Chapter 4

The night was deep and heavy, like an endless, invisible net, silently casting itself over the Zhou residence.

The courtyard blazed with light. Palace lanterns were hung high one after another, illuminating the winding corridors and lush gardens. Each lantern was covered in a thin red gauze, casting a blood-hued glow that painted even the leaves with an eerie crimson.

Ran Nannan sat quietly under the eaves, supported by a matron. Her gaze was fixed on the grand gates ahead. Master Zhou was chatting with the stewardess from the Cheng residence, while maidservants and servants moved back and forth, carrying ornate boxes and embroidered trunks—delivering betrothal gifts, exchanging itemized lists and handwritten ledgers.

“Just bear it a little longer, miss,” the matron whispered in her ear. Her tone was soft but brooked no refusal. “The Cheng family picked the hour. The auspicious time falls tomorrow at noon. Tonight, you’ll stay at the Zhou residence. At dawn, they’ll come to carry you through the gate.”

Ran Nannan murmured a faint “Alright.” Her voice was so soft, it was barely audible.

Her fingertips were icy cold, and the grip on her sleeve was weak and trembling. The surrounding bustle was deafening, voices and footsteps filling the air—but to her ears, it all seemed distant and hollow. Sounds were muted, like muffled echoes behind a veil. She could see the movement clearly, yet couldn’t make out the noise.

The matron, thinking she was nervous, gently stroked her back and whispered, “Once tomorrow passes, you’ll belong to the Cheng family. If Lord Cheng shows you any favor, who in the household would dare mistreat you?”

Ran Nannan lowered her head, saying nothing.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought of the future. But that future seemed to her like moonlight on water, like flowers in a mirror—no matter how vivid, it felt unreal. Her whole body was drained, as if all her bones had been removed. Even sitting upright took effort.

At last, all the gift records were exchanged. Master Zhou clasped his hands with a smile as the Cheng matron and her attendants took their leave, leaving behind only the words: “We shall return to fetch the bride at the appointed hour.”

The Zhou courtyard gradually quieted down, save for a few maids tidying up scattered belongings. The matron gently helped Ran Nannan into the house. The moonlight cast their shadows onto the stone pavement—thin and fragile, swaying as if a breeze could disperse them.

Back inside, the matron helped her out of the heavy ceremonial dress and into a soft silk robe. She then brewed half a cup of ginger tea sweetened with brown sugar.

“The night air is chilly. Warm yourself a little, miss,” she urged.

Ran Nannan nodded, cradling the porcelain cup. The rising steam turned her fingertips a rosy red.

She took a small sip. The sharp heat of the ginger slid down her throat but brought little warmth to her chest. Instead, her heart felt as if someone had pressed down hard upon it, heavy and suffocating.

The matron sighed, smoothing her hair, and said, “I’ll come early tomorrow to wake you, and style your hair into a beautiful bridal knot. The Cheng family has sharp eyes—don’t let yourself lose your luster.”

Ran Nannan looked up at her, dazed. After a long while, she softly murmured, “Mm.”

The matron seemed to want to say more, but in the end, she only patted her shoulder, instructed the maids to extinguish several lanterns, and quietly withdrew.

The room fell still. Only a single red candle burned on the table, its flickering flame casting trembling shadows across the window lattices—like a web, trembling ever so slightly.

Ran Nannan leaned against the headboard, staring at the flame. After a long time, she slowly exhaled.

She placed the empty porcelain cup back on the table. Her fingers curled slightly on her lap. A creeping chill began to rise inside her—it started in her feet, wound around her legs, climbed her spine.

At some point, fine beads of sweat formed on her forehead. They trickled down her temple and slipped coldly into her collar. She tried to wipe them away, but her hands were trembling.

She laughed softly. The sound was faint, scattered by the night breeze. Then she slowly closed her eyes, letting her body sink under the covers.

Before long, a faint buzzing filled her ears—like someone calling her from far, far away.

“Ran Nannan…”

Who was calling her? The voice was familiar, tinged with a coolness like morning mist. She searched through the darkness and finally saw that familiar figure in green robes.

