end, I married your father. I did not persevere.”

Had it been any other day, she would have been shocked, but now, upon hearing her mother’s confession, she only felt a quiet sorrow. She understood what her mother meant.

Her mother gently lifted her chin, her expression filled with loving indulgence. “Perhaps you are in pain now, but with time, all will be forgotten. When you spend enough time with someone, affection will follow. Liuyun may not be your fated one, so forget him—or bury him deep in your heart. You may think of him now and then, but don’t cling to illusions. The imperial decree for your marriage leaves you no choice, nor your father and me.”

Ye Qianran said nothing, remaining silent.

As her mother departed, Ye Qianran forced herself to smile. Her mother, seeing this, sighed softly, wanting to say more but finally holding her tongue.

Next came her elder brother, and then Sister Meng. Each spoke differently, but their intentions were the same—they wished to comfort her. For apart from comfort, there was nothing else they could do.

Yet comfort was the last thing she needed now. She did not wish to hear empty words; she only wanted to be alone, to think things through in solitude.

That night, tossing restlessly in bed, her fear for the future only grew. How could she share a bed, raise children, and spend a life with a stranger? She could not do it—truly, she could not. Just the thought was enough to drive her mad. If that day really came, would she lose her mind? She did not know. And how could she ever face Liuyun again? He was the one she wished to marry, the one she loved.

Her mother said it was possible to forget, but was that true? She did not want to forget him. Even if remembering him brought her pain, she still did not wish to let go.

Her heart felt hollow and aching.

Clutched in her hand was the white jade pendant Liuyun had given her. She remembered his gentle words: “When I return, I will formally ask your father for your hand, all right?” “You must wait for me to come back.” “You haven’t recognized me after just a few days apart, my lady?” “Qianran, trust me...”

Outside, a solitary moon hung high in the sky, the shadows of parasol trees flickered, and a lone crow stood silent. His words echoed quietly within her, every syllable painfully clear, making her heart throb with grief. She closed her eyes; sorrow flooded her soul.

On the third day after the imperial edict was issued, the Zhang family sent over betrothal gifts, followed by visits from Zhang Jing and Zhang Yu. Ye Yuandao greeted them with a smile; knowing there was no way to escape, he could only accept.

Ye Qianran, determined to avoid Zhang Yu, hid deliberately in her room. Their relationship was more complicated than that of mere strangers: he had once tried to violate her, and soon he would become her husband. How absurd, how laughable.

Still, Zhang Yu came to Bamboo Snow Pavilion. She did not know what he had said to her father, but she had no choice but to meet him.

Accompanied by Juanbi, Ye Qianran emerged. He turned in the courtyard sunlight, and upon seeing her pursed lips, gave a faint smile.

He looked her up and down. “It’s been a while, Miss Ye,” his tone tinged with both pride and mockery.

Ye Qianran turned her head away, refusing to look at him. “Why?”

Zhang Yu stroked his chin in a pose of deep thought. “Since we parted at the Duke of Wei’s estate, I have long admired you, Miss. Lacking a proper opportunity to draw near, and fearing rejection if I proposed, I had no choice but to ask my father to petition the emperor for the marriage decree, so that you might become my wife.”

Ye Qianran let out a cold laugh and turned to face him. “You, admire me? That is the greatest lie under heaven. No man who truly loves a woman would behave as you do.”

Zhang Yu smiled, lowering his gaze. “Many seek your hand, Miss Ye—some for your family’s wealth, some for your beauty. Yet almost none desire you for yourself. You know this well; why must you force me to say it?”

Ye Qianran bit her lip, grinding out the words, “As I thought...”

Zhang Yu reached out and caught a lock of her hair, winding it around his fingers. “No matter my motives, from today on, you are mine. I care not whom you love, but your person is mine.” Though his voice was cool and mild, there was a sinister undertone.

He released her hair, then bent close to her ear. Though he smiled, Ye Qianran could sense the chill beneath—a blade hidden in silk, a dagger behind a smile. “Wait for me to come and marry you,” he said.

She instinctively stepped back. He wore his customary false smile, and with those words, strode away.

Juanbi reached out to steady her, but Ye Qianran pushed her aside. The May sunlight was blazing hot upon her skin, yet a chill crept into her heart. Watching his departing back, a hesitant thought finally took root in her mind.

As dusk deepened, Ye Qianran walked into the warm chamber.

The madam caught sight of her at once, her face curious yet still wreathed in smiles. “We do not trade in girls here, miss. Please—” Her words were cut short by the flash of gold in Juanbi’s hand. The madam’s eyes lit up, fixed upon the gold. Juanbi asked, “Is Mr. Wei here?” The madam nodded eagerly, but her gaze never left the gold. “Take us to see him, and this is yours.”

