It was early spring in March, the breeze gentle and warm. From dawn, Lique Street in the capital was packed tight with onlookers, necks craning toward the corner, waiting for the bridal procession to arrive.
The clang of gongs and drums filled the air, festive cheer sweeping across the street. Children darted into the road, eager for the wedding entourage to appear.
Why did this marriage draw the entire city’s attention? Because the bride and groom were no ordinary pair. The groom was none other than Jiang Chengyuan, the Prime Minister of the realm. The bride came from the illustrious Yun family, a famed merchant family of the capital.
Inside the ornate bridal sedan, the young woman in embroidered finery lifted her veil. Her face, pale and delicate, showed no trace of joy—only vexation and weariness. From the moment she left the Yun household, she had worn this expression. Swaying in the sedan, she sighed. The path was set; from here on, she would have to plan her days carefully.
Du Nan longed to lift the curtain and glimpse the outside. Eight bearers carried her grand sedan, a spectacle of honor, yet she found the jolting unbearable, her chest tight with breathlessness. In the end, she refrained. Her mother’s words echoed: *Mind your conduct, follow the rites. Do not let the people mock you. If you disgrace the Prime Minister’s household, your future will be bitter indeed.*
Everyone knew Prime Minister Jiang as the “cold-faced King of Hell”—decisive, ruthless, never one to hesitate.
Du Nan gave a bitter laugh. Three days after falling into this novel’s world, she had already become the Yun family’s eldest daughter, Yun Shuyue, and was being married off to Jiang Chengyuan of Qiming—a perfect setup for a disposable character.
In the story, Yun Shuyue was never Jiang Chengyuan’s beloved. She was married into his household only because, when Jiang Chengyuan was five, his father had jokingly arranged a childhood betrothal with his closest friend—Master Yun—whose daughter had just been born. Back then, the Jiang family was far from today’s lofty heights; Jiang Chengyuan’s father was merely a minor official.
And Yun Shuyue herself? The very sort of woman Du Nan despised—frail, melancholy, forever sighing over falling blossoms or feigning sorrow at spring rain.
Such a woman, after three years in the Prime Minister’s residence, wasted away and died of her own gloom.
Du Nan exhaled sharply. Now that she had become Yun Shuyue, she would not be a puppet, meekly accepting her fate. She would rewrite the script. Jiang Chengyuan might scorn her—but when had she ever begged for his affection?
From this day forward, Yun Shuyue would live by one creed: *My happiness comes first. Everything else can go to hell.*
Outside the sedan, gossip buzzed among the crowd:
“Did you hear? The Yun family’s eldest may be beautiful, but she’s a sickly thing.”
“I’ve heard that too. Strange, isn’t it? A noble daughter of such a grand house, yet few have seen her. She must be gravely ill.”
“So what? She’s still marrying the Prime Minister. The Jiang family’s status eclipses ten Yun families combined.”
“Marrying well—does it matter? Look at her, weak as she is. Who knows if she can even bear children?”
Du Nan listened to the sharp tongues outside and reminded herself: *Du Nan, from now on, you are Yun Shuyue, reborn and remade.*
At the gates of the Prime Minister’s residence, the sea of people surged. Nearly every official in the capital had gathered, crowding the entrance until not a single gap remained.
The matchmaker approached Jiang Chengyuan with a smile, bowed, and said, “My lord, it is time to carry the bride on your back.”
Her words immediately drew a burst of laughter from the crowd.
Jiang Chengyuan glanced toward the bridal sedan. He did not move at once. His fathomless eyes were calm as still water—neither joyful nor displeased—as though this were nothing more than a routine duty.
Someone nearby called out, “Prime Minister, why bother with carrying her? Just lift her in your arms and take her inside!”
Another round of laughter erupted.
The matchmaker, seeing him hesitate, urged, “My lord, the auspicious hour is nearly upon us.”
Just as everyone waited to see the Prime Minister hoist his bride, a voice came from within the sedan: “Madam Wang, the Lord is the nation’s Prime Minister. To carry his wife on his back before the crowd would be undignified. Better that he lead me in with a red silk ribbon.”
The crowd fell silent.
Her voice was clear and gentle, like a mountain stream, yet steady and poised, as if plucked from the strings of an ancient zither—graceful, but never lacking in decorum.
At last, Jiang Chengyuan spoke: “As my lady wishes.”
And so, to the disappointment of those hoping to tease the Prime Minister, the two entered the hall, each holding one end of the red silk, and completed the wedding rites.
When the matchmaker declared, “The ceremony is complete,” Yun Shuyue was escorted into the bridal chamber.
No sooner had she entered than her maid Chun Liu burst out indignantly:
“Miss, did you see? When the matchmaker asked him to carry you, he hesitated so long—it was infuriating! Other brides are carried in by their grooms, yet our young master let you walk into the Prime Minister’s residence yourself.”
Yun Shuyue, far calmer than her maid, replied lightly, “He is the Prime Minister. Perhaps he cares too much for appearances.”
As she spoke, she lifted her veil herself. Chun Liu gasped and rushed forward to stop her. “My lady! The veil must be lifted by the groom, or it’s unlucky!”
But Yun Shuyue caught her hand with surprising strength. Chun Liu froze—when had her mistress grown so forceful?
Not only did Yun Shuyue remove the veil, but she also took off the heavy phoenix crown. After hours of bearing its weight, her neck felt ready to snap. “Chun Liu, go to the kitchen and see what food you can bring me. I’m starving.”
Chun Liu stared, dumbfounded. A new bride was supposed to wait for her husband, not uncover herself and demand supper!
Yun Shuyue smiled at her maid’s shock. “I’m exhausted and hungry. Once I’ve eaten, I’ll put the crown back on.”
Still worried, Chun Liu relented, saying, “Then please, after you’ve eaten, you must wear it again,” before hurrying off to the kitchen.
Yun Shuyue chuckled softly. That was merely an excuse to soothe Chun Liu. She knew full well that Jiang Chengyuan would not come to the bridal chamber tonight.
In the original story, he claimed drunkenness and spent the night in his study. Their first true meeting as husband and wife would not come until three days later, when she returned to her family home.