The wedding procession bumped and jostled along the whole way, and finally arrived at its destination.
“Bride, the Yu residence is here—”
The matchmaker’s voice once again pierced the red gauze, drifting eerily into the sedan.
“Please descend from the sedan. The groom is waiting for you.”
Fu Songcheng lowered his eyes. Because of the heavy red veil covering his head, his vision was completely blocked; he could barely see the tiny patch of sedan floor beneath his feet and an inch of bluestone outside the sedan door.
He slowly stood up, bent over, and stepped out of the sedan door.
A hand reached out before him.
It was a hand with defined joints, slender and powerful, its palm bearing thin calluses from years of gripping a greatsword.
Fu Songcheng placed his hand on it without hesitation.
The instant their fingertips touched, the unease brought on by his restricted vision was somewhat soothed.
“Hold on to me.” Yu Huaiting’s low voice sounded by Fu Songcheng’s ear, pressed very low, only the two of them able to hear. “Don’t be afraid. Follow me.”
Fu Songcheng didn’t speak—he just tightened his grip slightly and pinched Yu Huaiting’s hand.
Of course he wasn’t afraid. Who did Yu Huaiting think he was?
The two walked side by side toward the Yu residence’s main gate.
Around them rose the NPCs’ deliberately hushed whispers and congratulations.
“The bride enters the door—”
“Step over the brazier, drive away ill fortune, red and prosperous—”
Led by Yu Huaiting, Fu Songcheng lifted his foot and stepped over the brazier reeking of pungent smoke.
He could feel Yu Huaiting’s body staying pressed close to his side the whole time. If any NPC dared to suddenly make trouble at this moment, Yu Huaiting would absolutely snap their neck within half a second.
Through the long, cold courtyard, they finally reached the main hall.
Red candles burned high in the main hall, the harsh red light filtering through the gap in the veil into Fu Songcheng’s eyes.
“The auspicious hour has arrived—”
The officiant’s voice was so shrill it cracked.
“First bow to Heaven and Earth—”
Fu Songcheng followed Yu Huaiting’s movements, slowly turning to face the sky beyond the door, and slowly bent at the waist.
This was truly an absurd experience.
Inside a game instance, in a fake world full of ghosts and opposing players, he was actually properly going through a wedding ceremony with a man.
Reason told Fu Songcheng that the red silk, the wedding candles, even the wedding dress on his body—all were fake props.
Yet when he straightened up and felt the tiny rise and fall of the tall, upright figure beside him as he breathed, he couldn’t fully detach himself from it all.
Because the one standing beside him was Yu Huaiting.
If it was this person, he was willing to play along with this fake script and make a vow to Heaven and Earth.
“Second bow to the parents—”
The two turned back and bowed to the two NPCs seated in the grand chairs before the hall—though both only bent slightly.
In some ways, Fu Songcheng and Yu Huaiting were actually cut from the same cloth in their arrogance, but the NPCs didn’t make much of it.
“Bow to each other as husband and wife—”
At that cry, the breathing of the surrounding NPCs seemed to quicken, watching this perfect couple eagerly.
Led by Yu Huaiting, Fu Songcheng slowly turned to face him.
Yu Huaiting shifted forward half a step, closing the distance between them.
Fu Songcheng bent at the waist.
In the instant he lowered his head, he heard Yu Huaiting say, in an extremely, extremely soft voice, at a volume only the two of them could hear:
“I like you.”
The corner of Fu Songcheng’s mouth twitched imperceptibly. He didn’t make a sound—he just bent a little lower, completing this final bow.
Fake blessings, fake surroundings, fake identities.
But this bow was utterly sincere.
“Escort into the bridal chamber—”
Accompanied by the officiant’s high cry, the matchmaker pressed close again, half-supporting, half-detaining Fu Songcheng, leading him toward the back courtyard.
Yu Huaiting didn’t follow.
By the rules, the groom had to stay in the front courtyard to toast the guests.
Fu Songcheng felt Yu Huaiting’s hand gripping his give a hard pinch at his fingertips before letting go.
Fu Songcheng hooked his fingers back in response, then followed the matchmaker toward the back courtyard.
