TAMW CH1

“Young Master, please just give in,” Deng Yongquan sighed from outside the window. “My father said that unless the Young Mistress gives the nod, no one is permitted to let you go.”

“Young Mistress, my ass! That’s his own illicit lover—unable to take him in openly as a concubine, so he forces him onto me!”

Zhou Xiao swept his arm across the table, sending the wedding pastries and sweetcakes crashing to the floor. His chest heaved with fury, his face flushed crimson.

Outside the door, Deng Yongquan trembled with fear at the sound of the outburst.

“You knew all along, didn’t you?!” Zhou Xiao demanded.

“Young Master, I disembarked from the ship alongside you just yesterday! I’m innocent! Blame whoever you want, but you cannot pin this on me!” Deng Yongquan cried bitterly outside the wooden door.

“Blame you?” Zhou Xiao sat before the round table, his fists clenched tight as if holding something back. Along his neck, tightly bound by his necktie, veins bulged from boiling rage.

He surveyed the bridal chamber.

He had been locked in here for a full day and night.

The entire Zhou compound was the sole traditional ancestral courtyard in Baizhou City, a manor bestowed by an emperor of the previous dynasty during an imperial tour. The work of master craftsmen, even after a century, the golden nanmu wood table still retained an expensive luster.

The master bedchamber featured mother-of-pearl folding screens, traditional wooden chairs, and a timber-framed canopy bed. The drapes had been replaced with auspicious red silk embroidered with festive motifs.

On the table lay peanuts, dried longans, and the Double Happiness cakes that had remained bestsellers at the Xianghe Bakery for decades.

Before the table stood a Ru-ware porcelain statue of Guanyin, the Giver of Children. The wooden altar was dusted with fallen incense ashes—someone had already knelt and prayed before the Bodhisattva. The chamber was permeated with a rich scent of sandalwood, subtly laced with the faint aroma of jasmine and mint.

So faint it was nearly imperceptible.

Zhou Xiao sat in the wooden chair. His Western suit was custom-tailored by a master craftsman in France; the steady tick-tock of the Swiss watch on his wrist looked completely out of place amidst these archaic surroundings.

He closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth tightening. Hearing the shrill, piercing blare of the suona horns and the matchmaker welcoming the bridal procession outside, his voice trembled slightly: “Yongquan, you grew up beside me and even followed me all the way to France. Tell me the honest truth.”

Deng Yongquan’s body ached all over from his father’s whipping. Trembling, he pressed his face against the translucent paper windowpane to let him see. “Young Master, I truly knew nothing! The letter we received in France only mentioned the Master’s grave illness, urging you to return swiftly. Who could have guessed it was a trick to force you into marriage… this, this…”

“You wandered abroad studying for over eight years, and this servant has remained by your side throughout, with unwavering loyalty. Please see clearly, Young Master!”

With that, Deng Yongquan dropped to his knees outside the door with a loud thud.

Peering through the peephole in the paper pane, Zhou Xiao saw the bruises across Deng’s face and understood—the old housekeeper had taken a whip to his own son.

The old housekeeper was Deng Yongquan’s biological father.

For generations, the Deng family had bound themselves in life-and-death contracts as stewards to the Zhou family; Deng Yongquan had been Zhou Xiao’s study companion since childhood.

A month ago in France, Zhou Xiao had received a letter from his eldest sister: ‘Father is gravely ill, return at once.’

He was twenty-three this year, still half a year away from completing his studies. To rush back early, he had put his business endeavors in France on hold and boarded an overnight ship home. Yet upon disembarking, he was confronted with this exact farce.

The Zhou residence was draped inside and out with red silk and Double Happiness banners. The old housekeeper claimed it was to ward off ill fortune and bring good luck.

Zhou Xiao had assumed the old man wanted to take a concubine on his deathbed to prolong his life.

Yet the moment he stepped into the courtyard, the doors were slammed shut, imprisoning him in his own home.

By the time he realized something was amiss, the old housekeeper—Deng Yongquan’s father—smiled through the door crack with a chilling look in his benevolent eyes: “Young Master, once you marry the Young Mistress, the Master will be so delighted that his health will surely recover.”

A full day and night—he had actually been locked away for that long.

No one in the entire household dared approach.

If the old housekeeper hadn’t been swamped with wedding duties today, allowing Deng Yongquan to slip his ropes, Deng wouldn’t have been able to find his way here at all.

Standing outside, Deng Yongquan didn’t dare cry out, nor could he unlock the door. He could only tremble: “Young Master, today is your auspicious day…”

“That old bastard…” Zhou Xiao clenched his fists, the tail end of his words swallowed by pure hatred.

Hearing the gongs, drums, and suona horns drawing nearer, Deng Yongquan was frightened out of his wits, wanting nothing more than to flee.

