Yang Bufan never took anything seriously.
Not even marrying me.
An auspicious date for the betrothal?
Too much trouble to choose.
How much to offer in betrothal gifts?
Too much trouble to think about.
He left every last detail to his cousin.
He would sooner spend an entire afternoon beneath the flowering trees, stringing jasmine for our dear Miss Meng, than spare a second glance at the marriage contract I had sent him.
He was getting annoyed.
“She’s changed it twice already.
Last time, I left two strokes out of her name.
What is it now?
Did I leave something out of mine too?”
The servant who had brought it faltered.
“The names have been corrected, sir.
It’s just that Miss Lu would still like to know what you think…”
Yang Bufan propped his chin on his hand, already losing interest.
“As long as it’s fixed.
Tell her to stop hurrying me.”
“The sixth day of the sixth month, isn’t it?
I’ll be back.”
