Chapter Twenty-One: The Joyous Wedding

On this day, the long-awaited wedding finally arrived. From early morning, the capital was abuzz with news that Prince Chun was to marry, and everyone rose before dawn, eager to catch a glimpse of the bride he had chosen. The entire city brimmed with festivity, crimson silk draped from every street, while the endless bridal procession dazzled all who watched. The bridal dowry stretched as far as the eye could see—ten miles of red-lacquered chests and boxes, each one more splendid than the last, pouring into the Prince’s residence. Even a princess’s wedding would be hard-pressed to rival such splendor.

Prince Chun himself sat atop a tall horse, resplendent in his crimson wedding robes, his heroic bearing and regal elegance commanding admiration from afar; wherever he went, he became the focus of the crowd. Through the veil of her sedan chair, Zhanyan gazed at the man on horseback, a faint sense of unreality clouding her mind. She was truly getting married. Just three months ago, she had been a maiden innocent of love, content to pass her days quietly, letting fate run its course. Yet, unexpectedly, this man had walked into her life and taken root in her heart. In the month she waited to be wed, she found herself missing him so much she often lay awake at night, for the first time understanding the ache of “a day apart seeming like three autumns.”

When Zhanyan finally stepped out of the bridal sedan, she heard the collective gasp of the crowd. Draped in her wedding attire, she was the picture of noble elegance and breathtaking beauty, a soft glow seeming to emanate from her. Though the red veil concealed her face, everyone could imagine the peerless countenance hidden beneath.

A large, familiar hand reached out, wrapping gently around her own small one. The touch sent a wave of reassurance through her, quelling the last flutter of nerves in her heart. He led her forward, ready to step across the ceremonial brazier.

“Your Highness, please wait. The bride must cross the brazier herself,” an elderly matron reminded them.

“Who made up that rule? I wish to cross it with my wife. Do you have any objections?” Zhongli Yu replied, displeasure evident in his voice.

“But, Your Highness…”

“Enough of this nonsense. The brazier is burning fiercely—if my princess were to be burned, who among you would take responsibility? Step aside.”

The crowd fell instantly silent, marveling at how deeply Prince Chun cherished this woman. To think he feared even a simple tradition might harm her!

Zhanyan was at a loss for words; crossing the brazier was merely a custom—she had never heard of anyone actually getting burned. Yet seeing his concern, she could only let him have his way. After all, happiness depended not on following every ritual, but on the hearts of the two people involved.

A gruff voice bellowed from within, “You brat, hurry up and get inside! If your wife is truly that fragile, there’s no need for her to even enter the door.” It was the old prince, clearly keeping a close eye on everything.

“Why are you so fierce? She’s my wife—it’s only natural that I care for her,” Zhongli Yu shot back.

“Who says I don’t care? She’s my granddaughter-in-law, and may well be more filial than you, you rascal. Of course I care! Now get inside and don’t miss the auspicious hour.”

Zhanyan was left speechless. What a pair of grandfather and grandson—quarreling on such an important day, with no thought for propriety or who might overhear.

“The auspicious time has come—let the ceremony begin!”

“First bow to Heaven and Earth.”

“Second bow to the elders.”

“Very good, very good, very good!” The old prince was so overcome with emotion he repeated himself thrice.

“Husband and wife, bow to each other.”

“The ceremony is complete—escort the bride and groom to the bridal chamber!”

“Congratulations, Your Highness! Congratulations, Prince Chun!”

Zhanyan was led into the bridal chamber, the sound of well-wishers following her all the way. The heavy phoenix crown atop her head made her neck ache, but she dared not move, sitting quietly and waiting for her groom to lift her veil.

Soon, she heard footsteps—many of them—heralding the arrival of the boisterous wedding party. At the head was Zhongli Yu, followed by a lively crowd of men and women, young and old, all clamoring to see the bride. Zhongli Yu entered, and seeing her seated solemnly by the bed, his eyes softened.

“The groom will lift the bridal veil now,” the matron announced, handing him a ceremonial rod. Zhongli Yu accepted it and gently lifted the red veil. Beneath it was a face of unparalleled beauty, glowing beneath the light of luminous pearls. She looked up, her eyes shining as they met his, and he found his breath catching, wishing he could dismiss everyone else from the room and keep her beauty to himself.

“The bride is stunning!” someone exclaimed. Some stared in awe, others in silent admiration.

After a long moment, the guests came to their senses. To marry Prince Chun, the bride could hardly be an ordinary woman; a man like him was a rarity in the world, and anything less than extraordinary would not do.

“You must be hungry. Come, have something to eat,” he said gently, guiding her to the table and sitting her down. He picked up a dumpling and placed it in her mouth.

She chewed twice, then cried out, “Why is it raw?”

The guests covered their mouths, snickering.

“Is that so? Try this one,” he said, feeding her another.

Zhanyan chewed and frowned again. “This one’s raw too.”

“Then perhaps try this?”

“No, I don’t want to eat anything raw! I want cooked food. If you like them raw so much, eat them yourself!” she protested, dodging another bite.

“How many times has the princess said ‘raw’?” Zhongli Yu asked, glancing at the crowd.

“Four times, Your Highness,” someone replied.

“Hmm, four times. That’s enough. Let’s have the cooked ones now,” Zhongli Yu declared with a perfectly straight face.

The crowd finally burst into laughter.

Zhanyan’s cheeks flushed. So that was his aim: to make her say “raw” four times. She shot him a reproachful glance.

“My dear, you’ve promised four children—clearly, we must work hard,” Zhongli Yu continued shamelessly, unfazed by Zhanyan’s crimson face.

Zhanyan, seeing the guests all stifling laughter, wished she could sink into the floor.

“All right, the princess is tired. Let her rest for a while,” Zhongli Yu said calmly, dismissing the merrymakers from the room.