Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The capital, a symphony of drums and music, its streets draped in celebratory red.

The grand wedding procession from the Marquis of Yongding’s estate set forth from Jiqingfang in the west, and news of its departure quickly stirred Chengqingfang in the east into a joyous frenzy.

The marquis’s procession wound north from Jiqingfang, circling a significant portion of the imperial city before heading towards Chengqingfang, drawing the gaze of nearly half the capital’s populace.

Year after year, speculation mounted as to whether Marquis Lu would finally take a Marchioness, yet none ever appeared—until this year, when, almost without warning, Marchioness Lu emerged.

The imperial decree was issued on the sixteenth day of the eighth month, and by the sixth day of the ninth month, the Marquis was to wed his new bride.

No one could resist such a spectacle, especially as Marquis Lu was renowned for his generosity—anyone offering blessings would be handsomely rewarded.

Yet, amidst the capital’s fervent excitement, a peculiar stillness settled over the Du residence’s western courtyard.

The sky hung low with heavy clouds, threatening rain at any moment.

The palace matrons, personally chosen by the Imperial Noble Consort, meticulously prepared the bride.

Her dark hair was coiled and adorned with a golden phoenix crown, coral hairpins graced her temples, and pearl earrings dangled from her ears. The gold-inlaid mutton-fat jade necklace, a gift from Her Majesty the Empress, rested upon her fair, slender neck, making her appear as a goddess descended from the heavens. Even the palace matrons, accustomed to countless beauties, found themselves stealing extra glances.

Yet the bride merely gazed silently outside.

One of the matrons couldn’t help but ask, “What is the lady looking at?”

The bride paused, then murmured softly, “It’s about to rain.”

The matron reassured her, “But rain on a wedding day is a blessing from the gods—even the gods can’t resist cleansing the streets to keep the Marchioness’s gown pristine.”

At this, the bride slowly withdrew her gaze, her face blank, devoid of joy or shyness, offering only a faint reply.

“Is that so?”

Her response prompted the matrons to exchange knowing glances, sighing in unison.

The previous night, while preparing the wedding items in the western courtyard’s side rooms, they had been startled to find the Marquis himself among them.

One matron quickly admonished him, “My Lord, why are you here? The bride and groom must not meet before the wedding!”

The Marquis nodded, acknowledging her words, but persisted, “I only came to ask—how has she been these past two days?”

“The young lady has been occupied with wedding preparations and has barely eaten.”

He frowned slightly. “Tomorrow will be even busier. Please persuade her to eat more.”

They assured him they would, urging him to leave, but he hesitated and asked one more question.

“Has she… shed any tears?”

Though her melancholy was plain to see, the matrons shook their heads. “No, not at all.”

At this, his eyes lit up slightly.

The matrons could delay him no longer.

“My Lord, stop worrying and focus on being a proper groom.”

He nodded. “Very well.”

Yet his gaze lingered toward his bride’s chamber.

The matrons hurried to block his view. “If you wish for a lasting marriage, you must not steal even a single glance before the ceremony!”

They hustled him out, and though reluctant, he finally conceded. “I understand,” he said, thanking them before departing.

Having witnessed the Marquis’s earnestness the night before, the matrons couldn’t help but contrast it with Marchioness Lu’s subdued demeanor.

A heart stuck in the past could hardly make room for the new.

The Marquis had rough times ahead.

But if even the Imperial Noble Consort’s counsel had failed to sway the Marchioness, what could they do?

Outside, the rain still hadn’t come, but from the neighboring main courtyard came the impatient voice of Du Zhiqi, the second master of the Du family.

His repeated queries were loud enough to snap Du Lingjing from her daze.

As the matrons finished her makeup and stepped out, she turned to Qiu Lin.

“Why is Uncle so worked up? Is it something concerning my second sister?”

Since the failed attempt to switch brides, Du Runqing had taken to her bed, sick with grief, locking herself away to weep day and night.

With the wedding looming on the sixth, Du Zhiqi couldn’t spare her a thought.

