Why was it Fifth Brother? Word had it the family had arranged a match with a distant relative. Though those kin had kept their distance when the Duke of Anguo's house fell from grace, they now fawned and flattered, eager to curry favor. Still, the betrothal procession could not be dispensed with, and compromise was inevitable.
Besides, Fifth Brother was Prince Zhao, the emperor's legitimate son—an exalted figure who surely wouldn't deign to carry her on his back.
Yet every cautious step, every breath brushing her cheek, and those broad, steady shoulders—undeniably, it was him.
The very same Fifth Brother who had once feared her, then scolded her, and ultimately stood by her again and again.
Upon hearing Ye Jiao's soft query, the man beneath her faltered briefly in his stride and murmured a single "Mm" before continuing onward.
Tears brimmed in Ye Jiao's eyes. She tilted her head ever so slightly, refusing to let them fall, and asked, "Fifth Brother, why are you here?"
Prince Zhao, Li Jing, bore her on his back without pause. Carrying someone was an art—it couldn't be too high, nor too low, his back not overly bent, yet not too stiff lest it discomfort the bride. Only after adjusting his posture did he reply, "Father sent me. He said he is both giving a bride and marrying off a daughter. He told me to treat you like my own sister."
The tears Ye Jiao had fought so hard to hold back finally slipped free. She sniffled softly, the back she had sat upright upon now becoming a place of rest, and she leaned into him.
"Then why didn't you say anything the whole way?" Her tone bore traces of reliance.
The red veil pressed against her cheek; her view of Li Jing was awash in crimson, as if the heavens had torn off a piece of dawn's glow to accompany her to her wedding.
Li Jing hesitated, then answered, "Because saying the wrong word incurs a fine of a hundred taels."
Ye Jiao broke into tears and laughter. "Why ever so?"
"Father said it himself," Li Jing replied with some indignation. "He said royal weddings must be both joyous and dignified. No joking, no mischief—it must be proper."
The gates of the Duke of Anguo's estate loomed ahead, lanterns swaying, red banners fluttering, festoons tied in grand knots. The bridal escort awaited outside, eyes searching, necks craned in eager anticipation.
Though decorum was expected, joy erupted as the bride's kin emerged with her. Even the royal relatives showed restrained delight, but the commoners who had just received their rewards were nearly beside themselves with cheer.
The emperor's chosen matchmaker stepped forward, and the matron of honor approached with congratulatory words to welcome the bride.
Li Jing lifted his gaze to the threshold, steadied his hold on Ye Jiao, and suddenly said, "Ye Jiao."
"Fifth Brother?"
The noise around them was clamorous, yet Li Jing's voice rang clear and solemn. He walked a few more steps, then solemnly said, "Xiao Jiu is not in good health. Please… don't be too harsh with him."
Ye Jiao pouted slightly. See? He said he treated her like a sister, but still favored his younger brother more.
Yet somehow, the words brought a sense of comfort and warmth. Her nose tingled, and she softly replied, "All right."
Li Jing stepped over the threshold and carried her to the bridal carriage draped in red silk and festooned with joyous symbols.
Once she was seated inside, her maid Shuiwen helped straighten her robes and then withdrew.
She could no longer see outside, nor glimpse the groom. Her heart remained suspended—until she heard Li Jing's voice again, speaking to someone.
"Quick, circle the carriage three times!" he whispered. "Xiao Jiu, you really are inexperienced. 'Three rounds around the carriage symbolize protection.' I'm telling you—she's my sister now. If you ever mistreat her, I'll tear down your palace!"
Outside, Li Ce's voice finally responded, his composure edged with irrepressible joy: "Fifth Brother, I understand."
It was as if he spoke not just to Li Jing, but also to Ye Jiao—his voice wrapping around her through the thin veil like a gentle promise.
Don't worry. Everything will go smoothly. All will be well.
Ye Jiao's heart, long adrift, finally found anchor in warmth.
She drew in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, hearing Li Ce circle the carriage lightly on horseback.
Three rounds completed, the ceremonial official cried, "Depart!"
