Chapter Twelve: The Bridal Gown

Reclining sideways in a rocking chair, basking in the sunlight, she felt utterly relaxed, her whole body suffused with warmth. Stretching lazily, she glanced up at the sky—the sun was already high. Clearly, she’d enjoyed a proper night’s sleep.

A jubilant melody of instruments drifted in from beyond the wall, grating on her nerves. Couldn’t she have even a moment’s peace? Deciding to investigate, she resolved that if this was the affair of some rowdy household, she’d see to it their celebration ended in white mourning garb.

She leapt lightly onto the eaves. The blazing red signboard bore a golden character for “Xia,” dazzling in the sunlight. A faint, attractive smile curved her lips.

“Son of Xiahou, today is your wedding day. Given your father’s rank and standing, there must be no shortage of sycophants delivering gifts—and all those people skulking in your home these days. It’s time I cleaned them out.” Cruel resolve flashed in her eyes.

She scaled the wall into the general’s residence, where a sea of crimson stung her vision, stirring memories of blood-soaked woods—a fire of vengeance she struggled to suppress.

Stepping into the general’s daughter’s boudoir, she heard the sound of a woman’s weeping and a maid’s gentle words of comfort.

She couldn’t help but feel a little exasperated. Recently, she’d heard that the Xiahou and General’s families were to be joined in marriage. The general’s daughter was unwilling, but could not defy her father’s command, forced to part from the one she loved—a penniless scholar, with neither wealth nor status. How tragic.

The general’s residence distanced itself from the scholar, but the Xiahou son was a different matter—talented, handsome, and wealthy, the very image of a perfect match. Rumor had it the bride planned to bite off her tongue in the bridal sedan, determined to die rather than submit. This woman’s passion was admirable, but her actions were rash and ill-considered—a soul ruled by her emotions.

“Excuse me, miss. Would you mind asking your maids to step outside for a moment? I have a way to free you from this misery.”

Her tone was tranquil, so ordinary it was as if she were uttering something mundane rather than extraordinary.

The general’s daughter stared in astonishment, then, as hope dawned, her tear-streaked face broke into a broad smile. She quickly ordered her maids to leave, though the girls looked back anxiously with every step.

The scarlet wedding dress lay on the bed, with a phoenix coronet, hairpins, and jewels set on the dressing table. After sending the general’s daughter and her scholar away, she sat before the mirror in utter silence.

She ran her fingers over the wedding gown’s smooth, soft fabric—obviously fine silk. Slipping it on, she found it fit perfectly, a remarkable coincidence.

At the dressing table, she hesitated over whether to remove her mask and apply makeup. On a whim, she took off the mask and hid it in her sleeve, eyeing the rouge and powder before her. For the first time in this world, she made up her own face.

A few minutes later, her reflection revealed a subtle touch of makeup, nothing like the heavy paint favored by others. Gently she lifted the phoenix coronet and placed it on her head, her long, jet-black hair cascading to her waist. With a sense of appreciation, she regarded the elegantly adorned woman in the mirror.

For a moment, she, too, was captivated.

“Miss, the auspicious hour is near!” came the maid’s reminder from outside.

She snapped back to reality, hurriedly took up the red veil, and softly replied.

At once, a maid entered, glancing around—where was the masked woman from before? “Let’s go,” she said, disguising her voice to mimic the delicate tones of the general’s daughter, and the two maids instantly stepped forward to support her.

Seated in the bridal sedan, the wedding procession set off. Firecrackers detonated in bursts; the blare of horns and drums was deafening. What a racket! She couldn’t help but sigh—if not for the need to kill those lackeys under cover, she’d never stoop to such farce, sacrificing her hard-won reputation. From within the sedan, an occasional sigh of lament escaped her lips.

Suddenly, the sedan halted. The matchmaker chattered outside, then the sedan tilted and she was led out. There, she saw Xiahou’s son—a vision in crimson, with a jade pendant at his waist threaded with a streak of gold. She couldn’t help but marvel at the extravagance.

Xiahou’s son approached with a smile, bending down in a squat. The matchmaker called out something, and she climbed onto his back, arms around his neck. A strong fragrance assaulted her nose, and she nearly cursed aloud: “Why is a man wearing perfume?! Don’t you know I hate it? Unless… you’re a cross-dresser?” She raged inwardly, sweating at her own wandering thoughts.

Irritated by the itch, she rubbed her face unconsciously against Xiahou’s son’s neck. Perhaps tickled, he turned and grinned wickedly. “Don’t be impatient, little beauty.”

Her fists clenched tight; she wanted nothing more than to strangle him right then. One thought fixed in her mind: Xiahou’s son, you shameless lecher, when I’m done with those lackeys, you’ll be the first I deal with—personally sending you off to the King of Hell. I’ll let him satisfy your perverse lust for once!

Feeling her arms tighten around his neck, Xiahou’s son glanced down and, seeing her feisty spirit, freed a hand to grasp her clenched fist, chuckling softly. Expecting more commotion behind him, he was surprised when all fell quiet.

Forcing herself to remain composed, she reminded herself not to let minor matters spoil the greater scheme. She had to endure!

Afterward, still reeling from that encounter, she found herself in a daze, going through the wedding rites beside Xiahou’s son, barely registering what was happening.

It was only during the ceremonial bows, catching a glimpse of the conspirators’ smirks, that she regained her senses—had she already completed the three bows?

Ah!

Damn!

She must have slept too well, her nerves all dulled. She could only sigh at herself—her mind was rarely so muddled, and of all days, it had to be today. Was this an omen that her luck would run poorly?

She steeled herself. In her experience, whenever her mind wandered so, nothing good came of the day. Caution was in order.

Supported by the maids into the bridal chamber—so much red! For a moment, she was seized by the urge to tear every crimson object to shreds. She had to admit, she could not face this sea of red with any calmness.

She must acknowledge that from the moment Silver Fox died in that pool of blood, she realized her own weakness—regret, guilt, anger, and yet, utter helplessness.

She sat on the bed as the maids quietly closed the door and withdrew. Now was the banquet, the time for feasting.

She tore off the wedding dress, returning to her plain attire. With rage in her heart, she donned her mask. If she didn’t kill these people, all today’s efforts would be for naught—a humiliation. She must kill “Xiahou’s son” with her own hands, and her fists were hardly delicate.

She flitted like a phantom through the banquet, poisoning those who deserved to die, carrying them away and depositing them behind the Gu residence’s mountain, dusting the ground with powder so it seemed nothing had happened. Returning to the Gu residence, she considered whether it was time to kill the alluring demon weaving through the wedding feast.