The night I married Pei Guanli, I cried so hard I soaked half my bridal veil.
Not because I didn’t want to marry him, but because everyone in the capital knew that Pei Guanli was more upright and proper than the ancestral tablets in a shrine.
He oversaw ceremonial protocols at the Ministry of Rites and revised the dynasty’s statutes and rites.
If a family used the wrong ritual vessels at a wedding, he could remember it for three years.
If someone wailed one time too many at a funeral, he could submit a memorial impeaching them straight to the emperor.
As the daughter of a merchant family from Jiangnan, this was exactly the sort of man I feared most.
Before my mother sent me into the bridal sedan, she clutched my hands and cried even harder than I did.
“Ah Ning, once you reach the Pei Family, speak less, smile less, and eat less.”
I asked, “Why eat less?”
Choking back sobs, my mother said, “Noble young ladies in the capital eat as delicately as if they’re painting flowers. You eat three bowls in one sitting. You’ll give yourself away too easily.”
I paused, suddenly feeling that before this marriage had even reached the bridal chamber, I had already lost on appetite alone.
