Chapter 7: A Hasty Wedding
Fan Changyu spoke quickly, almost tripping over her own words.
"It would be a fake marriage."
She laid out her plan with earnest clarity.
"After we perform the ceremony, we'll tell others you've married into my family. That way, I can keep the property my parents left behind. My family still has a little money saved. Once the deed is secure, we'll manage. I'll hire the best doctor in town for you and buy the best medicine. When you've recovered, you may stay or leave as you wish."
Xie Zheng lifted his eyes. The slight upward tilt at their corners lent him an aloof, unreadable air.
"And you're not afraid that once I leave, your uncle will return to claim the property?"
"Once the deed is transferred," she replied, "I won't fear him, no matter how he rages. And when you leave, I'll simply say you've gone travelling on business. No one will know otherwise."
His tone was ambiguous—neither praise nor reproach.
"You've thought this through quite thoroughly."
She couldn't tell whether he approved.
"So… what do you think?"
"Let me consider it."
His eyelids lowered, concealing whatever thoughts stirred behind them.
Changyu's heart tightened. She realised she had offered him nothing in return—no compensation if he left, no promise if he stayed. She hurried to add,
"If you want to leave after you recover, I'll give you enough money for the journey. And if you have nowhere to go…"
Her gaze drifted over him—his pale face, his thin frame, the coarse linen clothes he wore because his own garments had been ruined by blood. His hands were rough, covered in calluses and cracks. He had clearly not lived an easy life.
Now he was injured, sick, and penniless.
So she made a bold promise.
"Don't worry. I'll slaughter pigs to support you in the future."
Xie Zheng: "…"
The expression on his face was extraordinary.
Anyone who knew him would have fainted on the spot.
Under heaven, she was likely the only person who dared to say such a thing to him.
If she knew his true identity, she would never have spoken so casually—and perhaps would never have saved him at all.
A faint, mocking glint flickered in his eyes.
"Why?"
She blinked.
"What?"
He was unusually patient, almost curious.
"We're not related. If my injuries don't heal, I may be disabled. What do you gain from supporting me?"
She answered honestly.
"You're good‑looking."
He stared at her, stunned. Of all the reasons he had expected, this was not one.
"Just because of that?"
She blinked again, as if to say, What other reason is there?
"There are many good‑looking people in the world," he said.
"But you're the one I happened to carry back from the snow."
She meant it literally—he had been the one she found. But the moment the words left her mouth, his gaze grew strange.
Realising the misunderstanding, she flustered.
"I mean—perhaps everything happens for a reason…"
She valued appearances, and she had happened to save someone exceptionally handsome. If he had nowhere to go, and if their temperaments aligned, she wouldn't mind making do with him.
But before she could explain further, he cut her off, frowning.
"Once I recover, I will leave on my own. I won't trouble Miss Fan any further."
His tone was cold, as though she had improper intentions.
"…That's fine," she said weakly.
He clearly wished to avoid any entanglement.
"Miss Fan, please make a wish. I will repay the debt of saving my life."
She waved her hand.
"If you're willing to fake‑marry into my family to help me keep the property, that's already a great help."
She dared not say more, lest he misunderstand again.
Unexpectedly, he said,
"The fake marriage will only count as repayment for taking me in."
She looked up sharply.
"Do you mean… you agree?"
He nodded.
Joy surged through her.
"We can sign a contract, set a time limit. When it ends, I'll write you a divorce letter immediately. If you want to leave early, I'll give you travel money and a divorce letter. I won't stop you."
He paused.
"That won't be necessary."
Then, quietly,
"What is Miss Fan's wish?"
She thought for a moment.
"I want to reopen the pigsty my father left behind. And… I hope to raise a hundred pigs in the future."
"…"
It was simple. Honest. And, once again, related to pigs.
"You can aim higher," he said.
She thought a hundred pigs was already a lofty dream—worth a hundred taels of silver, enough to buy a two‑courtyard house. But she dutifully raised the number.
"Then… two hundred pigs?"
"…"
Very well. He would give her more silver when he left.
Seeing his silence, she thought she had asked for too much.
"There's an old saying—saving a life is better than… building a pagoda. I'm not expecting repayment…"
He winced at her misquotation.
"I will remember Miss Fan's kindness."
Since he had said so, she let the matter drop.
"So… since you've agreed, is there anything else you want to ask?"
He shook his head. He clearly did not take the marriage seriously.
