The Duke’s household sent over eighty-one sedan chairs of betrothal gifts, giving Wen Ning ample honor.
Wen Zheng valued face, and Madam Xu dared not tamper with the dowry. Especially since Wen Ning, as if guided by some hidden hand, had begun checking the dowry herself before the accompanying matrons, recording everything in detail. Madam Xu found no chance to meddle.
Gold, silver, and jewels filled the chests; shop notes and bank drafts dazzled the eye. Seeing Wen Ning’s dowry, Madam Xu thought of her own daughter’s meager eighteen sedan chairs—her heart ached and burned with anger. Yet with the escorting party present in the courtyard, she could not vent a word of her fury.
Still, Madam Xu was no easy opponent. She had already arranged for two beautiful maids to accompany Wen Ning: Liu’er and Ying’er. Both were striking in looks and figure, and most importantly, they were born into the Wen household, their contracts firmly in Madam Xu’s hands. Clearly, Madam Xu had plotted carefully to keep Wen Ning under her thumb. In Wen Qing’s previous marriage into the Duke’s household, Madam Xu had not sent such alluring attendants.
So be it—since they were here, Wen Ning accepted it calmly. She paid little mind to Madam Xu’s schemes, though her maid Xiao T Tao was indignant, glaring at the two girls and deliberately picking faults. Wen Ning knew Xiao Tao’s anger was out of loyalty, and let her vent on her behalf.
On the wedding day, the Wen household bustled from dawn. Wen Ning herself was roused at midnight—her face prepared, hair dressed, bridal robes donned, farewells made to her elders. By the end of the rituals, she felt nearly broken with exhaustion.
Thankfully, one only marries once in a lifetime.
The bridal procession stretched ten miles in red splendor. Wen Zheng escorted her out, giving a brief but earnest admonition: “Once at the Duke’s manor, you must be filial to your in-laws, respectful to the heir, cautious in all matters. Do not strive for dominance. Remember: harmony in the household brings prosperity.”
Wen Ning nodded obediently. From then on, she was like a puppet on strings—stepping down from the sedan, leaping over the fire basin, bowing to Heaven and Earth, completing the rites… After half a day of ceremony, the elaborate rituals were finally done.
At last, Wen Ning entered the bridal chamber. Yet she dared not relax. The Duke’s household was vast, its rules many. Afraid of making a misstep, she sat beneath her red veil for most of the night, quietly awaiting Shen Zhou’s arrival.
Only deep into the night, when she was nearly drifting to sleep, did the nanmu door creak open, and a cool, low voice broke the silence.
“Are you Wen Ning?” The newcomer should be Shen Zhou, but at this moment, Wen Ning’s head was covered with the red bridal veil. She couldn’t see him, so she only nodded.
Shen Zhou lifted the veil. Wen Ning, who had been lowering her gaze, was startled and instinctively looked up at him.
Before her stood a strikingly handsome young man, whose bright red wedding robes made his figure appear tall and commanding. His hair was bound with a jade hairpin, his cool brows and eyes carried a reckless, imperious air, and his thin lips were pressed tight, betraying no emotion.
In her past life, Shen Zhou’s relationship with Wen Qing had been so strained that he never once visited the Wen household. Wen Ning had therefore never seen him before. She hadn’t expected Shen Zhou to be this good-looking.
He spoke, his cold, low voice tinged with anger. “Bold of you—who gave you leave to stare at me like that?”
Wen Ning’s clear, dark eyes widened. She lowered them again and obediently apologized. “Forgive me. I just hadn’t imagined that Your Lordship would be so handsome.”
Her voice was soft and delicate. Though she was apologizing, it sounded almost like she was coquettishly teasing.
Shen Zhou felt a strange flutter in his chest, as if brushed by a feather.
“Are you hungry, my lord?” Wen Ning tugged timidly at his sleeve, gazing up at him with pitiful eyes.
The girl was so gentle and docile—who could resist such a look?
Shen Zhou stepped back, drawing a deep breath. “You…”
But Wen Ning interrupted, cheeks flushed, speaking in a small voice. “I rose before dawn today, and I haven’t eaten since. My lord, I’m so hungry.”
Of all things, Shen Zhou had never imagined that on their wedding night, his bride’s first words to him would be that she was starving. If word spread, people would think the Duke’s household was neglecting her.
He was about to grow angry, but when his gaze met her tear-bright eyes, so weak and pitiful, he sighed inwardly. Forget it—why quarrel with a little girl?
He ordered the servants to bring pastries. Wen Ning’s eyes lit up the instant she saw them.
“My lord, you’re so kind.” Unable to resist, she stuffed a peach blossom cake into her mouth. Her pale cheeks puffed up adorably, her lively dark eyes curving with satisfaction—like a greedy little squirrel. She looked so much like the puppy he had raised as a child. Cute, really.
Thinking this, he softened his tone for once. “If you like them, eat more.”
Wen Ning nodded eagerly. Just as she was about to speak, Shen Zhou’s attendant rushed in, anxious.
“Miss Qiao has slit her wrists.”
Shen Zhou’s face darkened. He rose, hesitated, and glanced at Wen Ning, but did not move.
Wen Ning understood—the events of her past life were repeating. If so, she might as well show Shen Zhou goodwill; it would make her life in the Duke’s household easier. She said gently, “A life is at stake, my lord. You should go.”
Shen Zhou looked at her in disbelief. “You…”
Wen Ning smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry, my lord. I’ll be fine.”
He hesitated. Behind him, a maid urged, “My lord, the young lady says if you don’t come, she won’t allow the physician to treat her. Before the eldest young master left, she was the one he worried about most…”
Shen Zhou drew a deep breath and explained to Wen Ning, “There is no romance between us. But she was entrusted to me by an old friend, and she has shown me kindness. I cannot let her die.”
Wen Ning nodded. “I understand.”
After Shen Zhou left, her maid Xiao Tao hurried in, worried. “Miss, are you all right?”
Wen Ning finished the last piece of pastry in her hand and smiled. “What could happen to me? Help me remove my makeup—I want a bath. After such a long day, I need to relax.”
That night, at Baihua Pavilion, Qiao Yanshen attempted suicide by slitting her wrists. Shen Zhou summoned the imperial physician, and the place was thrown into chaos.
Meanwhile, Wen Ning slept soundly through the night.