Chapter One: The Grand Wedding

Year 23 of the Mingde Era, Mid-Autumn Festival.
A day deemed auspicious for reunions, yet ill-suited for weddings.

At dawn, a woman dressed in a peach-pink gown, her waist adorned with a bright red sash, carried a tray laden with ceremonial items. She led a group of young maidservants into the inn’s most secluded chamber.

Within, Yan Jun stood still, arms outstretched as the head maid, Xianglan, painstakingly layered his wedding garments upon him. By the time the final piece—the crimson ceremonial shawl—was fastened, he was already drenched in sweat.

Yet, when he turned to the bronze mirror and beheld his own reflection clad in brilliant red, he froze. His skin, naturally fair, was rendered even more translucent by that vivid hue, as though his complexion were snow sculpted into jade. His loose, unkempt hair tumbled down to his waist, enhancing an otherworldly beauty that made his reflection feel at once familiar and strangely distant.

Fully attired now, Yan Jun seated himself before the bronze mirror. The maids began arranging his hair with meticulous care, their soft murmurings and deft hands weaving a lull that soon drew him into a drowsy half-sleep.

And he dreamed. He dreamed of the life he had before falling into this book.

He was originally a struggling author on a certain website. One day, fortune smiled upon him—his latest story suddenly caught fire across the internet. Under his editor’s unrelenting pressure, he had to produce a flurry of updates to seize that surge of fame.

For three nights in a row, he wrote without rest, until he finally met his editor’s demands. He stored all the chapters in the system, shut off his computer, and collapsed into sleep.

In the haze between wakefulness and dreams, he heard his phone ring. Groping for it, he registered the excited voice of his editor. “Yan Jun, you’re famous! So many film and TV companies are seeking to buy the rights to your work, and there’s also talk of a manhua adaptation…”

But the rest of the words faded into static, because his apartment had started to quiver. His mind went blank. It felt like the onset of an earthquake…

“Miss, wake up.”

Yan Jun startled awake from that dream, muttering, “Sell them, sell them all—I’ll be rich, hahahaha…”

The maid, not quite catching his words, thought perhaps he was issuing a command. “Miss, do you have any instructions?” she asked.

One soft “Miss” returned Yan Jun fully to his senses. Staring at his reflection—this ethereal face wearing bridal attire—he gathered his scattered thoughts. His editor had not really called, nor had there been an earthquake. He simply woke up in the world of his own novel. And then came that task: “To go home, you must alter one person’s fate.”

That person was the very man who would wed him today.

Before long, gongs and drums came clamoring from outside the inn. A matchmaker sashayed in, waving her handkerchief. “Miss Lin, Prince Jing’s wedding procession is here.”

Yan Jun nodded and accepted the folding fan Xianglan handed him. “Thank you for your troubles. Xianglan, see to her reward.”

Xianglan took a small silver ingot from her sleeve and passed it to the matchmaker, who beamed at once. With great zeal, she began arranging Yan Jun’s departure.

In this world, Yan Jun now bore the identity of Lin Yan, Miss of the illustrious Lin family in Yangzhou, sent to marry Liang Chen, the Fourth Prince of the realm. An imperial prince’s wedding was always a grand affair, and so Jian’an City was swathed in brilliant red banners fluttering across the sky. From one end of the street to the other, porters carried the Lin family’s dowry, stirring the entire city’s curiosity and drawing crowds of onlookers.

Seated in the palanquin, fan in hand, Yan Jun could hear the milling crowd outside discussing the spectacle.

“They say the Lin family from Jiangnan is truly swimming in wealth—look at that dowry! Do you think it’s the Lin family marrying upward, or Prince Jing who’s profiting?”
“It has to be the Lin family, of course. Merchants rank lowest in society. Now that Miss Lin is becoming Prince Jing’s consort, she’s practically turned from a crow into a phoenix!”
“No, no. My younger sister works in an official’s household, and she heard that Prince Jing was born under a baneful star. It’s said he dooms those closest to him—his own birth mother died because of him! You think Miss Lin will be similarly doomed?”
“That’s too pitiful. Poor Miss Lin…”

Doomed by him?
From behind the fan, Yan Jun let out a quiet laugh. He was rather interested in seeing how Liang Chen planned to doom him.

Following the crack of firecrackers, the palanquin came to a halt. Amid the lingering smoke, the maids helped Yan Jun emerge.

Once on his feet, he lowered his fan slightly and peered through the haze at the regal figure in red stationed at the manor’s gates. That would be Liang Chen—Prince Jing—and likewise the target of his appointed task.

In the original story, Liang Chen had been a hero of his generation. At five, he was sent to the Xiao household in Anbei, his family circumstances necessitating foster care. At seven, he entered the army. By ten, he was a soldier on the battlefield. At fourteen, he made a name for himself by beating back the Dang Sui forces, securing five peaceful years for Anbei.

Yet he was born at an inopportune time, when the Great Liang Empire stood on the brink of collapse. His tangled past led to him being held in the capital. Anbei fell, and he was powerless to save the Xiao family. At twenty-seven, he died on the battlefield, a fearsome warlord whose tale was lost to the desert sands.

Now, in resplendent red at the entrance of the Jing Prince’s manor, Liang Chen’s silence and the cool detachment in his gaze gave the impression that he was already no stranger to life and death, that nothing in the world held much meaning for him.

Yan Jun felt puzzled because this version of Liang Chen seemed different from the one he had written.

“Your Highness, Your Highness Consort, the auspicious hour has arrived. The ceremony awaits.”

The matchmaker’s voice drew Yan Jun back from his thoughts. Led by attendants, he came to stand beside Liang Chen, who merely glanced his way before walking inside.