"It will be a bit rushed," she said. "Probably in the next day or two."
"You may arrange it as you see fit."
His lashes lowered, hiding the depth in his eyes.
"But my household registration documents were taken by the bandits. I'll need new ones."
"That's easy," she said. "Since you're marrying into my family, we can add you to my household registration."
With everything settled, she rose to leave.
"The soup must be cold by now. You should drink it."
"…Mm."
Did she truly not know how strange her pig lung soup tasted?
Left alone, he opened the window. The sky after snow was a pale, crystalline blue.
The one who had seized his military power was like a mad dog. Unable to find his corpse, they would soon investigate the refugees in nearby prefectures. He could invent a false identity, but not forge household documents. If Jizhou began checking refugees, he would be exposed.
But if he married into a family, he could legally change his registration.
That was the real reason he agreed.
As for that woman…
His gaze drifted to the pig lung soup.
He had granted her a wish. She had her motives. They owed each other nothing.
Then he remembered her blunt declaration—You're good‑looking—and his brows twitched.
How shallow.
He whistled sharply. A white gyrfalcon swooped down and landed on the sill.
He handed it the bowl.
"Eat."
The falcon stared at the pig lung slices, then turned its head away.
Xie Zheng gave it a look. The falcon reluctantly swallowed a piece.
---
Just as Changyu finalised the agreement, Constable Wang sent word: Fan Da had indeed hired someone to write a petition. The case would likely be heard soon.
The Zhao couple were frantic. Changyu remained calm.
"We'll keep the wedding simple. Invite the neighbours for a meal so everyone knows I've taken in a husband."
She did not tell them it was fake. Better to avoid suspicion.
Madam Zhao fretted.
"There's no time to make wedding clothes…"
"Red clothes will do," Changyu said.
She had only three taels of silver—barely enough for the wedding and the pig she needed for the feast.
But the groom had no clothes at all. His garments were torn, and he had been wearing Carpenter Zhao's old jacket. He needed at least one decent set.
So she gritted her teeth and spent half a tael on dark red fabric. The seamstress in the alley agreed to sew it—and refused payment, saying it would be her wedding gift.
Measurements were needed, however.
Changyu climbed to the attic.
"You don't have suitable clothes for the wedding, so I need to take your measurements."
He nodded.
He removed the old jacket, leaving only a thin undergarment. She measured his shoulders, her fingers brushing warm, firm muscle beneath the cloth. She had touched him before when he was coughing blood, but that had been different—urgent, life‑or‑death. Now the quiet room made her acutely aware of every breath.
"One foot and five inches," she murmured, stepping back quickly.
He looked thin, but his shoulders were broad—almost the same size as her father's.
She explained the wedding arrangements.
"It's set for tomorrow afternoon. Since it's hard for you to go downstairs, Uncle Zhao will carry you—"
"No."
His refusal was immediate.
"I'll use a crutch."
"But your wounds—"
"It's fine."
She let it go.
The rest of the day was a blur of preparations. She bought a pig, invited neighbours, prepared sweets and pastries. By nightfall, all three taels were gone.
Madam Zhao bustled about as though arranging her own daughter's wedding. After Chang Ning fell asleep, she handed Changyu a small booklet.
Changyu opened it—and snapped it shut, face burning.
"He's injured. This won't be necessary…"
Madam Zhao glared.
"There will come a time when it's needed."
The seamstress delivered the clothes that night—two sets, not one. She had saved enough fabric to make a matching outfit for Changyu.
"How can newlyweds wear different clothes?" she said with a smile.
Changyu tried them on. The simple dark red garments suited her well.
"With the veil tomorrow, you'll be a beautiful bride," the seamstress teased.
"Shouldn't the groom wear the veil?" Changyu asked earnestly.
Both women burst into laughter.
Later, Madam Zhao sighed.
"Daughters from wealthy families are carried down from their embroidery rooms on their wedding day, riding in palanquins with music…"
Changyu remembered how she had offered to have Uncle Zhao carry him downstairs—and how coldly he had refused.
Was that why?
---
That night, the Fan household burned with lamplight—and so did the Song household.
Madam Song awoke and saw light under her son's door.
"Yan, it's late. Rest."
"I'll finish this scroll," he said calmly.
She left, satisfied.
Inside, the candle burned bright—but Song Yan did not turn a single page. The inkstone and brush lay toppled on the floor.
His hand clenched the scroll so tightly his knuckles whitened.
She was getting married.