The man’s voice was much younger than she had imagined. It wasn’t deep or heavy but clear and mellow like fine wine. When he deliberately softened it, there was even a touch of magnetism—pleasant, gentle.
“No, you didn’t,” the bride on the bed replied. Her voice was as soft as a warbler’s song, making Chen Ting’s palms tingle. After a pause, she added, “Husband.”
That single word nearly made Chen Ting forget how to walk.
She had married into his household. She wasn’t dead, hadn’t taken her own life. She was sitting here safely in his room… and she called him husband.
From now on, she would be his. His… little wife.
For the first time in his life, Chen Ting felt as if he was about to gain something—an indescribable sense of joy rippling through his chest.
Perhaps he really had been alone for too long. The vow he made in youth—to remain solitary for life—clearly meant nothing now. If someone was willing to stay by his side for the rest of his days… he was very glad.
Shen Wangshu listened as the footsteps approached. A moment later, cold-black iron armor lifted her bridal veil. His voice tightened slightly. “May I?”
So polite.
Shen Wangshu nodded. The ritual was for the groom anyway—she couldn’t exactly refuse.
The veil lifted. Shen Wangshu finally saw her husband.
He had a sharp, handsome face with sword-like brows and bright eyes. He wasn’t the youthful, dashing general described in novels, but there was a steady, restrained power about him. Even beneath the bright red wedding robes, his broad shoulders and narrow waist were unmistakable. Standing tall, he radiated an intimidating presence.
…A presence that made her feel he could punch ten fragile little versions of her to death with one swing.
Shen Wangshu forced a gentle, harmless smile.
Chen Ting was also studying his new wife. He had previously seen a portrait of the Xiahou family’s young lady—she looked nothing like this. That Xiahou girl was delicate and pretty, but nowhere near as stunning as the woman sitting before him. Just sitting quietly, she had a beauty that made it difficult to look away.
His previously joyful gaze chilled. He asked in a low voice, “You’re not from the Xiahou family. Who are you?”
Shen Wangshu froze for a moment, her mind spinning.
Before coming here, she had known that a replacement bride would never fool the Duke’s Manor easily—especially this war-hardened general. If he refused to accept her, she might not survive the night.
Instead of weaving lies one after another, it was better to be straightforward now and try to align their interests.
His cold iron glove grasped her chin, but her face remained calm as she countered, “Whether I’m from the Xiahou family or not… the general still needs a bride, does he not?”
His gaze hardened. “What is your purpose in entering the Duke’s Manor?”
Shen Wangshu answered honestly, “I only seek the general’s protection.”
Looking into those clear, untainted eyes, Chen Ting’s sternness wavered slightly—she had voluntarily shown weakness. But he still shook his head. “I don’t believe you. State your identity clearly.”
He released her. His gaze caught the red marks on her pointed chin, stark against her fair skin, and he froze. He hadn’t even used force. Was she made of tofu?
Shen Wangshu was considering how to respond when she suddenly heard his inner voice:
So soft… a light pinch and she turns red.
So beneath the iron exterior, he wasn’t as heartless as he appeared—he still had the leisure to think such things at a time like this.
Shen Wangshu suddenly knew what to do.
Since the original body was breathtakingly beautiful and this mighty general was mentally unstable at the moment, she would use a beauty trap—just this once.
Chen Ting watched in shock as tears welled in the little beauty’s eyes. The rouge on her cheeks turned even more vivid, her expression pitiful and frightened.
“If I weren’t from the Xiahou family, then I would indeed be guilty of deceiving you, Your Excellency. How could you doubt me?” Her voice trembled. “Unless… you already have someone you favor, and that’s why you refuse to believe what you see?”
Though clearly wronged, she stubbornly bit her lip, turning away so he couldn’t see her tears. “If that is the case, then I may as well die.”
Even her angered beauty was captivating. Chen Ting felt a strange panic rise.
Indeed—would the Xiahou family dare deceive him? Perhaps he had been away from Moyun too long and his investigation was inaccurate. Maybe the Xiahou family had more than one daughter…
“D-Don’t cry,” he said stiffly, regretting his blunt tone. He steeled himself and pulled her back from the corner so she faced him. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“What is your name?” His gaze darkened as it lingered on the slender, pale curve of her neck above the wedding robes.
His attitude had softened. But Shen Wangshu didn’t cling to him—she kept her back to him, still sniffling, resistant to respond. “Wangshu.”
Men were predictable creatures. The more she yielded, the more he’d suspect her. Keeping her distance would only draw him in.
Chen Ting looked at her for a long moment and thought:
Fine. Whoever she is, she married into the Duke’s Manor. She is now his.
As long as she didn’t cause trouble and lived peacefully, nothing else mattered.
Wangshu… Wangshu. A name like the moon—cold, graceful, and fitting for her.
The room fell silent again. Shen Wangshu was about to question whether she’d misjudged him—he didn’t seem to be taking the bait—when his voice suddenly came:
“Let’s drink the nuptial wine.”
So he was choosing not to pursue the matter?
The beauty finally turned to look at him.
Chen Ting had already poured two cups of wine. He handed one to her and said calmly, “Since you are the one who married in, from today forward, you are my wife. I will not concern myself with anything before.”
“I hope that from this day on, we will respect each other as husband and wife. When I am not here, you must fulfill your duties—serve Grandmother, be respectful to my uncle and aunt, and care for my younger brother.”
His words made his meaning clear: he was not fooled—he simply didn’t intend to delve further.
She had been right earlier. Whether or not she was from the Xiahou family, he required a wife. Otherwise, the emperor would keep sending women into his household.
This time it was a low-born girl. What if next time the emperor sent a spy?
Better to keep someone already aware of the situation—someone easier to watch and control.
Shen Wangshu lowered her gaze. “I understand.”
Drinking the nuptial wine sealed their agreement.
Since they were now officially wed, they were expected to consummate the marriage. Chen Ting glanced at her slender waist, suspecting a bit of force might snap her in half. He hesitated.
But Shen Wangshu was already mentally prepared. Whether he wanted to or not, she removed the heavy phoenix crown.
To Chen Ting, her action was a blatant signal—a direct invitation.
His mind exploded.
The cold iron glove clumsily reached for her wedding sash. Before he could untie much, the sharp edges tore through the red fabric. Shen Wangshu fell silent for a moment, then looked up at him and gently said, “…If you continue like that, you might injure me.”
Startled, the man withdrew his hand. Lifting her onto the bed, he turned to remove his own belt first.
When Shen Wangshu finally saw what he revealed… she swallowed hard in shock.
At last, she understood why in the original story the couple never consummated their marriage—not even until death.
“…Can we not do it?” she whispered.