On the third day after the Liang family accepted the marriage proposal, the official matchmaker arrived at the General’s Manor with the betrothal gifts, following all the customary rites—asking for names, exchanging tokens, seeking auspicious omens—each proceeding smoothly without a hitch. Before the Double Ninth Festival, the Pei family delivered the bride price, and the wedding date was set for the end of the year.
The very next day, Pei Huai’an visited the General’s Manor again, bringing festival gifts. The flow of presents was endless, and Madam Liang’s smile never left her lips.
At that moment, Liang Qingluo was anxiously huddled in her boudoir, embroidering her wedding gown. When her mother sent someone to call her to the front hall to meet Pei Huai’an, Liang Qingluo, with nine out of ten fingers pricked, seethed with frustration and replied without looking up, “No time, tell him to come see me.”
So annoying—why set the wedding date so soon? She was never good at needlework, and now she had to finish the gown before the wedding. For the next three months, she’d be stuck indoors.
When Pei Huai’an entered, she immediately spread her injured hand for him to see. “Look at my hand! What a mess I’ve made of it!”
Pei Huai’an knew her needlework was poor. Last Qixi Festival, she’d made a sachet for Qingjian, which he had found and picked up. He could tell she had little patience for needlework, and guessed she wasn’t happy doing this wedding gown. So he had learned from others a few days in advance and could now manage some simple embroidery patterns.
He took her hand and blew on each of her fingers, one by one, then picked up her embroidery needle. “Let me help you for a while.”
Watching him handle the needle so deftly, Liang Qingluo’s anger faded by more than half. “You actually know how to do needlework?”
“I crammed a little at the last minute, picked up the basics.”
“Why did you bother learning this?”
“What do you think?” Pei Huai’an lifted his gaze to her, his eyes filled with gentle affection.
That look from him dissipated the rest of her temper. She sat by his side, cupping her chin in her hands, watching him help embroider the wedding gown. Sunlight streamed in through the wooden window, illuminating the handsome young man bent over the lotus flowers he was stitching.
The young lord wore a jade crown holding up his hair, brows like painted strokes, his bearing even more refined than before—more beautiful than the lotuses embroidered on the gown.
“Pei Huai’an, you’re so wonderful…” she couldn’t help but praise him.
He pressed his lips into a handsome curve, a soft laugh escaping his throat. “Thank you for the compliment, fiancée.”
Hearing the word “fiancée,” Liang Qingluo’s heart rippled anew. She edged closer to him and asked, “Pei Huai’an, why do you like me?”
“Why wouldn’t I like you?”
“Because, when I first met you, I behaved terribly…”
Back then, when she visited the Grand Tutor’s residence to play with Sister Youran, she’d occasionally run into him, but they’d only nodded in passing. It wasn’t until she confessed to Qingjian and was rejected, crying with snot and tears, that he’d seen her at her most embarrassing.
The second time, she’d hired men to “catch a husband,” and accidentally grabbed him, tearing his clothes in the process.
The third time was at his celebration banquet after passing the exams. She’d hidden under a tree to cry, and he’d found her again.
Those early encounters were far from pleasant, so she’d never expected that one day he’d fall for her.
“Terrible? I never thought so,” seeing her lean closer, Pei Huai’an took the opportunity to kiss her forehead, “in fact, I found it adorable.”
Embarrassed, she clapped a hand to her forehead and shrank back, muttering, “Pei Seventh Lord really does have unusual tastes. Didn’t you say you couldn’t stand seeing others cry?”
“I did. That’s why, when I saw you crying, I just couldn’t help but comfort you…”
Hearing this, her heart melted, but then she thought of something else and frowned, “Then if another woman cries in front of you in the future, will you comfort her too?”
“If it’s the old, weak, sick, or young, of course I can’t just sit by.”
“Not the old or the weak—what if it’s a beautiful young lady?”
“I’d still take care of it…”
“Hmph!”
“But it won’t be me—it’ll be my wife’s responsibility to handle it.”
“Hmm? Hehe…” Before she could feign anger, he’d already coaxed her back into a good mood.
Pei Huai’an paused his needlework, his deep and clear eyes fixing on her, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth, a hint of teasing in his gaze.
Liang Qingluo was puzzled. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“So, what you said when you were drunk that night was true.” She’d even learned to get jealous—she must truly like him.
“What did I say?” Thinking of how she’d crawled into his carriage drunk that night, she was curious, “What did I say to you that night? Did I really kiss your lips raw?”
“That night, over and over, you told me you liked me…”
There was something else she’d said—“like you even more”—but Pei Huai’an didn’t plan to tell her that just yet. He’d wait until after they were married to make sure she only liked him.
