Chapter 21

Chapter 21

The bed curtains had fallen at some point, muting most of the light from the dragon-and-phoenix wedding candles. The hazy light made everything around them fade into the background.

Only the sudden heat at her threshold was magnified infinitely, spreading through her waist, abdomen, and spine with an unfamiliar sensation as he applied gentle pressure.

Du Lingjing stiffened, her body trembling uncontrollably.

The man clearly noticed her trembling. His rough thumb stroked the delicate skin at her waist, attempting to soothe her.

Yet, instead of relaxing her, his touch only made her abdomen tense further.

But she had already resolved herself—these were inevitable parts of the wedding night. No matter how unbearable, she had to endure.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to suppress the tremors.

Perhaps sensing her slight calm, he lowered his head and brushed his lips against her temple.

But the next moment, his grip on her waist tightened abruptly.

Then, like a sudden storm, he pressed against her entrance, sliding downward with increasing force, the heat growing fiercer, as if he were about to cross the threshold in the next instant—unstoppable.

Du Lingjing’s mind went blank. All at once, her entire body shook violently.

She didn’t understand what was happening to her. It felt as if all the blood had drained from her limbs, leaving her icy and trembling, as though plunged into an ice-cold void.

The man paused. “Quan Quan?”

That familiar childhood name—one unused for years—now came from the lips of this stranger before her.

The cold tremors did not cease. Instead, they grew even more uncontrollable.

Her mind was a void, but she faintly understood—this was resistance, rising from the deepest part of her being.

She resisted this arranged marriage, resisted marrying anyone but Third Brother, and most of all, resisted this Marquis who had forced this marriage upon her.

Yet, at this moment, there was no turning back for either of them.

Her heart sank into an abyss. She clenched her teeth, determined to maintain some semblance of dignity.

But the man before her suddenly stopped.

In the dimness of the bed curtains, he let out a soft sigh.

The next moment, he withdrew, pulling the embroidered quilt over her and wrapping her tightly within it.

The thick quilt enveloped her from her feet to her ears, warm and snug, still holding the day's warmth.

Unconsciously, she inhaled the scent of sun-warmed fabric. Everything around her was unfamiliar, but this warmth made her feel as if familiar sunlight had seeped into the room.

Her trembling gradually subsided.

But their earlier encounter had been interrupted by her distress.

Head bowed, voice low, she murmured, “I’m sorry.”

She had likely dampened his ardor, yet the union would need completion eventually.

She clenched her hands, willing herself to calm down quickly.

But instead, he lifted her, quilt and all, and placed her against the innermost side of the bed.

The inner chamber grew even darker. Unable to help herself, she glanced up at him. Beads of sweat glistened on his prominent nose, but his expression had gradually grown calm.

His voice was hoarse, as if his throat had been injured, now deeper and rougher than ever.

“Rest,” he said.

Du Lingjing didn’t fully understand his meaning. Then, he reached out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. As his fingertips brushed her cheek, he added,

“I’ll handle this myself.”

She froze. He turned and stepped away from the bed, his form vanishing behind the curtain layers.

He had actually left.

She sat frozen, wrapped in the quilt, her mind empty.

Outside, the delicate autumn rain that had fallen like a fine mesh in the morning now pattered down again. The sound of raindrops striking banana leaves echoed outside, and her wandering thoughts followed the rhythm—each drop splashing and scattering, lost to the wind.

The rain continued, and she listened blankly.

She couldn’t tell how much time had passed when suddenly, the candle flame crackled. Someone moved outside the bed curtains again.

The man was tall and broad-shouldered, his lean waist and long legs clearly visible even through the gauzy fabric.

He seemed to be wearing only his undergarments, his torso bare. His robe was bunched up, wrapped around something, which he tossed into a chest.

The scent of photinia flowers drifted out. Du Lingjing paused in confusion.

Then he pulled on a fresh robe and went to the table, standing quietly as he drank an entire cup of cold tea.

The cup emptied, but he didn’t turn back immediately. Instead, he gazed out the window.

Inside and outside, all was quiet—only the constant patter of rain on banana leaves remained.

But he didn’t linger long. When he turned back, he put out the incense the attendants had lit earlier.

Approaching the bed, he met her gaze through the sheer curtains, surprised.

“Still sitting up? Not asleep yet?”

Only then did Du Lingjing realize her mind had truly gone blank—her eyes had unconsciously followed his movements for who knew how long.

He lifted the curtain and stepped back into bed. Flustered, she averted her gaze.

But with the slightest movement, the quilt slipped from her shoulders.

A chill crept over her exposed skin, and she froze, suddenly aware that she was still unclothed—while he sat right in front of her.

