Nothing is auspicious.
Heavy snow had been falling over the capital for three straight days. Icicles hanging from the eaves were eight zhang long, and even the dogs were too cold to leave their kennels.
Yet the Marquis of Zhenyuan’s residence was preparing to celebrate a wedding in grand fashion.
Amid the thick, white snow, Chu Zhaohuai was smashing things in the bridal chamber.
—The only problem was that the bridal chamber was so bare and cold that there was hardly anything to smash. After finally finding a broken vase and raising his hand to throw it, the steward assigned to keep watch over him said with a grim expression, “An official kiln-made paper-mallet vase. Worth five gold pieces.”
Chu Zhaohuai immediately panicked and hurriedly caught it against his chest.
“Please calm down, Eldest Young Master,” the steward urged. “In another half an hour, Prince Jing’s residence will send people to escort the bride. If you refuse to get into the bridal sedan, I’m afraid the entire Marquis’s household will be punished.”
Chu Zhaohuai sat upright before the dressing table by the window. He was dressed in a brilliant red wedding robe, several vivid plum blossoms resting on his shoulders. The bright red only made his face look even paler and more sickly, yet it did nothing to conceal his naturally handsome features.
Clutching the vase, he stared blankly ahead.
“At least I’ll have someone accompanying me on the road to the Yellow Springs. It’ll be lively. Not a bad deal.”
The steward was speechless.
He had spent the past two days trying every possible argument, both gentle and harsh, and genuinely had no idea what else he could say to persuade him.
Just then, the door covered with a red paper bearing two characters for double happiness was pushed open. The cold winter wind howled inside, carrying in several snowflakes that melted the instant they touched the floor. Someone strode into the room.
“Indeed, it will be lively. If His Majesty becomes enraged and orders your entire clan executed, even the Bai family of Lin’an won’t escape unscathed. Your grandfather and uncle will accompany you on the journey to the Yellow Springs as well.”
Chu Zhaohuai looked over.
After a long moment, he muttered, “Marquis.”
“Calling your own father ‘Marquis’? Is that how your maternal grandfather taught you?” Zhenyuan Marquis Chu Jing was in the prime of his life. He had a tall, straight figure and a stern, cold face. He said coldly, “This marriage was decreed by His Majesty. Even Prince Jing cannot refuse it, let alone you.”
Chu Zhaohuai stroked the vase and said nothing.
Of course, Prince Jing would have wanted to refuse.
Unfortunately, rumors said that the number one God of Death in the capital had committed far too many atrocities. Just before the New Year, he had finally received his punishment—he had been unconscious for half a month and was apparently on the verge of dying.
He probably had the desire to resist, but no strength to do so.
Chu Jing said, “Don’t throw a tantrum. If it weren’t for the Marquis’s residence protecting you all these years, how could you have—”
Chu Zhaohuai interrupted him.
“All these years, I practiced medicine in Jiangnan. I didn’t rely on the Marquis’s residence, nor did I rely on my grandfather. Didn’t I still live perfectly well?”
Chu Jing let out a cold laugh.
“Your maternal grandfather wrote to say that you went around Jiangnan treating people’s illnesses and ended up offending some powerful noble, causing a major disaster and being hunted down. If I hadn’t sent people to bring you back to the capital from the Bai family of Lin’an so you could escape the trouble, you’d already be dead. You call that living well?”
Chu Zhaohuai refused to yield, whether to reason or intimidation.
“Sending me straight into a den of wolves and tigers to escape danger isn’t much different from sending me to my death.”
Chu Jing stiffened, a trace of unnaturalness flashing across his face.
It was rumored that Prince Jing, Ji Xun, was cruel and bloodthirsty and suffered from an incurable madness. To make matters worse, Chu Jing and Ji Xun had always held opposing political views. Arguments at court and secret schemes against each other were nothing unusual.
Sending Chu Zhaohuai to marry him really was like sending him into a den of wolves and tigers.
“Ji Xun has offended too many people. Now that he’s a fallen tiger, there are bound to be people who can’t resist trying to kill him. He probably won’t survive past the Little New Year,” Chu Jing said, deliberately avoiding Chu Zhaohuai’s gaze. “Once he dies, you’ll naturally spend the rest of your life enjoying wealth and glory.”