For some reason, Ye Jiao thought the voice sounded a little like the Crown Prince, Li Zhang.
There was no time to dwell on it. Soon the procession halted again—someone had blocked the carriage.
It was customary for the bride's friends or family to block the path as a sign of reluctance to part.
Ye Jiao stifled a laugh inside the carriage. Let Li Ce endure a few challenges—it shouldn't be so easy to win her hand.
But then came the cry: "The Wuhou Patrol blocks the way!"
Wuhou Patrol? That didn't count as her kin.
As expected, several royal members of the groom's party laughed and objected, "You're supposed to be patrolling, not causing trouble. Step aside! Don't delay the auspicious hour."
But the Wuhou guards laughed back: "We are the bride's family now! Once the commander of the Wuhou, forever our kin!"
Warmth surged in Ye Jiao's chest.
Then Li Ce's voice rang out, "Reward them!"
Silver and coins scattered, and the Wuhou guards dispersed amid laughter.
Further along the way, the procession was halted again—this time by the Ministry of War.
Who would have thought Jiang Min, past forty, would join the revelry?
The Weaponry Bureau had turned out in force. Unlike the Wuhou's boisterous cheer, they were more solemn—but with Jiang Min, the Vice Minister, present, their stance was firm.
"Block the carriage!"
"You can't take away our Lord Ye so easily!"
Li Ce laughed and ordered attendants to present gold and silver wrapped in red silk. Jiang Min accepted the offerings, handing them off to his subordinates, and said to Li Ce, "She is a rare gem. Treasure her well."
Several onlooking ministers burst into laughter. "A rare moment—Minister Jiang without a scolding word!"
Li Ce bowed respectfully. "My lady is fortunate to have the esteem of the Ministry. I am deeply grateful."
Only then did Jiang Min wave them through, and the procession moved on—the gates of the Chu Prince's residence already near.
The bridal veil fluttered slightly before Ye Jiao. A flood of emotion rose, almost enough to make her weep again.
Yet before it could swell, the carriage stopped. Firecrackers burst outside, voices called out, and the matchmaker lifted the curtain to help her down.
But then they paused and stepped aside.
Someone had dismounted and walked to the carriage, extending a hand.
It was a slender, strong hand, fingers well-formed, reaching into the carriage.
Dusk light filtered through the fluttering curtain, bathing the hand in golden hues.
Clad in the radiance of a setting sun, he clasped her wrist with precision and strength.
It was his warmth, his power—he guided her gently onto the felt carpet and led her into the Chu Prince's residence.
He could wait no longer to take his bride by the hand, to live side by side, growing old together.
The rites continued: bowing to the heavens and earth, lifting the bridal canopy, drinking from the joined goblets, and uniting their hair.
So long as the one before her was him, each step was a dream come true.
Later, as she sat within the bridal chamber, maids removed her ornaments and concealed her face behind a round fan, nervousness returned.
Li Ce, having excused himself early under the pretense of fatigue, returned and reached out for the fan.
"Where is Your Highness's fan-removal poem?" Ye Jiao asked, feigning shyness, her grip tightening on the fan.
It was tradition—only a poem could lift the veil, a symbol of refinement.
"This is my poem," he said.
He took the fan and flung it far away. At the same moment, his lips found hers in a fervent kiss.
It seemed he had waited too long, consumed by desire. His strength overwhelmed, no longer restrained—like a tempest sweeping away a lone leaf, unwilling to let go, yet afraid to break it.
His breath was heavy, jawline tense as carved stone, his entire being taut with longing.
Ye Jiao shut her eyes and surrendered to the tide of his love.
Hairpins fell one by one to the ground. His hands, clumsy yet tender, undid each layer of her bridal attire, fingers tracing her silhouette.
He lifted the wedding quilt and swept aside the peanuts and lotus seeds, tucking them into the brocade covers lest the flickering candlelight glimpse her beauty.
His lips reached her ear. Softly, he asked, "May I?"
May I?
Before she could answer, he asked again—urgent, restrained, longing.