Chapter 95

Only two days passed, and the snow on Mount Shenwu had melted entirely; the sable fur coat, worn for barely two days, was returned to the closet, awaiting the next winter.

As if the heavens had suddenly shut off their icy wind, within just a day or two, the weather warmed.

This must be the last snowfall of winter.

Several li from Shanzhuang, Liu Xiaolou hid within the dense forest, wearing a hastily woven straw hat and a black cloth over his face, watching the winding mountain path below.

The large pit he had dug in the center of the path was well concealed—he doubted it would be discovered—and he turned to inspect the makeshift tree-crossbow beside him, which also showed no flaws.

As noon passed and the carriage still did not appear, he grew slightly anxious; today was the wedding day, and he had slipped out secretly, unable to linger here long.

Just as he grew impatient, hoofbeats arrived; a carriage turned into the valley, and Liu Xiaolou’s heart leapt—he was about to

But he suddenly froze, tossed aside his straw hat, ripped off his black veil, and rushed down to block the carriage’s path.

The horses reared in alarm, neighing shrilly, and the carriage came to an abrupt stop.

A man stepped down—it was Master Song—and exclaimed in surprise, “New?” He glanced at the carriage, then corrected himself: “Young Master, why are you here?”

Liu Xiaolou laughed: “I came to see off Brother Dong; the thought of parting, with no knowing when we might meet again, fills me with sorrow. Ah, Master Song, why are you here too? Did I make a mistake? This isn’t Brother Dong’s carriage?”

Master Song smiled: “Brother Dong was injured within the manor; though it happened during a sparring match, Master still feels guilty and sent me to escort him, to give proper word to the Dong family.”

He turned and called toward the carriage: “Brother Dong, Young Master Liu has come to see you off.”

From inside the carriage came a furious shout: “Make him leave! I don’t want to see him! Go! Go—cough—go!”

Master Song spread his hands helplessly toward Liu Xiaolou: “Young Master, you see—”

Liu Xiaolou sighed: “Brother Dong refuses to forgive me; there’s nothing to be done. I’ll visit Qishan later to apologize. Master Song, this journey is bumpy—please take good care of Brother Dong, and don’t let his wounds worsen.”

Dong Wei shouted from inside: “Fine! Come then! If you dare set foot on Qishan, I’ll make you regret it!”

Master Song leaned into the carriage to soothe the injured Dong Wei, then glanced at Liu Xiaolou’s disappointed face and nodded: “I’ll deliver Brother Dong to Qishan first—it’s not far; I’ll be back before nightfall. Young Master, rest easy.”

Liu Xiaolou said no more; he took the reins himself and escorted the carriage a little farther. After watching it disappear, he hurriedly dug up the pit behind him, refilled it with soil, trampled it for a long time, and restored the path to its original state.

But the freshly turned earth was visibly different—he could only wait for time to erase the traces.

He then dismantled the homemade tree-crossbow hidden among the dense forest beside the path and returned to the manor.

That had been too close—he nearly got exposed. It seems my convenient father-in-law still holds Qishan’s Dong family in high regard; I must think carefully and plan long-term from now on.

As soon as he entered the manor, several servants seized him; one bolted toward the inner quarters shouting: “Found the son-in-law! Found the son-in-law!”

The others surrounded Liu Xiaolou and hurried him toward Gualu Hall, babbling frantically:

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“Where has the son-in-law been? We’ve been frantic all day!”

“The guests have all arrived…”

“Only half an hour left—hurry, change your clothes, quick…”

“Why is the son-in-law covered in dirt?”

“Get the water heated first—bathe the son-in-law…”

“Quick, fetch Master Lin—bring the guest list and read it to the son-in-law…”

Once inside the manor, Liu Xiaolou ceased to belong to himself; servants and maids dragged and shoved him into a side courtyard beside Gualu Hall, stripped him bare—including his undergarments—and dumped him into a large wooden tub, scrubbed him vigorously with brushes, then somehow placed him on a fur blanket, spun him around like a top countless times, until he was wrapped in layer upon layer of bright red wedding robes.

Master Lin, in charge of receiving guests, held a large bound ledger and recited the guests’ names, while unseen hands adjusted his hairpin.

“Luo Xin, Internal Affairs Officer of Danxia Sect… Mao En, Elder of Mao Gong Altar… Wang Zhi of Xunxi… Cai Jiucheng of Longhu… Xin Buxi of Hongdu, with his two sons Xin Feng and Xin Bao… Jiao Hu, eldest son of Shiziling… These are the Danxia branches. Jia family of Dongheng Town… Qian family of Fuzhou… Lotus Village on Wutong Mountain… Xiong family of Huagou… Zhaoyue Sect… Zhemei Sect… Fuhu Gate… Lei Ming Daoist of Mingyu Temple… These are the esteemed families allied with our Su clan…”

As Master Lin recited the guest names, Liu Xiaolou strained to memorize their appearances—though he might never need them, better safe than sorry.

A man pulled aside the curtain—around forty, dignified in bearing, his face slightly resembling Su Zhi. Upon his entrance, all managers and servants bowed, calling him “Second Master”—it was Su Xun, Su Zhi’s younger brother.

Su Xun scanned the room with a stern face and urged: “Hurry up!” Then he glared angrily at Liu Xiaolou: “Today is the dual-cultivation ceremony—where did you go?”

Liu Xiaolou bowed his head in apology: “It was my fault—I went to see off a friend and returned late.”

Su Xun snorted: “If you delay again, I’ll flay you alive!”

There was no choice—his status as a son-in-law was low; he could pretend to be half a master before servants and maids, but before the managers, he was practically an equal, and if word reached the Su family, he’d be no different from a servant—especially when being scolded by the head of the second branch—so he could only submit: “Yes.”

Su Xun repeated: “Hurry, don’t miss the auspicious hour!” Then he swept out, his sleeves flaring.

The room erupted again into frantic chaos: those with tasks worked desperately, those without wandered about as if they had tasks, and the servants, maids, and old nurses no longer treated Liu Xiaolou as a person—only as a lifeless puppet, reapplying makeup, twisting hairpins, and adjusting robes until he was dizzy and bewildered.

This dual-cultivation ceremony was staged for others to see, announcing that Su’s Fifth Daughter was married, and no family should covet her anymore; though preparation was rushed, the ceremony was grand.

Amid a clamor of gongs and drums, Liu Xiaolou was shoved out, led through connecting corridors, dragged to the back gate of Gualu Hall, and, amid the herald’s loud proclamations, pushed unceremoniously onto the main hall.

Firecrackers cracked outside; the hall was packed with guests. Amid the raucous cheers, he saw his bride for the first time—she stood directly across from him, mere inches away.

Su Wuniang wore a red veil over her head and layers upon layers of crimson wedding robes, concealing her figure and face entirely; though this was their first meeting, it was as if they had never seen each other.

Under the herald’s loud commands, he bowed deeply toward the stranger, Su Wuniang.

In that instant, a strange, absurd feeling rose in his heart: Has Master Dao really just gotten married?

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