Chapter 7: The Wedding Night

Meng Yunshao had not slept well for several nights. She thought it might be best to have a ritual performed at a temple for Qingruo, to honor the bond of mistress and servant they had shared for years. Having heard that Concubine Shen had done such things before, she went to ask her for advice.

Concubine Shen was a woman the Marquis had met during his time in the military. As a rare female officer in the army, she had once held the rank of centurion; she was both knowledgeable and possessed a certain wildness. Upon hearing the reason for Meng Yunshao’s request, she sensed the girl's fear and, noticing the dark circles under her eyes, felt a flicker of disdain.

After discussing the logistics of the ritual, as she saw Meng Yunshao off, she could not help but say, "What are you afraid of? Your husband is the bravest of the brave! He can shoot enemy commanders on the battlefield and capture rebels alive in the capital. If he cannot protect you, who in all of Bianjing could?"

Meng Yunshao knew this was true, and it was precisely why she had wanted to stay safely in the Marquis’s residence. However, the man himself was always so cold that she simply could not find a way to get along with him. It suddenly occurred to her that, in her daze these past few days, she had forgotten to send him his soup.

Seeing that Concubine Shen, though full of disdain, was at least straightforward, she confessed with a heavy heart, "But the Heir has always been cold toward me; he does not hold me in high regard."

Concubine Shen looked at her as if she were hopeless, saying, "You are young and inexperienced. If he is cold, why don't you take the initiative? Aren't all men the same?"

Meng Yunshao bit her lower lip and remained silent. As a well-bred lady, how was she supposed to take the initiative? Arranging flowers for him was already an act of initiative.

Concubine Shen took her hand, leaned in, and whispered, "You haven't been here for just a day or two. You’ve seen it yourself—a while ago, everyone dared to trample all over you, but now, with just one word from him, who dares to do so anymore? You have likely heard of my situation. Back in the army, I had followers by the hundreds; who dared to act out of turn before me? Yet, for the sake of love, I became a concubine in this house, and in the end, I still have to find ways to keep a man to protect myself. Let me ask you: I hear you and he have not yet consummated the marriage?"

Meng Yunshao blushed and gave a slight nod.

Concubine Shen sighed. "Think for yourself. Men are all the same. If you take the initiative, even if he doesn't have true feelings, he may not necessarily refuse."

Meng Yunshao fled back to her quarters. She brooded for half the day, unable to find a solution, and eventually just pulled the quilt over her head and went to sleep.

Today, she felt restless again, so she thought she would tend to some peonies to calm her mind. But before she could find any peace, He Zhiyu arrived. His arrival was quite peculiar. He was a man who never visited without a reason; every time he stepped into Fuyao Pavilion, it was because he had no other choice, and he usually left in a hurry. But today, it was clearly different.

He Zhiyu wore a look of dark, stern intensity; the air around him was heavy with the brewing of a storm. Meng Yunshao had the feeling that she had committed some grave, unforgivable error and that he had come to throw her into prison. She felt a sense of trepidation, reminiscent of the panic she felt on her wedding night when she heard the clash of weapons.

But when he finally spoke, it was to ask about the soup. Seeing his tempestuous expression, Meng Yunshao dared not admit she had forgotten. She cautiously replied, "I haven't been feeling well these past few days. I’ve been brewing the soup myself, so it was delayed." Ever since He Zhiyu had granted her a monthly allowance, Meng Yunshao felt that if she took his money, she should do her work with sincerity; she had indeed stopped taking the ready-made soup from the small kitchen and had begun brewing it herself.

He Zhiyu’s expression softened instantly. "Why, are you ill?"

Meng Yunshao told the truth. "Not really. A few days ago, I saw someone who had drowned in the river, and it turned out to be the maid who had harmed me last time. I was a bit frightened and haven't been sleeping well."

He Zhiyu’s hostility vanished entirely. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Meng Yunshao thought to herself, *As if I could tell you, and as if you would care.* She wasn't bedridden, just suffering from a few days of insomnia; she feared that if she told him, he would only lecture her for being meddlesome. Instead, she put on a gentle, feigned smile. "It was just a small matter. I didn't want to distract you from your official duties."

He Zhiyu stared at her intently for a long moment without speaking. Meng Yunshao still did not understand why the Heir had come, and his gaze made her feel uneasy.

After a long while, He Zhiyu lowered his eyes and said, "I thought you had heard some preposterous rumors."

