The wedding of the Eldest Princess was held far away from the noisy palace.
No golden halls, no hundreds of maids carrying treasures.
The late afternoon sun bathed Bai Yuan Mountain Villa in soft golden light. The large villa, usually quiet, was now dressed in simple decorations: red lanterns hung from the wooden terrace, silk ribbons tied around the pillars, and in the main hall a long red carpet stretched toward a small altar.
From a distance, Lang Ruhua stood watching the preparations. Servants carried bolts of red cloth, guards checked the surroundings, and laughter drifted through the air.
She thought to herself, Lang Huan must look beautiful in red wedding robes… A faint smile touched her lips, only to fade as quickly as it came.
Her heart felt heavy. She knew she should not stay, it only deepen the ache inside. So she turned away, slipping quietly into the forest.
Among the pine trees, where the air was cool and hushed, Lang Ruhua sat cross-legged on a mossy rock. She closed her eyes, breathing slowly, sinking into meditation.
The noise of the villa faded from her mind, replaced by the steady rhythm of wind through the branches.
But in meditation, the image returned: Lang Huan in red, standing beside the Princess. Her chest tightened. She whispered, "Some things… were never meant to be mine."
The mountain wind carried her words away. Only the forest heard her sorrow.
Feng Yao, the Eldest Princess, wore a graceful red robe without heavy ornaments. Her hair was tied in a simple bun, adorned only with a jade phoenix pin. Even in plain attire, the authority of a royal princess still shone in her eyes.
With a faint smile, she thought to herself: That little brat will now carry the title of Princess Consort. Never in her life had she imagined marrying under such circumstances. Her lover, Lang Huan—a girl who had lived disguised as a man—would now stand beside her, for life.
Feng Yao often wondered why she had fallen in love with Lang Huan. She had no ambition, no hunger for power—nothing like herself.
And yet, whenever Feng Yao looked at her, she felt the truth of Lang Huan's pure love: unwavering, unshaken by anything. That sincerity was something she could not let go of. It bound her heart more tightly than any chain.
At the other end of the altar, Lang Huan stood in a deep red robe. Her eyes never left Feng Yao as the Princess walked slowly toward her. Her heart pounded. The most powerful, the most beautiful woman in Great Qi… will become my wife.
Master Xuankai stood as the chief witness. When he first learned of this marriage, he had been shocked. The Eldest Princess would truly wed Lang Huan.
Had he been unaware of his disciple's true identity, it might have been understandable. A union between two of the same sex defied the natural order. Yet now he was drawn in, compelled to officiate the ceremony. How could he possibly refuse the command of the Eldest Princess?
His voice was steady, echoing through the great hall: "Today, beneath Heaven and before the ancestors, Her Highness Eldest Princess and Ye Langhuan swear loyalty to one another. They do not merely bind themselves as husband and wife, but also vow to share joy and sorrow, in peace and in storm."
Feng Yao and Lang Huan lowered their heads together—
One bow to Heaven and Earth.
One bow to the ancestors.
And at the last, they turned to face each other.
Seeing the red veil covering her face, Lang Huan could imagine the stunning beauty hidden beneath it—yet even without seeing, her heart was already captivated.
Then Master Xuankai stepped forward, carrying two wine cups filled with red wedding wine. He placed one in each of their hands.
They raised the cups, drank half, exchanged them, and drank the rest.
This was the shared wine of marriage. It was not just a ritual, but the symbol that their lives were now joined as one.
The hall was silent except for the faint crackle of incense. The mountain wind stirred outside, carrying the sound of rustling leaves—as if nature itself bore witness to their union.
And though Master Xuankai's face remained stern, in his heart he thought: This is fate. Even Heaven itself cannot stop them.
On the other side of Bai Yuan Villa, far from the noise of the wedding, Xiao Lan moved quietly as she slipped into Old Bai's room. She knew exactly—there was something dangerous… something deadly hidden there.
Carefully, she lifted a loose wooden plank from the floor. Beneath it lay a bamboo basket. A faint hissing sound seeped from within.
With trembling hands, Xiao Lan opened the lid. A black serpent slid out, its scales gleaming with a cold light. Its eyes glowed red, its tongue flickering in and out.
This was no common snake. According to Old Bai's book, it was a rare southern viper. One bite—just one—and death would follow within a few breaths. And, most importantly, there was no cure.
Xiao Lan's face twisted with both fear and excitement. Her thin fingers shook as she stared at the creature. Her heartbeat thundered, but her obsession burned brighter than her fear.
She closed the lid, lifted the basket with both hands, and slipped into the corridor.
Step by step, Xiao Lan walked quickly toward the bridal chamber. Her lips curled into a smile. Her eyes shone with madness. No one will steal Lang Huan from me. He is my future husband.
Red lanterns swayed in the breeze, wine was poured, laughter echoed. No one noticed the shadow of a woman slipping into the bridal chamber.
Xiao Lan entered the room. She placed the bamboo basket near the red-draped bed and slowly lifted the lid. the black viper slid out, its scales gleaming under the candlelight.
It slithered across the red silk sheets, tongue flicking in the air, before coiling itself upon the embroidered pillow as if guarding the place where the Princess would rest.
Xiao Lan covered her mouth, struggling to contain her laughter. Her eyes gleamed with cruel delight. A chilling chuckle escaped her lips, echoing through the silent chamber.
Then, with calm steps, she pulled the door closed and melted back into the dark corridor.
Inside the bridal chamber, the snake's crimson eyes glimmered, its hiss filling the empty room—waiting for the bride who knew nothing of the death prepared for her.