Chapter 79: The Wedding (Part 1)

Chapter 79: The Wedding (Part 1)

That night, the bonfires of the Red Rice Festival illuminated half the sky, shimmering with dazzling colors.

It wasn’t until nearly dawn that the revelry finally came to an end. The crowd gradually dispersed, and Liu Yandai, surrounded by a few private soldiers, was helped into a palanquin.

The evening breeze brushed against her face, bringing a refreshing coolness. Seated inside the palanquin, its sides draped with gauze and open to the air, she felt a soothing relief.

Being far from Chang’an made her feel safe. The sky hung low, and for once, she stepped out of the palanquin and removed her veil. It felt like a breath of freedom after being cooped up.

The palanquin swayed gently, its sides covered with thin gauze, but the top was open. Inside, there was a daybed where one could sit or lie down.

Lying back, she could see the twinkling stars above—bright and serene—while a full moon was perfectly framed within the square opening of the palanquin.

A wisp of cloud drifted over the crescent moon, casting a clear, silvery glow.

Gazing at the moon, her spirits lifted.

The Red Rice Festival lasted three days, and she decided to come out again the following evening.

By the time she returned to the private residence, the sky had darkened, and she assumed her mother-in-law had already retired. She headed to her own courtyard to rest, but before doing so, she made a special trip to the servants’ quarters to check on the child.

When she entered Xiao Zhengrong’s room, she saw him sleeping soundly on a low couch, with two nursemaids keeping watch.

The southern borderlands were sweltering, and even the nights were humid, so they had prepared a light, soft quilt for him. A bamboo mat was laid beneath, topped with a layer of brocade, and the child was placed on top. Since children tended to sweat heavily, they changed his sweat cloth hourly.

The little one slept peacefully, his chubby cheeks and pink lips twitching slightly. His long, curled lashes fluttered as he dozed, his tiny fists clenched, each no bigger than a large fruit—tiny enough to gobble up.

Soft, white, and utterly adorable, he occasionally stirred in his sleep, kicking his little feet and revealing his tender toes—everything about him was fresh, like he’d just unfurled into the world, delicate and endearing.

He hadn’t yet grown teeth, and when his lips moved, only a hint of his pink, glistening tongue could be seen. He let out little squeaks, then turned his head and sank back into deep slumber.

Liu Yandai held back from touching him, afraid she might wake him.

The more she gazed at him, the fonder she grew. After watching him sleep soundly for a long while, she finally left and returned to her own quarters to bathe and rest.

By night, candles had already been lit in her room. Liu Yandai bathed in the bathhouse.

The southern borderlands were humid and warm, so there was no worry of getting cold after bathing. She simply lay on a specially crafted wooden bed, letting her maids gather her long hair and carefully apply honey-flower essential oil.

Her hair, once yellowish in earlier years, had now been nourished into a raven-black sheen. Coated in moisturizing oil, her skin took on a faint, luminous glow. After giving birth, she had tightly wrapped her waist and abdomen in long, constricting bands, but now that they were removed, the gentle swell of her waist was visible—Liu Yandai reached up to touch it and murmured, "I haven’t gained that much weight."

A maid beside her laughed. "My lady, you’re hardly plump at all."

Everything Liu Yandai had eaten during her pregnancy seemed to have gone to her little butterball—the child was all plump and round. By the time he was born, she had actually slimmed down.

Well cared for and meticulously attended to during her postpartum confinement, she now looked nearly the same as before childbirth.

No—there was a difference. She had shed the girlish innocence and gained a mother’s tenderness, a warm and inviting presence that made her seem kind and approachable, the kind of person one would want to embrace.

A woman who had become a mother carried herself with a steadier grace. Even the lift of her eyes carried a knowing allure, more alluring than in her maiden days.

Only after the moisturizing oil on her body and the essential oil in her hair had dried did Liu Yandai rise from the wooden bed and settle into her plush bed.

A faint scent lingered in the room—the aroma of pest-repellent incense, which had to be burned daily. The clean scent of mint and soapberry lingered in the air as she wrapped herself in the quilt and drifted off deeply.

Before drifting off, she didn’t know if she would dream.

She used to have odd dreams often, only to wake and find nothing. But lately, they’d vanished.

Her head grew heavy, and she gradually slipped into dreams.

Bundled in a soft silk quilt, Liu Yandai turned over comfortably in her deep slumber, curling up and sinking further into sleep.

Little did she know, a few hundred yards away at the entrance of the estate, someone had been watching her courtyard all night, only leaving at dawn.

The next day marked another day of the Red Rice Festival.

Liu Yandai joined others to stroll through Nanyun City’s markets.

