6
Mu Mingtang had made a harsh ultimatum: if she wasn’t given a dowry equal to Jiang Mingwei’s, she would cut off her hair and become a nun. Madam Jiang was so angered by her words that her heart ached, yet she didn’t dare take the risk.
Mu Mingtang had no parents, no family, and nothing to lose. If pushed too far, who knew what this unruly woman might do? The emperor had already declared before the civil and military officials that Prince Qiyang was to take a wife. If something happened to Mu Mingtang at this critical juncture, where would the Jiang family find another second daughter?
The Jiang family had already experienced one bride escape; they could not afford any further tests of the emperor’s authority. That very night, Madam Jiang relayed Mu Mingtang’s demands to Jiang Honghao. Gritting his teeth, Jiang Honghao said, “Wealth and property are, after all, external possessions. Compared to the future of our entire clan, they are truly insignificant. Let it be as she says—prepare her dowry according to Mingwei’s standard. Spending money to secure the position of Chief of the Three Fiscal Offices is still worth it.”
Though Madam Jiang was deeply unwilling to hear this, she could not contradict Jiang Honghao’s decree. She had no choice but to swallow her grievances and comply.
Thereafter, when the Jiang household prepared gold and silverware, clothing, jewelry, and mahogany furniture, everything was indeed procured in duplicate. The Jiang family had only one child, Jiang Mingwei. After giving birth to Jiang Mingwei, Madam Jiang had never been able to conceive again, and over the years, the concubines in the inner courtyard had also remained childless. In his early years, Jiang Honghao had longed for a son, but eventually, he gave up on that wish and threw himself entirely into his official career.
Having a daughter who was a princess consort, and who might very well become empress one day, was far better than having ten or eight useless sons. As long as his official rank was high enough, why worry about who would provide for him in his old age?
Since Jiang Mingwei was the family’s sole heir, one could easily imagine how generously Madam Jiang had been preparing her dowry. But the Jiang family’s wealth had its limits. Now with Mu Mingtang added to the equation, the family could not come up with extra silver on short notice. They were forced to cut Jiang Mingwei’s share in half and redistribute it to Mu Mingtang.
Madam Jiang dared not tell Jiang Mingwei any of this. In the end, as she looked over the dowry list, she felt so aggrieved she could have vomited blood. But what could she do? No matter how disgusted she was, Madam Jiang still had to put on a smiling face and send Mu Mingtang off to her wedding with apparent joy.
Mu Mingtang would marry Prince Qiyang; Jiang Mingwei would marry Prince Jin. Since Prince Qiyang was the elder brother, his wedding was to be conducted first. On the designated day, Mu Mingtang, dressed in her phoenix coronet and crimson wedding gown, sat on the marriage bed listening to the hairdressing women recite auspicious words that even they did not believe. The phoenix crown weighed so heavily on her head that she could barely lift her neck, yet Mu Mingtang sat upright and proper, waiting for the wedding procession to arrive.
What woman does not yearn for a grand and solemn wedding? Mu Mingtang would clearly have only this one chance in her lifetime. The groom lay unconscious; the guests offered blessings while actually mocking her in their hearts; even the wedding matron went through the motions perfunctorily.
If others would not give her dignity, she would give it to herself. No matter what others did, in her own heart, this wedding was bound to be sacred and perfect.
The auspicious hour arrived, and the wedding procession stopped at the Jiang family’s gate. Leaning on her maid’s arm, Mu Mingtang stepped into the bridal sedan chair.
Xie Xuanchen was obviously in no condition to participate in the wedding—he was still unconscious. Yet many rituals could not be performed without someone present. Even after drastically reducing numerous steps, several essentials remained. In the end, the only choice was for Xie Xuanji to step in, acting as both younger brother and best man, and complete the Jiang family’s portion of the ceremonies on Xie Xuanchen’s behalf.
The bridal sedan chair made a full circuit around the capital before finally being escorted into Prince Qiyang’s residence with much fanfare. Sitting inside the swaying sedan chair, Mu Mingtang thought to herself: what an elaborate piece of theater this is. To ordinary commoners watching, it must surely appear as a magnificent spectacle—ten miles of grand dowry and a splendid marriage into royalty.
Clearly, the closer they got, the louder the suona horns blared outside, as if deliberately trying to cover something. Even without seeing, Mu Mingtang could guess that they were likely drawing near to Prince Qiyang’s residence. No one dared approach Prince Qiyang’s mansion; pedestrians on both sides had vanished, leaving a place more desolate than a graveyard. So, the musicians were deliberately raising their volume to add a semblance of festivity.
This was where she would live for the rest of her life. Mu Mingtang let out a silent sigh, lifted her skirt, and slowly stepped down from the bridal sedan chair.
As she entered Prince Qiyang’s residence, she could immediately sense a starkly different atmosphere—a world apart from the bustling Jiang mansion, teeming with guests, and the lively, crowded streets.
Mu Mingtang’s red veil covered her head, tinting her entire field of vision crimson. She couldn’t see the outside world, but she could at least hear it—there was not a sound on either side. If not for the high thresholds and the smooth, square bricks beneath her feet, she would have thought she had entered a city of the dead.
