Chapter Fifty: Marriage

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PS: Many readers have removed this book from their collections, perhaps because they don't like the style of this story, or maybe they find the updates too slow. In truth, I post over 5,000 words in two chapters daily. Enough chatter—may you all enjoy your reading.

As evening quietly descended over Sanjiang Market, every tightly shut door along the street was thrown open, and the residents emerged, each lighting a red candle to illuminate the red lanterns at their doorsteps.

In that moment, the silent county of Sanjiang came alive with bustling activity. Tonight, Jiang Pingchuan would be wed to Zhou Ning’er—a marriage steeped in sorrow.

Yet no one voiced disapproval. With sincerity, they wished happiness to Jiang Pingchuan and Zhou Ning’er, hoping that Zhou Ning’er’s spirit, watching from the heavens, would delight in the bridal procession held for her, and roam joyfully among the stars.

A crimson carpet stretched from the heart of Sanjiang’s main street all the way to the boundary stone at the edge of the county—the very place where Jiang Pingchuan first entered Sanjiang, and where, from the moment he crossed that threshold, he became entwined with Zhou Ning’er in an unbreakable bond.

The red lantern light wound its way through the dusk, flickering and twisting. Jiang Pingchuan, clad in a flowing robe of scarlet clouds, his unruly hair bound with a golden ribbon, strode through the evening.

He unrolled the scroll in his hands, a wedding gift from the elderly bookseller who sold folding fans. In the painting, Jiang Pingchuan appeared melancholy, cradling a serenely sleeping Zhou Ning’er as they wandered the streets of Sanjiang together.

A single tear slipped from the corner of Jiang Pingchuan’s eye, falling onto the scroll. He hastily tried to wipe it away, but the tear seemed almost sentient, clinging to the painting and refusing to be brushed off.

Beside Zhou Ning’er’s closed eyes, a faint dampness had appeared—when had this happened? Jiang Pingchuan gently touched the area with his finger, surprised to feel a cool, lingering moisture, as if the ink there had not yet dried.

When he looked again, the tear he’d shed had vanished.

He rolled up the scroll and set it aside. There was no wedding procession—he was alone. He had come to Sanjiang Market solitary and helpless.

But now, he would no longer walk alone. Zhou Ning’er’s presence was with him.

A low, mournful horn sounded three times from within Sanjiang Market—one short, two long, and then an unending echo. Jiang Pingchuan fastened the purple skull at his waist, swept his robe behind him, and let his long hair dance in the wind.

Dressed in his scarlet robes, he walked toward the town as the red lanterns swayed and blazed in the breeze.

Slowly, Jiang Pingchuan’s red figure disappeared along the road to the Grave Village. In the darkness, an old woman, bent and leaning on her cane, watched his retreating form.

Beside her stood the elder who had gifted Jiang Pingchuan the jade token—clad in a brocade robe embroidered with tiger patterns, golden war boots on his feet, a crimson-tasseled spear in hand.

The old woman was the very one with the cat-like face who’d guided Jiang Pingchuan through the rainy night, now dressed in finery.

Hand in hand, the elderly pair smiled kindly as they watched Jiang Pingchuan recede into the night. Behind them loomed a city: lifeless, yet radiating an unassailable majesty.

Before the gates stood ranks of armored soldiers, steel spears in hand. Jiang Pingchuan, lost in his own thoughts, was unaware of the transformation taking place behind him in the Grave Village.

“If not for him, I would never have found you,” the old woman said with a gentle laugh, gazing at her companion. The old man nodded, gripping her hand even more tightly. His eyes, dazed, flickered with hope as he watched Jiang Pingchuan’s retreating form.

“Your Highness, do you truly believe he is fit for such a burden?” the old woman murmured, worry saturating her voice.

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She nestled against the old man, whispering her concern.

“I never intended for him to bear any great burden,” the old man replied softly, gazing at her with tender indulgence. “I only hope he can live as his truest self. He is but a traveler to the land of Changfeng, but from the moment he met me, it was destined that he would leave a legacy here.”

The old woman frowned, studying the man at her side. She had never truly understood him.

“Then what is he to do?” she asked, fretting as she watched Jiang Pingchuan disappear into the distance. No one could fathom how much blood clung to the old man’s hands.

He had not even had the chance to return victorious before passing away with regret. The hundreds and thousands of ghost soldiers behind him were a new army, forged from his own resentment—she knew he could not let go.

“I told you, he need do nothing more than live as himself,” the old man said with a laugh, leading her by the hand toward the phantom army. At his approach, the ghostly soldiers beneath the city walls all raised their heads, eyes burning with a sinister red glow, brimming with martial resolve.

“Hear me, all ghost soldiers and generals! Troops are raised for a thousand days, used but for a moment. From this day forth, Jiang Pingchuan is your new leader. When the time comes, you must protect him with all your might, and safeguard our land,” the old man thundered, his voice resonating like a drum.