It had been a long time since she last wandered outside—before marrying, she’d been too timid. Though she was the adopted daughter of the Prince of Southern Pacification, she rarely stepped beyond the inner gates, spending her days at home learning the Three Obediences and Four Virtues, struggling through books she barely understood, or fumbling through needlework. Only after marrying and returning did she realize she didn’t have to live like that.

She could go out, explore, and find things she truly liked.

Nanyun City’s markets weren’t much different from those of Chang’an in terms of governance—residential areas were separate from commercial ones, each with its own strict divisions. Various trades occupied distinct sections within the markets, overseen by district heads responsible for security and taxation. Yet, despite the similar structure, the two cities’ markets looked nothing alike.

In Chang’an, markets consisted of orderly streets and shops, where street vending was forbidden. Every storefront was exquisitely crafted. But in Nanyun City, few stalls had proper storefronts—most vendors simply laid out a cloth on the ground and began selling.

The goods were a jumbled assortment, not neatly categorized, though medicinal herbs dominated. Nanyun City bordered the Twenty-Four Peaks of the Southern Frontier, where the mountains teemed with resources. The locals lived off the land, selling everything from aged ginseng, lingzhi mushrooms, to heavenly fruits. Some even specialized in selling poisons, and the wardens turned a blind eye! If this were Chang’an, such negligence could lead to murders, and the wardens would be punished.

Liu Yandai walked through the market with private guards trailing her. The place was disorderly, filled with slick merchants and sly peddlers. Given her delicate appearance, she was a mark for swindlers, so her guards stayed close.

After circling the market twice without finding anything particularly interesting, she spotted someone selling *medicine slaves*.

Nanyun City, nestled near the mountains, was teeming with toxins. While ordinary folk might fear them, for Gu doctors, this was a paradise.

They adored the poisons and herbs here, so many Gu doctors settled in Nanyun City. These practitioners often used local ingredients to concoct medicines, which required human test subjects. Thus, they purchased outcast slaves specifically for drug trials.

The fate of these *medicine slaves* was grim—they were tested on until death.

Where there was demand, there was supply. Some traffickers specialized in selling such slaves. Heart aching, Liu Yandai ordered two guards to buy the two slaves being sold that day and brought them back to the private residence.

The two slaves were filthy as beggars, sickly even after purchase. They were housed in the servants’ quarters, and a Gu doctor was called in. After a brief examination, the doctor said they hadn’t been used for trials yet—no poison, but they were ill and needed specific remedies.

Perhaps aiming to curry favor, the Gu doctor explained the required medicinal ingredients and the underlying causes of their illnesses in detail to Liu Yandai.

She watched, wide-eyed, as the doctor pulled out a spider the size of a human palm from a medicine jar.

The spider was terrifying—not black, but shimmering with garish colors. Just one glance made Liu Yandai’s skin crawl. Everyone in Nanyun City knew: the more colorful, the deadlier. When foraging mushrooms, one had to stick to the plain, unremarkable ones—or risk fatal poisoning! Once, out of desperation, Liu Yandai had nibbled on a peculiar mushroom and spent days seeing double.

Yet, despite its eight hairy legs—capable of poisoning someone to death—she found this spider strangely beautiful.

Noticing her fascination, the Gu doctor smirked proudly. "This is a Plague Spider. Highly useful, and a rather docile Gu insect. It doesn’t feed on human flesh or blood—just small bugs. Most Gu doctors keep one."

Liu Yandai’s eyes widened.

Having grown up in a small village near Nanyun City, she had only vaguely heard of "Gu insects" but had never seen one before.

So this was what they looked like.

So not all Gu insects devoured humans.

And they could even heal.

She shadowed the Gu doctor, watching intently as he treated the slaves.

The Plague Spider’s method was simple—just place it on the patient’s stomach and let it rest there awhile.

As for how it worked—Liu Yandai strained her eyes but couldn’t figure it out. Pestering the doctor for answers, he finally relented and gifted her a small spider.

The tiny spider was no larger than a fingernail, kept in a wooden jar. As soon as the wooden stopper was pulled out, the little spider scurried out and crawled around wildly, startling Liu Yandai into shrieking.

The Gu doctor, smiling, helped her catch the spider by hand and said, "Milady, don’t be afraid. This Plague Spider is rare and harmless—it doesn’t eat or bite people."

As he spoke, the Gu doctor placed the spider on the back of Liu Yandai’s hand, where it obediently stayed put.

The small spider hadn’t yet developed its colors and was just a tiny black blob, but somehow it looked rather well-behaved. Somehow, Liu Yandai found a strange sort of cuteness in its eight legs and eight eyes.