Chu Zhaohuai frowned.
Once his father had said that, there was clearly no room left for negotiation.
Chu Zhaohuai had been weak and sickly since childhood and suffered from a heart condition. When he was five, his mother died of illness. After Chu Jing promoted his concubine Zheng, who had already borne him a son, to the position of legal wife, he found an excuse, claiming that Chu Zhaohuai was a “star of calamity who brought disaster wherever he went and endangered his relatives,” and sent him to Jiangnan under the beautiful name of “recuperating from illness.”
He stayed there for more than a decade.
Chu Jing had never had much fatherly affection for him to begin with, and he certainly wasn’t going to defy an imperial decree for an eldest son he didn’t care about.
Chu Zhaohuai had an excellent memory. Even after all these years, he still remembered what that mysterious Imperial Preceptor had once said: when he turned eighteen, he would face a great calamity, one that might even cost him his life. If he survived it safely, however, the rest of his life would be peaceful and blessed.
Now, before he had even reached his eighteenth birthday, he had been forced into a marriage with the God of Death…
Could divination and the supernatural really be this accurate?
Chu Zhaohuai glanced at the guards standing outside the bridal chamber. He knew that this matter was already settled. If he resisted any further, he might simply be tied up and stuffed into the bridal sedan, losing even the last shred of dignity he had left.
He took a deep breath and finally resigned himself to his fate.
Then he asked the question he cared about most.
“The things Mother left for me before she died—did Father put them among the one hundred and twenty bridal dowry chests you promised me? Madam Zheng didn’t secretly take them, did she?”
Chu Jing: “……”
Chu Jing nearly failed to suppress his anger.
“Even if the Marquis’s residence were in the worst possible state, we wouldn’t stoop to coveting your few belongings.”
Chu Zhaohuai breathed a sigh of relief and politely said, “Oh, oh. It’s fine even if they’re not there. I was just asking.”
Chu Jing took a few deep breaths, his face darkening as he called for the wedding matron to come and apply Chu Zhaohuai’s makeup.
As expected, Chu Zhaohuai stopped resisting.
Chu Jing didn’t want to exchange another word with this eldest son, with whom he had little affection. He was about to leave when, perhaps due to a rare stir of conscience, he stopped and said sternly, “Prince Jing’s residence is full of dangers. If you’re smart, don’t get close to Prince Jing. Tonight, you’d better find an excuse and avoid staying in the bridal chamber.”
“What?”
That was all Chu Jing was willing to say.
Turning to the wedding matron, he ordered, “Make the makeup thicker. Cover that mole.”
The woman immediately agreed.
Chu Jing turned and left.
Chu Zhaohuai stared after his father, utterly confused.
A moment later, the wedding matron coughed.
“Eldest Young Master, your makeup is done.”
Chu Zhaohuai raised his eyes and glanced casually at his reflection.
He nearly jumped.
He had no idea where this wedding matron had learned to apply makeup. Her technique was simple and brutal. She had plastered layer after layer of thick powder onto his face until even his own mother would probably fail to recognize him.
Under the dim candlelight, he looked almost exactly like a vengeful ghost come to claim someone’s life.
It didn’t look like a wedding at all.
It looked like a ghost marriage.
The wedding matron continued praising him enthusiastically.
“Eldest Young Master is truly blessed with celestial beauty. You and Prince Jing are absolutely a match made in heaven.”
Chu Zhaohuai understood.
So this was the popular bridal makeup style in the capital.
It really was different from Jiangnan.
The phoenix crown and red wedding robes were elaborate and cumbersome. By the time he had been dressed in layer after layer of them, dusk had already fallen, and the sound of firecrackers came from outside.
The people from Prince Jing’s residence had arrived to escort the bride.
The wedding matron placed a red wedding veil embroidered with mandarin ducks playing in water over his phoenix crown.
Chu Zhaohuai closed his eyes.
With someone supporting him, he climbed into the bridal sedan.
Forget it.
Perhaps this was simply his fate.
