Chu Ruoyan’s lips curved slightly. Who else could it be?
It could only be Young Master Lang.
She hadn’t expected that after asking him for just one favor, he would throw in another as a bonus.
“Then I’ll trouble the two of you.”
Chu Ruoyan gave a slight nod, and the two women hastily assured her it was no trouble.
Mrs. Ge then began combing her hair, while Aunt Fang, after threading her face, dabbed rouge onto her cheeks…
Chu Ruoyan closed her eyes, letting them work their magic until she heard a satisfied “Done.” Only then did she open her eyes.
“Is… is this really me?”
She gazed at the reflection in the bronze mirror—arched brows like crescent moons, eyes shimmering with starlight, jet-black hair framing a delicate nose, snow-pale cheeks, and lips like vermilion. Her petite face, flushed from the threading, glowed with an added allure, captivating enough to make one forget time itself…
“Aunt Fang, your skill is truly unmatched…”
Chu Ruoyan murmured to her reflection, unaware of the sheer astonishment in Aunt Fang’s eyes.
So alike… uncannily so!
At first glance, she had thought her eyes deceived her, but now, with the makeup applied, the resemblance was striking—almost as if the long-departed mother of the Pavilion Master stood before her! Had the age not been mismatched, she would have sworn it was her.
A flicker of surprise also flashed in Mrs. Ge’s eyes, but she quickly composed herself, pulling Aunt Fang aside.
Nanny Zhou and Yulu then began dressing her.
Layer upon layer of the wedding gown was fastened, the sash wrapped tightly around her waist. By the time they finished, the once-bustling room had fallen silent.
All eyes were fixed on her—filled with awe, admiration, even disbelief…
Even the usually boisterous Chu Ruolan was struck speechless, murmuring, “So beautiful… Eldest Sister is too beautiful…”
Chu Ruoyan chuckled softly and shook her head. Just then, a maid rushed in. “Miss, the Chief Grand Secretary… no, I mean, the groom! The groom has come in person to fetch you!”
Chu Ruoyan instinctively rose, only for Lady Liu to press her back down. “Tell the groom to wait a little longer. Say the bride isn’t ready yet!”
She blinked up in confusion, but Lady Liu winked playfully. “I’ve heard the groom is a literary genius. Wouldn’t you like to witness it for yourself?”
Realization dawned—this was a request for a “cui zhuang” poem, a tradition where the groom composes verses to hasten the bride’s appearance.
Well, given his talents, it shouldn’t be a problem… right?
Moments later, the maid returned with an armful of scrolls. “Miss, the groom asked if these are enough. If not, he’ll fetch more poets to compose additional ones…”
Chu Ruoyan’s eyelid twitched. She picked up one scroll and read aloud, “‘Bidding farewell to the immortals paying homage to the Queen Mother, already the blue bird heralds the arrival of Yan Lang…’ Author: Guo Si. Guo Si?!”
She nearly bit her tongue in shock. Chu Ruoyin snatched the scroll to examine it. “This is the handwriting of Guo Si, the Imperial Academy’s Chancellor! Good heavens, did Chief Grand Secretary Yan actually drag the Chancellor of the Imperial Academy here to compose a cui zhuang poem?!”
Lady Liu’s amused expression froze. Chu Ruoyan’s scalp prickled, and she hastily stood. “Ladies, let’s not make this harder for him. I’ll prepare to leave now.”
Honestly, what was Yan Zheng thinking, inviting the Imperial Academy’s Chancellor—a revered scholar of the literary world—to write a cui zhuang poem?
Since when did she hold such prestige?
Nanny Zhou quickly handed her the golden-threaded silk fan. Chu Ruoyan raised it to shield her face and let Yulu guide her out the door.
“She’s coming! She’s coming!”
“Look, the bride is here!”
The clamor of gongs and drums swelled as the crowd erupted into cheers.
Countless eyes—some curious, others envious—turned toward her, but all they could see was the graceful figure pausing at the threshold.
“The bride departs, bidding farewell to her parents—”
Chu Ruoyan knelt before her father, supported by Yulu’s hand. “Father’s teachings, your daughter carries in her heart. A lifetime of kindness cannot be repaid in words. I pray only for your health and longevity.” She bit her lip to hold back tears, then bowed deeply three times.
Chu Huaishan’s eyes stung. Clenching his fists to steady himself, he managed, “Once married, support your husband… Do not worry about home anymore, understand?”
Hearing the barely suppressed tremor in his voice, Chu Ruoyan nearly lifted the fan for one last look.
But Yulu swiftly stopped her, whispering, “Miss, endure a little longer. The groom is already here!”
Then came the sound of steady footsteps behind her.
A familiar, cool voice followed. “Your son-in-law, Yan Zheng, greets his father-in-law.”
Chu Ruoyan glanced sideways to see the figure in red kneel beside her, mirroring her gesture.
Chu Huaishan was taken aback—grooms seldom knelt before the bride’s family in public. But then he understood: Yan Zheng was reassuring her.
Emotions surged within him. At her first wedding, not only had no one knelt, but the groom hadn’t even shown up.
Now, here they were—a perfect pair, standing together. Was this not fate’s recompense?
“Enough. Rise, lest you miss the auspicious hour.” Chu Huaishan drew a deep breath. “Chief Grand Secretary Yan, I entrust my daughter to you.”
Yan Zheng nodded solemnly, bowed once more, then turned to her.
Even through the golden fan, Chu Ruoyan felt the weight of his gaze—burning, intense.
“A’Yan, I’ve come for you.”
The world seemed to still.
As his long, elegant fingers stretched toward her, memories flooded her mind.
Their first meeting before the imperial gates—those eyes, cold and lifeless.
Their wedding night—his breathtaking beauty marred by detachment.
Him standing alone in the rain outside Fengtian Hall.
His smile, reassuring her despite his grievous wounds.
That night they sought refuge in An Sheng, his plea for forgiveness…
Too many moments to count. Her chest swelled until warmth spilled into every limb.
Chu Ruoyan smiled, and a single tear slipped free.
“Alright.”
She placed her left hand in his.
His palm was searing, perhaps even damp with nerves.
Yet the instant their fingers touched, he clasped tight—as if vowing never to let go, not in this life or the next.
“The bride departs! Sound the drums!”
Gongs clashed, firecrackers roared.
Amid the cacophony of well-wishes and cheers, Chu Ruoyan’s heart was serene.
She had entrusted herself to the one who would cherish her for a lifetime.
Even if their days were numbered, even if dawn brought uncertainty—here and now, he was with her.
Solid. Real.
Not far off, a pair of indifferent eyes watched the scene.
Old Divine Doctor Qin stood behind, uneasy. “Are you certain about this? Isn’t it too cruel?”
The man in red, his hair stark white, smirked—yet his eyes remained icy. “She chose this path. Who’s to blame?”
The old doctor sighed. “Very well. I’ll prepare as planned… But Young Master Lang, once this is done, you and I will also…”
Young Master Lang raised a hand, silencing him.