The young man stood beneath a row of red lanterns, his expression gentle, his features cool and elegant. Moonlight pooled over his shoulders, outlining him in a pale glow.

“You’ve come again…” she wanted to say, but the words were so soft even she couldn’t hear them.

The youth only looked at her, his gaze like a still lake. He sighed quietly and said, “In the next life… you won’t have to suffer like this.”

Tears suddenly welled up in her eyes. She reached out, trying to catch him—but her fingers touched only air. The youth slowly stepped back, his figure swallowed bit by bit by the darkness.

“Don’t go… don’t leave me alone…” she murmured in her sleep.

But no voice answered her.

A gust of cold wind blew through the room, carrying the dampness unique to the night. It seemed to cut through her bones. She shivered violently in her sleep—and woke.

The room was dark. The red candle had burned out, leaving only a pale residue on the brass holder.

She opened her mouth—her throat burned, raw and dry like it had been slashed. When she reached for her forehead, it was scalding hot. But her body trembled uncontrollably, as if she were buried in ice.

She wanted to call for the matron, but her voice came out hoarse and faint. Outside, all was silent. No one heard her.

Half-reclining in bed, she stared at the pitch-black ceiling. Tears quietly slid from the corners of her eyes, soaking into her hair.

Perhaps before long, someone would push open the door and say with a smile, “Time to get dressed. The Cheng bridal sedan has arrived.”

But suddenly, that didn’t seem so bad anymore.

No more worry about being judged. No more having to learn the graceful steps, the watery smile. No more beatings on her calves. No more seven-tenths of a meal.

She thought—if she could open her eyes in another place, on a bright street somewhere, wearing a plain cotton dress like an ordinary girl… maybe she could go buy a fresh peach at the market. Maybe she could look around in the crowd, and maybe—just maybe—there would be a boy who blushed the moment he saw her.

In the next life, she thought.

In the next life, may it not be like this.

Outside, the wind rose, rustling the paper windows with soft sighs. It sounded almost like someone gently mourning.

The breeze brushed her face, cool and strangely light. She closed her eyes, her breaths growing quieter and quieter.

It was as if someone far away was calling to her. The voice was soft: “Come.”

Her lips curled into the faintest of smiles.

And then—all was still.

At dawn, the matron pushed open the door, holding a newly chosen pearl hairpin, smiling. “Miss, today is the big day…”

Mid-sentence, she froze.

The room was silent. Ran Nannan lay quietly on the bed, her hair fanned neatly over the snowy white pillow. Her face was pale as porcelain, but there was still a faint, faint smile at her lips.

The matron stood there stunned. After a long while, she slowly stepped forward and reached out to feel for her breath.

Her hand trembled violently. Tears immediately began to fall.

“Second Miss… Oh, how could you…”

She covered her face, her voice small and strangled with grief.

Soon, the wails of the maids echoed through the house. The Zhou residence plunged into chaos. The Cheng family’s attendants were still waiting at the gate, urging that the time was right. The matron, choking back sobs, ordered someone to report the news.

The Cheng stewardess’s face turned cold as soon as she heard: “What is this, a joke? They claimed she’d been resting for over ten years, and now she dies before the bridal sedan even arrives?”

Master Zhou broke out in a cold sweat, smiling apologetically over and over, but his eyes revealed both fury and fear. He was heartbroken, yes—but more afraid of losing the tie that could connect them to the Cheng family.

The courtyard slowly grew quiet. All the red silk and festive cloth were taken down. Maids wept softly as they packed away the lavish wedding trimmings from the day before. Only the fallen red petals remained, scattered by the night wind across the stone path—like drops of blood.

The matron sat by Ran Nannan’s bedside, holding her icy hand. Her tears fell one by one onto the girl’s pale fingers.

“Oh, child… you suffered so much since you were little… If there’s a next life, I hope you’ll be born ordinary. No more being raised like this. No more pain…”

But Ran Nannan could no longer hear her.

Outside, wind passed through the little bamboo grove in the courtyard, rustling gently—like a thousand soft sighs.