Xie Xuanji had performed the rituals on Xie Xuanchen’s behalf at the Jiang mansion, but he couldn’t very well substitute for the latter half. This area around Prince Qiyang’s residence was eerie and ill-omened; even Xie Xuanji was reluctant to linger. Mu Mingtang had no choice but to enter the main hall alone and, following the ceremonial officer’s chants, bow first to Heaven and Earth, then to the high hall, and finally, toward the empty air, slowly lower herself in obeisance.
The ceremonial officer immediately sang out, “The ritual is complete. Escort the bride to the bridal chamber.”
He called out so urgently, as if afraid that even the slightest delay might cause some catastrophe. The others accompanying them also breathed sighs of relief and hurriedly helped Mu Mingtang toward the bridal chamber.
No one dared to venture deep into Prince Qiyang’s residence, let alone prepare a special bridal chamber there. So, the so-called bridal chamber was essentially Xie Xuanchen’s sleeping hall, where he lay in a coma.
Mu Mingtang couldn’t see the way, but she could clearly feel the air growing increasingly tense. Eventually, she could even hear the clashing of swords and armor in her ears. As they walked deeper, the maids supporting Mu Mingtang began to breathe rapidly, their hands trembling. When they reached a certain doorway, both of them let go simultaneously and hastily stepped back two paces. “Your Highness, the bridal chamber is just ahead. This servant dares not enter the hall. Please go in yourself.”
With that, they didn’t even bow but turned and fled. One maid ran so frantically that she even tripped and fell.
Mu Mingtang sighed. At this point, there was no use worrying about omens of good or bad luck. She lifted her own veil and looked at the hall before her.
The doors were tall and heavy, carved with floating dragon reliefs—ferocious, clawing, majestic. No one had come here for a long time; fine dust had settled into the crevices of the carvings. Yet half-old, half-new, shrouded in grime, the dust did nothing to diminish the murderous intent shining from the dragons’ copper-bell-like eyes.
Mu Mingtang was startled by those fierce dragons. She bolstered her courage, placed her hands on the handles, steadied herself, and only then dared to push them open.
The doors were heavy, yet when she pushed, there was no creaking sound—a testament to the superb craftsmanship and materials. After she opened the great doors, silence reigned within. The hall stretched deep into the building, as if even sunlight dared not penetrate.
Mu Mingtang’s hard-won courage instantly scattered. She turned her head, adorned with her magnificent phoenix coronet, but no one was looking at her. Fully armored soldiers stood rigidly at attention. Upon closer inspection, their postures were stiff, and veins even bulged on the backs of their hands.
Mu Mingtang knew no one would help her. She could only mutter to herself, “A narrow escape from death ensures future fortune.” She repeated it three times before she mustered the nerve to lift her skirt and quietly step over the threshold.
After entering the hall, Mu Mingtang quietly closed the door behind her and moved forward in tiny steps. This demeanor of hers was hardly like that of a bride entering her wedding chamber; she was more cautious than a petty thief.
Only after entering did Mu Mingtang realize just how sumptuous Prince Qiyang’s residence was—especially the main hall where Prince Qiyang lived. With its dark-wood partitions, layer upon layer of drapes, and crowds of servants, it would have been unmatched in nobility. But now, with no one around, it was utterly terrifying.
Mu Mingtang kept fearing that from behind one of those drapes, a tiger might leap out and devour her. She was so frightened by her own imagination that she stopped in her tracks, wrapped her arms around herself as her hair stood on end, gathered every ounce of courage, and called out softly, “Your Highness, Prince Qiyang?”
Her voice dissipated into the depths of the hall, and naturally, there was no response. At a moment like this, Mu Mingtang summoned the optimism of a common city dweller and absurdly comforted herself: she had never in her life seen such a huge room. To be able to spend a single night in such a luxurious, vast chamber before she died—it would be worth it even if she died tomorrow.
With that thought, Mu Mingtang immediately felt at ease. She cleared her throat and called out again, “Prince Qiyang, my name is Mu Mingtang, and I have come today to marry you. Marry a rooster and follow the rooster; marry a dog and follow the dog. I’ll be living here now. If you say nothing, I’ll take that as your consent.”
The room remained silent. Mu Mingtang, acting as if she had lived there her whole life, promptly found a small partitioned space that looked pleasing to her eye. Straining with all her might, she dragged over a beauty’s lounging couch and declared herself settled. Finally, she had the chance to take off the unbearably heavy phoenix coronet, carefully put it away, and then rummage through her little space left and right, searching for some cleaning tool to wipe away the dust in the room.
Even a grand royal palace’s main hall would accumulate dust after so long without occupants.
Mu Mingtang removed the cumbersome oversized robe and the shawl-like cape, leaving herself in just her green ru skirt, and wiped the dust off all the surrounding furniture. Xie Xuanchen’s sleeping hall was located along the central axis of Prince Qiyang’s residence. It was called the Jade Qilin Hall, a seven-bay structure with a porch in front, a passage hall behind, and corridors on both sides connecting to the left and right studies. It occupied a vast area.
