Chapter 22
Chapter 22—Wedding Night
In the Bridal Chamber, candle wax dripped one drop at a time onto the bronze stand, pooling into a small puddle that shimmered in the firelight.
Song Ning sat on the edge of the bed. His stomach let out a long, rumbling gurgle.
He let out a sigh, yawned, and rubbed his hollow, aching belly.
He had barely eaten anything all day. From the moment he woke up, it had been one thing after another—dressing, grooming, and then an endless parade of ceremonies, bowing here, paying respects there. He hadn't even had a moment to drink a sip of water.
He had hoped to at least eat a proper meal tonight. Instead, the bride had walked out to drink and hadn't come back since.
"Why isn't she here yet?" he muttered to himself, a trace of exasperation in his voice. "I never heard that Qi Chuyao was a drunkard."
He waited a while longer. Still no movement outside.
"Could she actually not be coming back?"
The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed.
That woman, Qi Chuyao—she might actually leave him alone in the Bridal Chamber all night while she drank until dawn outside.
Was it really worth it? She wouldn't even come back to sleep?
Song Ning felt around beside him. Nothing to eat anywhere.
Xia Ling and Xia Shuang weren't here either. He had no one to send for food even if he wanted to.
A dignified groom, on his wedding night, so hungry his stomach had gone completely flat—it was nothing short of embarrassing.
There might be something to eat inside the room, but he couldn't see anything. If he got off the bed, there was no guarantee he'd find his way back onto it.
He simply fell backward—thud—and lay flat on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, and let out a wretched groan:
"Why is getting married this hard? Qi Chuyao, are you coming or not?!"
"If you don't come on our wedding night, don't blame me for making you pay later…"
The moment his voice faded, footsteps suddenly came from outside.
The footsteps were unsteady—heavy one moment, light the next—as though treading on cotton, with the occasional stumble.
Song Ning's ears perked up, and he immediately sat upright.
He suppressed his irritation, straightened his collar, and tucked away every trace of complaint from his expression, restoring the calm and composed look he always wore.
From the sound of it, Qi Chuyao had finally returned.
Bang—the door was shoved open.
A thick wave of alcohol swept in, mixed with the cool night air, and burrowed straight into his nose.
Song Ning couldn't help but frown slightly.
"Qi Chuyao?" he asked cautiously.
"Mm…"
Qi Chuyao's voice was slurred, as though she could black out at any moment.
She stumbled inside, lurching left and right, nearly tripping over the threshold several times.
Her red Bridal Gown was crumpled and creased. Her hair bun had come half undone; gold hairpins hung crookedly at her temples, and a few loose strands fell across her shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed, and even her neck carried the telltale red of someone who had drunk far too much.
She staggered to the Wedding Table and dropped herself into a seat, slumping forward with her face against the tabletop.
The Wedding Table was covered in items—a pair of red candles, a wine pot, 2 wine cups, and an assortment of fruits and pastries.
Off to one side lay a jade ruyi scepter, meant for lifting the bridal veil.
Qi Chuyao lay slumped there, cheek pressed to the table, eyes half-open, waves of drowsiness washing over her.
"Why are you so late?" Song Ning asked softly. "Did you drink too much?"
"Do you need to rest?"
Even without seeing her, the sounds alone told him she had had quite a lot to drink tonight.
In this state, it was clear there would be no romantic union, no thunder-and-lightning passion between them.
Better to rest early and leave whatever needed to be said for tomorrow.
Qi Chuyao lay sprawled on the table, rubbing her temples and exhaling a long, heavy breath of alcohol.
She lifted her head, swept a glance across the table, and carelessly picked up the jade ruyi scepter. She swayed to her feet and walked over to stand before Song Ning.
The jade ruyi scepter lifted the red bridal veil.
The moment his face was revealed, Qi Chuyao froze.
The light of the red candles fell across his face, softening the clean, handsome features. His white eyes were cast slightly downward.
Qi Chuyao stared at him for a long moment. A bitter smile crept to the corner of her mouth.
"You really do look good," she said, her voice thick and raspy from drink. "Judging purely by looks, I might not be worthy of you."
As the saying goes, alcohol draws out the truth. With her mind adrift, she let slip a few words she would never have said sober.
Song Ning blinked slightly, then gave a small shrug and a light laugh.
"I actually look good?"
"Worthy or not, this face is yours now. We're already married."
At those words, the bitter smile on Qi Chuyao's face deepened.
She turned and walked back to the table, slumped down again, buried her face in her arms, and spoke in a muffled voice:
"But I didn't want to marry you. Why on earth do we have to be together?"
"What do I care whether your face is handsome or not? I went to my mother several times to talk about calling off the engagement. Every single time, I got beaten until I screamed—slapped right across the mouth."
Just thinking back on those scenes, her heart shrank.
Her mother was a Second Rank Martial Artist. One slap from her and Qi Chuyao would go flying 3 zhang across the room.
The corner of Song Ning's mouth stiffened slightly.
That face of his, which always wore a faint smile, went still.
He let out a long, silent sigh in his heart.
Alcohol drew out the truth—she really didn't like him, did she?
Had he been too fixed on the alliance with the Qi Family? Too focused on what it meant for his future? To the point where he had simply gone ahead and married Qi Chuyao just like that.
Perhaps it would have been better if he had been the one to call off the engagement. At the very least, that would have been the better choice for Qi Chuyao.
Song Ning shook his head. It was too late for any of that now.
Qi Chuyao's words left him feeling a little low, but he adjusted quickly.
Song Ning had always been an optimistic person—it was the only reason he had managed to face so many years of blindness with such equanimity.
What was done was done. He would take things one step at a time.