“We obey!” chorused the thousand ghost soldiers and generals, their battle spirit surging to the heavens. The old man smiled and led the old woman into the city. As they crossed the threshold, all traces vanished, leaving only lifeless graves behind.

On either side of Sanjiang’s main street, crowds of townsfolk had gathered early to wait. The county magistrate, with Gao Yao beside him, stood at the end of the street, holding a bright red ribbon which he gently draped around Jiang Pingchuan’s neck.

Jiang Pingchuan clasped his hands in thanks and walked toward the Zhou family’s noodle shop—the place where his bride awaited, and the first place he’d settled upon arriving in Sanjiang.

A red bridal sedan stood quietly outside the Zhou home, with a brazier set before its door. Jiang Pingchuan paused beside the sedan.

By his side, the matchmaker—her face heavily made up—beamed with approval. Before her stood the most refined groom Sanjiang had ever seen. Many young women, though silent, felt a pang of pity for Jiang Pingchuan—how could he marry a woman who was already gone? They simply could not comprehend it.

But scholars like Yu Shu were filled with admiration. Jiang Pingchuan was a man of deep feeling—a good groom who cherished loyalty and love.

This marriage, which should have been heaven’s gift, had been destroyed by fate. Yet fate could only take their bodies; it could not break the bond between their souls.

“Bring forth the bride! Step one—groom, kick the bridal door...” the matchmaker called out, her voice echoing down the street. The crowd’s shouts rose in response. This was an unusual wedding, but nothing could diminish the sincerity of their blessings.

With a shy smile, Jiang Pingchuan stepped forward and gently tapped the sedan’s door with his foot. He fancied he heard the bride within giggling.

“Step two—rock the sedan, cross the fire, may you be united for a hundred years...” the matchmaker sang. Lifting the red curtain, Jiang Pingchuan looked in at Zhou Ning’er, who sat serenely—her memorial tablet in her place, inscribed by Jiang Pingchuan’s own hand.

Beloved wife, Zhou Ning’er.

Cradling the tablet, Jiang Pingchuan crossed over the brazier, his cheeks tinged with red. The laughter along the street swelled.

At the doorway, the county magistrate smiled, while rows of constables in festive attire, baskets in hand, awaited Gao Yao’s signal. At his command, petals rained down amid laughter.

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The petals drifted on the wind, their fragrance lingering as they fell upon Jiang Pingchuan. He shielded Zhou Ning’er’s memorial tablet, careful lest a wayward petal strike his bride.

Zhou Fu, watching from the doorway, held his wife tightly. Witnessing Jiang Pingchuan’s devotion, their hearts ached. Never had they imagined Jiang Pingchuan would request to marry their daughter’s memorial tablet.

They understood the depth of his love, but their daughter was gone. Seeing his smile, they knew that the one who suffered most was Jiang Pingchuan himself.

“Step three—walk the mountains and rivers, together until white-haired old age...” The matchmaker’s voice rang out, and every red lantern on Sanjiang Street quivered with joy for this wedding.

Jiang Pingchuan carried Zhou Ning’er’s tablet into the hall, where Zhou Fu and his wife sat at the center, faces beaming. How many times had they dreamed of this moment? Now it was happening before their eyes—if only their daughter had been there too.

“First bow, to heaven and earth...”

“Second bow, to the honored elders...”

“Third, bride and groom bow to each other...”

“Now, into the bridal chamber...” The matchmaker watched Jiang Pingchuan follow her instructions, but with every call her heart grew heavier, tears overflowing uncontrollably. By the last call, she was sobbing, and the once-smiling crowd grew silent and somber, until soft weeping broke out among them.

“Heh… thank you, all of you. Ning’er and I are truly grateful you could witness our wedding,” Jiang Pingchuan said, holding the memorial tablet and smiling at the tearful guests. Looking outside, he saw Old Yu standing on the street, gazing back with a smile.

Beside him stood Zhou Ning’er, making faces and laughing, her cheeks rosy as she waved at him.

Jiang Pingchuan frowned as he looked at her. Seeing his serious face, Zhou Ning’er fell silent, her eyes reddening.

Then Jiang Pingchuan’s stern expression melted into a smile, and Zhou Ning’er, outside, burst into playful scolding and mock anger.

He slowly raised his hand in farewell. With Old Yu, Zhou Ning’er walked away, turning often to wave back at him.

Gradually, they faded from view. A single tear slid down Jiang Pingchuan’s cheek, falling onto Zhou Ning’er’s memorial tablet, where the engraved words shimmered with watery light. The matchmaker sobbed as she placed a red cloth over the tablet with trembling hands.

“My dear, we are together at last,” Jiang Pingchuan whispered, his head resting on the tablet. The wind stirred the red veil, making it flutter as if Zhou Ning’er were shyly smiling.

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