Xia Shuang retracted her sword and left, the night falling back into silence.
Song Youyi stood in the shadow of a pillar, her heart thundering against her ribs. Her feet were no longer under her control.
One step, two steps, three steps—she crept silently toward the east, toward the wedding chamber where the candlelight still flickered.
Her pace was slow and light, like a small white cat walking alone in the dark of night.
She comforted herself in her mind.
‘It’s fine, I’m just going to look.’
‘What if Brother is being bullied? What if that arrogant woman, Qi Chuyao, laid a hand on him?’ She was just going to look and make sure he was safe.
‘Just a look…’
‘Just a look…’
But she knew that this was nothing more than a thin veil for her own shame.
Sometimes, people became distorted because of their emotions.
Song Youyi felt as though she had fallen into an indescribable mire; the more she struggled, the deeper she sank.
And the deeper she sank, the less she wanted to struggle.
The wooden box in her bedroom told her that she loved her brother.
Those neatly folded white clothes, every piece soaked with his scent, were evidence of the crimes she had secretly committed.
She fell asleep holding them, burying her face in the fabric, imagining herself being held in his arms.
Her slender fingers would drift downward, doing things they shouldn’t, finding pleasure in solitude.
The uncontrollable tears at the wedding told her that she loved her brother.
The moment the master of ceremonies shouted, “Bowing Rite,” the moment her brother leaned down and bowed gently to another woman, her tears had broken through like a dammed river, impossible to stop.
They were jealous, painful, and desperate tears.
Her heartbeat in the carriage when she stared into his eyes told her that she loved her brother.
In that cramped, dim space, she had held her breath and leaned closer to his face inch by inch.
She had been close enough to see the curve of his eyelashes, yet her eyes had never left his lips for a single moment.
If this was the case, if she truly loved her brother, then on this night when Song Ning was being completely handed over to another woman, she should have felt driven to madness by the pain.
She should have locked herself in her room, covered her ears, closed her eyes, and pretended nothing was happening.
In reality, however, she could not convince herself to leave. Instead, she felt an even stronger urge to see him.
She wanted to see what he looked like on his wedding night.
Would her brother, who was usually gentle and composed, be nervous? Would he show a happy expression? Or was he, perhaps, also a bit reluctant?
Would Qi Chuyao bully him? What would she say to him? Would they be like the husbands and wives her brother wrote about in his stories?
Today, what kind of expression would appear on that handsome, eternally gentle face? Would he be knitting his brows in endurance? Would he be breathing softly? Or…
Song Youyi could no longer walk. She leaned against the pillar of the corridor, her fingers clutching the front of her clothes over her chest.
A deep flush rose to her pale, pretty face. Her breathing became rapid and disorganized, her lips parting slightly.
She was sad because that person wasn’t her.
She was curious because those expressions and sounds were things she would never see or hear.
‘If only Brother weren’t blind,’ she sometimes thought.
Then he would be able to see the look in her eyes; he would see the love she couldn’t hide.
Then he would know that the person who loved him most in this world wasn’t Qi Chuyao, nor was it Xia Ling or Xia Shuang.
It was her, Song Youyi.
But she could say nothing, and she could do nothing.
She could only approach his wedding chamber like a thief on a night like this, sneaking toward him and his rightful wife.
All just to hear his voice.
Song Youyi took a breath, slowed her pace, and resumed her solitary journey through the darkness toward the wedding chamber.
……
Song Youyi was clearly not the only one harboring such thoughts.
A dark figure glided silently over the roof, resembling a gust of black wind.
Qin Junyue had drunk a lot of wine tonight. The scent of alcohol drifted from her body, mixing with the coolness of the night breeze.
Dressed in her night-traveling attire, she hugged the shadows of the roof ridge, cautiously sneaking toward the wedding chamber while glancing left and right.
As she moved, she cursed herself in her heart.
‘Shameless.’
‘Disgraceful.’
‘This is your best friend’s wedding night.’
‘That is a man you don’t deserve.’
But her feet refused to listen.
If Song Youyi’s actions were a sudden impulse upon finding no one around, Qin Junyue’s were long-premeditated.
She had been thinking about this from the very day she learned of the marriage.
She had no other intentions; she just wanted to see. Just one look would be enough. It would be enough just to hear his voice through the window.
She comforted herself, thinking she was only going to look. She wasn’t truly betraying her best friend, nor was she doing anything to Song Ning.
Indeed, how could she do anything to the White Moonlight who had once been her benefactor—and arguably even half a master?
She just wanted to find some closure for the delusions she had held for so many years.
Thinking of the old stories from her youth, a fire ignited in Qin Junyue’s heart.
Relying on her Internal Power as a Rank 2 Martial Artist, she moved across the rooftops as if she were on level ground.
Her movements were extremely light, making not a single sound. The night wind brushed past her ponytail, dispersing some of the alcohol’s haze.
The Song Mansion’s security was lax tonight, especially around the wedding chamber.
Mother Qi had likely given special orders to clear the area for the newlyweds. This suited Qin Junyue perfectly.
She lay prone behind the roof of the wedding chamber, holding her breath and sensing the presence of those around her.
There was no one else. The green-clad maid who always carried a sword wasn’t there.
Qin Junyue breathed a sigh of relief.
She had never been able to gauge the depth of that mute maid named Xia Shuang, but having seen her practice her sword, Qin Junyue knew the girl’s strength was not weak.
If she were here, tonight’s business would have been difficult.
Just as Qin Junyue was about to flip down to find a window or a crack in the door to see what Song Ning was doing, a stumbling set of footsteps sounded in the distance.
Her body stiffened, and she quickly lowered herself further, suppressing her aura.
Under the moonlight, a figure in red wobbled into view.
It was Qi Chuyao.
She was wearing her bright red bridal gown, but her hair was mostly undone, and her golden hairpins hung askew by her temples.
She held a wine flask in her hand, swaying every few steps. Her face was so red it looked like it was on fire. It was obvious she had drunk quite a bit.
As a Martial Artist who hadn’t even entered the ranks—not even a Rank 4 Martial Artist—her alcohol tolerance was clearly subpar.
Qin Junyue lay on the roof, watching the swaying figure below. Her expression was priceless as she grumbled internally.
‘Are you serious, sister?’
‘How are you coming home even later than me?’
‘The groom has been waiting in the wedding chamber for ages, and here you are, out drinking until now?’
‘Do you even understand what getting married means? If you don’t, can you give him to me?’
She watched as Qi Chuyao stumbled toward the wedding chamber, nearly tripping over her own skirt several times. She felt both annoyed and amused.