The Old Madam was a formidable woman—once she decided to take control of things, no one could stop her.

By old custom, when the elder of the household rose in the morning, the daughters-in-law from each branch were supposed to wait in attendance beforehand, and once the elder had finished dressing, go in to pay respects. Well, that was how it used to be—later the Old Madam declared that whatever other households did was their business; their family had no such rule, and anyone who didn’t sleep in a little longer when they had the chance was a fool. So she led by example, and the Chen family’s daughters-in-law always got to sleep in a bit longer than those of other households.

But today the Old Madam had risen early, and had stirred up quite a matter with the Fourth Branch besides.

The matron on night duty, having gotten word, went to report it on the back street. Chen Dazhong’s wife, Li Shi, being the eldest sister-in-law, heard the matron whispering to her and was so startled she didn’t even wash up, crying out: “Oh my, isn’t this just making trouble?”

The matron, still looking shaken, said: “Who’s to say otherwise! Fourth Madam’s the same as always—whatever the Old Madam says, she just listens. The Old Madam makes trouble, and she won’t say a single word against it, does whatever she’s told. But this is such a major matter—shouldn’t someone let you know?”

Li Shi had already prepared to shuffle into her shoes and go to the old estate, but the moment her feet went into her shoes, she hesitated, and after standing dazed for a good while, said to the matron: “But—how should this be handled?”

The young aunt was to go up the mountain to consummate her marriage with the young uncle? And the cousin’s wife was to say it couldn’t be done?

That was far too awkward.

Li Shi herself was only in her early twenties, with no elder from the family at her side to guide her; her heart was full of unease, and she feared showing her inexperience.

The matron, quick-witted, said quietly: “Madam, our Old Madam’s affection for the Fourth Branch is no ordinary thing—that lady’s been around longer than us, hasn’t she? Why don’t I go and quietly fetch the Aunt from next door instead? After all, she’s blood kin—whether the words spoken are good or bad, she won’t hold it against anyone… what do you think?”

Li Shi immediately looked up: “Yes, that’s the right way to handle it. Go find the Aunt…”

The matron’s departure caused some noise, and the eldest young lady sleeping next door began to wail heart-wrenchingly. The wet nurse couldn’t calm her, and Li Shi, not wanting to hear the child cry any more, shuffled into her shoes, scooped up her daughter, and paced circles in the next room with her in her arms.

As she saw it, this was the middle of December’s cold winds, and the Old Madam was making trouble for the Fourth Branch, insisting the girl go up the mountain—it did seem somewhat unreasonable.

She got along well enough with this sister-in-law from the Fourth Branch—no disputes over money or grain, their usual dealings were fair and equal. Though not as close as those ladies over at Qinwei Lane, they never quarreled over money or household matters, which already made her a good sister-in-law, hard to find in this world.

With the Old Madam making such trouble, if she didn’t step forward to say a word or two, that… wouldn’t look good in the end.

Thinking this, Li Shi handed her daughter, now dozing off again, back to the wet nurse, and called her maid Xiliu to help her change.

At Qinwei Lane, the Old Madam had entered the small shrine, kowtowed to the ancestors, and murmured a great deal of grateful words. Finally, she found wrapping cloth and gathered up the memorial tablets one by one—only to freeze the moment she carried them out.

At the gate of the old estate.

Qiqian’er wore a phoenix coronet adorned with kingfisher feathers, dressed in the wide-sleeved gold-brocaded phoenix robe of a titled lady, a ceremonial cape draped over her chest, holding in her hands a red bridal veil hung with beaded tassels, her face done up in heavy makeup with rouge.

Oh my, how had Qian’er become so beautiful like this? Three years, and this young wife who had always been so plain—now so radiantly stunning. The Old Madam couldn’t help but feel a swell of mixed emotions, something like the feeling of a natal family watching their beloved daughter finally grown.

Why, why did it feel so hard to let go?

Why, why did it feel like just a blink of an eye and she’d become a grown woman?

Something felt off, but she didn’t dwell on it, and walked over to say to Qiqian’er: “My, my child, come, hold the ancestors first. Remember, tonight you must pay respects to the ancestors.”

Qiqian’er, not daring to move much, could only nod slightly, handing the veil to Siyue, and taking the large bundle of ancestral tablets, placed it herself in the bridal sedan beside her.

This bridal sedan had also been prepared long in advance—red flowers tied at all four corners, red silk hung inside the carriage, red brocade laid beneath the feet—in short, red through and through.