“As for my lips, yes, you did kiss them raw. Your kissing was clumsy—you kept biting me…”
“All right, stop, that’s enough,” Liang Qingluo’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, “?”
“I tried to stop you at first, but you wouldn’t listen, and you were stronger than I thought. Plus, I liked you to begin with, so naturally I let you…”
After all, the two of them were already engaged.
Liang Qingluo blushed furiously for a while, thinking about how much she’d drunk.
But Pei Huai’an said, “It’s nothing. Once we’re married, you can drink as much as you like behind closed doors…”
Thinking of the wedding, Liang Qingluo grumbled, “Why did the wedding have to be set so soon? I’ll have to spend every day and night embroidering the wedding gown, with no time to go out and play…”
“I’ll come help you more often. These three months before the wedding, bear with it for now. Once we’re married, I’ll have marriage leave. You can go wherever you want to play…”
Liang Qingluo still clung to hope, looking at him pitifully. “Really can’t postpone the wedding a bit?”
Pei Huai’an put down the needle, pulled her into his arms, and sighed softly, “We really can’t. You don’t know—I’m dying of thirst…”
“You’re thirsty?” Liang Qingluo looked up from his embrace, “I’ll pour you a cup of tea then.”
“Tea won’t quench my thirst.”
“Then what will?”
The person in his arms looked up at him, naive and inviting. He lowered his head and caught her soft lips…
It barely quenched a third of his thirst.
Liang Qingluo didn’t understand whether he was thirsty or not. She was kissed in his arms for a long time, and when he left, he still hadn’t drunk any tea. In the days that followed, whenever he came over and spent time with her, he always swallowed dryly, gazing at her with eyes that seemed to glow faintly green, even when she poured him tea.
It wasn’t until the night before the wedding, when her mother handed her a book instructing her on the duties of the wedding night, that she finally understood what he meant by “thirst” and the meaning of those greenish flames in his eyes.
At dusk the next day, the auspicious hour arrived. Her mother gently placed the red bridal veil, embroidered with phoenixes in harmony, over her head. After all those years complaining that her daughter wouldn’t marry, now that she was truly getting married, she was reluctant to part. Gripping Liang Qingluo’s hand, she repeated her advice again and again, wiping away tears before sending her out the door.
Sixth Brother was waiting outside and helped her into the bridal sedan.
The sedan was draped with colored ribbons and adorned with bronze bells. The chiming of bells and the festive music blended together as Liang Qingluo sat upright inside, gazing down at the lotus patterns embroidered on her dress.
All those lotuses had been embroidered by Pei Huai’an for her. She gently stroked the petals, recalling how seriously he’d helped her with the gown, and she smiled the whole way there.
The wedding ceremonies were complex and grand: getting out of the sedan, stepping over the saddle, sitting under the ceremonial canopy, paying respects at the ancestral hall, scattering the wedding curtain, joining hair, drinking the nuptial cup—after all the rituals, she finally retired to the bridal chamber to rest, while Pei Huai’an, as the groom, went to the front courtyard to thank the guests. He didn’t return until it was nearly midnight.
Liang Qingluo had already bathed. Pei Huai’an came in to kiss her, then took his clothes to bathe as well.
Within two quarters of an hour, he returned, closing the door behind him, trailing a cloud of steam, and walked towards her step by step.
He hadn’t even reached the bedside before he was down to a single layer of white nightclothes.
The room was heated by the kang and the incense burner, warm as spring. The nightclothes weren’t thick, and the fine silk clung to his body. When Liang Qingluo glanced over, her gaze couldn’t help but drift to his midsection.
On Qixi night in the forest, when they’d been pressed close together, there’d been something between them that was now finally revealed in its true form.
Last night, when her mother taught her about the affairs between husband and wife, she’d reassured her, “That Pei Seventh Lord is a scholar, not a rough brute. The first time won’t hurt much…”
So Liang Qingluo was quite at ease handing herself over.
And he was indeed as her mother said—gentle and patient, not rough at all.
However, to be honest, it wasn’t as painful as she’d imagined, nor did she experience the pleasure described in storybooks.
Lying there, watching the beads swaying gently from the canopy, Liang Qingluo thought: Well, he really is a gentle scholar.
Afterward, her back didn’t ache, nor her legs feel sore. After cleaning up, she happily rolled into the blankets to sleep.
Pei Huai’an bathed, then lifted the covers and pulled her into his arms.
Resting her head on his arm and finding a comfortable position, she asked him with a smile, “Husband, did that finally quench your thirst?”
Thirst?
Heh—not at all.
He’d only tasted a little, being considerate of her, so of course it didn’t quench much thirst.
And after being thirsty for so long, a single ladle of water in a vast desert was far from enough.
Pei Huai’an held her tight, turned over, and pressed down, “My lady, this is only the beginning…”
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