Outside, the sky had darkened completely. Only a few corners of the Zhou compound were wired for electricity; large red paper lanterns drifted like phantoms along the dark, sprawling verandas.

In the main courtyard, red paper burned, sparks flying and ashes fluttering through the air.

Taking someone through the door at night could only mean taking a concubine.

The old bastard was advanced in years; taking a concubine openly would ruin his reputation, so he used the excuse of warding off ill fortune to saddle the marriage onto his son. Or perhaps it was simply the traditional arranged marriage system—the rotten remnants of feudal dynasties, pedantic to the extreme!

Calming himself, Zhou Xiao asked, “What else did Uncle Deng say?”

Pressing against the door crack, Deng Yongquan replied, “He only said that after today, once the Young Mistress nods, you’ll be free.”

Zhou Xiao’s heart sank, though his face remained expressionless. “What about the cargo on the ship?”

Deng Yongquan: “My father said the Young Mistress handled it personally. Everything has already been received at Baizhou Port.”

This woman certainly has methods.

What kind of place was Baizhou Port? The premier port in the province. During the previous imperial dynasty, it was dedicated to transporting salt for the imperial court. The ones managing the port were the Ruan family of Baizhou—an illustrious, aristocratic clan with third-rank Salt Commissioners, having relatives pulling strings in the imperial palace for generations. Their roots in Baizhou ran so deep that even the Emperor could scarcely shake them.

This ‘Young Mistress’ had not only coaxed his father into tricking him back for a wedding, but even possessed connections at the port. Truly impressive.

What a fine Young Mistress.

What a fine Young Mistress of the Zhou Family!

The sounds outside grew closer until the sharp, shrill voice of the matchmaker rang out: “The bride crosses the threshold—!”

Terrified of being caught by his father, Deng Yongquan hurriedly dropped a parting whisper: “Young Master, take care of yourself!”

With that, he greased his heels and scurried away down the veranda, practically on all fours.

The courtyard was square—merely a secluded wing of the Zhou mansion.

At the center of the square courtyard stood a circular archway. To the left was the woodshed, to the right was the bedchamber where Zhou Xiao was confined, and directly facing the entrance was the ancestral shrine.

Through the narrow slit in the door, Zhou Xiao peered into the pitch-black night, watching for the bride he was about to wed.

Several servants, heads bowed low, stepped through the archway holding red lanterns.

The eerie red glow illuminated the bluestone pavement.

Beaming with smiles, the matchmaker supported the bride. Dressed entirely in red and draped in a bridal veil, the dark blue estate looked faintly sinister under the glow of the lanterns.

Footsteps echoed through the cavernous, hollow courtyard.

The matchmaker’s red lips split into a wide grin as she called out once more: “The Young Mistress enters the household—!”

The bride wore an intricate, embroidered xiuhe bridal gown. The silhouette was slender and rather tall, moving gracefully as though stepping upon soft cotton—soundless, supple, with one fair hand resting languidly upon the matchmaker’s forearm.

It was an exceedingly pale hand. Blurry from a distance, yet the words delicate and slender sprang unbidden to mind.

In the dead of night, the stark whiteness carried an almost ghostly aura.

Many onlookers had gathered today. As the Young Mistress crossed the threshold, a large dog was seated in the groom’s position. A child holding wedding sweets giggled: “Why is the groom a big dog?”

A German shepherd with dark brown fur sat panting before the ancestral tablets. Going through the motions didn’t require much grandeur or formality.

“Who marries a dog?”

“Hush! That dog is the Master’s absolute favorite, don’t speak nonsense.”

“Oh, it’s just talk! Who wouldn’t want the Young Mistress to cross the threshold? Once through the door, serving the Master becomes proper and justified, right? Otherwise, in the past, it was always…”

“Are the masters someone you can gossip about?” Housekeeper Deng leaned heavily on his walking stick, striking the immaculately scrubbed flagstone floor.

The servants watching the spectacle lowered their heads and retreated to the side.

The bride’s figure was slender and frail; even beneath the heavy bridal attire, signs of chronic illness were evident, looking as though a gust of wind could bend that delicate waist.

“First bow to Heaven and Earth.”

“Second bow to the Parents.”

“Husband and wife—” Before the matchmaker could finish, an errand boy rushed in through the archway, interrupting the ceremony: “Young Mistress, Major Chen has arrived!”

Major Chen had merely come under orders to deliver a wedding gift.

Zhou Xiao had seen this man the day he disembarked from the ship. At the port, he had led a troop of soldiers inspecting tobacco; anyone smuggling raw opium into the harbor was taken away immediately, and those who resisted were executed on the spot.

Dressed in a rigid, dark green military uniform, the officer’s leather boots clicked in steady, measured rhythms against the bluestone pavers.

In the current Republic era, amid continuous warlord skirmishes and endless gunfire, power grew from the barrel of a gun.

On the day Zhou Xiao disembarked, Major Chen had shot three men dead at the docks.