Siyue brought over a cushion, and Qiqian’er, supported by others, knelt solemnly, steadying her phoenix coronet as she kowtowed to her grandmother: “Grandmother, child is off—tomorrow, I’ll return.”

At these words, the Old Madam’s tears fell at once.

That child, thin and frail, whom the old woman had dragged stumbling before her that early winter—now getting married. Why did it feel so hard to let go?

Her own life had been muddled and dazed, sustained only by one breath of stubborn resentment through all her suffering in this world—wasn’t she tired? Tired enough that she’d often thought, if I die tomorrow, at least I’ll be at ease. It wasn’t until she met this child that she learned what it meant to truly live, and now, recalling how the girl used to hold onto her and count out her burial garments with her, how they’d squatted together on the stone slabs gnawing on dried taro, how she’d carried that great basket on her back—the Old Madam sobbed: “Tell me, in your past life, just how much money did you owe my family?”

Qiqian’er was moved to tears by the Old Madam’s words at once, thinking to herself: I wonder about that too—two lifetimes, and I still can’t pay it all back.

By the time Dingxiang, Li Shi, Kou Shi, and Luo Shi came running into Qinwei Lane, Qiqian’er had already donned her veil and, wrapped in a dazzling floor-length cape of red brocade woven with gold in three colors, had boarded the sedan.

Fine snow fell in the early winter, cold wind brushing against faces. A red woolen carpet was laid along the ground of Qinwei Lane, and every household had hung matching red lanterns to fit the occasion.

The matrons managing each household stood guard at their gates, unable to believe it—having been called up for no apparent reason, told that the main courtyard had laid red carpet and hung red lanterns throughout the lane. Only after rushing out did they learn: today, Qiqian’er was going up the mountain to consummate her marriage with Chen Dasheng?

This, this, wasn’t this a bit much?

But looking at this grand display—how long had this been in preparation?

In truth, it had been in preparation for two whole lifetimes.

Dingxiang, pregnant again, her belly large, was helped over to stand before the Old Madam, puffing white breath, her tone somewhat petulant: “Grandmother, ah, what exactly have you been doing all day?” Her voice carried a hint of tears: “In this freezing weather, how could you let my sister-in-law go out like this?”

The Old Madam was deeply moved—looking at this whole street’s arrangements, all things Qian’er had prepared for three years, yet she’d gone along with her own whim, and now was going up the mountain without any guests at all present?

She didn’t dare speak of the dream. As the old saying goes, a good dream told too often loses its power, becomes wasted. Unable to share it with anyone, she instead propped up her triangular eyes and put on a harsh, unreasonable look: “What? Can’t even sort out your own family’s affairs, and you’re here meddling in mine?”

Dingxiang’s eyes instantly reddened, her heart aching only for her wronged sister-in-law.

Li Shi and the others, seeing this display, had no way to retreat, and could only gather silently around the Old Madam.

It was Qiqian’er, once seated firmly in the sedan, who called out loudly through the curtain: “Sisters, don’t blame the Old Madam. This is a time chosen by a fortune-teller—they said it couldn’t be spoken of, that it had to be stolen…”

At this, everyone understood at once—put this way, it all made sense.

Folk custom held to many such beliefs—those fated to be childless, no matter how they prayed to the fertility goddess, it wouldn’t help; they had to choose the right hour and steal a clay doll to bring home. Women who could never find a husband had to go steal flowers from the household of some fortunate old lady blessed with the Five Fortunes. If a couple’s birth charts clashed with the year’s fortune, they had to seek out a master to break the ill fortune—and that was the “stealing.”

Indeed, three years of mourning, having finally emerged from it, and if the birth charts still clashed with the timing of the year, then stealing was necessary.

And truly, no one could be told beforehand.

The Old Madam, who had been under considerable pressure inside, relaxed at once upon hearing this.

She tilted her head up to look at the weather, reached out to catch a few scattered snowflakes, then patted the carriage door and said with righteous conviction: “The hour’s about right—hurry up and go! Don’t delay the auspicious time.”

Inside the carriage, Qiqian’er said steadily and with certainty: “Grandmother, I’m off then.”

The Old Madam gritted her teeth, her tone carrying redoubled resolve: “Go! My child, go! Go on!!”

She refused to believe it any longer—this ill-fated Old Chen family, missing arms and legs, unlucky for three generations—today, even if she had to stand on her head, she’d bring this star lord home to the family.

