Chapter Forty: The Wedding Night

"Alright!" I replied, and Weiyang mounted her horse and rode away.

Watching her receding figure, I found myself imagining how she might look tomorrow in her bridal gown. Even an ordinary red dress made her shine so brilliantly—how breathtaking would she be when dressed in the wedding robes crafted by the revered Madam Wang? The thought alone sent my heart fluttering.

Because Weiyang and I were to be wed in a union of yin and yang, the ceremony could not be held during the day. The marriage contract specified the exact hour for fetching the bride: a little past nine at night. This caused quite a stir among the villagers, who questioned why the wedding should take place at night when, in their minds, weddings should always be held in daylight. My grandfather explained to everyone that the bride's home was far away, and by the time the bridal procession returned, it would already be nighttime—there was simply no helping it. Moreover, he said, people were used to daytime weddings out of habit, but everyone’s birth and fate were different; the auspicious hour for each union was determined by the couple’s birth charts, and for us, the calculations pointed to the evening. There was nothing untoward about it.

My grandfather’s explanation carried weight, and though people gossiped, no one questioned it further. They attended my wedding more out of curiosity for its novelty than anything else.

After dinner, I went alone once more to the old grave slope.

From a distance, I could already hear the jubilant music echoing from the mountainside. When I arrived, I saw a grand bridal sedan beneath the nameless stele, carried by eight men. In front, a dozen musicians played with spirited effort; behind, many others carried chests, presumably filled with the bride’s dowry.

Weiyang had instructed me not to bring anyone else when fetching her—only I was to come. I had wondered how I would manage to bring her back, since tradition dictated that the bride must not touch the ground before arriving home. I was prepared to carry her on my back, but I had not expected such an elaborate procession on her side.

Following my grandfather’s advice, I recited auspicious words before the bride’s sedan. Then I remembered the pair of vermilion hairpins I carried and said to her inside, “Weiyang, let me place these hairpins for you.”

She answered with a soft “Mm.” Entering the sedan, I saw her sitting with her back to me, as custom dictated that the bride and groom not see each other before the bridal chamber.

Carefully, I adorned her hair with the pins. As I was about to leave the sedan, she suddenly recited,

“So mournful, so mournful, marriage brings no tears. May I find a heart true, and never part until hair turns white.”

The poem sent a tremor through my heart.

“Yes, never part until our hair turns white,” I replied, realizing in that moment that I had fallen for her. Her coldness, I thought, must be but a façade or perhaps a necessity.

At that moment, those carrying the sedan called out, “Lift the sedan!”

The suona burst forth anew, and I led the procession, guiding the way, with the bridal entourage following close behind.

As we neared the village, the sedan suddenly stopped. The bride reached out and instructed the bearers, who then signaled the musicians to halt. We took a detour along a small path, only resuming the suona’s melody as we approached the main road leading into the village.

I understood Weiyang’s intention: if the procession emerged directly from the mountains, the villagers might suspect something strange, as there were no other villages within. But arriving from outside the village, no one would link her to the old grave slope. Her carefulness was all for the sake of our wedding.

As we entered the village, all the dogs barked furiously. Yet the festive commotion soon drowned them out, and no one paid them any mind. The sedan stopped at the gate of my house, and I carried her on my back into the courtyard.

There had once been a custom of “dropping the bride,” but after what happened with my cousin’s wife, the practice had been strictly forbidden in the village.

Weiyang was so light, I could scarcely feel her weight. Apart from a cool sensation, it was as if I carried nothing more than a garment on my back.

Next came the three bows of the wedding ceremony. My grandfather had often said that in a union of yin and yang, one must not bow to heaven, only to earth. Thus, the first bow was to the earth. The second was to one’s elders—my grandfather, as my only elder present. The last was the spousal bow. As I bent forward to bow, I noticed He Xiaojing standing among the crowd, her expression deeply conflicted. When she realized I had seen her, she vanished into the throng.

After the bows came the ritual of the nuptial cup. Normally, Er Pang would have brought it, and the cups would have contained tea, not wine. But after my grandfather called for the nuptial toast, there was no response from the house—Er Pang was nowhere to be seen.