As for Madam Wan, her son Master Gu had nearly been beaten to death by the Embroidered Uniform Guard and now hovered at death’s door. Madam Wan had summoned imperial physicians to tend to him, but his injuries were severe—whether he would survive remained uncertain.

Her focus now solely on her son, Madam Wan kept constant vigil by his side, never once asking after her granddaughter Du Runqing, whom she had once pushed forward as a substitute bride.

Qiu Lin shook her head. “No, it’s about Du Zhanming.”

The Du family’s young master, Du Zhanming—Du Zhiqi’s legitimate son—had been studying at an academy in Baoding and rarely returned home.

But a wedding demanded his presence; whether it was his eldest or second sister marrying, he had to be there to escort the bride.

Du Zhiqi had sent for his son days earlier, summoning him back from Baoding.

“But something must’ve gone wrong. Even now, with the auspicious hour approaching, Du Zhanming still hasn’t returned. Second Master was beside himself.”

Du Zhiqi wasn’t the only one distressed—even Qiu Lin frowned. “This wedding of yours, Du Lingjing—truly, to have not even a single kinsman to escort you.”

Du Lingjing just shrugged.

Back in Qingzhou, after her father’s mourning period had ended, kin kept asking when she and Jieyuan Jiang would wed, vowing to muster a whole clan escort for her.

They’d tease, “We must let Jieyuan Jiang see just how many of us there are in the Du family. If he ever dares mistreat our girl, he’ll have us to answer to!”

Back then, Du Lingjing would blush hotly.

But Jieyuan Jiang’s illness had never improved. She’d begged repeatedly to set a wedding date—even suggesting their marriage as a way to cure him through marriage—but he kept refusing. Then, amid all this waiting, he’d suddenly died, leaving her behind.

That promised bridal escort her relatives had once promised never materialized.

Now here she was, getting married anyway.

She was no longer marrying Jiang Sanlang, so it seemed fitting that there was no one to give her away at the wedding.

Du Lingjing told Qiu Lin it didn’t matter and added, "I find this quite suitable. Don’t trouble yourself over it."

To her surprise, as soon as she finished speaking, Ruan Gong suddenly came to report that Marquis Lu's household had found a brother to escort her in marriage.

"It’s Cousin Jicang, who just arrived from Jinan!"

As he spoke, Du Lingjing saw someone enter the courtyard.

A light rain had begun to fall outside. The newcomer was of average height, approaching thirty, and walked briskly inside. Through the window, he caught sight of her at once.

"Jingniang!"

"Cousin Jicang?"

It was Du Jicang, her kinsman from the Du family.

He still carried the chill dampness of the road. Du Lingjing ordered tea served to him and heard him say,

"I’ve been in Jinan with my mentor all this time. It wasn’t until the Marquis’s people informed me of the imperial decree betrothing you to Marquis Lu that I hurried back."

"Mentor?" Du Lingjing glanced at him. "Did Cousin pass the autumn provincial exams this year?"

She caught the implication immediately. Du Jicang smiled. "Indeed. In the eighth month, during this year’s autumn provincial examinations, I ranked eighth."

Despite her low spirits, Du Lingjing couldn’t help but feel a spark of happiness for him.

"Cousin placed so high, and I didn’t even know. This is your accomplishment—congratulations."

Apart from their own branch, which had been blessed with literary success, few in the Du family had attained the rank of *jinshi* (metropolitan graduate), and only a handful had even become *juren* (provincial graduate). Even her uncle, Du Zhiqi, had only managed to pass as a *tongjinshi* (associate metropolitan graduate).

Now, Du Jicang, from a lesser branch, had also passed the provincial examination—an honor for the Du clan.

But Du Jicang modestly waved it aside as no great achievement and brought up Du Lingjing’s father, Du Zhili.