The bridal sedan slowly began to move, and only once it was completely out of sight did the Old Madam say through tears: “Oh, ancestors, ah, you think of one thing at a time—being alive is truly hard. Fortunate that my child is so obedient, doing whatever she’s told, no matter how wronged she feels inside, still going along with my wishes…”

Having said this, she grew even more sorrowful, returned to her room, sat cross-legged on the kang, and wept a good long while—no one could console her, her sorrowful state hardly different from marrying off a daughter.

The matrons sweeping the streets at each gate stopped their work, watching in confusion as that row of bridal carriages slowly passed down the street, and only once the carriages were out of sight did they begin whispering among themselves.

Only once they’d left Quanhou Street and reached the official road did Qiqian’er slowly lift her veil, opening the carriage curtain to look at those few centuries-old willow trees in the distance…

Beneath the hall, the old plum trees gave off fragrance; that year had been a good one—after enduring such hardship, they could finally afford charcoal. In the depths of winter, An’er lay sprawled on the kang, wearing his little blue-green cotton jacket, writing his characters, nose running, his two little feet restless, rubbing against each other…

The child, so attached to her, would look up at her every so often as he wrote, giggling, his laugh no different from his foolish father’s.

She’d say, you silly boy, what are you laughing at?

An’er would say, Mother is so good, our home is so warm…

Letting the curtain fall, Qiqian’er sat in the carriage, breathing in sharply, opening her mouth, her eyes red as a rabbit’s. She said to herself: “Child, wait a little longer, mother’s coming, coming to fetch you… mother won’t cry! My child doesn’t want to see mother’s tears, so mother won’t cry anymore from now on…”

Yet she smiled through her tears, the rouge on her face streaked into three trails.

The carriage traveled to Qingfeng, and not far from Doutai, more than a dozen mule carts loaded with materials turned out and followed unhurriedly at the rear of the procession…

Old Xin, wearing a tattered cotton coat, leaned against the city wall watching the procession recede into the distance, and sighed: “What a strange one—since ancient times, there’s only ever been this one anxious young wife. What kind of business is this? Skills enough to fight her way to the Southern Heavenly Gate, yet born with the heart of someone rushing to the bridal chamber, heh heh~!”

At the start of the Hour of the Monkey, six li outside Thousand-Blade Valley east of Baiquan Mountain, at the old military camp, a lame old soldier guarding the camp stared in astonishment at the distance.

By now, the fine snow had already blanketed the mountains and rivers in silver-white, making that row of small red carriages especially vivid and eye-catching.

The old soldier’s eyes widened, and he limped over; only once the carriage stopped did someone get out to exchange a few words with him. The old soldier nodded repeatedly throughout, but finally looked troubled, glancing at the camp. A military camp was a sacred place—though this one was just a run-down cluster of a few earthen huts, it wasn’t a place just anyone could enter.

But those people didn’t press him at all—instead, they handed him a large, bulging red cloth bundle.

He opened the bundle to find two packets of wedding cakes and a roasted chicken wrapped in oiled paper.

The girl who’d greeted him had fine, clear features and an air of forthright cheer, saying: “Rest easy, old sir. We certainly won’t disturb your rules—just have some refreshments and enjoy the show.”

“Ah, ah! Then, then, madam, much obliged.”

Inside the carriage, silence—but at the rear of the procession, a burly man jumped down, first walking around to survey the terrain, then finally shouted at the top of his lungs into the valley: “Brothers… let’s get to work…”

Voices answered, cheering together: “Hey-yo!”

At Thousand-Blade Valley, dozens of ropes hung down from the cliff tops, countless figures climbing the sheer cliff face like ants. Chen Dasheng, hanging in midair, suddenly sneezed.

He glanced around and saw Ma Ergu dozing off while hanging in the air, so he kicked off hard and swung over to give him a kick.

The moment it struck his head, Ma Ergu stopped dozing, reached out a hand to brace against the rock face, and looked at his elder brother in bewildered confusion: “Huh? Brother… what happened? I wasn’t asleep. Really, I was just resting my eyes while thinking things over.”

“Your snoring reached all the way to Yandu, and you weren’t asleep?” Chen Dasheng laughed and scolded, then tilted his ear, saying: “Listen—I think I heard a woman’s voice?”

Someone came flying down from the cliff top, reaching Chen Dasheng’s side, then extended a grappling hook, catching a protruding rock to steady himself. Once settled, Guan Si’er turned his head with a grin and called out to Chen Dasheng: “Brother! Hungry? Want some dried meat my mother packed for me?”

The wind blew back and forth through the knife-cut valley, and one shout became endless echoes: “Meat… want some… want… some!”

