Chapter 8: The Wedding Night (Refined Version)
Fan Changyu was perhaps the first bride in history who had to rise early on her wedding day to slaughter a pig and prepare braised dishes.
She had already butchered one pig for sale, and with the remaining offal and head—combined with the pig she bought for the feast—she managed to fill two large basins with beautifully sliced braised meat.
The aunties who came to help could not stop praising the aroma.
It was nearly noon when Madam Zhao finally urged her to return to her room, change into her wedding clothes, and have her hair and makeup done.
Only then did Changyu learn that there were two traditional customs for a groom marrying into the bride's family. In one, the groom was carried in a flower sedan chair to the bride's home—known colloquially as "carrying the groom's head." In the other, the groom stayed at the bride's home the night before, while the bride left from her maternal grandparents' house in a sedan chair, returning to her own home in a grand procession to preserve the groom's dignity.
Changyu needed neither. She had no money for a sedan chair, and the groom was merely next door—he could simply walk downstairs.
Madam Quanfu arrived to arrange the bridal chamber and comb her hair.
"One comb for harmony till the end,
Second comb for white hair and old age together,
Third comb for children and grandchildren…"
Changyu sat before the dressing table, listening to the ritual recitation and the bustle outside. For a fleeting moment, she felt as though she were truly marrying.
Outside, the guests were far more interested in discussing the groom. Madam Zhao, however, was tight‑lipped. No matter how the women pried, she revealed nothing.
Some women cracked melon seeds and whispered,
"With how secretive the Zhao couple are, could it be the groom is hideous? Too ugly to show his face?"
"I heard he injured his leg and can't walk properly."
A gasp.
"So he's a cripple?"
Another woman elbowed her sharply.
"Lower your voice! They're taking in a son‑in‑law. If he were perfectly fine, would he agree to marry in?"
Someone sighed.
"The Song family didn't come today."
"Well, it's better they didn't. Song Yan is the most handsome young man in ten villages. If he came, he'd overshadow the groom and embarrass the Fan family."
When the auspicious hour arrived, everyone gathered at the Zhao family's gate, craning their necks to see the groom.
No one spared the bride—who emerged with a red veil over her face—so much as a glance.
Snow had begun falling again, dusting the courtyard walls in white. The ground, trampled by countless feet, remained wet and bare.
Firecrackers burst loudly at the gate. As the door opened, a pair of crutches appeared first. The crowd collectively deflated—so the rumours were true.
A foot stepped over the threshold, revealing a glimpse of a reddish‑brown robe. Snowflakes melted instantly upon the fabric.
The guests held their breath.
Then the groom stepped fully into view.
Snowflakes clung to his ink‑black hair, tied with a red ribbon. Between the dark hair and the red robe, his face appeared even more striking—handsome, refined, and cold as winter frost. His skin was paler than the falling snow, and the aloof glance he cast toward the crowd made several women forget to breathe.
A collective gasp rippled through the onlookers.
Never in their lives had they seen such a handsome man. He surpassed Song Yan entirely; even the lead actor of the opera troupe could not compare to a tenth of his beauty.
Sword‑browed, star‑eyed, with a face like carved jade—he looked like a celestial being descended to earth.
After a stunned silence, the crowd erupted.
"This groom is truly handsome!"
"I knew Changyu wouldn't marry someone inferior!"
"Who said he was ugly? Is this face worse than Song Yan's?"
Xie Zheng, leaning on his crutches, passed through the crowd with an expression of icy indifference. He frowned faintly, clearly irritated by the noise.
When he turned into the Fan family's courtyard, even the women cracking melon seeds stood up to stare. Praise followed him like a tide.
Even the kitchen helpers abandoned their pots to sneak a look.
Suppressing his annoyance, he made his way toward the main hall.
Then, glancing up, he caught sight of the bride.
Changyu, dressed in matching red, had lifted a corner of her veil to peek at him from behind the crowd. His gaze had already passed her, but it returned—surprised.
He had known she was pretty, but this was the first time he had seen her with makeup.
Under the half‑lifted veil, her almond eyes curved with a shy smile. Her cheeks were lightly rouged—clumsily applied, but charming nonetheless. Her lips, tinted red, contrasted with her pale skin. She looked radiant.
When their eyes met, she froze, then hurriedly dropped the veil like a guilty child.
She was beautiful—but her behaviour was always so oddly out of place.
Xie Zheng's irritation eased.