"Your late father often mentored me when he was alive. Like many scholars, I admired his profound learning and deeply respected his statesmanship. Others even envied me for being his nephew. It’s a pity I was too slow-witted back then—I couldn’t even pass the provincial examination. Now, six years after his passing, I’ve only just managed to become a *juren* as I near thirty."

Du Lingjing said it was hardly "just." "Cousin ranked high. With the spring examinations next year, you might yet pluck the cassia branch."

Du Jicang laughed. He did indeed plan to try next year. But now, he looked at his cousin, already dressed in bridal finery, her hair and makeup complete.

"Today is your wedding day. Though I’ve heard of what happened before and the rumors in the capital."

He spoke of Du Zhiqi. "Uncle Zhiqi may be your own uncle, but his actions are inexcusable in any family. When I return, I’ll relay the facts of what happened here to the clan. He won’t be able to hide it."

But even so, at this point, it hardly mattered anymore.

Du Lingjing gazed at the sky outside. The autumn rain fell in a gentle drizzle, weaving a gossamer curtain that seemed ready to ensnare everything.

Yet as the propitious hour drew near, the light grew brighter.

Outside, the drums and gongs were undimmed by the rain, their sounds carried on the wind to her ears.

She lowered her eyes without a word. Du Jicang regarded her briefly.

"Though the emperor's edict cannot be revoked, you must look forward, cousin. Whether it’s your father or Jiang Sanlang, neither would wish for you to dwell in grief."

With her talent and courage, he said, "Beyond the confines of hardship, there may yet be boundless horizons."

The autumn rain drummed on the eaves, then gathered into tiny streams that dripped down with a steady plinking.

Du Lingjing watched the rain in the courtyard for a long while.

Softly, she said, "Thank you, Elder Brother."

As they spoke, the celebratory drums and music winding through the city had nearly reached the Du residence.

A palace matron hurried over with a red bridal veil.

"Young lady, the Marquis has arrived. The propitious hour is upon us—quickly, don your veil!"

*

In the outer courtyard.

Du Zhiqi stood awkwardly, unsure how to receive this new son-in-law—or rather, nephew by marriage.

From aspiring to be a father-in-law to nearly becoming one, only to revert to uncle-in-law—no one understood the humiliation better than he.

Behind Marquis Lu stood a wedding party composed entirely of noble scions: imperial relatives, distinguished aristocrats, and generals with illustrious military achievements. Though Du Zhiqi was the only one in the Du family who could act as host, not one of these nobles spared him more than a glance.

Even the Marquis sipped his tea without a word.

It was only when Du Jicang arrived from the western courtyard that the guests showed any courtesy. The newly qualified *juren* from the Du family’s collateral branch was met with polite greetings—even the Marquis returned his greeting.

Du Zhiqi flushed with humiliation, wishing he could flee, but he could not.

Lu Shenru paid him no mind and instead asked Du Jicang,

"Is my bride... ready?"

Du Jicang nodded. "The Marquis need only wait for the propitious hour."

Scarcely half a cup of tea later, a call rang out outside.

The hour had come—the bride was here!

The man stood at once. Beyond the doors, the rain had eased without notice.

Clad in splendid wedding gown, she walked through the shallow puddles.

The red veil, adorned with gleaming pearls, concealed both her bridal headdress and her face.

Others could not see her. Neither could Lu Shenru.

But the willowy silhouette was unmistakable.

Her gown, cut from the same brocade matching his own, bore the same embroidery by the Marquis’s seamstresses and was studded with pearls he had specially procured. It fitted her frame as though tailored for her alone.

Thus clad in the wedding robes he had given her, she came to stand before him.

It was her—no one else.

The man’s gaze wavered slightly.

The palace matron placed the red silk tassel in Du Jicang’s hands, and he, in turn, passed it to the Marquis.

"My kinswoman's welfare is now entrusted to you, Marquis."

"I’ll remember this," Lu Shenru said.

He firmly grasped the red silk cord adorned with the embroidered ball, gripping it tightly in his palm.

Across from him, beyond the large red embroidered ball, stood his new bride.

His gaze remained fixed on her veil.

