A bridal procession of several dozen people, a grand red sedan chair embroidered with a phoenix greeting the sun—the Ministry of Rites had left no detail to chance in its arrangements.
The only thing missing was the people.
The Yan Family had sent no one to greet the bride.
"This is beyond insulting! Even in the direst circumstances, they should have sent someone!"
Chu Ruoyin couldn’t hold back her outrage, but Chu Ruoyan gently pressed her hand, signaling her to stop.
The Yan Family had three branches.
The eldest, Grand General Yan Xu, led the family. The second branch was headed by Yan Lin, a senior official in the Hanlin Academy, who had married the daughter of Minister Xue and fathered two sons and a daughter. The third branch, Yan Xin, was stationed in Jingzhou, though his wife, Madam Li, and their four children remained in the capital.
Even if Yan Zheng was confined to a wheelchair, how could none of his cousins be spared to attend the bridal procession?
"Your Grace, please understand—the General’s residence is preoccupied with funeral arrangements and truly cannot spare anyone. But rest assured, all ceremonial rites have been observed. The groom awaits in the wedding hall, and the Young Lady of Chu will not be slighted."
The Ministry of Rites official offered a cautious smile. Chu Huaishan’s fury burned, but the sight of his daughter softened his heart into aching sorrow.
This foolish girl was so determined to marry into that family. If she knew the Yan Family hadn’t even sent a representative, wouldn’t her heart break?
Suppressing his anger, he said, "Ruoyan, take care of yourself. Remember my words—the gates of the Duke of Chu's Mansion will always be open to you."
Chu Ruoyan bowed in acknowledgment.
The official from the Ministry of Rites inwardly groaned.
What kind of farce was this? The groom’s side absent from the bridal procession, the bride’s family already speaking of her return—it made him seem like the villain forcing this union.
Still, after much ado, the sedan chair was finally carried out of the Duke of Chu's Mansion.
The journey was lively with music and celebration.
"Whose family is marrying off a daughter with such grandeur?"
"They say it’s the Duke of Chu's Mansion—to the Yan Family."
"Heavens, isn’t she marrying a cripple?"
"What of it? The Yan Family sacrificed for the nation! The Emperor himself granted Yan Zheng the title of Marquis of Peace!"
Marquis of Peace?
Inside the sedan, Chu Ruoyan stiffened at the title.
Imperial honors were customary—titles like the Loyal and Brave Marquis of the previous dynasty or the current Border-Pacifying Marquis all carried martial prestige.
Yet for Yan Zheng, the Emperor chose "Peace." Had His Majesty uncovered his ambitions?
Lost in thought, she barely noticed when the sedan arrived.
The wedding attendant helped her alight, guided her over the ceremonial fire pan, and led her into the main hall, where Yan Zheng waited.
Her vision obscured, she could only see him seated in a wheelchair, clad in crimson wedding robes, his posture rigidly upright.
"The bride has arrived! Bow to heaven and earth!"
At the officiant’s call, attendants moved to assist, but Yan Zheng ignored them. With a heavy thud, he knelt—
"Your guilty subject, Yan Zheng, thanks the Emperor for his boundless grace!"
---
The bridal chamber glowed with red candles and warm drapes.
Chu Ruoyan sat silently at the edge of the bed. Yulu offered pastries from a box, but she had no appetite.
"My lady, please eat something. The… groom is occupied with receiving guests, and who knows when he’ll return? You haven’t eaten all day—at least have a bite."
Chu Ruoyan shook her head. "No need. You’ve worked hard today—rest. You needn’t keep watch here."
Yulu relented, leaving the pastries nearby in case hunger struck.
Alone, the room fell quiet save for the crackle of the twin red candles.
Chu Ruoyan’s scalp prickled as she recalled the scene in the wedding hall.
That Yan Zheng was truly cunning—even his wedding became a performance for the Emperor.
She remembered clearly: in her dreams, Yan Zheng had not only rebelled but also beheaded dozens of royals, hanging their heads on the city walls!
A ruthless butcher. Should she…?
Her fingers brushed the golden hairpin at her temple—
The door creaked open.
She straightened, only to see a small figure slip inside.
The child circled her, studying her intently before piping up in a clear voice, "Are you my future Third Aunt?"
Chu Ruoyan paused, then understood.
The Yan Family’s youngest generation had only one child: Yan Wenjing, son of the late heir Yan Xun and Madam Rong.
Her heart softened—this boy had lost his mother in childbirth, and now his father had died in battle.
"Yes. You must be Wenjing?"
He nodded, then asked, "Do you like my Third Uncle?"
Chu Ruoyan faltered.
She was here to kill his Third Uncle—how could she like him?
But she wouldn’t lie to a child. As she weighed her words, a sudden weight lifted—her bridal veil was yanked away!
Light stung her eyes. Before her stood a boy of five or six, rosy-cheeked and adorable, yet his gaze was unnervingly cold as he declared:
"You don’t like my Third Uncle. You’re a bad woman!"
Before she could react to the rudeness, a flustered nursemaid rushed in.
"Good heavens, Young Master! How could you barge in here and cause trouble?"
Yan Wenjing’s lips quivered. In an instant, his icy demeanor melted into pitiable tears.
"Nanny, I didn’t! Third Aunt gave me the veil herself…"
His pout and watery eyes left Chu Ruoyan stunned.
What kind of little devil was this?
The nursemaid frowned, muttering, "How improper to remove the veil," before handing it back and ushering the boy out.
As they left, Chu Ruoyan clearly saw the little demon glance back—smirking.
She almost laughed.
What den of oddities was this Yan Family? The elder plotted treason, the younger switched faces faster than flipping pages.
She wouldn’t take this lying down.
"Wait," she called sweetly.
Both halted.
Rising, her legs numb from sitting, she approached the boy and knelt to his level.
Placing the veil over his head, she whispered, "This is called stealing."
With a sharp tug, Yan Wenjing stumbled forward, nearly falling.
The nursemaid caught him. "Young Master, are you hurt?"
Dazed—likely never treated so harshly—his eyes flashed with rage before he bit his lip, tears welling anew.
"Nanny, Third Aunt pushed me! Does she hate me?"
The nursemaid clutched him protectively. "Third Madam! Forgive my boldness, but the Young Master is the sole heir of the late heir! Even Third Young Master dotes on him!"
Chu Ruoyan arched a brow, then gently patted his head, her voice honeyed.
"Nanny misunderstands. Ruoyan adores Wenjing too. Isn’t that right?"
Her smile was warm as spring, yet Yan Wenjing felt a chill down his spine.
This woman wasn’t like the others—why wasn’t she shouting or arguing herself into a corner?
Why was she smiling?