There was no point in trying to hide from it. He might as well go and meet his “calamity” head-on.
Surely a dying man who was currently unconscious couldn’t actually eat him alive, could he?
Firecrackers exploded through the falling snow, scattering red scraps all over the ground.
The howling wind and snow mingled with the noisy beating of drums and gongs. The wedding procession made its way down the long street amid the clamor, the bridal sedan swaying as it headed toward Prince Jing’s residence in the northern part of the city.
On a snowy day, Prince Jing’s wedding attracted nearly every important figure in the capital. They braved the heavy snow to come smiling and offer their congratulations.
Whether their smiles were sincere or hiding ulterior motives, the atmosphere was still lively, filled with music, singing, and celebration.
With the wedding veil embroidered with mandarin ducks covering his face, Chu Zhaohuai could see nothing but swaying patches of red.
He was helped down from the bridal sedan by several people. He had no idea who he was actually bowing to during the wedding rites.
After what seemed like an eternity, he finally stumbled into the bridal chamber in a daze.
The bedchamber in Prince Jing’s residence was filled with the strong smell of medicine.
Chu Zhaohuai instinctively took a sniff.
His brows immediately furrowed.
This medicinal scent…
Prince Jing was seriously ill and needed complete rest. Although the wedding meant to bring him good fortune had made the front courtyard noisy and bustling, the rear courtyard was deserted and eerily quiet.
The wedding matron carefully slipped out and closed the door behind her.
Chu Zhaohuai patiently waited for a while. Once he was certain there was no one nearby, he raised his hand and lifted the wedding veil, letting it rest atop his phoenix crown.
It was bitterly cold outside.
The bridal chamber was like an ice cellar, and the window was even left open. The draft swept through the room, carrying snowflakes with it.
There was no heated floor.
There wasn’t even a charcoal brazier.
Chu Zhaohuai’s hands and feet quickly turned icy cold. He turned his head and sneezed, his gaze landing on the enormous incense burner beside the bed.
He had originally wanted to investigate the medicinal scent.
But the moment he saw the golden incense burner, his eyes widened.
As expected of a prince deeply favored by His Majesty.
Even the incense burner he used was made of gold.
It was blinding.
Chu Zhaohuai reluctantly tore his gaze away from the golden incense burner and gathered up his heavy wedding robes as he walked toward it.
Only when he got closer did he detect the strong scent of poisonous herbs coming from inside.
If this incense continued burning in the bedchamber, Prince Jing indeed wouldn’t survive past the Little New Year.
Chu Zhaohuai poured a bowl of water and lifted the heavy lid of the burner, intending to extinguish the incense first.
It wasn’t that he wanted to save Prince Jing.
He simply knew that a physician couldn’t heal himself, and his body was far too weak. If he inhaled too much poison, he might soon end up dying alongside Prince Jing.
Suddenly, a voice came from behind him.
“What is the Princess Consort doing?”
Chu Zhaohuai was so startled that his hand trembled. The bowl tipped, and the water spilled into the incense burner.
With a hiss, a huge ghostly blue flame suddenly erupted.
A moment later, gray-white smoke billowed upward.
The previously empty bridal chamber now contained a man dressed in black.
He wore a mask and stared coldly at Chu Zhaohuai. As he slowly approached, not a single footstep could be heard.
The man was presumably a secret guard. He raised his hand and relit the incense.
“This incense is medicine keeping His Highness alive. Princess Consort, don’t touch it.”
Chu Zhaohuai had studied medicine under his maternal grandfather since childhood and had never heard of such a method of keeping someone alive.
“What kind of illness requires poison—”
The secret guard’s fingers tightened around his sword.
Chu Zhaohuai shuddered.
“Wonderful medicine! Wonderful medicine!”
The secret guard apparently wasn’t in the mood to be placated.
He even seemed to develop murderous intent and suddenly drew his sword.
The incense continued rising, its poisonous scent now even stronger than before.
Chu Zhaohuai was startled and hurriedly took half a step backward.
His wedding robes were too heavy, and he lost his balance. He stepped on his own hem and crashed down beside the bed.