Perhaps due to the prolonged moment, someone in the crowd dared to tease,

"Has the Marquis been staring so long out of fear he might have mistaken his bride?"

The remark created an awkward tension over the hall.

The wedding guests all turned their eyes toward the Du family.

Du Jicang remained composed, but Du Zhiqi, already uncomfortable, now flushed under the veiled insinuation.

Would they have to lift the bride’s veil for all to see?

That, of course, was impossible.

Nor would Lu Shenru permit it.

Yet he noticed the faintest slackening of the cord from her end.

He felt reassured.

Had she tensed at the mention, he might have questioned it.

But now, sensing her slight release, he watched her silently, tightening his own grip on the cord.

A subtle tug traveled along the silk, and she seemed to notice, turning slightly toward him—though the veil obscured her vision, and she quickly faced forward again, her hand stilling, ignoring him completely.

Yet Lu Shenru caught every nuance of her aloof gesture.

This was undoubtedly her.

He smirked slightly.

Even veiled, he would never mistake his bride.

Firmly gripping the cord, he ignored the audacious voice that spoke up again.

"Ah, it seems the Marquis has confirmed his choice!"

The crowd chuckled. Lu Shenru glanced and recognized the young master of the Jing'an Marquis House. Despite being allies in war, the Zhou and Lu families’ rivalry dated back to their ancestors' days—only a Zhou would dare provoke so openly.

Lu Shenru shot him a glare, and the young man retreated into the crowd.

Outside, the procession urged them to bid farewell and depart for the bridal sedan.

Du Lingjing’s parents had long passed, so their memorial tablets were displayed. Du Zhiqi and Du Jicang sat in the lower seats, and Du Lingjing bowed deeply before them.

Then Du Jicang carried her on his back, stepping out of the Du family estate in Chengqing Lane.

...

Their marriage was arranged by imperial decree, and the Marquis now took his bride.

The bridal procession no longer circled the imperial city to the north. Instead, the gates of East and West Chang'an Streets swung open, allowing them to pass before the Meridian Gate, traversing from the eastern to the western city.

The rain did nothing to dampen the joyous air. Raindrops blended with the festive music, turning the quiet late autumn into a clamorous spring.

Dressed in red silk robes, the Marquis rode atop a stately horse, while Du Lingjing, veiled, sat in the bridal sedan beside him.

The direct route somehow felt endless to her, as though half a lifetime had passed.

She lost track of time until the sedan came to a gentle halt—she had arrived at the vast and imposing Marquis of Yongding’s estate in Jiqing Lane.

Like Du Lingjing’s parents, his were also gone.

Standing before their tablets, she felt silence from his end of the cord. The man paused, then whispered to his parents’ spirits, "Weishi is wed today."

Lu Shenru, Lu Weishi.

After bowing to heaven and earth, then to their ancestors, the officiant called for the couple’s mutual bow. As Du Lingjing rose, she swayed slightly.

The man’s hand steadied her at once.

"Be careful, my lady."

Light laughter spread through the room. Someone teased, "So eager, Marquis? The bridal chamber awaits!"

Under her red veil, Du Lingjing pressed her lips together and withdrew her hand.

His hand hung awkwardly in the air.

The veil concealed her expression.

But having bowed to heaven and ancestors, she was now his wife—Lu Shenru’s alone, tied to no one else!

As they were urged toward the bridal suite and the unveiling, the couple was ushered toward the nuptial suite.

Fearing the crowd might step on her dress, Lu Shenru summoned Qiu Lin and others to shield her, which only made them laugh harder until they reached the chamber, where the women of the family filled the room, leaving the jesters outside.

Finally, some quiet.

The wedding attendant guided them to the bed, the bed was luxuriously soft. Lu Shenru glanced at his bride, who sat with her head lowered.

The matron recited blessings:

*"Red candles brighten the hall, the phoenix soars with the sun, a hundred years of love and wealth, Marquis and lady paired as one..."*

She recited thirty-six lines flawlessly—thirty-six for good luck. Lu Shenru ordered, "Give her a reward."

