Chapter 86: The Honeymoon Journey

Li Yuan belonged to the most consummate class of bureaucrats, a tradition passed down through generations. He was intimately familiar with the unwritten rules of officialdom, adept at manipulating both covert and overt protocols for his own ends. Wang Wei and Gao Junya, two fools who had risen through shameless flattery, could never hope to match the cunning of the Duke of Tang.

For Yuchi Gong’s case, Li Yuan arranged a public trial. A tall platform was erected in the streets of Jinyang, where everyone stood as if performing a play. Below, countless curious citizens of Jinyang gathered in the autumn chill. Yuchi Gong’s case was officially opened!

With witnesses, material evidence, and circumstantial details, the facts were indisputable. Yuchi Jingde had killed a man, but it was accidental. Wang Wei and Gao Junya could do nothing, as ten thousand pairs of eyes watched. If they resorted to secret dealings and framed him, the public outcry would be overwhelming. Should word reach the Eastern Capital, those upright censors and court officials would ruin their careers entirely. Without office, men like them were worth less than a single hair; even turtles in the Golden Water River were more precious, and not even dogs would bite them.

Indeed, Li Yuan refrained from declaring the act legitimate self-defense, already granting the pair considerable face. With the evidence, it would not have been difficult to manipulate the verdict. Gao Junya and Wang Wei knew their place; it was said they visited the Duke of Tang’s residence after the trial to pay their respects to Li Yuan.

Just days earlier, Li Yuan had been gravely ill, yet neither of these scoundrels had come to visit.

Yun Hao had no time to concern himself with such matters. He now faced a pivotal moment in his life: the eight-year-old Brother Yun was about to be wed.

How could a child of eight marry? This had long troubled Yun Hao. He had no doubts about the wedding ceremony itself, but the final moment—entering the bridal chamber—remained a mystery. Yun Hao was even somewhat eager; after all, fifteen-year-old Zhang Miaoke was already well-developed. She was not quite a child, nor exceedingly voluptuous, but certainly not a flat-chested princess. Her figure was curvaceous, with much to admire.

Sunlight crept slowly over the walls of Jinyang, restoring brightness to the world. Today was an auspicious day, specially chosen by Master Hongren. Zhang Miaoke had risen early for this, the most significant day of her life. Yesterday had been her last day to wear a maiden’s hairstyle; today, she would be a bride. Starting tomorrow, she must adopt the married woman’s style, whether or not she felt like a wife—such was the custom.

This marriage could not be called happy, but it was Zhang Miaoke’s own choice. An eight-year-old husband became the talk of Jinyang, yet Zhang Miaoke remained unruffled amid the whirl of public opinion. She was a clever girl, always precocious. She understood well what it meant to be a wife who had accompanied her husband since childhood, almost as a mother. Her husband might one day have many concubines, but in his heart, the one he could not be without, the one he respected most, would be her. Men, after all, are merely children.

This was far better than marrying Wu Yuanshuang; who could guarantee he would not take concubines? The Yun family consisted of only mother and son, whereas Wu Yuanshuang’s vast clan would require constant attention. Large families had their own difficulties. To marry into the Wu family was to constantly maneuver and defend oneself. When she was old and no longer attractive, she would have to guard against young concubines vying for favor. Zhang Miaoke knew too well the sordid affairs of wealthy households. A few days of peace were harder than ascending to heaven.

Last night, she fantasized long and hard, from her earliest childhood to the present. The little girl with a flower crown, called “wife” by a boy with a runny nose—she could not recall his face, so stubbornly affixed Yun Hao’s to it. Thus, she could imagine endlessly: Yun Hao riding a bamboo horse, Yun Hao picking green plums, in her fantasy world he was her puppet, at her mercy.

How could she omit the vivid scene of skinny-dipping? To show her own shyness, Zhang Miaoke covered her eyes, splaying her fingers wide to secretly peek at the boy’s bare bottom and the curious thing between his legs.

She had once been severely scolded by her mother; it was clear her mother had been furious. If her own daughter dared such antics, she would be beside herself as well. What girl compares the distance of her urine with a boy?

Just as she imagined herself at eight, the rooster crowed! There was no time to dream further; her husband was eight years old this year—or not yet eight!

“Miss, the good luck matron has arrived and is waiting to prepare your face. You can’t sleep any longer.” Xing’er sat beside the bed, shaking her mistress. Zhang Miaoke kicked under the quilt in irritation, then sat up resignedly. Her long, graceful hair fell over her shoulders, she rubbed her sleepy eyes, her undergarments loose, revealing half her bosom—Xing’er was momentarily stunned; her mistress was beautiful!

“I know!” Zhang Miaoke shot Xing’er an annoyed look. This maid, who had been by her side since she was six, would not be joining her in the Yun household. Her future was already arranged; she had been promised to the son of a steward at Zhang’s pharmacy. Zhang Miaoke had personally inspected the lad, eighteen years old and handsome enough, and literate. If not for Zhang Wenzhong’s decision, the steward might never have dared such a match. For a servant to have such prospects would make others envious.

Xing’er cried to Zhang Miaoke, begging to go to the Yun household, fearing there would be no confidant and she would be bullied there. Because of such words, she could not allow the girl to follow her. The Yun household had only two masters, and with servants, a total of four people. After spending many days there, Zhang Miaoke had thoroughly understood their temperaments.

The Zhang residence was lively today. Zhang Miaoke’s parents were in Longyou, so Zhang Wenzhong had to manage the wedding. His eldest son, dressed in festive attire, would soon carry Zhang Miaoke out and deliver her to Yun Hao.

Stretching lazily, Zhang Miaoke descended from the embroidered tower. An old woman with kindly eyes sat in the small hall below. Seeing Zhang Miaoke, she smiled even more broadly. “Such a beautiful child! The Yun family’s Brother Yun, I have met him—this is a good match.”

This was the unreliable wedding matron; in Jinyang, everyone said it was a flower set in cow dung. Even Zhang Wenzhong was met with sighs and head-shaking from others. Yet a few elderly scholars praised Zhang Miaoke as a paragon of feminine virtue, a spirit to be vigorously promoted.

Before Zhang Miaoke could speak, a crowd of waiting women surged forward, escorting her to the enormous bath. Petals were scattered lavishly into the fragrant water, and Xing’er was blocked at the door. From now on, she and Zhang Miaoke would have nothing to do with each other. After receiving a bag of copper coins, Xing’er took one last look at her mistress and followed another woman away.

The old matron began undressing Zhang Miaoke, pricked her arm with a hairpin, and amid Zhang Miaoke’s sharp cries, her journey as a bride began.