Saving his life was more important than preserving his dignity. Chu Zhaohuai had none of the arrogance expected of a noble young master and immediately begged for mercy.
“Please spare me! Please spare me! This medicine will definitely keep His Highness alive. He’ll surely live to a hundred and have many sons and—ugh!”
Before he could finish speaking, two sharp metallic sounds rang out.
Two crossbow bolts shot through the air.
The secret guard swiftly drew his sword and knocked them aside.
The bolts flew past Chu Zhaohuai’s ear and embedded themselves three inches deep into the bedpost.
Their black-feathered tails trembled violently from the impact.
—They had missed Chu Zhaohuai’s life by less than half an inch.
Chu Zhaohuai was still shaking from the shock as he stared blankly at the poisoned bolts.
Assassins?
The secret guard said in a deep voice, “Protect His Highness!”
In the next instant, the beams overhead seemed to be filled with birds as several black figures dropped down from above. Drawing their swords, they rushed out of the bridal chamber to confront the attackers.
Within a few breaths, the sounds of clashing weapons and short, muffled screams came from outside.
Chu Zhaohuai was completely defenseless and had never witnessed anything like this before. Terrified, he pressed a hand against his chest and took several shaky breaths.
No wonder Chu Jing had told him not to stay in the bridal chamber.
His father had known all along that someone would come through all this trouble to assassinate Ji Xun on his wedding night.
The bridal chamber was spacious, with nowhere to hide.
Chu Zhaohuai looked around frantically. Gathering up his robes, he climbed onto the wide wedding bed and pushed aside the layers of curtains.
He froze.
—Someone was lying on the large bed.
Naturally, the person who could be lying in the bridal chamber was Prince Jing.
As a member of the imperial family, Ji Xun possessed an innate, impossible-to-ignore nobility even though he was gravely ill.
Despite the bitter winter cold, he wore only a thin black robe. The collar hung loosely open, revealing a scar that stretched almost all the way across his chest.
The man slept with his eyes closed.
His thin lips were pale, and his long, thick eyelashes resembled black crow feathers.
He looked like a carnivorous flower on the verge of withering.
Chu Zhaohuai stared at him for a moment.
It was difficult to imagine that a man who, at first glance, looked merely beautiful could be the infamous “Mad Dog” and “Ghost’s Nightmare,” a man rumored to be capable of taking a person’s life with his bare hands and skilled in eight hundred different methods of torture.
But no matter how mighty and powerful he had once been, now he could only lie trapped on this narrow bed, drifting helplessly toward death.
How pitiful.
Chu Zhaohuai cautiously stepped over Ji Xun’s body, intending to climb farther inside the bed.
The moment his foot touched the mattress, it seemed to step on something.
From the shape beneath the thin quilt, he could vaguely make out what it was.
—It seemed to be Prince Jing’s hand.
Even in his sleep, Ji Xun appeared to sense the pain. His brows drew together slightly.
Chu Zhaohuai: “……”
Remembering this man’s reputation for killing people as casually as chopping vegetables, Chu Zhaohuai immediately threw himself toward the inner side of the bed with a loud thump.
He huddled in the farthest corner, clasped his hands together, and nervously bowed toward Prince Jing.
“Please don’t be angry. Rest in peace. Rest in peace.”
He hadn’t been sharing the bed with the pitiful Prince Jing for long when the screams outside gradually ceased.
Chu Zhaohuai finally let out a breath of relief.
He cautiously bent down and stood up, terrified of stepping on this terrifying man again. He intended to climb down from the foot of the bed.
But the moment he straightened up, two black-clad, masked figures suddenly vaulted through the wide-open window.
Their movements were swift and decisive as they charged straight toward the wedding bed, swords raised to take their lives.
Chu Zhaohuai: “……”
His legs went weak.
His entire body collapsed directly onto Prince Jing’s chest.
Ji Xun’s brows furrowed even deeper.
Chu Zhaohuai almost wished he could crush the man beneath him into eternal rest so that he wouldn’t have to deal with him after waking up.
—Unfortunately, with the assassins already coming, the sword would probably send him to the afterlife soon enough anyway.