Chen Dasheng waved his hand vigorously, retracted his grappling hook, and his body dropped at once; when his eyes seemed to catch a flash of red, he threw out his hook again and swung over.

The early winter snow fell; smooth from a distance, but up close there were subtle indentations in the cliff face, where a cluster of vivid red little flowers quietly poked out a bit of green, blooming red flowers even in the unnoticed midst of winter.

Chen Dasheng took a breath, pulled aside the grimy cloth covering his face—his face, covered in dirt, had bright eyes, a spirited air, and handsome features.

He reached out his hand; the flower bloomed beautifully, its petals delicate—he didn’t dare touch it, afraid of damaging it with his warmth, and simply gazed at it happily.

Tong Jintai swung over, saw the flower and liked it too, and recited, swaying his head: “Everywhere in this world, traces of beauty roam, on the sheer cliffs of Thousand Blades, a splash of crimson shown, of all spring in this world, this is the finest part, flowers thin as longing, dyed with lovesick heart…”

This poem was clearly written by Tong Jintai—the man had really gone all out trying to please his future wife, no literary talent to speak of but plenty of poetic nerve, blurting it out on the spot, seeing longing in everything.

Chen Dasheng laughed, covered his face again with the cloth, gave his brother a thumbs up, retracted his grappling hook, and leapt down the cliff face. Once he reached the ground and checked that it was safe, he shouted up: “All clear…”

From the cliff top came Cui Erdian’s voice, unable to contain his excitement: “Good…!”

Not long after, sounds like pigs and sheep being slaughtered, heart-wrenching screams, echoed down from the mountain.

Countless men, ropes fastened at their waists, were kicked down one by one by Shangguan, swinging through the air.

Chen Dasheng, Tong Jintai, and Ma Ergu, hands behind their backs, watched the cliff top intently… watching until nightfall fell, when several hundred men, exhausted, finally struggled out of the mountains, ropes on their backs, shouldering enormous tree trunks.

Just as they emerged from the mountains, Guan Si’er, walking at the front, suddenly stopped, the rope on his shoulder dropping to the ground, his finger trembling as he pointed toward the camp and murmured to Chen Dasheng: “Chief, our… our old camp seems to be on fire?”

Having said this, he shook his head uncertainly: “Also… doesn’t look like it?”

He stood there rubbing his eyes, and Chen Dasheng and the others hurried over, all looking into the distance together, all rubbing their eyes together.

In the distance, the old military camp, originally earthen walls and wooden palisades, a desolate, run-down place.

When they’d first arrived, the earthen dugouts had all collapsed, and it had taken everyone working together a full half month to fix it up enough to be livable.

But now, as far as the eye could see, the old camp’s grayish-brown walls were streaked with a splash of red amid the world.

Were those torches? Pine-oil torches every few meters swayed in the night wind, a hundred or so of them together making the camp look as if it were wrapped in flame.

No one knew what had happened, and they walked over in a daze, and halfway there caught a whiff of meat.

Yu Qingguan swallowed, looking at the twenty-some whole roasted sheep already turning on wooden stakes outside the camp, dripping fat—he too rubbed his eyes as he approached, saying uncertainly: “This, what kind of divine show is this…”

Smelling the fragrance, the rough men, exhausted from countless days, felt their legs go weak, looking around in disbelief, utterly stunned…

Had they died? Entered heaven?

About three hundred meters up from the camp stood a red tent piled with red brocade, a roll of red carpet extending from the tent flap to their feet. On either side of the red carpet stood newly erected poles hung with red lanterns, and behind the red lanterns, the old camp draped in red cloth.

On either side of the camp, over a dozen mud stoves were stacked with enormous steamer baskets, steam rising, carrying the wheat fragrance of white steamed buns, mixed with the salty aroma of roasted lamb.

Qiqian’er sat quietly in the bridal tent, having waited all this while. She’d redone her makeup once more, and with her own hands had lit two braziers of charcoal in the tent.

The arm-thick red candles burned, and she waited, and waited, until at last that person truly returned…

Siyue’s little face was flushed with excitement; she’d done a great deal of work today, yet felt not the slightest bit tired, only finding it thoroughly interesting and fun.

“Madam, Master’s back… he’s, he’s so stunned he’s just standing over there, not daring to come closer…”

Qiqian’er lowered her head and smiled, slowly standing, turning in a circle, and asked carefully beneath her veil: “Do, do I look all right?”

Siyue said: “You look beautiful, Madam.”

