Chapter 8.2

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With this announcement, she and Xie Zheng, holding onto the red silk ribbon, were finally led into their prepared room. Although called a “bridal chamber,” it was quite simple—just red paper cutouts with the character for “happiness” pasted on the doors and windows, and the bed covered with celebratory red bedding.

After a series of auspicious blessings from the fortune-blessing woman, Xie Zheng was finally instructed to lift the veil from Fan Changyu’s head.

The room brightened before her, and the figures inside came into sharp focus. Earlier, when she’d sneaked a peek outside, she’d only managed a fleeting glance before hurriedly dropping the veil back down. Now, with him standing just a step away, Fan Changyu looked at Xie Zheng in his red robe, once again marveling at the truth of the saying: clothes really do make the person.

In that attire today, if Xie Zheng walked down the street, he’d probably leave quite a few young women starry-eyed.

The fortune-blessing woman beamed, saying, “Look at this, what a fine-looking bride! She and the groom truly are a match made in heaven!”

The women nearby covered their mouths, chuckling. Fan Changyu, though slightly embarrassed, managed a polite smile.

Xie Zheng’s expression remained calm and unreadable, giving no hint of his thoughts. The fortune-blessing woman and the other women in the room began to sprinkle peanuts and red dates over the couple’s heads, cheerfully chanting, “May you soon be blessed with children!”

As the nuts and dates hit her, it stung a little, prompting Fan Changyu to speak up, “Thank you, aunts, for your blessings, but my husband is still recovering from injuries. Tossing these treats is purely symbolic, so perhaps we can leave it at that today.”

Her comment brought another round of teasing from the women. “Look at that! Changyu’s already so protective of her husband!”

Fan Changyu endured the playful remarks, and only after they finally ushered everyone out did she turn to Xie Zheng and ask, “Did that hurt?”

Xie Zheng looked at her, his gaze unreadable. “Not at all.”

Relieved, Fan Changyu added, “I need to go out and greet the guests. You can rest here in the room, and if you’re hungry, feel free to help yourself to the pastries on the table.”

Those words were supposed to come from the groom to the bride, but coming out of Fan Changyu’s mouth, they sounded oddly misplaced. After a moment of silence, Xie Zheng gave a slight nod. Bearing his injuries and enduring for so long, he clearly looked fatigued.

Fan Changyu went outside to greet the guests. Since she had no elder relatives to host on her behalf and had brought her husband into the family as a live-in son-in-law, few urged her to drink. Everyone enjoyed a lively meal, and as night fell, they began to take their leave one by one.

After the gathering dispersed, Fan Changyu was tidying up tables and benches when she noticed a brocade box left on a table near the door. Curious, she turned to Aunt Zhao, who was helping clean up. “Auntie, who left this gift?”

Aunt Zhao looked puzzled. “The gift ledger was finished before the meal started, and I didn’t see this box earlier. It must have been dropped off later, but it’s strange they didn’t mention it.”

When Fan Changyu opened the box and saw a pair of clay figurines inside—styled as a boy and girl—her expression instantly turned cold. She tossed the box straight into the pile of trash Aunt Zhao had just swept up, and the clay figurines shattered on the spot.

Seeing Fan Changyu’s reaction, Aunt Zhao quickly recognized the broken clay figurines—a boy and a girl—and her face darkened. She spat in the direction of the Song family’s home. “Those heartless scoundrels! When trouble came, he washed his hands of it faster than anyone else, and now he sends this to ruin your wedding day?”

Fan Changyu replied, “Auntie, don’t be upset. Why bother with people who don’t matter?”

Her anger wasn’t stirred by any painful memories the figurines brought up; it was simply the disgust they caused. She had given this very set of clay dolls to Song Yan years ago, the year his father passed. He’d been somber and withdrawn, and at just seven or eight years old, she had offered the dolls to cheer him up.

Over the years, Fan Changyu believed her parents had treated Song Yan generously, yet after they passed, it was he who came swiftly to break off their engagement. When Fan Da brought thugs from the gambling hall to harass her, he shut his doors and refused to see her. And now, on her wedding day, he sends these dolls—what was he trying to say?

