Chapter Sixty-Five: The Imperial Marriage Decree (7)

The next day, as dusk approached, the Ye residence was in a flurry of activity. Everyone was dressed in festive attire, their faces aglow with joy. The steward hurried back and forth, and under the setting sun, the red decorations in the courtyard shimmered with a strange, almost enchanting hue. The bridal procession from the Zhang residence was nearly at the gate; there should be no one else in Gu Qingcheng’s chamber now. Ye Qianran wanted to speak her final words to Gu Qingcheng—the question she had asked yesterday, the truth she had been desperately avoiding, she now had her answer.

She passed before the west window and suddenly stopped. The room was not empty; there was a man inside.

It was Wei Zhuang.

So he had come as well. Ye Qianran lowered her head and smiled faintly; how could he not come? She turned to leave, but curiosity ultimately got the better of her. What would they say to each other? Would their conversation revolve around herself? She pierced the thin paper of the window, peering quietly inside.

Scarlet veils adorned the room, joy filling every corner. The dazzling phoenix coronet and ceremonial gown shone. Gu Qingcheng sat before her dressing table, gazing at her heavily made-up reflection, the coronet’s tassels hanging between her brows—this was the moment she had longed for all her life.

Wei Zhuang stood behind her, his dark robes starkly contrasting the sea of red. Gu Qingcheng smiled. “Am I beautiful?”

“Very beautiful.”

“Who is more beautiful, me or Miss Ye?”

“You are,” Wei Zhuang replied without the slightest hesitation. Gu Qingcheng laughed—a wild, exaggerated laugh, so intense that tears streamed down her cheeks.

Wei Zhuang turned her toward him and gently wiped away her tears, his voice tender and indulgent. “It’s your wedding day; don’t cry. If your makeup smudges, it won’t look as nice.” His words were soft, like a lover’s whisper.

Gu Qingcheng looked at him through a haze of tears. It was this bone-deep gentleness that had ensnared her for life. She threw her arms around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder, her voice resolute yet tinged with pleading. “Tell me you love me, even if it’s a lie, even if you’re just appeasing me. I’ll believe it. What I desire most isn’t a peaceful life, but that one phrase from you: tell me you love me.”

Wei Zhuang placed his hand on her back, gently patting her, but his gaze flicked to the shadow outside the window and grew darker. He spoke in a low voice, “I’m not appeasing you; I speak the truth. Only now do I realize—I do love you, Qingcheng. I love you.”

The figure in his embrace trembled. She knew it couldn’t possibly be true, but she couldn’t help wanting to believe. She recalled Ye Qianran’s words from the night before: “He only thinks I’m wonderful because he can’t have me. He hasn’t lost you, so he doesn’t know the pain of losing you.” Was it true that what one cannot have is always the best? Was Ye Qianran right? But was he telling the truth?

She could no longer care about anything else and turned to kiss his lips. Wei Zhuang did not refuse; he simply closed his eyes and quietly returned her kiss. Ye Qianran stumbled back two steps, as if she had witnessed some earth-shattering secret, clutching her chest and gasping for breath. Her heart felt as though a thousand stones were plunging from a cliff, unstoppable. A bucket of cold water seemed to pour over her head. Some things, unless seen with one’s own eyes, can never be understood—the impact is far greater than anything imagined.

Why did it hurt? How could it hurt? She walked back to her room in a daze, her mind and body numb, unable to think or even remember what she should be thinking.

Gu Qingcheng murmured in Wei Zhuang’s ear, “Even if you’re just appeasing me, I’m happy. Some say what you can’t have is always the best—I want you to know that this marriage isn’t for myself, but for you. Whether I am happy or miserable after today, it will all be because of you. I want you to always remember that I sacrificed myself so you could have another woman.” Her voice was soft and alluring, with a hint of punishment.

A maid rushed in. “The bridal procession has arrived.”

The drums and music echoed, gradually fading into the distance. Dusk had passed, and the last rays of sunlight disappeared from the horizon as night slowly descended. Ye Yuandao, Ye An, Meng Lan, and Yi had all gone to the Zhang residence to attend the ceremony, as daughters of the Ye family marrying out required their presence. The courtyard, lively and noisy just moments before, suddenly felt empty, transformed in an instant into quietness—a silence so profound that the chirping of insects and birds could be heard. The world was hushed, and the new moon crept up to the tips of the willows. Above the night, only a scattering of stars glimmered, lonely and vast.