On the rooftop, Qin Junyue lay hidden behind a ridge beast, holding her breath, listening to every word of the conversation below without missing a single syllable.
She lay flat on the rooftop as the night wind brushed across her face.
‘Ugh, if you don't like him, couldn't you just give him to me?’
‘If it were me, I'd already be in that bed…’
If it were her, neither of them would have a single stitch of clothing left by now.
Qin Junyue drew in a deep breath, pushed down the tide of feelings surging inside her, and kept listening.
Back in the Bridal Chamber, Qi Chuyao lay slumped on the table. Her vision was beginning to blur.
A bitter smile lingered at the corner of her mouth as she murmured:
"Everyone knows I married a blind man… Nobody said a word about it, but I just can't shake this awful feeling."
"This isn't my life… My idea of a partner was never like this… I can't accept this…"
"I don't want to spend my whole life with a blind…"
She stopped herself mid-word, leaving the character unspoken. She exhaled deeply, seeming to come back to herself slightly, and reached out to feel for the wine pot on the table again.
It was the pot meant for the Shared Cup ceremony, but she had absolutely no intention of drinking it with Song Ning.
Song Ning heard the sound of wine being poured and said gently:
"Alright, no more drinking. I know you didn't want this marriage."
"But both families agreed to this engagement when you were young. We're already married now."
He thought for a moment, then added:
"How about this—after we're married, I won't force you into anything. I'll just stay at the Song Family Estate. You can do whatever you like."
"When the time comes and there's an opportunity, we can get a divorce. How does that sound?"
Up on the rooftop, Qin Junyue's breathing suddenly quickened.
A divorce? There was talk of a divorce?
And he was someone's husband?
The fire in her chest burned hotter than ever. If he divorced Qi Chuyao—did that mean she might have a chance?
Qi Chuyao lay slumped on the table. She glanced over at Song Ning with an odd look.
She exhaled a breath of alcohol, red-faced and dazed, and murmured:
"Divorce? Won't my mother kill me? She'll probably break both my legs."
"I know my talent is poor. I might never advance to Second Rank Martial Artist in my entire life."
Song Ning smiled slightly, and in the candlelight, that smile looked exceptionally gentle.
"That's alright. Martial ability doesn't determine everything. By the time that moment comes, your mother may not be able to control you anymore."
"Nothing can stand in the way of your happiness and your pursuits for life."
"Besides, a divorce between the two of us shouldn't affect you much."
After all, this was a Matriarchal World, where women were held in the highest regard. In the event of a divorce, Song Ning would be the one to bear most of the consequences.
Qi Chuyao blinked, gazing at him with hazy eyes.
"But what about you? Who would want you?"
Song Ning didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"We'll both have divorced by that point. Why do you still care whether anyone wants me?"
"Don't worry. Someone will look after me."
"Come rest now. Stop overthinking." He patted the bedsheet.
A flicker of something passed through Qi Chuyao's heart. She let out a couple of soft, silly laughs, as if already imagining a happy future for herself.
She stared at Song Ning's white pupils for a moment, then suddenly shook her head and waved a red sleeve:
"No, this won't do."
Song Ning blinked. "What's wrong? Why won't it do now?"
Qi Chuyao lay sprawled on the table, stretched lazily, and grumbled:
"A blind man who's already been married—who's going to want you? Nobody, that's who."
"I, Qi Chuyao, am not that kind of person. You only got married because of me. How could I abandon you?"
"Even if we divorce, I'll still support you. Don't worry about it…"
Song Ning shook his head wordlessly and gave up arguing with her—just sighed.
Fine. That was a matter for later. He had no idea whether the Princess of Trust had caught wind of anything and was heading to the capital… and whether Wei Yang had taken any action.
Qi Chuyao glanced at Song Ning and, seeing him lost in thought, picked up a small fruit from the table and flicked it lightly at his forehead.
Tss. Song Ning clapped a hand to his forehead and snapped, "Why did you throw that at me?"
Was this woman actually prone to domestic violence?
"Hmph. You don't actually like me either, do you?" Qi Chuyao crossed her arms with the air of someone drunk and picking a fight. "What kind of man brings up divorce himself?"
"At least… you shouldn't be able to say it this easily, right? Can't you even cry?"
Song Ning's mouth twitched. He had a fairly good sense now of what this wife of his was getting at.
‘Given how indifferent you've always been to me—barely a few words between us—did you really expect me to be madly in love with you? And then for me to wail and throw a fit when I found out you don't like me?’
"You've had too much to drink," he said helplessly. "Just rest."
"I don't want to rest." Qi Chuyao shook her head, her voice thick and indistinct. "There are still things to be done."
****
On the rooftop, Qin Junyue could say nothing, could do nothing—only lie there like a thief, eavesdropping on someone else's wedding night.
Then a foreign aura hurtled toward her at speed.
It was deep and restrained, carrying a bone-chilling Killing Intent—at least a Second Rank Martial Artist.
Qin Junyue's expression changed instantly, and she snapped herself out of every last thread of romantic yearning.
Her hand shot to her waist; her fingertips found the hilt of the Flexible Sword coiled inside her sash.
It was her personal weapon—ordinarily wound into her sash and worn at her waist at all times, never leaving her body.
Qin Junyue did not reveal herself immediately. On instinct, she pressed her body low and suppressed her presence to its absolute minimum.
The night wind swept across the rooftop, stirring the loose strands of hair at her temples.
She narrowed her eyes and scanned the darkness, like a panther on high alert.
‘A Second Rank Expert? Where in the Song Family Estate would a Second Rank Expert come from? Xia Shuang? Qi's Mother?’
‘This aura is completely unfamiliar—clearly neither of them. So who is it?’
In the moonlight, a grey shadow appeared without a sound.