This bitter frustration stayed with her, and even later that evening, when she sat down for dinner with her own family, her face remained cold and expressionless.

Xie Zheng, injured and unable to move easily, had his meal brought to him by Fan Changyu. “You’re hurt, so I picked out some lighter dishes for you,” she said as she set the food down.

Noticing her unusual expression as soon as she entered, Xie Zheng didn’t press her about it. He simply lowered his gaze slightly and thanked her quietly.

By the time everything was cleaned up, it was nearly the hour of Hai (between 9 and 11 p.m.). Aunt Zhao was about to carry the sleeping Changning next door, but Fan Changyu stopped her. “Since our parents passed, Ning has always slept with me. Otherwise, she gets night terrors and cries.”

Aunt Zhao shook her head. “On an ordinary night, that would be fine, but it’s your wedding night. No matter what, the newlyweds should share a room; it’s bad luck otherwise.”

Without giving Fan Changyu a chance to argue, Aunt Zhao carried Changning out of the room.

The courtyard, once bustling during the day, now felt deserted and still. A festive red lantern hung high under the eaves, casting a warm, yellowish glow in the snowy night.

Fan Changyu sat on the doorstep, knees pulled up, watching the snowflakes drift down in large, silent flurries. After a moment of contemplation, she rose and went back inside.

Since this marriage was only in name, Fan Changyu had no intention of actually sharing a room with Xie Zheng.

However, all the blankets were stored in the bridal chamber, which used to be her room. After her parents’ passing, her younger sister Changning, too afraid to sleep alone, had moved in with her. Now, with the room converted for the wedding, the bed in the adjoining room hadn’t been prepared.

Out of habit, as it was the room she had lived in for over ten years, Fan Changyu pushed the door open and walked right in. Only then did she realize that Xie Zheng was in the middle of changing clothes. His outer robe had been removed, and he was standing with his back to her, his inner shirt halfway slipped down, one sleeve caught on his elbow, the other hanging to his waist.

It was a striking figure—his bare skin, interrupted by gauze-wrapped wounds, revealed a warm, honey-toned complexion under the soft glow of the wedding candles. His muscles, lean and well-defined, stood out clearly in the light.

Surprised by her sudden entrance, Xie Zheng turned his head slightly. His chiseled face, with its cool expression, carried an unexpectedly restrained and alluring quality in that moment.

Fan Changyu stood there in a daze, staring for several long seconds until he frowned slightly in irritation, pulling his shirt back up and asking, “Do you need something?”

Fan Changyu snapped back to reality, suddenly aware that she must have looked like some lecher ogling a modest young man. Her face burned as she quickly turned around. “Sorry! I forgot to knock—I just came in to grab a blanket.”

“Go ahead,” came the voice from behind, cool and clear.

Doing her best to keep her eyes straight ahead, Fan Changyu retrieved two blankets from the cabinet, holding them close to her chest as she quickly left the room without daring to look back. Only when she turned the corner outside did she let out a long, relieved breath, taking in several deep breaths to calm herself.

How embarrassing! If he misunderstands, I’ll never live it down!

Xie Zheng, with his keen hearing, naturally caught the sound of her exhalation. His expression remained unchanged as he waited until her footsteps faded before undoing his bandages and applying medicine to his more severe wounds.

The medicine—a rare, potent healing powder delivered by a messenger falcon—was highly effective but came at a cost. The moment the powder touched his wounds, the intense sting made his muscles tense, veins bulging along his arms. Cold sweat gathered on his forehead, and his jaw clenched so tightly that he tasted a faint hint of blood in his mouth.

To avoid getting blood on the bed, Xie Zheng sat on a wooden stool, fists clenched and resting on his knees. His rigid back was slick with sweat and blood, which trickled down slowly, making the scene look more like torture than healing. As beads of sweat dripped from his brow, he didn’t blink once; his eyes, shadowed by the candlelight, held a dark intensity.

This pain and these wounds… he would pay it all back in full.

Suddenly, footsteps outside the room returned. Xie Zheng raised his gaze, still carrying a trace of hostility, toward the door.

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