The blood had run as red as tonight’s lanterns.

Holding a gift chest in hand, he presented it respectfully: “Congratulations on your wedding, Yuqing.”

The Young Mistress who crossed the threshold was named Yuqing.

A snow-white hand slowly lifted from the matchmaker’s arm, and the matchmaker respectfully stepped aside.

Though far away, Zhou Xiao possessed sharp eyes. He watched as that snow-white index finger lightly traced from the military officer’s forehead down to the tip of his nose, tapping gently.

Veiled beneath the red cloth, no face was visible, only the crisp chiming of the gold bells dangling from the hem.

The officer bowed his head and bent at the waist, indulging this hand as it patted his cheek. What should have been a humiliating gesture took on an entirely different flavor beneath the touch of that gorgeous hand.

The hand was as pale as Ru porcelain, remarkably smooth to the eye—so delicate and fair that one could hardly tell if it belonged to a man or a woman, truly deserving the description of slender jade fingers.

Under the glow of the red lanterns, the rounded fingertips seemed to blush a soft pink.

His head lowered, the officer appeared momentarily dizzy from the touch, entirely unbothered by having his face patted in public.

“Thank you for your trouble,” a divine voice murmured, like a breeze drifting by. “Give my regards to the General.”

Keeping his head bowed, the officer focused intently on the red veil—on the owner of that hand.

Realizing his lapse in composure, Major Chen lowered his head slightly and took a step back: “Yes.”

The ceremony was incomplete, nothing more than a superficial charade.

As the matchmaker supported the Young Mistress toward the side chamber, all the gossiping servants were dismissed. Only two servants carrying lanterns led the way, turning into the long veranda.

As the dim glow of the red lanterns departed the main courtyard, Major Chen was left behind in the darkness.

The wedding night.

This was the first time Zhou Xiao and Yuqing met.

The matchmaker said: “New faces meet anew; may husband and wife treat each other with mutual respect and harbor no grievances.”

What archaic nonsense. The feudal dynasties fell long ago; where did this talk of matchmakers and parental mandates come from?

Parental orders and matchmaking words—how could a couple devoid of love ever share mutual respect? Pure drivel!

Zhou Xiao did not know Yuqing’s age, nor where his family hailed from. He only wanted to lay all his cards on the table with this Young Mistress and refuse categorically.

Guards surrounded the exterior; he couldn’t escape, or else he wouldn’t have remained locked up for an entire day and night.

Smiling, the matchmaker helped the Young Mistress into the room while the servants lit the red candles, brightening the chamber.

Zhou Xiao sat far away, refusing to sit upon the canopy bed.

Spitefully turning his back, he wouldn’t even face them.

The bride sitting on the bed waved a hand, gesturing for the servants to withdraw. The wooden doors creaked shut.

Silence fell over the room. The suona music ceased, plunging the Zhou estate into absolute quiet, broken only by the occasional crackle of the burning candles.

“I do not know why you have done this, but let me tell you plainly: I am unwilling. Blind obedience to parents and matchmakers belongs to the old society.”

“The world outside has changed drastically. Women are free to choose their own spouses. We have never met, let alone share any absurd romantic feelings. Are you truly content marrying like this? Besides, you and my father…”

Zhou Xiao rose as he spoke, intending to make himself clearer.

He turned around.

The bride seated upon the bed remained upright and poised. Hearing his words, a light laugh escaped his lips.

The sound was as crisp as a silver chime, like a crack running across a porcelain plate.

A pair of fingertips slowly drew back the red bridal veil.

As the hem of the veil slid over the golden hairpins and jade hair sticks, exposing a fair forehead, the fabric brushed against skin devoid of cosmetic powder.

Yuqing did not move, his ink-dark gaze resting quietly upon his new husband.

For several moments, Zhou Xiao was struck dumb, frozen in place.

A faint smile touched the corners of Yuqing’s lips, the mirth in his eyes exceptionally subtle.

Snow-white cheeks, delicate eyelids, and amber glass-like eyes that seemed to harbor a detached, cold gentleness. Directly beneath his left pupil sat a small beauty mark; when he smiled, it held a sweet, venomous allure.

Instead of staring at him, Yuqing lowered his gentle eyelashes. He stood up slowly, removing the intricate golden hairpins from his hair. Beside him, the red candles burned brightly; with the flickering light, his long eyelashes fluttered, gleaming like a venomous serpent, yet carrying the ethereal grace of a white crane as he stepped closer.

It was the scent of jasmine.

“Greetings, Young Master.”

His voice was not feminine in the slightest, carrying a textured grain on the tongue, melodious and crisp like the strum of a pipa: “I am Ruan Yuqing.”

The Ruan family of Baizhou—the illustrious clan whose ancestors served as third-rank officials.

His wife, arranged by parental mandate and matchmaking words, was a man.

His male wife.