Meng Yunshao opened her almond eyes wide, curious and innocent. "What kind of rumors?"

He Zhiyu turned his face away and said solemnly, "Since they are preposterous, you need not know."

This made Meng Yunshao even more curious. *Preposterous rumors? Could it be that the Heir has had some romantic entanglement outside and is afraid it might reach her ears?*

She did not object to her husband taking concubines or having intimacy with maids; the Heir held a high position, and for the sake of family alliances and social obligations, such things were likely unavoidable. But the crux of the matter was, wasn't she not yet the true mistress of Fuyao Pavilion? She had no right to ask.

She knew that for over a year, he had been looking for an opportunity to annul the marriage; the time simply hadn't come yet. Even though their relationship had eased slightly in the last few months, she knew it would not last. His current behavior was merely because he pitied her frailty and loneliness, and he feared that if she died in the residence, the Marquis’s house would be accused of taking lives, which would harm his reputation as an official. Otherwise, he would not be like a stone by an ice-cold river in winter—impossible to warm up.

For so long, he had never come to her on his own initiative, nor did he ever show a smile. Any gesture of goodwill she made was like a bird trying to fill the sea with pebbles—utterly futile. She had only wanted to keep their relationship from being too distant so she could continue to receive her monthly allowance, yet when she painstakingly prepared noodles for his birthday, he only coldly said that he never celebrated birthdays and told her not to waste her effort. She had sent him soup so many times, and apart from that one time he smiled, he had never said a word, as if the soup—and she herself—did not exist.

She could tell the difference between a little pity and genuine affection.

As the two sat in silence, Meng Yunshao felt a bit awkward and offered softly, "Shall I prepare some tea and snacks for you, Heir?"

He Zhiyu, noncommittal, replied, "As you please."

Seeing that he did not object, Meng Yunshao prepared a pot of West Lake Longjing tea, along with osmanthus sticky rice cakes and hawthorn cheese pastries. One sweet, one tart—a perfect balance.

He Zhiyu drank the tea absentmindedly, and when he finished, he did not leave.

The two fell into silence again. Meng Yunshao was truly perplexed as to why he hadn't left, but she could not ask directly. She tentatively inquired, "What would you like for dinner, Heir?"

He Zhiyu replied simply, "Anything is fine."

Meng Yunshao thought, *This means he intends to stay for dinner.* She painstakingly prepared several dishes: yam, sticky rice, and lily bulb porridge; sweet and sour pork ribs with plum; fresh mushrooms with greens; braised loofah with dried abalone; walnut soft cakes, and more, including the fresh chicken and date soup he had later remarked he was accustomed to.

He Zhiyu showed little interest, finishing only a bowl of the soup, yet he still did not leave. As the sky grew dark, Meng Yunshao truly could not fathom what he was planning. She saw that he really had no business to attend to; he sat there looking as indifferent as smoke, without even a book in his hand, and he barely spoke. Only when Meng Yunshao struggled to find a topic did he respond with a few words. Yet, he remained in her room, refusing to leave, his back straight, immovable as a mountain.

Meng Yunshao’s heart stirred. Thinking that his staying until nightfall was entirely out of character for someone so bound by rules, she remembered what Concubine Shen had said about "taking the initiative." She tentatively asked in a low voice, "Heir... would you... would you like me to attend to your bath?"

In her view, this was a perfectly clear hint; anyone with a sense for such things should have understood.

He Zhiyu did not hesitate. "No need. I bathed after my martial arts practice this afternoon."

Meng Yunshao thought, *So he really didn't mean that.* But then, what was this all about?

Just as she was suspicious, Su Yue came to report that the maid, Xiangmo, had broken a white jade cup and asked Meng Yunshao to come and take a look. Meng Yunshao, who had been racking her brains for something to say, hurried out.

No sooner had she stepped out than Su Yue pulled her into the shadows, looking grave. "Mistress, something big has happened."

Meng Yunshao was puzzled. "What is it?"

Su Yue whispered, "Today, the Heir was summoned by the Marchioness, who brought up your relationship as husband and wife. The servants were all dismissed, but we vaguely heard them mentioning 'rules,' 'neglect,' and 'consummation' from outside the door. The Marchioness and the Eldest Miss seemed very angry with the Heir. Finally, the Heir said indignantly, 'I shall consummate the marriage with her today,' and left, slamming the door. Because he said it loudly, everyone heard it clearly. The Heir has never defied the Marchioness before; none of the servants dared to spread the word, but Nurse Cheng, Xiangmo’s aunt, told me in secret, saying to let you... be prepared."