Chu Zhaohuai reacted quickly and immediately shouted for help.
“Protect His Highness—!”
But it was already too late.
In the blink of an eye, the assassins had reached them. Their long blades came slashing downward, clearly intending to run the two men on the bed straight through.
One strike.
Two lives.
The murderous intent wrapped around them like a poisonous snake capable of devouring people.
Chu Zhaohuai had no strength left to escape. His back turned cold, and his throat became so dry that even swallowing was difficult.
Overcome by terror, his mind went completely blank.
He only had time to close his eyes before the blade came down.
Suddenly, a hand grabbed Chu Zhaohuai’s wrist.
It was cold as stone, as though it belonged to a vengeful ghost that had crawled up from the depths of the underworld.
The icy touch made him shudder violently.
The candle flame flickered.
Cold steel flashed.
Chu Zhaohuai froze and opened his eyes in confusion.
Before he could see clearly, the golden tassels hanging from his phoenix crown clinked against one another.
The wedding veil, which had been casually draped over the dangling hair ornament, fell down again, blocking his vision with a curtain of crimson.
Amid the crisp sound of the golden beads knocking together came a dull, muffled sound—
As though something blunt had pierced through flesh.
Thud.
The faint smell of blood spread through the room.
As Chu Zhaohuai stared in stunned confusion, his vision finally changed.
Beneath the wedding veil embroidered with golden thread and mandarin ducks playing in water, a blood-stained flash of gold reached in and casually lifted the red veil.
—At first, Chu Zhaohuai thought it was the traditional wedding rod used to lift a bride’s veil.
But when he looked down, he realized that it seemed to be a staff made entirely of gold.
Chu Zhaohuai looked up.
In the bitter winter cold, the man who had just been lying motionless with his eyes closed, looking like a corpse, was now sitting lazily at the edge of the bed.
His thin black robe hung loosely around him, barely covering his scarred body.
A hideous scar ran across his neck, carrying with it an unmistakable hint of suppressed wildness and viciousness.
Prince Jing turned his head slightly toward Chu Zhaohuai.
Several streaks of crimson blood splattered across his pale, flawless face.
At the foot of the bed, the assassin who had been holding the knife now lay on his back.
His eyes were wide and bloodshot, filled with hatred.
Blood continuously bubbled from his throat.
A few breaths later, he stopped breathing.
It had happened so quickly that the assassin died with his eyes still open.
Ji Xun wore only a thin robe and had no sword or other weapon on him. Chu Zhaohuai couldn’t even understand how he had managed it.
His gaze swept over the object that had pinned the black-clad man to the floor.
He froze.
…Wasn’t that the Golden Dove-Headed Staff bestowed by His Majesty?
Ordinary dove-headed staffs had bronze heads and bodies made from sandalwood.
But Ji Xun’s was cast entirely from gold, with four small seal-script characters engraved upon it:
“Long Life, Prosperous Spring.”
The bottom of the golden staff was thick and blunt, nothing like the sharp edge of a sword or blade.
And yet Ji Xun had casually driven the dove-headed staff straight through the assassin’s heart, killing him with a single blow.
Just how much strength did that require?
Had he just used this very same staff—the one that had killed a man moments ago—to lift Chu Zhaohuai’s wedding veil?
Chu Zhaohuai shuddered violently.
The impression he had formed moments ago—
“A handsome man.”
“A poor man trapped on his deathbed.”
—was shattered in an instant.
Only one thought remained.
—He really was a God of Death.
Chu Zhaohuai pressed his lips tightly together, terrified that if he opened them even slightly, his soul would escape through the gap.
His black hair and dark robes were streaked with blood beside his cheek. Ji Xun looked like a jade-faced King of Hell come to claim a soul, showing none of the weakness of someone who had seemed moments away from death.
He smiled gently.
“Did I frighten you?”
Chu Zhaohuai’s face was deathly pale, but he forced himself to remain calm.
“N-No, not at all.”
The moment he finished speaking, the brave and fearless Princess Consort’s body suddenly went limp.
He staggered forward and collapsed.
He fainted.
Ji Xun: “……”