He hovered over her, a rare, playful smile on his lips. His fingers traced lazy patterns on her sides, eliciting soundless giggles from her.
The sight of her joyous, silent laughter was a balm to his hardened heart. Here, away from the judging eyes...
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When the first light of dawn touched the Liang manor, Meilin was nowhere to be found.
She had been sent away under the cover of night, the secret known only to the most trustworthy. A part of the manor's soul had been taken with her, leaving behind a hollow silence.
Far from the H city, in the hallowed grounds of Jainmang Mountain, preparations for a wedding were underway.
The sacred Butaong Taoist temple, where the eight major noble families were interred, now stood witness to the union of Meilin and Shuren.
The elderly priests, their decrees rarely challenged, had blessed the bride in red. Her face remained hidden under a traditional red veil, her identity obscured in the ceremony’s ancient rites.
The sun climbed higher, and still, there was no sign of the groom. Shuren arrived purposefully late, his entrance a clear message of disrespect to the elders.
He was half-drunk, his steps unsteady as he approached the ceremonial altar. The murmurs of the gathered nobles hushed into a tense silence as he took his place beside his veiled bride.
The ritual commenced, each step steeped in tradition. Incense wafted through the air, mingling with the prayers of the priests.
The bride and groom were bound by the red string of fate, symbolizing their union. Shuren’s eyes were glazed, barely registering the solemnity of the occasion.
As the ceremony reached its climax, it was time for the traditional crossing over the path of burning coal, a test of the groom's strength and dedication.
Shuren, still yet to see Meilin's face, scoffed as he prepared to carry her light form. He lifted her effortlessly, noting her delicate frame.
“Bony,” he muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes as he began the trek across the burning coals.
Each step was a mix of searing heat and the weight of tradition. The priests chanted blessings, their voices rising above the crackle of the coals.
Meilin clung to Shuren, her body tense and unsure. Despite his inebriation, Shuren carried her with ease, his expression a mask of indifference.
As they reached the end of the path, Shuren unceremoniously set Meilin down, still avoiding looking directly at her.
The ceremony concluded with the binding of their hands and the sharing of wine, symbolizing their unity and shared fate. The nobles looked on, their expressions a mix of awe and trepidation.
...
After all the needed ceremonies, the newlyweds soon departed for Shanghai. The limousine ride was shrouded in silence, only the sound of the engine breaking the stillness.
The journey was eight hours long.
Meilin sat peacefully, her posture demure, hands delicately placed one over the other.