Meng Yunshao found it incredible. "So, he came here to consummate the marriage?"

Su Yue nodded.

Meng Yunshao rapidly pieced together the truth. Her mother-in-law valued rules immensely and had recently taken pity on her; she likely did not want the Heir to annul the marriage, as it would invite criticism, ruin the Marquis’s reputation for integrity, and ruin Meng Yunshao’s future. So, she had forced him to consummate the marriage. Although he was unwilling, he was, after all, a filial son. Combined with the pressure from the Eldest Miss, he had come.

Meng Yunshao understood, but she felt a bitter taste in her mouth.

Su Yue pulled her arm. "Mistress, the situation is upon us. You must decide what to do."

Meng Yunshao pondered for a long time, then finally smiled with resignation. "Why should I act coy? Isn't this exactly what I wanted?"

With her mind made up, Meng Yunshao did not rush back. She went to the side room, bathed thoroughly, and meticulously dressed herself. She put on a scarlet, narrow-cut damask bodice and a thin, begonia-colored embroidered long skirt. She lightly painted her eyebrows and touched her lips with vermilion, looking as fresh and beautiful as a delicate flower reflected in water. Her waterfall of hair was simply pinned up at the top, without a single ornament, the rest cascading down, bright as the moon and black as polished jade. Even if he didn't care, even if it was forced, this was her first time, and she did not want it to be done carelessly.

When she returned to the inner room, some time had passed. She saw that He Zhiyu had actually had people decorate the room; several maids were just finishing up and retreating. Dragon and phoenix candles, mandarin duck wedding quilts, crimson gauze curtains, and bright red silk—it was the same set used on her wedding day. She thought to herself, *He certainly never forgets the rules.*

He Zhiyu stood by the bed, tall and refined, a gentleman of grace. Hearing her enter, he turned around. Seeing that there was no one else in the room, he finally said with straightforward candor, "Lady Meng, let us consummate our marriage today."

His tone was flat, calling her "Lady Meng," as if he were saying, "Let us eat together," or "Let us go pay our respects to Mother."

As the dragon and phoenix candles flickered, Meng Yunshao looked at his tall, handsome figure in the lamplight, his features as if painted. She thought, *Actually, I am not losing anything; it is just a little different from what I wanted.*

The two had laid their cards on the table, yet there was still a long silence, neither knowing where to begin.

Meng Yunshao, feeling a bit self-destructive, steeled her heart. She stepped forward, stood on her tiptoes, looped her arms around He Zhiyu’s neck, and pressed her vermilion lips to his.

He was exceptionally tall, and she found it quite an effort.

He Zhiyu froze for a moment, as if he hadn't expected her to be so proactive. But recalling how gentle and attentive she had been toward him these past few months, he assumed she must have long been unable to suppress her feelings, and it seemed reasonable. Although it was a bit bold, since they were alone, he was willing to be indulgent and allow her to express her admiration openly. He felt it was harmless, and he felt he had gained some insight into the subtleties of a lady’s heart.

For Meng Yunshao, it was an unexpectedly pleasant night. Unlike many times later, when He Zhiyu was endlessly demanding in such matters, he was extremely restrained and gentle that night.

At the beginning, she felt a bit aggrieved and could not control the tears that silently streamed down her cheeks. He soon noticed, gently kissing away the corners of her eyes, stopping to ask if she was in pain and how he should adjust.

Later, they gradually reached a state of harmony. She was like a peony secretly blooming in the spring night, delicate and vibrant; and he was like the spring rain that falls silently with the wind, nourishing everything without a sound. She began to feel that this was not bad at all.

As the night waned, he seemed not yet satisfied, yet he restrained himself, gently kissing her forehead, stroking her hands, and ordering her to sleep. Worried that the candlelight was too bright, he covered her eyes with his warm palm.

Meng Yunshao thought, *That man is truly interesting.*

A reluctant affair could still be handled with such propriety and rigor—starting with solemnity and ending with tenderness. If not for the bright red candles making everything so clear, she would hardly have believed it. She was also grateful—grateful that this night had been free of any embarrassment, crudeness, or coldness. She was grateful for his high-born upbringing, which had granted her dignity.

Though Meng Yunshao did not believe it was love, it remained, for the years to come, a fleeting, beautiful memory of He Zhiyu that she kept hidden in her heart, a moment she considered rare and unattainable. She never expected it to happen again.