The days of endless rain and snow finally ceased, and the sky cleared at last.

Huanhua Dyeworks sprang back to life. Bamboo poles were laden with cloth dyed over the past fortnight. Indigo blue, bright red and onion green swayed gently in the wind, a sight that lifted one’s spirits.

The Zhao family hadn’t caused any trouble. Lady Ji’s complexion improved day by day. Those gloomy days were gone, never to return. In the blink of an eye, Ji Yaoting’s wedding day arrived.

The auspicious hour was set for the You hour. Early in the morning, the Ji household bustled with preparations for the evening feast. The Ji family had invited their regular weavers, dye-house families, and close neighbors. From the Wei hour, guests began arriving with congratulations.

Ji Yaoting was the only male heir in the Ji family. Second Young Master Zhu was asked to receive guests in the front hall. Female guests were directed to the rear courtyard, where Lady Ji entertained them. Worried her mother would tire, Ji Yingying took charge of household matters. After checking the arrangements for the bridal chamber, she ran to help in the kitchen.

Several-meter-high steamers sat atop the stoves, three furnaces burning bright red. Ji Yingying was counting bowls and chopsticks, breaking into a heavy sweat.

“Miss!” Ling’er rushed into the kitchen, saying urgently, “The Zhao family sent a steward with wedding gifts. Young Master Zhu asks if we should throw them out?”

Ji Yingying was troubled. She really wanted to throw them out, but would that cause a scene on her brother’s happy day, bringing bad luck to the celebration? She instructed Xiang’er to continue the counting and led Ling’er out of the kitchen: “We must let Mother decide.”

Better leave this to Mother. She could learn by watching how Mother handled it.

Lady Ji spoke without hesitation: “The two families are already enemies—a weasel paying New Year’s respects to chickens can’t have good intentions. Throw it back! Tell them it’s my decision. The humble Ji family cannot accept gifts from the Zhao family.”

The Zhao family was probably waiting for the Ji family to throw out the gifts, letting the neighbors see that it was the Ji family being petty. Lady Ji didn’t care—she had no intention of giving the Zhao family a chance to maintain false pretenses. Once the façade was torn, what was the point of keeping up appearances?

“All right! I’ll tell Uncle Ji Gui to handle it.” This suited Ji Yingying’s temperament—she’d thought her mother would suppress her feelings.

Lady Ji called her back, taking out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from her forehead: “Go wash your face and rest a bit. You’ve worked up such a sweat even in the dead of winter.”

“I’m not tired!” Ji Yingying’s eyes sparkled as she darted out happily, “The kitchen is busiest—I’ll go help Matron Tian. Mother, just focus on receiving the female guests in the hall.”

When she reached the second gate, she saw the elderly gatekeeper beckoning to her.

“Miss, someone came from the Yang family. It was Third Young Master Yang. He asked this old servant to give this to you.” The elderly woman handed over a paper folded into a diamond shape.

Yang Jingyuan was back? Ji Yingying’s heart leaped as she unfolded the diamond: “Shen hour, by the trees at the river behind the back gate.”

The wedding ceremony would begin at the You hour when they welcomed the bride, and now it was late Wei hour. There was still one hour. Ji Yingying instructed Ling’er to help in the kitchen and rushed out the back gate.

She looked around and saw a white horse tethered by the trees near the river in the distance. Her heart suddenly began racing. Yang Jingyuan had returned. He wanted to meet her—it must be about their betrothal. Ji Yingying steadied herself and ran over.

Yang Jingyuan was leaning against a locust tree. Hearing footsteps, he turned his head.

For the family celebration, Ji Yingying wore new goose-yellow wide-sleeved brocade robes and styled her hair in the hundred-flowers bun. A phoenix hairpin with pearl pendants adorned her hair, its tassels set with pearls that dangled over her forehead. She had run a bit quickly, her cheeks flushed pink. In the pearl’s gleam, her eyes shone like drops of lacquer.

Dressed in magnificent brocade, she looked like a different person. Yang Jingyuan suddenly remembered their first meeting at Bamboo Grove Temple, when Ji Yingying had muttered about wanting to earn lots and lots of money in the future. He pulled at the corner of his mouth. When she had slapped him when she had rejected him—why hadn’t she thought then that marrying him would bring a thousand taels of gold as betrothal gifts?

Ji Yingying stood before him, feeling too shy to look at him. Stealing a glance, she seemed to realize for the first time how exceptionally handsome Yang Jingyuan was. Her gaze settled level with his chest. The cyan base fabric was woven with symmetrical small floral patterns. Blue as a clear pond, the small flowers were threaded with traces of golden silk that glinted like scattered gold in the sunlight. Understated, elegant, luxurious. This was the Yang family’s unique style… What was she thinking about? Ji Yingying secretly scolded herself. She knew he was staring at her, and gathering her courage, spoke first: “When did you return?”

“I rushed back when I received the family letter.”

“Oh.”

Ji Yingying gave a dry response, then didn’t know what else to say. She wasn’t as composed as she had imagined. Now that the betrothal was set and she knew she would marry him, her feelings had changed.

Yang Jingyuan must have asked to meet her to discuss their marriage. But since he didn’t speak of it, she was too embarrassed to bring it up. What could she say?

“Did you ever like me?”

Knowing it was a foolish question, Yang Jingyuan still asked.

Ji Yingying felt her face flush again.

They both remembered that rainy night. That evening he had forcefully kissed her, then pleaded humbly: “I know I was too forward. I truly like you. I will earn my fortune to marry you. Please don’t promise yourself to anyone else, all right? Will you wait for me?”

Yang Jingyuan felt a dull ache in his heart. Now was not then. He even feared her saying she liked him. Then he would think she valued him the same as a thousand taels of gold.

Ji Yingying couldn’t help grinding the grass beneath her foot, mumbling vaguely: “…Don’t dislike you.”

Her voice was barely audible as she lowered her head in embarrassment.

She didn’t dislike him? Did she not dislike him? Yes, she didn’t dislike him. But she didn’t have an ounce of love either. It was as if she had slapped him again, as if he could see her glaring at him in anger, growling: “What right do you have to ask me to wait? Did I ever throw myself at you wanting to marry you?”

Yang Jingyuan reached out to lift her face, seeing her gaze dart about evasively, and smiled. Her face was very hot—liars always blushed easily.

“If not for the thousand taels of gold betrothal gift, would you have agreed to marry me?” He released her and shook his head, speaking as much to her as to himself, “You wouldn’t. Ji Yingying, you’ve only ever loved one person: Zhao Xiuyuan!”

“I hate him!” Ji Yingying blurted out.

“Without love, where would hate come from? You hate yourself for misjudging him, for loving the wrong person. And me? If Second Young Master Zhu had an uncle serving as an official in the prefecture. If other men offered a thousand taels of gold to help the Ji family repay their debts. Wouldn’t marrying anyone be the same as marrying anyone else? Isn’t that right?” Yang Jingyuan watched Ji Yingying’s face turn from red to white. After the moment of satisfaction, a bitterness crept up from his tailbone, making him clench his fist tightly.

When embroidering while distracted, one is often pricked unexpectedly by the needle. Sudden, unguarded, the pain strikes.

She finally looked directly at him. After more than a month, his face still bore the dust of travel. His lips were set in a stubborn line. Like a proud fighting cock, waiting to battle with her.