2

Ye Jiao finally tore her gaze away from the plump rooster and, through the red bridal veil, looked toward the man beside her.

He was a full head taller than she was. Through the veil, everything was tinted crimson, and she couldn’t make out his features clearly.

But his hand—it was cold. Far too cold. Instinctively, Ye Jiao tightened her fingers again.

Qi Yun felt the slight movement and his expression dimmed.

He had always been sickly. Born frail and weak, no matter how carefully he was looked after, his health had never improved. He had long since grown used to a life of taking medicine like it was water.

The physician had once said he wouldn’t live past twenty.

And yet, here he was, twenty-four—and still stubbornly holding on.

Just a few days ago, a bout of what should’ve been a minor cold had nearly taken Qi Yun’s life. Even though he’d pulled through, he knew—his body wouldn’t hold out much longer.

His mother, Madam Liu, must have known it too. That was likely why she rushed to arrange a wedding, hoping to use the ceremony to drive away bad luck.

Qi Yun had objected at first. He knew better than anyone the state of his health. Marrying someone now would only drag them down with him. But Madam Liu moved quickly. Add in Second Sister-in-law Ye, who was all too eager to marry off her husband’s younger sister, and the match was sealed before Qi Yun could protest further.

Then came the wedding day.

Qi Yun, barely well enough to stand, had watched from afar as the bride approached—dressed in red, walking beside a chicken.

He’d already felt guilty enough, knowing the bride was sacrificing herself by marrying a dying man. But if she was forced to share her wedding vows with a chicken, what dignity would she have left when he was gone?

Still, he kept those thoughts to himself. His voice, when he finally spoke, came out cold and clipped: “Hold the red silk and kneel.”

Ye Jiao felt his hand let go of hers, only for him to place the red ribbon back into her palm.

But the way he guided her to kneel was unexpectedly gentle—so much so that after being pushed and pulled around all morning, Ye Jiao’s opinion of him instantly shot up.

She clutched the red silk tightly, her eyes watching him as she followed his lead and knelt.

As they bowed to the heavens, then to the elders, Ye Jiao mimicked Qi Yun’s movements, a bit clumsy, slightly tilted to one side.

It wasn’t until they turned to bow to each other that she finally got a clear look at his face.

The veil still cast a red tint over everything, hiding the paleness of his complexion—but just looking at his features, Ye Jiao thought he was very handsome.

Even better looking than the scholar her fox spirit friend had always fawned over.

And so, during the final bow, Qi Yun heard the first words the bride said to him: “You’re really good-looking.”

Her voice was soft—light as a whisper but it caught Qi Yun off guard.

But he didn’t have time to dwell on it. A wave of cold suddenly swept through him, and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.

His body had long since passed the point of recovery. Just making it to the wedding hall and completing the ceremony with Ye Jiao had drained him completely. Now, even the act of standing up felt nearly impossible.

Still, Qi Yun refused to let anyone help him.

This was his wedding. The only one he would ever have. He didn’t want others looking on and laughing at him for being too weak to stand on his own wedding day.

But to his surprise, Ye Jiao remained kneeling opposite him, her back straight and unmoving.

She had only just become human. She didn’t even fully understand what a wedding was before she was pushed into a bridal sedan and sent here.

Up until now, she’d been mimicking Qi Yun’s every move—so when he didn’t get up, neither did she.

The silence in the hall turned awkward.

The old matchmaker, sensing the tension, hurried forward with a cheerful laugh. She reached out to help Ye Jiao up and said warmly, “The bride must be overwhelmed with happiness. Come now, time to stand.”

Ye Jiao blinked, got to her feet, then turned to Qi Yun—only to find that he was trembling.

Without hesitation, she reached out and took his hand.

His fingers were still icy to the touch, but Ye Jiao held on tighter, took two small steps forward, and steadied him—just as he had guided her earlier.

Only then did the rest of the room react. Several people rushed forward to help support Qi Yun, while Madam Liu, catching sight of her son’s pale face, no longer cared about omens or taboos. She shouted in panic, “Fetch the physician! Quickly!”

Qi Yun was drenched in cold sweat, his vision swaying—but even then, his gaze stubbornly drifted to their joined hands.

Her hand was warm. Soft, like fine silk.

And—perhaps it was his imagination—but the moment Ye Jiao took his hand, the chill in his body didn’t feel quite so sharp anymore.

But Ye Jiao didn’t have time to check on Qi Yun. With a loud cry of “Send the bride to the bridal chamber!”, a group of older women bustled over and surrounded her, escorting her into another room. Just like that, the lively and elaborate wedding ceremony came to a close.

Once Ye Jiao was seated properly at the edge of the bed, the women gradually filed out, leaving the room quiet and still.

Outside, the celebration continued with loud chatter, bursts of firecrackers, and the crackle of fireworks. The Qi family had pulled out all the stops to make this chongxi wedding as grand as possible.

Which only made the silence inside the room feel even more stark.

Ye Jiao sat there for a while, waiting—but when no one came in to say anything or do anything, she simply reached up and tugged off the red bridal veil.

