…
The wind in the capital city was already extremely cold and chilly, scraping across the faces of passers-by like a knife.
Yao Zhenyun was riding on his horse, looking at the magnificent yet cold gate of the Sang Mansion in front of him, and his heart felt like it was filled with water-soaked coptis.
Yesterday he was reading a book in his own courtyard in Jiangnan, but this morning he was awakened by his father's thunderous anger, who ordered him to go to Beijing immediately to deal with this shameful "good" marriage.
Several brothers who were usually bullied by him were laughing loudly outside the yard on purpose, and the gossip seemed to have legs and was trying hard to get into his ears.
"Oh, our third brother is so lucky! The beauty from the capital is rushing to deliver herself to his door!"
"That's right, hurry up, if you're late you might not even be able to catch up!"
"It's a good deal to be a ready-made father! Haha!"
He gripped the reins tightly, his knuckles turning white. If it weren't for his father's undeniable roar still buzzing in his ears, he really wanted to turn the horse around and leave this place without looking back!
There was silence in the shadow of the side door of the Sang Mansion.
There were no festive sounds of suona and gongs, no noisy guests, only a few stone-silent servants of the Yao family guarding the surprisingly shabby sedan chair, like slow horses waiting to pull goods on the street.
A cold wind blew, and a few yellow fallen leaves swirled around on the open ground, making the scene even more desolate and chilling.
There was also no sound from the Sang Mansion.
The vermilion lacquered door was tightly shut, like a tightly closed mouth. The awkward silence was only broken by a sharp creaking sound, and the black lacquered corner door next to it, used by servants, was forcefully pushed open.
Mrs. Sang came out alone.
Her usually beautiful face was now covered with a layer of frost as cold as cast iron. There was no smile on her face, and her eyes were as sharp as a hawk, fixed on the young man on the horse.
Yao Zhenyun felt uncomfortable all over because of this knife-like gaze, and his heart was even more irritated and unbearable.
He cleared his dry throat awkwardly, then dismounted, his movements as stiff as a toddler.
Facing this nominal aunt, he tried hard to suppress the humiliation and anger in his heart, clasped his fists, and said in a voice so dry that it sounded unfamiliar to him: "Zhen Yun... greets the madam."
Mrs. Sang's sharp gaze swept over him, as if piercing his skin. Her voice was low, without unnecessary courtesy, and with a deliberately distant indifference: "Well, I received your father's letter. It's getting late, and Wenyin is waiting inside."
She didn't even turn sideways to lead the way, but just raised her chin slightly and pointed to the deserted corner door behind her.
Yao Zhenyun gritted his teeth and replied "yes", lowered his eyes, followed the two sturdy servants carrying the sedan chair, and walked through the dark and low doorway. Every step felt like stepping on invisible pins and needles.
Sang Wenyin's yard was also dead silent.
There were only two unfamiliar-looking old women standing outside the door with their hands hanging down, like wooden stakes, their eyes watching the nose and their noses watching the heart.
The door was wide open, as if welcoming, but also as a silent expulsion.
The Taxue Garden was so dead silent that one could only hear the faint crackling of the candlelight.
Mrs. Sang pushed open the door, and a strong smell of medicine mixed with the smell of blood hit her in the face, choking Yao Zhenyun behind her and making him frown subconsciously.
On the bed, a figure in a bright red wedding dress was tied tightly with rough hemp ropes, like an animal waiting to be slaughtered.
The figure kept twisting and struggling, and the hemp rope cut deeply into the flesh, making a slight "creaking" sound from the friction.
The bright red veil shook violently with the struggle, but it never fell off. A large patch of dark brown medicine was splattered under the bed, and a broken porcelain bowl had rolled over beside it, its fragments gleaming coldly.
A maid stood by the bedside, her hands hanging down, her face expressionless. Seeing Madam Sang enter, she replied woodenly, "Madam, the young lady refused to take the medicine and even banged her head against the bedpost, trying to commit suicide. There was really no other way, so we had to tie her up and force the medicine down her throat."
There was no expression on Mrs. Sang's face, as if the person tied to the bed was not her daughter whom she had carried for ten months.
She walked step by step to the bed, her eyes penetrating the obstructive red veil and falling on the violently trembling body. Her voice was not loud, but every word was clear, with a cold and unquestionable tone:
"Wenyin, you're confused." She paused, as if stating a fact that had nothing to do with her. "This marriage to the Yao family is your only chance of survival right now. You can't keep that evil child. Keeping it would be a lifelong stain on you, and the Yao family can't tolerate it."
She turned her gaze to Yao Zhenyun, who was standing in the shadows at the door. Her tone softened slightly, but it sounded more like a gesture of charity. "Zhenyun grew up under my watch. He's a steady person. Go with him to Jiangnan, away from the capital, a place of trouble. Behave yourself. He will treat you well and ensure you have a comfortable life for the rest of your life. This is the best outcome I can achieve for you."
Yao Zhenyun clenched his fists in his sleeves, his nails almost digging into his palms. The old woman's words, the pungent smell of medicine, the humiliating and struggling figure on the bed, and Mrs. Sang's seemingly "meticulous" but actually cruel arrangement, all lashed at his face like whips.
He gritted his teeth, his Adam's apple rolling, and he forcibly suppressed the humiliation and anger that surged up in him. He squeezed out two words from between his teeth: "...Yes."
Mrs. Sang seemed satisfied with his "sensible" behavior and said no more, only raised her chin to the old woman. The old woman stepped forward and, together with another sturdy servant who had come in at some point, took the "bride" who was tied tightly to the bed and lifted her up, one on each side, like dragging a lifeless piece of cargo.
The body was still twisting in vain, making dull whimpering sounds.
"Zhen Yun," Madam Sang looked at him, her eyes devoid of warmth. "I leave him to you. Take him away."
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