After hesitating for a long while, she reached out a finger to touch it, then quickly put it back into the jar.

The Gu doctor pushed harder to sell her, saying he had remedies and herbs, and if Liu Yandai was interested, he could sell them to her for a good price.

He had noticed that Liu Yandai lived in the private estate of the Prince of Southern Pacification. Though he didn’t know her exact relation to the prince, it was clear she was someone of wealth or status. Seeing her adorned in gold and jade, he figured she had real money—the kind that ten old hunters combined couldn’t earn, but which she could produce in a single transaction.

Liu Yandai was genuinely intrigued. Staring at the little spider on her hand for a while, she made up her mind and declared, "I’ll buy it!"

The Gu doctor eagerly pocketed the money, while Liu Yandai happily clutched the jar and turned to leave. After a few steps, she suddenly remembered the two medicine slaves still in the side room and instructed someone nearby, "Clean them up, give them some silver, and let them go."

They were strangers, and Liu Yandai simply treated it as an act of kindness. She didn’t expect gratitude from either of them. She saved them because she wanted to—not for any repayment. Just seeing them walk away alive, able to live normal lives, was enough to make her happy.

It was like spotting a starving cat on the roadside, giving it a meal, and watching it bound away, full of life. No one needed to know about the good deed—her own joy was sufficient.

In her bones, she carried this natural innocence, something neither Qin Chanyue, Chu Hang, nor Emperor Xingyuan possessed—and something they’d never learn. And it was precisely this quality that made her so endearing.

As she left, she didn’t notice one of the medicine slaves on the bed in the side room lifting his head, watching her with dark, gleaming eyes.

——

After leaving the medicine slaves’ quarters, Liu Yandai first went to check on her son, then went to see her mother-in-law.

Rather than playing with the spider alone, she preferred spending time with her mother-in-law, who always had the most entertaining things—leaf gambling cards, fresh fabrics and silks, beautiful gold and silver jewelry, the loveliest flowers, the trendiest and most amusing storybooks, and the most delicious treats. Every time she visited, she could just lounge around and happily pass the entire day.

With this thought, Liu Yandai quickened her pace.

Passing through long corridors, her pearl-studded slippers tapped along the cobblestone path, past pavilions and over water terraces, until the eaves of her mother-in-law’s roof came into view.

Her mother-in-law adored delicate chimes, especially the sound of jade striking jade. Thus, jade wind chimes hung year-round beneath the eaves of her roof. When the wind blew, the jade pieces collided, producing gentle chimes.

Hearing the jade meant her mother-in-law was near.

Liu Yandai walked even faster.

Her mother-in-law’s courtyard was the central one, adjacent to the garden, filled with vibrant flowers. In Nanyun City, there were no four seasons—only endless summer—so the blooms were forever in full splendor, a vibrant sea of colors fluttering like butterfly wings, endlessly radiant in the warmth of summer.

Passing a flowering tree, Liu Yandai finally arrived at her mother-in-law’s courtyard, fittingly called "Ten Thousand Blossoms."

This time, when she reached her mother-in-law’s quarters, the door to the side room was still closed, and the familiar figure of Deputy General Qian stood guard at the entrance.

When their eyes met, both Liu Yandai and Deputy General Qian stiffened.

Even from a distance of about ten zhang, an uncomfortable silence settled between them.

Scenes from over a month ago flashed simultaneously through their minds. Liu Yandai recalled sneaking into her mother-in-law’s room, witnessing that outrageous scene, being so shocked she fainted and collapsed to the floor, unsure how to get up. Deputy General Qian remembered stepping out briefly to speak with someone, only to return and find his home "robbed." Both had suffered a tremendous blow. Now, seeing each other again, no words were needed—they instantly understood the situation.

Their shared dread stemmed from the trauma of that event. The ignorant remain fearless; the enlightened turn and flee.

The next moment, Liu Yandai’s face flushed red, and she lowered her head as she walked away. Deputy General Qian, equally uncomfortable, rubbed his nose and glanced at the side room.

The doors and windows were tightly shut.

The summer in Nanyun City was sweltering. Qin Chanyue's chamber was filled with ice basins, chilling the brocade quilts on the bed to a pleasantly cool touch against the skin.

Qin Chanyue lay there now, a soft pillow propping her up. Her gaze drifted aimlessly toward the embroidered canopy above, unfocused. A torrential summer rain had poured all afternoon.

By evening, after bathing, the two could finally rest together.

When settling down, Chu Hang loved to tuck her entirely into his embrace, wrapping an arm around her. Qin Chanyue, tall and voluptuous, was difficult for most to hold, but she fit perfectly against him. Nestled under the same quilt, they could hear each other’s breaths.