Beautiful—good, that was good…

Qiqian’er sat back down, only to jump up at once, startled by what sounded like a mountain-shaking, sea-roaring cheer from outside.

Chen Dasheng stood there in disbelief, though Jixiang had told him it was the Old Madam’s order, saying today was his auspicious wedding day, and that after today, next year and the year after, there’d be no more good days for the consummation—was he a fool? Believe it? Not believe it?

Such a grand display, delivered right to his doorstep?

Then—believe it, he supposed!

He wanted to say something, but heard nothing but the sound of everyone around him swallowing hard.

His heart leaping with joy, he still managed to suppress his delight enough to say: “Grandmother’s making trouble again—why come all the way here to steal the timing?”

But Ma Ergu, thoroughly excited, bounded over and grabbed Chen Dasheng, saying: “Oh my, and you’re still talking about this at a time like this? Brother, hurry and clean up in the camp—look at the state of you, the water you wash off could fertilize two mu of farmland… The sisters-in-law have already been plenty proper about the rules—what more do you want?”

Having said this, he leaned in to whisper in Chen Dasheng’s ear: “Brother, it’s been delivered right to your door—whether you partake or not is one thing, but if you provoke your little sister-in-law, believe me, you’ll never taste anything good again in this lifetime!”

Chen Dasheng, startled into a cough, sniffed, covered his mouth with his hand for a good while, then finally waved his hand helplessly: “The meat’s all cooked—why aren’t you eating! Aren’t you all hungry!”

At this single shout, the several hundred famished wolves behind him cheered together, surging like a tidal wave toward the roasted lamb—whatever commanding officer, whatever exhaustion, all completely forgotten… this was meat, meat…

This feast frightened the group of live sheep still awaiting slaughter outside the camp into a fit of bleating.

Jixiang, leading a group of servant boys around to attend to everyone, smiled brightly, handing out steamed buns marked with a red dot and wedding cakes, saying: “Gentlemen, eat slowly! Though we can’t serve wine today, it’s still a joyous occasion—white buns as much as you like, and this meat, eat your fill, gentlemen, we have plenty for whatever you want…”

Another round of thunderous cheering.

Inside the camp, the stove fire, prepared in advance, heated the bath water. Chen Dasheng sat warmly in the water, looking at the red robes prepared on the table beside him, still somewhat dazed.

So, so this was really happening—the consummation.

Was this a dream?

Various images of his little wife’s charming expressions flashed before his eyes—pouting, coy, laughing, odd, eyebrow-raised, lip-pursed, eye-rolling… not a single expression that wasn’t lovely… He scooped up hot water and quickly splashed it on his face, then half-submerged himself in the water, wanting to laugh but not daring to, blowing bubbles instead…

But he didn’t know.

That year, the sixth of December, the same snow, the same cold.

He’d come home from the border, foolish, not knowing where home was, unwilling to spend money hiring a cart, so he’d prepared ten pairs of thick-soled cloth shoes and trekked thousands of li on foot. By the time he reached home, the soles of his last pair had worn through to bare flesh, so he simply went barefoot in the dead of winter.

He’d arrived at Quanqian Street, unable to find his home, asking around everywhere, and had made a laughingstock of himself in front of Qiqian’er in the process.

Finally finding his way home, he went into Fourth Uncle’s room, and the large bundle he’d carried back was reduced by half; going to Grandmother’s room, the bundle was left with just an empty wrapping.

He finally saw Qiqian’er as she was that year—that person, ah, thin, small, withered, dry, eyes without light, so frightened by the sight of a tall man that she trembled ceaselessly…

At the time it had troubled Chen Dasheng terribly—he’d thought, marrying a girl like this to me is a sin too… so small, could she even hold up a household?

He hadn’t known what to say to this young wife either, just stood there, and finally said dully: “Well then, shall we sleep?”

That consummation hadn’t even had a pair of red candles.

Yet neither of the two newlyweds had felt anything lacking—having a warm kang, having a husband, having a wife, was already extraordinary good fortune. Compared to those who had already passed away, left this world… how could they dare complain, when they were still alive, after all.

Yu Qingguan, gnawing on a lamb leg, boasted to the soldier beside him: “Hmph! Our sister-in-law… what a woman!”

Tong Jintai nodded: “That’s right, and beautiful too… you couldn’t find many people in all of Yandu as impressive as our sister-in-law…”

Ma Ergu found fault: “Brother, there’s something wrong with what you said—what does being pretty have to do with being impressive?”

