The Prisoner of Beauty - Chapter 8

Chapter 8: The Wedding

Winter days are notoriously short. By the time the legions had returned to their camps and Wei Shao finally entered the city, the night had turned pitch-black.

 

Before the gates of the Governor’s residence, torches flickered in dense rows, casting long, dancing shadows. Wei Shao wore a heavy suit of armor still frosted with a brittle layer of ice from the road. As his iron-shod boots crunched loudly against the accumulated snow up the main steps, General Wei Liang—who had welcomed him at the city gates and accompanied him back—suddenly remembered something. He hurried his pace, leaning in close to whisper, "My Lord, the Qiao lady has arrived. She has been residing in the Yuyang Pavilion for over half a month."

 

"According to Matron Zhong, the Qiao daughter is exceptionally quiet," Wei Liang added in a lower tone. "She keeps her doors closed during the day and only occasionally ascends Tantai at twilight to linger for a brief moment. Sensing nothing amiss, the Matron did not bar her."

 

Wei Shao merely offered a faint grunt of acknowledgment. Without halting his stride for even a fraction of a second, he stepped straight over the high wooden threshold, heading directly toward the Sheyang Pavilion where he usually stayed.

 

Wei Liang watched his lord's retreating back. After a few paces, however, Wei Shao suddenly came to a halt. He turned his head slightly, casting a cold glance back toward the direction of the Yuyang Pavilion.

 

Separated by multiple courtyards and heavy stone gates, the pavilion itself was completely invisible from where he stood. He could only see the massive silhouette of the adjacent Tantai tower soaring into the night sky. In the absolute dark, the ancient structure resembled a giant beast crouching upon the frozen earth, ready to leap into the clouds at any moment.

 

"Instruct Matron Zhong to prepare. The wedding will be held tomorrow," he said suddenly, withdrawing his gaze.

 

"Tomorrow?" Wei Liang was stunned. "I fear there won't be enough time to prepare a proper—"

 

"Keep everything simple."

 

Wei Shao turned and continued forward, lingering no longer. Left standing in the snow, Wei Liang stared at his back for a moment, hesitated, and then hurried off to confer with Matron Zhong.

 

Over the past half-month, the two tight-lipped local maids assigned to the pavilion had grown comfortable with Nurse Chun, allowing her to gradually fish out some details regarding their situation.

 

According to the maids, Matron Zhong was a personal attendant belonging to Wei Shao's powerful grandmother, Lady Xu. She had arrived in Xindu only recently, sent with the explicit purpose of organizing the wedding. As for why Wei Shao had been absent, it was due to a sudden outbreak of renewed warfare near Boling, from which he had just returned victorious.

 

In these chaotic times on the precipice of a fractured empire, regional military factions ruled their own domains. Except for a few reckless fools like the former Jizhou Inspector Gao Tang—who had foolishly painted a target on his own back before his strength was consolidated—most lords, like Wei Shao, maintained a nominal allegiance to the dying Han court as imperial ministers. In reality, conflicts between them were decided entirely by whose steel was sharper and whose fists were harder; the imperial court had long lost the power to restrain them.

 

Xiao Qiao had little interest in what campaign Wei Shao had been fighting. Now that he had finally appeared after her half-month of isolation, her immediate concern was what would follow next. Naturally, according to the treaty negotiated between the two clans, it was time to take the final, substantial step: the wedding.

 

"Do not worry, My Lady. Now that the Marquis has returned, things will move forward smoothly," Nurse Chun comforted her softly, noticing Xiao Qiao's dazed expression and mistaking it for anxiety. "Tomorrow morning, I will personally seek out Matron Zhong and demand to know when the auspicious date is set."

 

"Open the door, My Lady!"

 

Just then, the sharp voice of a Wei family servant called out from the courtyard. Nurse Chun squeezed Xiao Qiao’s hand reassuringly and walked over to unbolt the door. To her surprise, Matron Zhong stood on the threshold—the first time she had shown her face in weeks.

 

Matron Zhong stepped inside, offered a flawless, rigid bow to Xiao Qiao, and straightened her spine. "The Lord has returned. The wedding ceremony will be held tomorrow evening. This servant came specifically to inform the Lady."