Mu Mingtang, an ordinary commoner who had never seen such a massive building in her life, was perfectly content simply to find a small space enclosed by a floor screen in the first bay on the west side of the central hall. That space contained a set of chairs, a beauty’s lounging couch, a towering armoire in the corner, and still plenty of room to walk around. That was more than enough for her.
Yet this was nothing more than a casual little enclosure in the western secondary bay of the seven-bay Jade Qilin Hall—probably a resting area for servants. The entire sleeping hall, all told, was unimaginably vast in scale.
As Mu Mingtang cleaned, she marveled at how wonderful it must be to be rich. Once she had tidied up her future living quarters and realized she could no longer avoid it, she finally dawdled her way further inside.
By now, Mu Mingtang had removed her phoenix coronet and floor-length outer robe, making it much easier to move. Generally speaking, sleeping quarters were arranged on the western side. Continuing inward, Mu Mingtang cautiously lifted the floor-length drapes and poked her head inside.
“Your Highness, Prince Qiyang?”
Mu Mingtang’s voice was tense. Her back unconsciously stiffened, ready to bolt at the slightest stir. After she called out, there was no response for a long time. Summoning her courage, she took two more steps inside.
She could vaguely make out a figure on the bed, but couldn’t see his face clearly. Perhaps the quiet lulled her into a false sense of security; Mu Mingtang didn’t know where she found the nerve, but she took several more steps forward.
Now, she finally saw the face of the person on the bed.
Mu Mingtang was struck as if by lightning. She stood there for a long time before she felt her soul return to her body. No longer caring about fear, she rushed forward, knelt on the footstool, and with trembling fingers, lifted the bed curtains.
At such close range, she could no longer be mistaken. Mu Mingtang’s eyes went wide. After a long while, she blinked once. Then, suddenly, tears began to fall.
“It’s you. It’s actually you.”
Tears streamed down her face. Mu Mingtang could no longer hold back; she covered her mouth and wept.
In her youth, she had also been the apple of her parents’ eyes, pampered and carefree, never wanting for food or clothing. She had not always had a spirit as tough as weeds.
But at the age of twelve, everything came to an end. Xiangyang was surrounded by the Jie barbarians. The prefect, cowardly and afraid to die, abandoned the common people and fled. The city fell without a fight. The Jie entered the city, burning, killing, and looting, committing every evil imaginable. The Mu family, being merchants with a modest amount of wealth, was naturally prey in the eyes of these wolves.
Her parents died in that catastrophe. When they learned the city was lost, they abandoned the wealth they had accumulated over half a lifetime. Grabbing only a few belongings, they escorted Mu Mingtang out the back door and fled toward the countryside. But the empty Mu household did not satisfy the wolves. They quickly gave chase, pursuing down the back alleys.
Many people knew that the Mu family had a young daughter—young in years, but exceptionally beautiful. Though Mu Mingtang was only twelve, many families had already come to propose marriage. Her parents had refused them all, reluctant to let her marry so young.
But now, her beauty became her death warrant. Seeing the Jie about to catch up, her father shoved the bundle they carried into her mother’s arms and told her to take their daughter and run. Listening to the sound of blades cutting into flesh behind her, Mu Mingtang’s mother wept as she dragged her daughter along.
They ran for their lives, but two women were soon overtaken. Her mother gave Mu Mingtang a hard push, not even having time to press the money into her hands, telling her to run ahead without looking back. Then her mother turned down a different alley, deliberately making noise to lure the Jie away.
Mu Mingtang wept until her whole body convulsed. She didn’t know why she needed to run, why she needed to live. Her parents were both dead—what reason did she have to live? Mu Mingtang turned back, wanting to chase after her mother, but as soon as she emerged from the alley, she ran straight into a band of Jie.
When the Jie saw her face, they cried out in excitement. Mu Mingtang fought them with all her might, but a single slap sent her stumbling back. One of the Jie, who seemed to be their leader, was leeringly closing in on Mu Mingtang when an arrow whistled through the air from behind, piercing clean through his neck.
Then, cries of battle erupted everywhere. Mu Mingtang crouched on the ground, dazed. It was only when Jie blood splattered onto her face that she numbly looked up. A white horse walked past her eyes. The legs of that horse, ordinarily pure white without a single dark hair, were entirely covered in blood.
The rider dispatched a Jie with a single, efficient stroke of his blade. Looking down to see her, he seemed to raise an eyebrow slightly: “Can you walk?”
Mu Mingtang was completely stunned. Trembling, she scrambled to her feet, nodding frantically. The young man reined his horse in a different direction and immediately broke into a gallop. “If you can walk, then walk forward. Living isn’t easy—dying is far too simple.”
As the young man said these words, his expression was cold and fierce. The tear-shaped mole at the corner of his eye carried an endless ruthlessness. His spirit was magnificent, charging forward without looking back.
They had first met that day in Xiangyang. Who would have thought that when they met again, it would be under circumstances like these?
**