After another hour, the night deepened. Ye Qianran estimated that the wedding ceremony at the Zhang residence must have concluded. She rose; the room was unlit, shrouded in darkness. Yet she donned her most splendid gown, adorned with vibrant peonies, their color spreading across the sheer fabric. In the dark, her inherent charm grew even more intense.

She removed the jade pendant left by Liuyun from her waist and placed it in a box. What belongs to others must be returned.

She would not marry Wei Zhuang. She could not bear to break her promise, nor could she forgive herself for such a betrayal.

What she wanted, he had already given her; what he wanted, she must give him in return.

A transaction should always be fair and just. She disliked suffering a loss, but she would not let others suffer either.

She knew where Wei Zhuang would be.

Stepping into the warm pavilion beneath the cool moonlight, she found it unusually closed to guests tonight. The front courtyard was ablaze with lights, but silent; the rear was pitch black. The same night-blooming crepe myrtle, the same pond, the same parasol tree—only the people had changed.

The door was left open. From the corridor, Ye Qianran could already smell the heavy scent of wine. She walked in, each step an ordeal. She had made up her mind—this was her debt to him, and it must be repaid.

She lifted the beaded curtain; the collision of beads sounded crisp, like the notes of a zither. She suddenly stopped—Wei Zhuang was indeed there.

She had come, but he did not move. Her arrival brought him no joy.

Suddenly, her throat grew dry, unable to speak. He sat on the floor, leaning against the table. From this distance, she could not see his expression.

She approached, kicking something at her feet—a wine jar. She bent to pick it up, a surge of pity rising within her. This proud, unyielding man had never been so desolate in her presence. Unable to resist, she wanted to see his face, but heard him quietly call her name, “Qianran,” as if struck by lightning. Though low and soft, it seemed to take all his strength to speak. She pressed her hand to her chest, stifled by pain.

She bent down to look at him; he reached out and hooked his arm around her neck, pulling her into his embrace. Before she could react, his lips were already pressed to hers.

Her lips were cold; his were burning. She suddenly melted, powerless to resist, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. He was forceful, not gentle, possessive—a long-suppressed passion erupting, as if he wanted to merge her into himself.

Then, he abruptly released her. She clearly saw a single cold tear in his eye. Something seemed to be hollowed out of her heart, leaving only emptiness.

Unable to control herself, she instinctively reached out to touch his face, but stopped just short, suddenly realizing what she was doing.

Though he hadn’t looked up, she felt her breath grow difficult. When had she become so reserved before him?

He rose silently, supporting himself on the table, as if the passionate kiss had not been with her, as if those burning feelings were not meant for her.

He seemed about to leave; Ye Qianran hadn’t expected him to go. She instinctively grabbed his sleeve, and in that moment, a name came to her. She called him, “Yunkai,” her voice gentle and lingering.

Yunkai.

Wei Zhuang’s body stiffened, and Ye Qianran embraced him from behind.

Her slender, pale fingers crossed before his waist; her body was cool and fragrant. Wei Zhuang frowned, overwhelmed by a sorrow he could not suppress.

His voice was heavy, mournful. “You have never been so gentle with me; even this one time is because of him.”

“You shouldn’t have come tonight.”

Ye Qianran held him tightly, her voice cool. “Haven’t you always wanted me? Tonight, I am yours.”

Wei Zhuang gave a cold laugh, closed his eyes—his sigh laced with endless self-mockery. “No matter what I do, in your heart I am always just a fool, worthy of your body, but not your heart. I thought you would understand me, but you understand nothing. All that I’ve given is useless; you don’t care for me, not at all. You only care for him. No matter what I do for you, it cannot compare to a single finger of his.”

He quietly brushed her hands away without turning back, his voice suddenly cold again. “You don’t need to marry me. I never intended for you to do so. I said I would never like someone who doesn’t like me.” He paused, then spoke his final words. “But, Qianran, from now on, don’t ever appear before me again.”

Outside the window, moonlight spilled in fragments, stretching his departing shadow long across the floor—so resolute, leaving no room for return.

Her body suddenly collapsed softly to the ground.

She knew she had lost him completely.