 

With another curt bow, she turned on her heel and departed as quickly as she had arrived.

 

Wei Shao had just ridden through the city gates, and the command had dropped instantly—the wedding was tomorrow!

 

The sheer velocity of it left Xiao Qiao momentarily unable to process the news. Yet, beside her, Nurse Chun and the maids immediately erupted into joyful smiles, kneeling one by one to offer their frantic congratulations.

 

Xiao Qiao understood their relief. Having traveled across provinces into enemy territory, they had been left waiting for a marriage ceremony that never seemed to come. Only with this ritual would she truly become a daughter-in-law of the Wei family and the recognized wife of Wei Shao. Without this definitive step, no matter how many tedious formalities they had endured in Yanzhou, her status remained in limbo, awkwardly suspended.

 

Xiao Qiao forced a gentle smile and accepted their congratulations, but her inner thoughts were a turbulent maze.

 

With the wedding imminent and all variables removed, her destiny was now officially bound to this man. Would he treat her with the cold cruelty and ultimate neglect that he had shown her elder sister, Da Qiao, in the past life? If so, how should she navigate her survival? She had turned this question over in her mind since leaving her home, but even now, facing the eve of the event, she had no answer.

 

Nurse Chun’s joy, however, did not survive the morning. She quickly realized that this sudden wedding entirely lacked the lavish grandeur, meticulous planning, and profound respect that the daughter of a Governor rightfully deserved.

 

But then again, what could possibly be prepared in a single night?

 

Suppressing the bitter resentment swelling in her chest, Nurse Chun hid her sadness from Xiao Qiao, desperate not to demoralize her mistress. As she assisted her into the steaming bath, she forced a bright smile and prattled on, mentioning that the ceremony would take place in the magnificent Shaoyang Hall with many distinguished military guests. Most importantly, she emphasized that the Marquis was exceptionally young, handsome, fierce, and decisive—adored by countless noble maidens in the north—and she had confirmed that he currently kept no favored concubines by his side.

 

"With a beauty as breathtaking as yours, My Lady, how could the Marquis not grow to cherish you?" Nurse Chun insisted, applying rich, fragrant unguents to Xiao Qiao’s smooth skin, her eyes full of genuine admiration as she took in her mistress's perfect figure.

 

Under the meticulous care of her attendants, Xiao Qiao repeated the entire exhaustive preparation process from the day she left Yanzhou: bathing, dressing in heavy ceremonial silks, styling her hair into intricate coils, and painting her face. Standing before the bronze mirror, gazing at the reflection of the bride with cloud-like hair and a radiant, porcelain countenance, she felt a sudden, profound wave of unfamiliarity.

 

According to the ancient Book of Rites, the word for marriage (婚 - Hun) was originally written as twilight (昏 - Hun), dictated by the philosophy that the union of yin and yang should occur as day shifts into night.

 

As the sun dipped below the western horizon, the lanterns of the ancient Tantai tower—silent and dark for so long—were illuminated one by one from its base to its towering summit. Against the dark indigo backdrop of the winter sky, the structure resembled a brilliant, glowing pagoda of fire, appearing more majestic than ever.

 

Down in the streets, the citizens of Xindu looked up at the blazing tower, eagerly whispering the news to one another: The Lord’s wedding was happening tonight.

 

Along the corridors of Shaoyang Hall, scarlet lanterns were raised in endless rows. The main hall was illuminated as bright as day by massive tallow candles. Upon the large, gold-lacquered black table in the center, the ritual foods—sacred millets, grains, roasted meats, pickles, sauces, and stews—were neatly arranged in ceremonial vessels. The guests, comprised of elite northern officers and high-ranking local officials, sat dressed in pristine robes and traditional caps, kneeling on low mats behind their respective tables according to military and civil rank. They conversed in low, buzzing murmurs while waiting for the auspicious hour.

 

Most of these men were battle-hardened retainers who had followed Wei Shao through years of blood, alongside the newly submissive administrators of Xindu. They, too, had only learned of the wedding that very morning. Although they had known of the strategic alliance with the Qiao family of Yanzhou, the sheer velocity of the ceremony caught them off guard; after all, at this exact time last night, Wei Shao had just ridden in from a brutal winter campaign.