Another matron outdid her with even sweeter verses, likening the couple to lovebirds and twin branches, a heavenly match. The Marquis rewarded her generously.

Determined to top her, the first matron improvised another thirty-six lines, the second countered with forty-eight, until the room overflowed with well-wishes. The ladies laughed, "The Marquis is over the moon, his rewards never cease!"

The Marquis ate it up, but it was time to raise the veil.

The matron presented the ritual scale-rod. Everyone stared at the veiled bride.

The Marquis gazed down.

The veil lifted to show her pale chin, then her lips lightly painted red, as soft as rain-washed cherries.

The man's heart skipped a beat as her fair, straight nose came into view, her eyes like still pools beneath thick lashes, glistening like tranquil autumn waters.

A woman among the guests in the room couldn’t help but murmur, "The bride truly looks like a fairy maiden from legend."

Her scent was not heavy with rouge but carried a subtle scent of books and scholar's ink, unique to her.

Lu Shenru felt his heart clear like springwater, and he simply gazed at her, transfixed.

Yet as he continued to lift the veil, the bright glow of the dragon-and-phoenix wedding candles fell upon her face, revealing that above those watery eyes, her fine brows were faintly knit. There was no bridal bashfulness on her face—she merely sat in silence, never once lifting her gaze to meet her husband’s. Though her eyes held no tears, the barest traces of dried tears lingered at their corners.

A strange hush fell over the room. The two matchmakers fell quiet, and even the crackling of the towering candles seemed to cease.

Not a soul dared speak.

Yet everyone knew—this young lady of the Du family had originally been betrothed to Jiang Jieyuan, a scholar from Dowager Consort Jiang’s maternal family. But Jiang Jieyuan had died young, and though the lady had never married, she had kept three years' mourning for him.

She had intended to continue mourning indefinitely—until an imperial decree commanded her marriage with the Marquis. And the Marquis had insisted on her alone, showing no interest in any other member of the Du family.

Now, having boarded the bridal sedan, bowed to heaven and earth, and had her veil lifted, she had become the Marquis’s wife—yet she would not grant him so much as a smile.

No one dared to breathe a word. The dragon-and-phoenix candles guttered as though the tension in the air might extinguish them.

The onlookers feared the Marquis might show displeasure at any moment.

Yet the man remained as composed as before, only his lashes dipping momentarily before raising them again.

Slowly, he reached out, cradling her face as if holding a piece of eggshell porcelain. With his thumb, he gently wiped away the lingering tear at the corner of her eye.

She remained motionless, her gaze turning further aside.

None present had ever witnessed such a scene in another’s bridal chamber. No one dared utter a sound.

Yet the Marquis seemed entirely unbothered, his voice softening as he asked her,

"Shall we drink the wedding cup?"

She neither responded nor refused.

The man glanced at the matchmakers, who startled from their stupor and hurriedly brought forth the wedding wine.

The paired lotus cups of jade were tied together with colorful threads. The Marquis took one.

The matchmaker presented the other to the bride, fearing she might refuse—knowing that while the Marquis was gentle with his bride, he might not extend the same courtesy to others.

But the bride did not make things difficult for them. She accepted the cup.

The two matchmakers exhaled in relief, their earlier eloquence now stumbling as they hastily gathered their wits and proclaimed:

"Shared cups bind united hearts!"

Lu Shenru raised his cup to her. Though she still refused to meet his gaze, she returned the toast, tilting her head back to drink.

The rite was complete.

Never had the assembled guests witnessed a wedding ceremony so thick with tension. Almost in unison, they released a shared exhale of relief.

Within moments, the room emptied, leaving only Du Lingjing and the Marquis seated by the bed.

Outside, voices called for him to join the banquet. For some reason, he did not rise immediately, instead remaining at her side, watching her.