The madam hesitated not a moment, and immediately called over a maid. “Yusheng, take these two ladies to Mr. Wei.” Juanbi smiled in satisfaction, tossed her the gold, and followed the maid toward the rear courtyard.

The front courtyard was lively with music and dancing, singing of worldly splendors. The back courtyard, where lotus leaves spread and parasol shadows danced, was elegant and tranquil. In a secluded courtyard belonging to Gu Qingcheng, Wei Zhuang lay half in the shadow of a parasol tree, beside a scattered table. Gu Qingcheng was brewing tea, its fragrance wafting through the air. Ye Qianran stood beneath a crape myrtle tree at the carved gate, its purple blossoms half-open, shadows swaying. Clad in violet, she looked through the faint night to see Wei Zhuang’s languid form on the rattan bed. Clenching her hands, she drew a deep breath.

After the maid announced their arrival, she returned to invite them in. Ye Qianran silently reminded herself, “You are here to beg a favor. Whatever you see or hear, you must endure it. For Liuyun, for your own future, you must remain calm and composed.”

She stopped a yard away from Wei Zhuang, raising her eyes to meet his. He lay on the rattan bed, dusk gathering around him. In his gaze, she could faintly see the fatigue between his brows, and her heart twinged—for this was the first time she had seen him in a month.

Gu Qingcheng looked at the two locked in silent gaze, her expression soft and complex, as if no one could intrude between them. She smiled and said, “What brings Miss Ye here?”

Wei Zhuang kept his eyes on Ye Qianran, saying nothing, not even rising.

Ye Qianran did not shift her gaze from him, but spoke to Gu Qingcheng. “Miss Qingcheng, may I speak to Mr. Wei alone?”

Gu Qingcheng glanced at Wei Zhuang, and seeing he showed no sign, smiled in understanding. “Then I shall leave you.” Setting down the tea she was brewing, she passed by Ye Qianran, glancing first at her, then at Wei Zhuang, before departing.

Wei Zhuang sat up, appearing puzzled. “What brings you here?” He did not wait for her answer, but continued, “I hear you are to be married. Congratulations,” his face calm, betraying no emotion.

Her heart tightened. He did not care about her marriage, yet a pair of dimples appeared on her cheeks. “Are you mocking me? You know full well that I—” She could not finish, for she knew that even if she did not say it, he understood.

He lay back down, resting his head on his arms. “What does that have to do with me?” His voice was as cold and clear as a snow lotus blooming on ice.

A chill entered her heart. She forced a smile. “Indeed, it has nothing to do with you.”

Wei Zhuang sneered. “Then why have you come today?”

Ye Qianran suppressed the urge to flee at the sound of his cold voice, clenching her hands hidden in her sleeves. “You once promised me something, sir. I have come to ask you to fulfill that promise.”

Wei Zhuang seemed to find this amusing, for he laughed aloud. “I never keep my word. I fear you have made this journey for nothing, Miss.”

Ye Qianran did not move. “How can you break your word, sir?”

A flicker of anger ignited in Wei Zhuang’s eyes. He laughed coldly, sitting up with his knees drawn up. “If you did not need something from me, you would never have thought to visit me in this lifetime. Such is the extent of your regard for me.” His anger faded as he finished, and he rose from the rattan bed, straightening his wrinkled clothes. “Whatever you have come for, I will not help you. Please leave.” With that, he turned and walked into the house without a backward glance.

Ye Qianran clenched her hands. “What is it that you want, sir?”

Wei Zhuang’s footsteps halted abruptly. He turned to look at her, saying nothing.

Ye Qianran approached, stopping two steps away from him. “If you truly did not wish to help me, you could simply say you are powerless, and I would give up. But by saying you will not help, you are telling me you have the means, but simply refuse. Tell me, then—what is it you want?”

Wei Zhuang licked his lips, a hint of admiration in his smile. Tilting his head, he seemed to await her answer. “You are right. I do have a way. But why should I help you?”

For a moment, Ye Qianran was at a loss. He was right—she had no reason to offer. She knew how grave the matter was; no one would help lightly. She could only say, “You and I are friends.”

At these words, as if he had heard the world’s greatest joke, Wei Zhuang laughed aloud. He stepped forward, so close their breaths mingled, and whispered in her ear, his breath warm, “If you want my help, then find a way to move me. You know I am cold by nature—friendship and affection mean nothing to me. If it pleases me, I will do anything.” He then distanced himself, tilting his head to watch her reaction.

Ye Qianran looked up at him in disbelief, as if she had never truly known him at all. He stepped back, seeming to relish her astonishment. Suddenly, she realized she did not know him in the least. Was he the courteous, steady, mature gentleman—or the sharp-tongued, insolent, rakish man before her? Which was his true self?

She retreated two steps, wounded pride rising within her. A trace of coldness appeared on her lips. “You think far too highly of yourself, sir. I may have come to beg your help, but I would never go so far. Good day.”