As everyone wondered, the curtain of the room was lifted and He Xiaojing emerged, carrying the nuptial cups. She smiled at me—a chilling, sinister smile. The villagers, unaware of her identity or her ghostly nature, simply mistook her for a bridesmaid and paid no mind.

She presented the cups before Weiyang and me. The villagers, eager for excitement, chanted, “Nuptial toast! Nuptial toast!”

Weiyang did not hesitate and took up her cup. I glanced at He Xiaojing, who arched a brow at me, urging me to do the same.

There was no avoiding this ritual, so I took up my cup. The moment I held it, a strong scent of liquor reached my nose. I hadn’t expected He Xiaojing to pull such a stunt.

But at that moment, there was no turning back. Weiyang waited for me; I could not keep her waiting. Gritting my teeth, I steeled myself for what was to come. I did not know what this cup of wine would do to me, but the nuptial toast could not be refused.

Weiyang and I linked arms and drank deeply. As we sipped, she quietly lifted her veil, and the sight of her face, tinged with the glow of red silk, entranced me utterly.

The fiery liquor burned my throat—perhaps because I had never touched alcohol since childhood, I began coughing at once. In contrast, Weiyang seemed completely unaffected.

My awkwardness drew peals of laughter from the villagers. They joked that I could not even handle a nuptial toast and was destined to fear my wife.

I scarcely heard their teasing, for a searing heat seemed to ignite within my belly. In less than half a minute, I broke out in a cold sweat. My skin prickled as if something sought to burst forth from beneath it.

The last time I had drunk was as a child, my memories blurred by the sedatives my grandfather had given me. I had been mostly unconscious then. Now, experiencing it firsthand, I realized just how terrifying this sensation was.

To be honest, I was terrified. I feared I would become a man covered in scales.

Yet in that critical moment, a clear chime rang out at my waist.

The sound was as pure as a moonlit spring trickling over rocks. Instantly, a profound calm washed over me, dousing the fiery torment the liquor had ignited.

Twice more the forbidden bell at my waist chimed, and my heart settled. The strange symptoms vanished, suppressed completely.

Now I understood why Madam Wang had suddenly given me the forbidden bell—she must have foreseen that He Xiaojing would try to disrupt my wedding.

It was, in the end, a false alarm.

Composing myself, I took Weiyang’s hand, and amidst the villagers’ raucous teasing, entered the bridal chamber.

Looking back, I saw He Xiaojing still there, her gaze filled with venomous resentment. The sight unsettled me deeply. Only then did I recall the warning Niu Dahuang had given me. Words spoken casually can be taken to heart by those who nurse grievances—especially spirits of resentment. My unintended actions had brought her harm.

Afterward, I asked my grandfather to check on Er Pang. Grandfather said Er Pang had been bewitched and fainted, but after pinching his philtrum, he woke up quickly, none the worse for wear.

Before leaving, Er Pang said that when I had a child, I should remember to tell them they had a handsome second uncle. I gave him a kick, but he insisted he was serious.

As I saw Er Pang off, I knew it would be a long time before we met again. At a loss for words, I could only pray in my heart for their safety.

My grandfather entertained the other villagers, who drank heavily, using the alcohol to drown their sorrows. Nearly every family had suffered the loss of a child, and by the end, some villagers were embracing each other in tears—they needed an outlet for their grief.

I watched from the side, my heart heavy with sorrow.

The bridal party, meanwhile, did not join the feast, but asked my grandfather to light incense and offer tribute in a nearby courtyard.

When I returned to the bridal chamber, Weiyang sat on the bed in her crimson wedding gown, covered with a red veil.

I approached and gently lifted the veil. She sat with her chin slightly lowered, her eyes bright and clear, her eyebrows arched like painted willows. The fair skin of her face was tinged with a delicate blush, rivaling the grace of a red lotus. Beneath the brocade and crimson, she smiled shyly and sweetly.

I had imagined her beauty in bridal red, but never expected it to be so pure and transcendent. Her beauty was like a clear spring, trickling gently, nourishing the depths of my heart.

I sat beside her and carefully took her hand. Her skin was smooth as jade, cool and flawless.

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