Her breath hitched. On instinct, she reached for her clothes, or to pull the quilt back up—but then she remembered.

Not long ago, they had already been bare before each other, pressed together so intimately, nearly at the point of no return. Covering up now seemed foolish.

Yet she still needed to dress. She glanced about, but her undergarments were nowhere to be seen. She could at least put on her robe.

But before she could reach for it, he picked it up first.

Unable to help herself, she automatically covered herself somewhat, holding out a hand for the robe. But when she reached out, he didn’t pass it to her.

What’s going on?

She couldn’t figure out what he meant, but he draped the garment over her shoulders.

Du Lingjing was completely baffled and could only follow along, putting it on.

But as soon as she slid her arms into the sleeves, he pinched the front of her robe.

Grasping the sheer, gauzy fabric, he draped it carefully over her exposed chest.

Her heart fluttered nervously.

Yet earlier, in that heated moment, he had restrained himself and stopped, taking care of it himself instead of pressing on.

So now…?

Du Lingjing was utterly bewildered and could only let him be.

His gaze, however, didn’t linger there but his eyes stayed locked on hers instead. Unsure how to respond, she turned slightly away.

He then tied the sash for her and gently took her hand.

"Get some rest," he said, holding her gaze. "We can wait until you’re ready."

...

Outside the window, the rain divided where it met the banana leaves—half vanishing into the world’s rivers, the rest tapping a rhythm in her ears.

Everything tonight had defied all her expectations—both herself and the man beside her.

As promised, he did nothing more, simply holding her in his arms as they listened to the night rain and slept.

Du Lingjing thought there was no way she could fall asleep like this, yet she didn’t pull away. Unwittingly, lulled by the rain pattering on the leaves, she drifted into sleep.

By the time she woke the next morning, the man was already gone.

Qiu Lin, hearing movement, rushed in anxiously. "How are you, miss? I listened all night—no calls for water. Did… did the Marquis leave you untouched?"

Well… that wasn’t entirely true…

The memory rose unbidden of the previous night. She didn’t know how to explain it to Qiu Lin—or whether what had transpired between him and her behind the bed’s drapes was even something Qiu Lin should know.

Her thoughts were still foggy, her eyes aching and puffy.

She pressed her lips tight, remaining silent, leaving Qiu Lin even more confused.

What exactly had happened between the miss and the Marquis last night?

She wanted to ask further, but the miss suddenly instructed, "My eyes are sore. Bring me a damp, cool cloth."

Before the words even settled, the Marquis happened to walk in from outside.

"Your eyes hurt? Bad?"

At his question, Qiu Lin shot the "new master" a wary glance.

Du Lingjing also glanced over at the sound of his voice but immediately averted her gaze the moment their eyes met.

She shook her head, yet he closed the distance in two strides.

Qiu Lin had the inexplicable urge to shield her miss, but the Marquis made no improper move—only leaned in to examine her eyes closely.

He stood nearer this time, and for some reason, the miss didn’t turn away coldly as before but merely tilted her face slightly, avoiding his gaze.

The Marquis remarked that her eyes weren’t overly swollen. "Try pressing the Jingming and Taiyang points to relieve the pressure."

With that, he dragged a chair closer and sat before her, raising his hands to massage the points around her eyes.

His actions made Qiu Lin glance at the miss—would she refuse?

Indeed, the miss spoke up and shifted slightly. "The Marquis needn’t bother."

Why was she being so polite? Qiu Lin frowned inwardly.

But the politeness didn’t deter him. His fingers worked gently over her temples. "Just a moment."

Qiu Lin thought that if the miss refused again, she would offer to do it herself and keep the Marquis at a distance.

Yet the miss said nothing more, allowing him to stay close, his fingertips resting on her eyelids.

She only furrowed her brows slightly, her gaze lowered, her expression a tangle of sadness, confusion, and surrender.

Watching this, Qiu Lin’s mind reeled.

She wanted even more to know—what exactly had happened between the Marquis and the miss last night, amid the night’s relentless rain?

But her lady kept silent, and the Marquis certainly wouldn’t tell her. The truth would stay hidden.

Outside, wind sighed through the carved shutters.

She simply sat there, eyes closed in quietude.

Her quiet composure made the man look at her a few moments longer, his eyes thoughtful.

...

Soon, breakfast was served.

A simple breakfast was served like a feast. The serving maid explained that the dishes were prepared by a chef specializing in Capital-style Shandong dishes.

Du Lingjing shot the Marquis a furtive look, but he immediately caught her gaze and smiled.

"Has your appetite improved today?"

Flushing slightly, she nodded silently and ate her meal.

After breakfast, they made their way to the ancestral hall at the back of the estate.