Du Lingjing had already shown the Marquis much defiance earlier and saw no reason to play the demure bride now. In a situation where she was in his power, whether she pleased him or not made little difference.

Since he did not speak, neither did she.

Then, inexplicably, she heard him let out an amused breath, before he finally spoke.

She expected him to question her—but instead, he only asked, "Are you hungry? You’ve barely eaten since yesterday. You'll make yourself ill."

The words finally made her look up. How did he know she hadn’t eaten since yesterday?

He seemed to understand her unspoken question and explained, "I heard it from the palace maids."

Du Lingjing shook her head. She truly wasn’t hungry.

"You should still eat a little," he urged.

The unfamiliar estate, the unfamiliar drapes and candles—everything about the Marquis, whom she had met only a handful of times before, felt increasingly alien to her.

A nobleman of high rank, a lord who wielded life and death—whether he had married her under imperial decree or for some political design, in his eyes, what mattered was only her identity as the Du family's first daughter, not Du Lingjing herself.

Why then would he trouble himself to speak to her with such patience and gentleness?

She didn’t understand.

Yet when met with courtesy, she would respond in kind—regardless of whether his kindness was genuine or feigned, or motivated by some ulterior reason.

Du Lingjing finally replied.

"My thanks, my lord. If I require anything, I will send for it."

Just then, the voices outside grew more insistent, urging him to attend the banquet. This time, he finally made move to depart.

Still, he nodded at her with a smile. "Very well. If you grow hungry, call for someone at any time. Two maids, Ying Bi and Xiang Yi, have been attending the bridal chamber. You may summon them—or anyone else."

After these instructions, he glanced at her once more before finally departing under the repeated calls from outside.

Du Lingjing remained seated by the bed.

The wedding candles burned too bright. She closed her eyes, her mind adrift, until Qiu Lin came to her.

Qiu Lin pulled a few packets of pastries from her sleeve. "My lady, you should eat something."

Du Lingjing truly wasn’t hungry and waved her off.

But Qiu Lin pressed a sweet cake into her hand. "Please, my lady. You’ll grow hungry later. Tonight… who knows how late it may go?"

Du Lingjing went still.

Qiu Lin’s meaning was plain beneath her words.

So when the Marquis had urged her to eat earlier—was this what he meant?

So tonight… he would inevitably claim his rights?

She fell silent. The candle flames wavered.

Qiu Lin, too, could find no words.

If she had married Jiang Third Master, any situation would have been manageable. But now, it wasn't the Third Master before her—it was the Marquis.

Who could stop the Marquis from doing as he pleased?

It was Du Lingjing who called out to her, "It's nothing. You may leave now."

"Miss..."

"It's fine."

Once Qiu Lin left, the room fell silent again.

The heavy headdress dug painfully into her scalp beneath her thick hair.

She remained seated there, gazing at the overwhelming expanse of celebratory red, when suddenly she recalled the day she and Sanlang were betrothed.

It was merely a betrothal, yet so many people had come that day—friends of both families from the city were all present. The Jiang family even brought a set of exquisitely printed Song dynasty books, a gift from Imperial Dowager Consort Jiang.

Standing beside her father, she waited for Sanlang to arrive. That day, Eldest Brother Cang's mother had picked out a daylily-yellow dress for her, a color she rarely wore. Feeling self-conscious, she worried Sanlang might laugh at her for it.

Yet the vibrant hue perfectly suited the joyous occasion, so she wore it anyway.

But she never expected Sanlang to arrive in a splendid crimson robe adorned with auspicious patterns.

Her aunts and uncles on her father's side couldn't help laughing, and even her father chuckled at the sight of Sanlang.

She didn’t see Sanlang’s reaction, but her own face burned with embarrassment.

Was he treating the betrothal like the wedding?!

At that moment, Jiang Liulang, who had always been closest to Sanlang, suddenly spoke up on his behalf, "Esteemed elders of the Du family, please don’t laugh! My third brother is simply overjoyed—so much so that he accidentally wore the wrong clothes—no, no, the *right* clothes!"

