Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I, Xie Shuran, am the youngest daughter of Chief Clerk Xie.

Like my three elder sisters-Shuxian, Shude, and Shuliang-I was trained from childhood in the eight feminine arts. I was taught not only the zither, chess, calligraphy, painting, and sacrificial rites, but also the traditional virtues, speech, and conduct expected of a woman.

I was gentle by nature, well-educated, and reasonable. My entire upbringing was geared toward becoming a virtuous wife and mother, so as not to bring shame upon the Xie Family.

Before marrying Cheng Wenting, I had only ever defied my father once, an act that earned me a stinging slap across the face.

In truth, it could hardly even be called defiance.

I had been weeping to my mother about not wanting to marry, but the moment I looked up and saw my father walking out of the house, I fell as silent as a cicada in winter. Unfortunately, he was already incensed and struck me anyway.

After that, I obediently married Cheng Wenting.

On my wedding day, the mark from that slap had not yet fully faded, so I had to apply a thick layer of rouge to hide it.

That night, when Cheng Wenting lifted my bridal veil, the red candles flickered, casting a warm, shimmering glow. Amidst the festive crimson of the room, the first thing I saw was a refined gentleman who stood as elegant as a jade tree.

When people in the capital spoke of Cheng Wenting, they often praised him as a worthy son of the late Censor-in-Chief. Despite his youth, he already held the position of Junior Tutor to the Crown Prince; he was truly a man of immense talent and divine ingenuity.

It was only that night, however, that I realized he was also so strikingly handsome and graceful.

Dressed in his vibrant red wedding robes, Cheng Wenting looked at me beneath the veil and smiled before even uttering a word. His handsome features were beyond reproach-brows like crescent moons and eyes as bright as the morning star.

His smile rippled through eyes that seemed to hold a thousand stars as he reached out and gently touched my face.

“Yuan Niang,” he called me.

My name is Xie Shuran, but my childhood name is Yuan Niang. From that day forward, I was the bride of my husband, Cheng Wenting.

Cheng Wenting was dignified and possessed a gentle voice, an extraordinary face, and a fine physique. He seemed to know everything-even though the Fire-Avoiding Secret Pleasure Pictures had been accidentally burned and thrown away by Xi’er and me.

He was no green-faced, fanged monster; in fact, he treated me quite well. During our wedding night, his movements were gentle, and he seemed to care deeply about my feelings.

Yet, for some reason, I could not stop my tears that night. I cried for half the night.

It must have been quite a mood-killer. At first, Cheng Wenting coaxed me patiently, speaking with nothing but tenderness. But when the act was over and I was still weeping, his expression finally soured.

His patience ran out. His face, which usually looked like polished white jade, gradually grew cold. He rose, threw on an outer robe, and sat casually by the bed, leaning against the bedpost as he watched me cry.

His gaze was so frigid, so motionless, and entirely devoid of emotion.

I was suddenly terrified of him. I stopped crying and tucked my head under the covers, not daring to look at him.

Eventually, Cheng Wenting gave a mocking laugh and called for the maids waiting outside to come in and help me bathe.

By the time I had finished washing and returned to the room, Cheng Wenting was gone. It was already the middle of the night, and the maid said he had gone to sleep in the study in the West Courtyard.

Xi’er remade the bed. Beneath the covers, a bright splash of red on the white silk cloth made both our faces burn with a flush. (In ancient China, there was a custom called “luohong” (“fallen red”). A white cloth was placed under the bedding, and a small red stain was taken as a sign that the woman was a virgin.)