There had been too many people around earlier, and she’d been careful not to do anything suspicious that might reveal she wasn’t the real Ye Jiao. But now, with no one watching, she dropped the act completely.

Tossing the veil aside, the little ginseng spirit stood up and wandered the room a few times. Then her eyes landed on the table, where a plate of pastries sat temptingly in the light.

After everything she’d just been through, her strength was nearly spent. And now, for the first time as a human, she felt a very urgent need—

She was hungry.

So when Qi Yun finally opened the door and stepped inside, what he saw was his new bride standing by the table, stuffing pastries into her mouth.

He froze in place, startled.

Then, wordlessly, he reached back, closed the door behind him to shut out all the prying eyes—and turned to silently observe… his wife.

He still remembered Ye Jiao softly saying he was good-looking—and now, looking at her, Qi Yun found himself wanting to return the compliment.

She was beautiful. From her features to her figure, not a single flaw could be found. Especially her eyes—clear, luminous, like fresh spring water—so bright it was hard to look away.

Qi Yun didn’t comment on the fact that she’d lifted her bridal veil herself.

Even now, with her cheeks puffed out, stuffed with pastries, he said nothing.

Instead, he quietly poured a cup of tea and handed it to her. “Eat slower,” he said. “You’ll choke.”

It was only then that Ye Jiao seemed to notice he was there. She tilted her head up to look at him but didn’t take the cup. Instead, she leaned in and drank straight from the cup still in his hand.

Qi Yun was momentarily surprised, but seeing her juggling a pastry in each hand, he let his expression soften.

Then, quietly, a trace of ache rose in his chest.

She was such a lovely girl—and now she was stuck marrying someone already half in the grave.

Even though the physician had just assured everyone it was only a scare, Qi Yun knew his body. Sooner or later, he’d collapse and never get back up again.

Qi Yun couldn’t stay standing for long. He steadied himself on the table and sat across from Ye Jiao, patiently waiting for her to finish chewing. Only then did he speak, voice soft: “I’m sorry you had to marry me. You’ve suffered because of it.”

In truth, he was even prepared—if Ye Jiao so much as said she was unwilling—he’d agree to a separation on the spot.

He already had a divorce letter tucked into his sleeve, thin as a cicada’s wing.

He knew that life wouldn’t be easy for a woman after such a split, but at least it would be better than marrying a man fated to die and spending her days as a living widow.

But Ye Jiao didn’t complain. Instead, her eyes curved in a bright smile as she looked at him and said, “Thank you for earlier.”

If he hadn’t handed her that tea, she really might’ve choked to death. The pastries were delicious—just a little dry.

Qi Yun, however, thought she was thanking him for stepping in to replace the rooster during the ceremony. “There’s no need to thank me,” he said. “It was my duty.”

Ye Jiao blinked and suddenly realized—No wonder people liked getting married. After marriage, even water was handed to you. How nice.

With the red veil now gone, she could see his face clearly.

His features were handsome, but his complexion was startling.

His skin was pale—unnaturally so. There were shadows under his eyes, and his lips were almost colorless. If a child saw him at night, they’d probably stop crying out of fear.

Qi Yun felt her gaze and stiffened slightly. The faint warmth in his expression vanished, replaced by the cold, guarded mask he always wore.

Of course. With a face like his, who would ever want to get close?

He was already a man with one foot in the grave. Not being a burden to someone was the best he could offer. Who was he to hope for anything like joy?

He might as well give her the divorce letter soon—consider it a good deed.

But before Qi Yun could say anything, Ye Jiao spoke up.

“Do you want some?” she asked, nudging the plate of pastries toward him.

Qi Yun stared at her for a moment, caught off guard, then shook his head. “I’m not hungry. You go ahead.”

That was exactly what Ye Jiao had been waiting for. She beamed, picked up another pastry, and popped it into her mouth—her cheeks puffing up again like a little squirrel.

Qi Yun found her strangely endearing like this. A little pitiful too.

He poured her another cup of tea and asked softly, “Did you not get enough to eat when you were still living with your family?”

Ye Jiao paused and thought for a moment, trying to sift through the original Ye Jiao’s memories. Then she shook her head, her voice slightly muffled: “I used to eat well. Later on… not so much.”

Back when her eldest brother was alive, there had been enough food to go around. But after he passed, her sister-in-law began to resent her. Times grew harder, and their meals shrank to mostly sweet potatoes and thin porridge. Her brother and sister-in-law would eat their fill, but she rarely did.

Still, Ye Jiao smiled as she added, “But having something to eat at all was already pretty good.”

After all, in her past life, she’d been a ginseng spirit buried deep in the soil. Cultivating through what people called absorbing the essence of heaven and earth really just meant… eating dirt.

The little ginseng spirit mumbled under her breath, “This is so nice. I don’t have to eat dirt anymore.”

Qi Yun’s eyes widened in surprise, and for the first time in a long while, his tired heart gave a sudden, sharp thump.

She used to eat dirt?

If he really gave her the divorce letter and sent her back to her family… would she even survive?

For a moment, the thin piece of paper tucked against his chest felt impossibly heavy—like it weighed a thousand pounds.

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