Sanlang in red was already amusing, but Liulang’s punchline delivery sent everyone into peals of laughter.

Du Lingjing felt her face grow unbearably warm, yet she noticed Sanlang, though tugging at Liulang to stop his nonsense, had flushed crimson as if dipped in dye.

Head bowed in bashful silence, he couldn’t help but glance at her. When their eyes met, he gave her a faint, gentle smile.

Like spring breeze making flowers bloom.

She forgot how to respond, until Liulang bustled over.

He had already secretly changed his address, now whispering to her with a playful wink.

"Sister-in-law, tell me—if my brother wore crimson today, what could he possibly wear then?"

Yes, what *would* he wear that day? She wondered too.

But the long-arranged engagement, delayed again and again by him, had vanished abruptly.

Just like him—disappearing from the rest of her long life...

Night fell, completely dark.

Qiu Lin returned once more, and the maidservants mentioned by the Marquis also came, bringing two tiered food boxes.

Her thoughts had long drifted away—away from the capital, back to Qingzhou, then to the ends of the earth.

Only when the music and chatter outside had nearly faded did someone push the door open and enter.

Lu Shenru turned to look at the bed—she was still seated in the same spot.

Had she not moved at all?

He carried the scent of wine as he changed out of his outer robe. His gaze swept past the untouched pastries and unopened food boxes on the table.

He sighed and stepped forward. "You haven’t eaten? Would you at least drink some water?"

He casually poured her a cup and handed it to her.

"Thank you." She accepted it but set it aside.

Her eyes were red, her lips somewhat dry.

Had she been crying? For long?

The man pursed his lips and picked up the teacup again. "Drink a little."

He insisted, so Du Lingjing took a small sip.

His brow furrowed slightly, as if dissatisfied with her half-hearted effort.

Just then, an older maid knocked. "Marquis, Madam, it’s time to wash up."

He acknowledged her, and the older maid opened the door. A line of seven or eight maidservants filed in—some carrying water, others holding towels—while the elder maid smiled at them and approached the bed to light a piece of incense.

A nuptial fragrance.

Of course.

Du Lingjing lowered her eyes, allowing the maidservants to remove her elaborate wedding gown. But as they took off the phoenix crown, a stab of pain shot through her forehead.

She inhaled sharply, and the man turned to look, immediately spotting the long, pressed mark left by the headdress.

His frown deepened. The maidservants froze, and even the older maid seemed surprised—likely never expecting the bride to have kept the crown on all this time.

Du Lingjing had to speak up. "I forgot. It’s nothing serious."

The man said nothing. The older maid quickly had a maidservant fetch fresh well water and personally soaked a cloth in the cold water to press against her forehead.

But just as she stepped forward, the Marquis took the cloth from her.

He walked over, pulled up an embroidery stool, and sat beside her. Silently, he pressed the cool cloth against her forehead.

At this show of intimacy, the older maid and maidservants withdrew.

Once again, the room held only the two of them. Du Lingjing was unused to such closeness, seated by the dressing table with no room to retreat. When she tried to take the cloth from him, he refused to let go.

The incense slowly burned, its smoke spiraling from the burner, rising and spreading in the narrowing space between them.

The room was silent save for the occasional pop of the lamp's flame.

Having soothed the mark on her forehead, Lu Shenru’s gaze was drawn to her reddened eyes.

She avoided his look, as usual. But the cool cloth gently pressed against the swollen skin around her eyes.

The traces of her tears gradually faded, and she let out a nearly silent sigh.

But it reminded him of that summer years ago in Qingzhou’s Mianlou.

She spent the entire summer annoyed by the book-eating mice in the library, unable to catch or stop them, sighing by the window lattice.

Separated by a concealed entrance, he counted each of her sighs every day.

Until one day, while chasing a mouse, she accidentally stumbled through the hidden door.

The dawn light was strengthening outside, but the hidden room remained dim.

She wandered in, startling him. The more he froze, trying not to be noticed, the more she reached blindly—until her hand landed on his wrist.