Yan Jun followed him into the front hall, where guests thronged on both sides. The seats reserved for the emperor and empress contained only one woman, elegantly dressed and proud.

When the pair approached, she spoke in a measured tone. “Your father fell ill, so he asked me to preside over your wedding. I trust you understand.”

As though foreseeing such an outcome, Liang Chen’s voice remained calm. “He is the Son of Heaven, and his health is paramount. Mother’s presence is enough for this occasion.”

The empress gave a slight nod, her expression tinged with impatience. “Very well, let us begin.”

With the official’s call of “First bow to Heaven and Earth,” Yan Jun and Liang Chen turned toward the gates and bowed three times. Next came “Second bow to the honored elders” and finally “Bow to each other,” each command echoing through the hall.

Then came the phrase “Bind your hair.” For an instant, Yan Jun stood dazed. Here he was in his own novel, wedding a character he had dreamed up, and that character was a man no less. The very thought was astonishing.

Two maidservants approached, one carrying a tray with scissors wrapped in red thread and a small embroidered pouch. At Yan Jun’s side, they carefully snipped a small lock of his hair, then did the same for Liang Chen. Tying both locks together with the red thread, they placed the bundle into the pouch and handed it to Yan Jun. He stared at it, the word “bind” echoing in his mind.

Bind hair as husband and wife, and trust in each other without doubt.

With the hair-binding ceremony complete, the wedding’s grand formalities concluded. Traditionally, the next steps would be the shared nuptial wine and consummation, but Yan Jun doubted Liang Chen would perform either.

Indeed, after Yan Jun returned to the bridal chamber, just as he was considering whether to remove the phoenix crown weighing so heavily on his neck, a feminine voice called in from outside. “Your Highness Consort, His Highness drank a great deal today. Fearing he might disturb your rest, he will remain in his study. He asks that you retire soon so you both may enter the palace tomorrow morning.”

As expected, Yan Jun sighed inwardly. “Understood. But wait for a moment.”

He moved to the mirror, called Xianglan, and had her remove his ornate headdress. He then coiled his hair into a simpler style and headed out the door.

The waiting maid, perhaps fearing blame for the prince’s absence, dropped to her knees. “Your Highness Consort…”

Startled by her reaction, Yan Jun quickly helped her up. “Don’t kneel, I’m not angry. I have something to discuss with your prince. Will you lead me to the study?”

The maid gaped. “Your Highness Consort may not realize, but the study is a restricted place. None may enter unless summoned by His Highness.”

“That’s fine,” Yan Jun replied. “Just take me close to it. After that, I’ll go the rest of the way alone, and it won’t affect you.”

Seeing that he meant no harm, and mindful that this was Prince Jing’s new consort, the maid conceded and led him across the estate. Though Jian’an City was the empire’s capital, the prince’s manor proved smaller than the Lin family home. They passed an artificial lake, then wove through a garden of stacked stones before coming to a thicket of purple bamboo.

“There, Your Highness Consort,” the maid said with a gesture, “that bamboo grove is where the study lies. I have other duties, so I’ll take my leave here.”

Yan Jun thanked her and watched her depart. He inhaled deeply, summoning his courage to approach the bamboo grove, where the night breeze rustled the leaves with a soft susurration. Each sound brushed against his heart like the brush of feathers, a mix of ticklish unease and eager anticipation.

At the entrance stood two guards, both looking rather drowsy in the autumn air, yet their martial training had not deserted them. They stiffened the instant they heard footsteps and barred Yan Jun’s way. “Who goes there? The study is off-limits to anyone lacking His Highness’s permission.”

Yan Jun halted, feigning helplessness. “I—I’m the Prince Consort, newly married into the household today. I have a matter to discuss with His Highness. Could you let me in?”

At last, recognizing his attire, the guards exchanged a glance and softened their tone. “Your Highness Consort, our prince has not given the word, and we dare not open the study. We beg your pardon.”

Yan Jun sighed as though defeated. “All right,” he said, lowering his head and preparing to step back. But then he lifted his hand to the sky. “Look, an airplane.”

Instinctively, both guards glanced up at the unfamiliar word, and in that brief moment, Yan Jun darted past them and slipped inside, slamming the door shut behind him. They rushed to stop him, but he had already locked the door from within.

Leaning against it, Yan Jun couldn’t resist a triumphant chuckle. “Ha, amateurs,” he muttered before turning to look around the study.

It was a modest space, yet lined with numerous scrolls of calligraphy and books. Yan Jun glanced over a few paintings—they were easy enough to understand at a glance—but the written works were in dense traditional script, bristling with unfamiliar characters. For all his years of schooling, here he was, functionally illiterate.

Growing bored, he ventured deeper, where Liang Chen lay resting on a small couch. As the maid had warned, the prince must have drunk a great deal. A faint flush suffused his finely sculpted features. Yan Jun crouched beside him, quietly taking in the details. Soldiers who had fought on the front lines, he thought, ought to be tanned by years of sun and wind. Yet Liang Chen’s skin was almost paler than his own. Life could be unfair indeed.

Then Yan Jun caught himself. What were two grown men doing, comparing who was fairer? A soft laugh escaped him.

Murmuring in his sleep, Liang Chen suddenly frowned, as though caught in a troubling dream. Yan Jun leaned closer, trying to make out the words. He watched that crease between Liang Chen’s brows deepen and, without thinking, gently raised a hand to smooth it away.

No sooner did his fingertips touch Liang Chen’s forehead than his eyes snapped open. He grabbed Yan Jun’s wrist, pulling him close in a single swift motion.

“Who is it?”

They were mere inches apart, and the heat of Liang Chen’s wine-scented breath drifted across Yan Jun’s face. He felt a sudden dizziness, as if he too had taken his fill of spirits.