As soon as they reached the courtyard outside, Du Lingjing noticed the man beside her straighten, his ease slipping away. Gravely, he stepped forward and personally pushed open the doors to the hall—no servant stepping in for him.

The House of Yongding was built on heroism.

Now, the ancestral hall loomed, its walls lined with tablets.

From the moment they entered, he went utterly still.

Du Lingjing looked at the tablets, tiered in rows—many even relegated to the edges, honoring men of Lu Shenru’s generation.

Was this from back then?

In the 14th year of Hongqi, when the previous emperor was still alive, the Lu family led the Yongding Army to resist the Tatar forces marching south. However, due to political strife between civil and military factions in the court, reinforcements were delayed, and over half of the Lu family's generals were lost in that battle...

The merits of the Marquis of Yongding's household are remembered by all.

Du Lingjing also held her breath, following him in paying respects to the fallen heroes of the Lu family by offering incense.

As they rose to leave, he turned to another side, lowering his gaze to an ancestral tablet from his generation.

He whispered something specifically to that tablet—Du Lingjing couldn’t make out the words—but she saw him gently brush away the fine dust on it before placing it back and leaving the ancestral hall with her.

Today, they were supposed to go to the palace to thank the emperor for the arranged marriage.

But a message had just come from the palace: after the morning court session, the emperor had become lightheaded upon returning to the inner palace following extended attempts to mediate between civil and military officials who clashed over a proposal to reduce military expenditures.

The formal gratitude would have to be postponed until the next day.

Lu Shenru wasn’t in a hurry. He had originally intended to accompany her, but several late-arriving army officers had arrived at the front courtyard to offer their congratulations, so he had no choice but to attend to them.

Once he left, Du Lingjing let out an unconscious sigh of relief.

The rain had stopped early in the morning, but a faint lingering autumn night's dampness lingered outside the window.

She sat at the dressing table by the window, intending to flip through a book, but couldn’t bring herself to do so. Instead, she quietly gazed at the broad-leafed banana tree brought from Jiangnan outside.

Though the marriage was arranged by imperial decree, it wasn’t completely blind. She had heard some things about the marquis—at least, from the recent chaos, she could discern a few things.

He was a powerful noble who dominated court politics, a high-ranking minister who decided life and death—that much was undeniable.

Even Madam Wan, whom the noble families of the capital revered and flattered, was disregarded by him. With just a gesture, he had nearly taken Gu Yangsi’s life.

No wonder civil officials accused him of building a faction that blotted out the sun, exercising power capriciously, and maintaining troops at the frontier, refusing to loosen his grip—threatening the very foundation of the court.

A power-mad minister, perhaps even a sycophantic one—precisely the kind of person Du Lingjing had always disliked the most.

Moreover, she had resisted the marriage tooth and nail but ultimately failed. She had braced for the worst the night before.

Yet, he hadn’t.

That he had fallen for her at first sight at the Pillow Moon Tower—she found it hard to believe.

But he seemed to show an unusual... patience toward her.

Yet how many times had they even met?

Du Lingjing felt a headache building, her eyes burning too.

Just over a month ago, when she had left home, she had promised Third Brother in the bamboo groves of Qingzhou that she would return soon. Yet now, amid all this chaos, she had become another man's wife.

The ache in her eyes grew heavier. There were no bamboo groves outside the window—only the half-open lattice window and the broad leaves of the banana tree swaying gently in the wind.

When Lu Shenru pushed the door open, he saw her sitting by the window, resting her chin in her hand. She didn’t speak, as if lost in thought—or perhaps unable to make sense of it—gazing absently at the banana tree outside.

The man didn’t disturb her. He stood silently, watching her for a long time. She remained completely unaware of him. He walked to the side and poured a cup of tea—still, she didn’t notice. Watching her, he simply took the tea and sat in the round-backed chair behind her.

She wasn’t wearing the red wedding dress, only a teal-blue embroidered jacket in her chamber. Her black hair spilled over her shoulders as she sat in the center of the round lattice window, the carved eaves outside framing the swaying plantain in her view.

Like an immortal scene from a painting.

But at this moment, it wasn’t in the heavens above, nor in memories, nor in a dream.

Only in his sight.

Lu Shenru sat behind her, motionless, his gaze softening involuntarily.

Then the wind rustled the carved window frame, and he saw her silently raise a hand to wipe the corner of her eye.

His heart skipped.

He wanted to tell her not to cry—that it would worsen her eyes—but the words remained unspoken.

He simply watched her quietly, not disturbing her. Only when she gradually composed herself did he slowly exhale in relief.

If she was to be married to him, she shouldn’t live in sorrow.