He closed his eyes helplessly and shook his head with a laugh.

Only then did she suddenly realize there was someone hiding in the room.

Before he could explain, she gasped and fled downstairs in shock.

When she returned, she had already learned the truth and stood outside the secret door, blushing as she apologized.

"Sorry, I mistook you for one of the book-eating mice in Mianlou..."

That day, she thought he was a book-eating mouse, but that accidental grasp had captured his heart instead.

And never let go...

Through twists and turns, Lu Shenru couldn’t say whether their marriage was fate or human choice, but in the end, she was his wife.

The cloth in his hand grew warm, and her intoxicating fragrance in the air thickened.

As the cloth brushed past the corner of her eye, it somehow landed on her lips.

Du Lingjing didn’t understand why he was wiping her lips, but the fabric’s touch sent a strange tingling sensation through her, making her instinctively want to turn away.

But the next moment, he suddenly cupped her face.

His warm lips lightly pressed against hers.

The instant his lips met hers, she froze.

The candlelight flickered, her heart trembled—she wanted to pull away, yet she knew this was inevitable tonight.

But what had begun as a light as a feather kiss gradually deepened.

The next moment, he captured her lips, and her breath hitched.

That hitch sent Lu Shenru’s own breathing into disarray. Her soft lips were like honey wine, sweet enough to intoxicate.

Unable to resist, he pressed further, his tongue brushing against her teeth.

Her teeth instinctively clenched, and her hands pressed against his chest.

The man paused—but then, in one swift motion, he swept an arm beneath her knees and lifted her into his arms.

The moment her feet left the ground, she gasped in surprise, and he seized the chance to part her lips.

Her breathing grew more frantic. The towering dragon-and-phoenix wedding candles, lit just for them, illuminated her furrowed brow and the shimmering pools of her eyes.

He carried her to the bed in a few quick strides, reaching it in just two steps.

The maids had prepared layers of soft brocade quilts for them. He laid her down, the quilts wrapping around her.

Leaning over her, he caught her lips again before she could escape. She squeezed her eyes shut, flustered and helpless.

Du Lingjing understood—this was their wedding night.

Suppressing the unexplainable tightness in her throat, she untied the sash of her underrobe herself.

If this was inevitable tonight, then she would take the initiative—at least to maintain some control.

The man stilled, surprise flashing in his eyes.

His lips finally left hers, his gaze first lingering on her face, then trailing down as her thin garment slipped away, revealing the delicate curves no one had ever seen.

"Good," he rasped.

He sat up, his chest like carved stone now bared before her.

Du Lingjing couldn’t bear to look. She shut her eyes completely.

His palm was even hotter than before. He gently brushed aside the partially slipped robe from her shoulder, and as the fabric fell, his hand rested against her bare shoulder.

With his other hand, he traced lightly, the cool breeze carrying the fragrance of silk tree flowers gliding over her waist and thighs.

Sensing her tense at the cool air, he drew the bed curtains shut, blocking the breeze. Within the canopy, beneath the quilts, only the two of them remained, bared to each other.

He lifted her, his rough thumb circling her navel. Her spine relaxed, letting him guide her to lean against the large, soft pillows.

Then, suddenly, he called her name in a husky whisper.

"Quan Quan," he said, "my wife..."

Du Lingjing hardly noticed the latter half—but how... how did he know her pet name?

That was the pet name Sanlang had given her.

Her fine brows drew together as she stared at him intently.

Lu Shenru understood her silent question.

But if Jiang San could call her that, why couldn’t he?

Ignoring her questioning look, his hand slid from her ankle to the back of her knee.

Du Lingjing couldn’t help a sharp intake of breath.

The man seemed to unleash long-suppressed frustration and resentment. His fingers traveled upward, the roughness of his callouses grazing her fair skin, pausing briefly in the dip of her waist before settling at her waist.

The next moment, he moved decisively, closing the remaining space between them, claiming her completely.