 

Furthermore, almost every man present knew the history of the blood feud between the Qiao and Wei families. Because of this, a marriage negotiated ten years after that unforgivable betrayal sparked endless speculation. They viewed the union with immense curiosity, their eyes locked onto the entrance, waiting for the Qiao daughter to appear.

 

The auspicious hour arrived, and Xiao Qiao stepped into the grand ceremonial hall.

 

When she appeared before the assembly, her hands held flat and steady against her abdomen, her wide, embroidered sleeves draping elegantly to the floor, the low murmur in the hall instantly died. A heavy, collective silence fell. Countless eyes shot toward her, locking onto her form—some filled with cold scrutiny, some struck entirely dumb by her breathtaking beauty, and others harboring inscrutable, malicious hidden motives.

 

Yet, Xiao Qiao felt no nervousness. Keeping her long eyelashes slightly lowered, her gaze rested calmly on the stone floor a few paces ahead of her boots. To the rhythmic, cadenced chants of the master of ceremonies, she walked with an unhurried, graceful cadence under the weight of those staring eyes. Guided by two ceremonial attendants, she finally came to a halt a few feet before the central ritual table.

 

Standing directly opposite her was a man.

 

The moment she stopped, she distinctly felt the impact of his gaze. Unlike the lateral stares of the guests—which she could easily relegate to background noise—this man’s eyes looked straight at her, entirely unblinking and unreserved. His gaze bore down with an indescribable, heavy pressure, radiating a raw, authoritative power.

 

Her skin beneath the heavy layers of ceremonial silk seemed to sense the hostility; her pores constricted, and the fine hairs on her arms subtly stood on end. Slowly, deliberately, she raised her eyes and met the man's gaze.

 

Compared to his immense political status and martial renown throughout the realm, Wei Shao was remarkably young; yet, compared to her own petite frame, he was indisputably a fully matured, imposing man. With exceptionally broad shoulders and a spine as straight as a leveled lance, he stood opposite her, his massive frame rendering her looking so delicate that she was forced to tilt her head slightly upward just to maintain eye contact.

 

Just as Nurse Chun had described, he was an incredibly handsome man. He wore the formal mianfu—the ceremonial robes of a high duke—adorned with the nine sacred symbols of Mount Long. The ensemble consisted of a dark upper robe (玄衣) and a deep vermilion lower skirt (纁裳). The striking combination of black interwoven with rich, bloody red exuded an intense, immediate majesty that was entirely suffocating.

 

Amidst the continued chanting of the ritual officer, he stared straight down at Xiao Qiao from barely an arm's length away. His dark eyes were unblinking, their depth resembling the absolute void of a moonless northern night.

 

Xiao Qiao’s eyelashes trembled slightly under the weight of his stare, and she smoothly lowered her eyes once more.

 

The master of ceremonies finished his chant, and an attendant stepped forward presenting a long ribbon of red silk. One end was placed in Xiao Qiao’s hand, the other in Wei Shao’s. Together, connected by the crimson cloth, they walked the final steps to the ritual table. The silk was removed, and they knelt facing each other across the expanse of black lacquer.

 

Under the rigid guidance of the officer, they sequentially performed the ancient rites: the Woguan (the ritual washing of hands), the Tonglao (the symbolic sharing of the sacrificial meats), and the Hejinjin (the drinking of bitter wine from a single, split gourd).

 

Following this lengthy, tedious sequence of preliminary rites came the defining act of the evening: the Jiefa (the tying of hair), which legally and spiritually bound them as husband and wife.

 

The ceremonial attendants stepped forward, cleanly snipping a small lock of hair from the nape of each of their necks, carefully braiding the strands together into a permanent knot. At that exact moment, the tension in the hall broke; the surrounding officers erupted into wide smiles, and formal congratulations echoed through the rafters of Shaoyang Hall.

 

The man opposite her sat with his torso perfectly erect, his body as motionless as an iron statue. Yet, as the cheers filled the room, Xiao Qiao caught a subtle, almost imperceptible curl at the corner of his handsomely sculpted lips.

 

If her eyes did not deceive her, it was a smile completely devoid of joy. It was a faint, mocking smirk that betrayed an intense undercurrent of impatience, mixed with a cold, careless indifference.