Cui Erdian, freeing his head from the ribs he’d been gnawing on, muttered: “Heh! Our Old Madam makes trouble, and our sister-in-law indulges her—just watch, our brother will keep indulging her too from now on. Such a big event, won’t there have to be three days of a flowing feast?”

Hu Yougui, beside him, pursed his lips: “Eat your food, aren’t you hungry? Three days of a flowing feast, while your fat wife’s holding you back—how old is our brother already, and you’re not worried? The Old Chen family’s worried to death, only the Old Chen family itself isn’t worried—what about our master? Don’t forget, our sister-in-law and brother still owe an account of at least six sons before this is settled…”

Guan Si’er was dumbfounded: “Settled how? Having kids?”

Yu Qingguan, hearing this, looked sympathetically toward the bridal tent: “That’s right—at least three surnamed She and three surnamed Chen before everyone’s satisfied on all sides…”

“Satisfied with what?”

Chen Dasheng, his head wrapped in gold-brocaded red cloth, dressed in a bright red wedding robe, came over—he was hungry too, and figured his wife must be starving as well…

So he had food vessels brought over, personally sought out a roast lamb that wasn’t too battered, and took a knife to carve off some of the crisp, golden meat slice by slice for his wife to eat.

Yu Qingguan hurriedly jumped up to help: “Brother, brother, brother… don’t do it yourself, put down the knife, knife, knife… on a day like this, you’re holding a knife?”

The brothers all rushed forward to take the knife from him, sliced the lamb for him themselves, and pushed him toward the bridal tent.

“Go on, go on…”

Chen Dasheng, somewhat embarrassed, laughed and sighed: “You lot!”

He carried the food, walking briskly inward, while behind him… his six younger brothers, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, offered their blessings with grinning faces…

“Brother, may you have a son soon!”

“Brother, a hundred years of happiness together!”

“Brother, may you grow old together with her…”

Another round of laughter, and he cursed back at them: “Can’t even stuff your mouths with food to shut you all up! Just eat, the lot of you…”

Another round of laughter.

Chen Dasheng, carrying the food, stepped on the red carpet, hearing blessings the whole way, his heart soaring higher with every step…

He’d made up his mind—the moment he saw his wife, he’d bow to her properly and tell her, marrying Chen Dasheng had wronged her, made her suffer! But he, Chen Dasheng, promised: whatever else in this life he couldn’t manage, he would devote himself wholeheartedly to building up the family fortune, giving her the best, most dignified life in all of Daliang.

With a thousand kind words in mind, the moment Chen Dasheng entered the bridal tent, he first smelled the fragrance of many flowers; before the new wine could even go to his head, he heard his wife ask him urgently: “What time is it?”

Chen Dasheng froze, stammering: “The, the, the start of the Hour of the Pig… wi-wife?”

A swirl of red cloud rushed at him, and Chen Dasheng found himself kneeling before the ancestral tablets.

Heaven and earth, the elders, mutual bows.

He hadn’t moved—had he moved on his own?

Following the whole ritual through, and finally? He was tossed onto the kang?

Tossed?

Tossed… onto it? How many hundred jin did he weigh, again?

On the newly hung “hundred sons, thousand grandsons” bed curtain, a hundred vivid children played—setting off firecrackers, fighting crickets, chasing butterflies, picking flowers, playing hide and seek?

Such fine embroidery work!

What was happening?

The curtain slowly lowered, and Qiqian’er, her heart racing, threw a leg over his waist, leaned down, and commanded: “Lift the veil!”

Chen Dasheng truly wanted to say something, but his hands were seized by his wife, and by the time he realized it, the veil had already been lifted… his wife’s eyes, like they held a hidden galaxy of stars, met his gaze…

A rumbling, thunder filling his ears… Chen Dasheng’s mouth hung slightly open, feeling something was off somewhere? Yet everything felt right too…

Bright red lips slowly approached, soft, fragrant, lips meeting his—Chen Dasheng thought, I’m dead! Thoroughly, completely dead…

Qiqian’er very seriously began undressing her husband, piece after piece of red fabric tossed aside, red candles flickering. He felt his whole body go weak, limbs powerless, only able to say “Huh? Huh? Hng?”

In the end, in the end, what was wrong here… he just kept feeling something was off?

Yet unknown to him, in the depths of that night, snow filling the sky… in an unnoticed corner, a streak of starlight fell, breaking through the dark clouds, finally dropping into the red tent…

A hundred children playing noisily in his ears, Chen Dasheng’s mind reeled, thinking to himself, what exactly was wrong here? Wrong? Wrong?

Why did it feel like he was flying…