Perhaps this wedding would not be entirely tedious.
He entered the hall. Madam Quanfu handed them each an end of a red silk ribbon.
"The auspicious hour has arrived—let the newlyweds bow!"
"First bow to Heaven and Earth—"
Guided by Madam Zhao, Changyu bowed with him.
"Second bow to the ancestors—"
With their parents gone, only memorial tablets stood on the table. They bowed again.
"Bow to each other—"
A gust of wind nearly lifted Changyu's veil. She reached for it, but a large hand pressed it down first.
Laughter erupted.
"Look at the groom—he won't let anyone see the bride!"
Changyu flushed beneath the veil.
"The ceremony is complete—escort them to the bridal chamber!"
The bridal chamber was simple—red paper‑cut characters on the windows, festive bedding on the bed.
After auspicious blessings, Madam Quanfu allowed Xie Zheng to lift the veil.
Light flooded Changyu's vision. She finally saw him clearly.
In red, he was breathtaking.
If he walked down the street like this, he would dazzle half the town.
Madam Quanfu beamed.
"What a beautiful bride—truly a perfect match!"
The women giggled behind their hands.
Changyu forced a polite smile.
Xie Zheng's expression remained unreadable.
Then came the ritual of tossing peanuts and red dates. The fruit stung when it hit, so Changyu quickly said,
"Thank you, aunties, but my husband is injured. Let's stop here."
More teasing followed.
"Look at her—already protecting her husband!"
After the women left, she asked softly,
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Good. I need to greet the guests. Rest here. If you're hungry, there are pastries on the table."
It was a line a groom should have spoken to a bride—but coming from her, it sounded peculiar.
He nodded.
She left to host the feast. With no elders in her family and a groom marrying in, no one urged her to drink. The guests ate heartily and left as night fell.
While cleaning up, she noticed a brocade box left by the door.
"Auntie, who brought this?"
Madam Zhao frowned.
"I didn't see it earlier."
Changyu opened it—and her face turned cold.
Inside were two clay dolls.
She threw the box straight into the rubbish pile, shattering them.
Madam Zhao recognised them and spat toward the Song household.
"That heartless beast! When you needed help, he shut his doors. Now he sends this to ruin your wedding day?"
Changyu said calmly,
"He's not worth being angry over."
She wasn't upset by sentiment—only irritated.
Those dolls had been a gift she gave Song Yan when she was seven or eight, to comfort him after his father's death. Her parents had treated him well for years. Yet he had been the first to break the engagement, the first to shut his door when she was in trouble.
Now he sent this?
Ridiculous.
Her expression remained blank even when she brought dinner to Xie Zheng.
"You're injured, so I chose light dishes."
He noticed her mood but said nothing.
By the time everything was cleaned, it was nearly the hour of Hai. Madam Zhao tried to take Ning'er home, but Changyu said,
"She always sleeps with me. Otherwise she cries."
"Not tonight," Madam Zhao insisted. "Newlyweds must share a room."
And with that, she whisked Ning'er away.
The courtyard, once lively, was now silent. Snow fell thickly, illuminated by red lanterns.
Changyu sat on the doorstep for a long time before rising.
Since the marriage was fake, she naturally could not sleep in the same room.
But all the quilts were in the bridal chamber. Her old room had not been prepared.
She pushed the door open out of habit—and froze.
Xie Zheng was changing.
His outer robe lay aside. His inner garment hung loosely at his elbows, exposing the lines of his back—broad shoulders, defined muscles, warm skin glowing in the candlelight.
He turned slightly. His face, cold and ascetic, was startlingly beautiful in this moment.
Changyu stared for several breaths before he frowned.
"Do you need something?"
She jolted back to herself, mortified.
"I—I forgot to knock. I just came for a quilt."
"Take it."
She grabbed two quilts without looking sideways and fled. Only after turning the corner did she breathe again.
She had truly embarrassed herself.
Inside, Xie Zheng heard her faint sigh.
Expressionless, he removed the bandages and applied the medicine sent by his falcon—a rare golden wound‑healing powder.
The moment it touched his wounds, agony tore through him. His muscles tensed, veins bulged, sweat poured down his back. He clenched his teeth until he tasted blood.
He sat rigidly on a stool, enduring the pain in silence. The candlelight flickered across his darkened eyes.
These wounds—this pain—he would repay one day.
Then he heard footsteps returning.
He lifted his gaze, still filled with cold, restrained fury, and looked toward the doorway.