Her dark hair spilled over his neck, and when he turned his head, he caught the faint floral scent on her skin.

So fragrant.

Chu Hang slowly closed his eyes, feeling a strange, swelling warmth surge within him. Every day now felt like floating on clouds.

He wanted to be with Qin Chanyue forever—through this life and all the ones to come.

Exhausted, Qin Chanyue was on the verge of sleep. That bastard Chu Hang, gone without for days, had taken it out on her today. She was so tired she could drift off the moment she shut her eyes.

Half-asleep already, she was startled awake when Chu Hang suddenly murmured, "Now that we're like this... when do you think—"

Just as she opened her eyes, the shameless old fool asked, "When should we hold our wedding?"

Qin Chanyue glared at him fiercely. "What kind of timing is this?"

Her vermilion-lacquered nails pinched his chest as she twisted the skin. "How old are you? Liu Yandai already has a child—you’re of grandfather age now! And you still want a wedding?"

Chu Hang reclined on the bed as if unfazed, eyes closed, replying calmly, "I’ve never taken a wife in this life. I don’t know how it feels."

Hearing this, Qin Chanyue’s heart clenched.

After being doted on and adored by him for so long, he had long since carved a place in her heart. Yet the taboo of siblings marrying remained—had this happened in any other noble family of Great Chen, they would have been driven out with stones.

Only because Chu Hang was now the Prince of Southern Pacification did no one dare speak openly. But she knew tongues wagged behind their backs.

So Qin Chanyue refused marriage. She was too proud to endure gossip.

Back when she hadn’t loved him, she had occasionally pondered whether he married or whom he chose. She’d only wondered occasionally—why hadn’t he?

But once she realized it was for her sake, regret welled up—acrid and tangled with feelings she couldn’t decipher.

Had she truly seen the love in his eyes back then, would they have missed so much?

She couldn’t imagine what their wedding might have looked like, nor how Chu Hang had felt rushing back from the borderlands to attend hers. She didn’t know how he had endured all those years alone in Nanyun City. Just thinking about it made her heart clench in vinegar.

Mistaking vinegar for ink, writing a lifetime's worth of bitterness.

After a long silence, Qin Chanyue gently rubbed his chest.

Their present life was already blessed. In their past lives, she had gone to her grave never knowing Chu Hang loved her—without even seeing him again. How had he cherished her memory before his own death?

She couldn’t begin to imagine, but the thought alone made her heart clench.

They had both died once already. Why care about outsiders’ eyes now?

Chu Hang still hadn’t opened his eyes. His words seemed casual, yet he knew they would haunt Qin Chanyue’s thoughts for a long time.

He was adept at playing weak and knew exactly how to move others. Qin Chanyue, a woman with a sharp tongue but a soft heart, could only be swayed by him playing pitiful. He didn’t even need to say more—just that one sentence was enough to keep her up all night.

Chu Hang, however, had fallen asleep. Once asleep, he made no sound at all, leaving Qin Chanyue alone in her torment.

In the middle of the night, she would suddenly sit up in bed, thinking, *Was I too cruel to Chu Hang back then?*

She would lie back down, trying to sleep, only to sit up again moments later, wondering, *Did I owe Chu Hang too much in our past life?*

The more she thought, the more distressed she became. By morning, as Chu Hang got up for work, Qin Chanyue, with dark circles under her eyes, said to him, "If you want a wedding, we’ll have one."

Chu Hang froze for a second, as if he hadn’t expected Qin Chanyue to agree. First, he lunged forward to embrace her tightly, then pinned her down with a heated urgency.

"Stop it," Qin Chanyue chided, exhausted from her sleepless night. She pushed at him, her voice coquettish. "I need to rest."

Chu Hang buried his face in the crook of her neck for a long moment before replying in a hoarse voice, "Chanyue, I’m just—I’m just so happy."

"I know," Qin Chanyue lifted her chin, a sleepy but smug glow flashing across her face. "You love me."

Chu Hang caught his breath, then planted a firm kiss on her cheek before rising to attend to his official duties.

Beyond his duties, he now had a wedding to prepare.

A wedding—*his* wedding with Qin Chanyue.

For the past decade or so, he had avoided attending others' weddings. He hated the celebrations, and deep down, he even felt a twinge of envy. But now that the celebration was his own, it felt utterly wonderful.

*His* wedding—

He would hold the grandest wedding in all of Southern Cloud City.

He would make sure everyone knew—he and Qin Chanyue were to be wed.

The Prince of Southern Pacification was lost in wedding bliss. What he didn’t know yet was that unwelcome guests were on their way.