……
The bridal chamber was decorated with extreme luxury—and extreme garishness.
A flood of red—red bed curtains, red wedding candles, red carpet—as if trying to burn bloody holes into a person.
Fu Songcheng was pressed down to sit on the edge of the bed.
The matchmaker didn’t leave immediately. She stood before him, her withered hands ceaselessly twisting the red handkerchief in her grip, her voice thin and shrill, carrying an indescribable eeriness and solemnity:
“Bride, the cross-cup wine—the hejin wine—is placed on the table. When the groom returns, the two of you must drink it all, not a single drop left.”
She paused, then suddenly bent down, her shriveled face nearly touching the edge of Fu Songcheng’s veil, and lowered her voice:
“And the rites of Zhou Gong—the rules that must be observed. Only when yin and yang converge can the joy be dispelled. You already know what must be taught…”
She cackled twice, the laughter harsh as a night owl’s screech.
Fu Songcheng sat there, back ramrod straight, hands folded on his knees, posture so proper not a single flaw could be found, and nodded slightly.
But inside, his heart was a stormy sea: Was he really going to enter the bridal chamber with Yu Huaiting?
Though the two were system-matched lovers, nothing had ever happened between him and Yu Huaiting.
Bowing in the ceremony was one thing. Entering the bridal chamber was another!
Fu Songcheng wasn’t mentally prepared in the slightest!
Seeing him nod obediently, the matchmaker continued.
“Finally, and most importantly.” The matchmaker abruptly reined in her smile. “After nightfall, no matter what sounds you hear in this room, you absolutely must not leave this room, not even half a step.”
Having delivered this warning, the matchmaker straightened up and withdrew from the room.
Creak—
The heavy wooden door closed, followed by the sound of a lock turning.
The room instantly fell into a deathly silence, broken only by the two huge red candles occasionally bursting a flower of soot with a faint crackle.
Fu Songcheng sat quietly for three seconds.
Three seconds later, he raised his hand without hesitation and swish—yanked off the troublesome red veil from his head.
The instant his sight returned, Fu Songcheng’s cold gaze swept rapidly around the entire room.
When his gaze swept across the wall directly opposite the bed, a strange feeling rose in his heart.
There stood a massive full-length mirror set in a carved wooden frame.
The mirror’s surface reflected a dim light under the flickering red candles.
Even though Fu Songcheng wasn’t well-versed in metaphysics or feng shui, he knew that “a mirror facing the head of the bed” was an extremely vicious arrangement.
Mirrors belonged to yin. Facing the head of the bed directly not only made it easy for a person to be frightened between sleep and waking—it was also a channel for summoning souls and drawing away yang energy.
Fu Songcheng stared at himself in the mirror.
Dressed in elaborate, gorgeous red wedding attire, face pale, gaze cold and sharp.
He didn’t hesitate. He quickly turned to the table, picked up a large red paper used to line the pastries, strode to the mirror, dipped the edge of the red paper in tea water, and with a smack, pasted it flush against the mirror’s surface.
With the mirror sealed off, the feeling of being watched, of thorns at his back, lessened considerably.
He circled the room twice more, checking the window, under the bed, and the ceiling beams. Apart from this mirror, he couldn’t see any other abnormality for the time being.
But a faint, vague sense of wrongness—like being watched by a venomous snake—lingered, refusing to disperse.
Just as Fu Songcheng sat at the table, calculating how to handle the situation that would follow—
Ding—
The system notification suddenly rang out in his mind.
[Player Yu Huaiting has sent you a ‘Love Letter.’ Please check it.]
Fu Songcheng was taken aback.
He opened the panel.
A pink, tender envelope popped up.
He opened it—and found it completely empty, not a single word inside.
Fu Songcheng frowned.
Before he could close the panel, ding, ding, ding—the sounds began ringing frantically and continuously.
[Player Yu Huaiting has sent you a ‘Love Letter.’]
[Player Yu Huaiting has sent you a ‘Love Letter.’]
[Player Yu Huaiting has sent you a ‘Love Letter.’]
…
Within a single minute, Fu Songcheng’s inbox was stuffed with over a dozen blank junk letters.
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