Wedding Night / Nuptial Chamber

Late at night.

The guests had dispersed.

The drums and music had ceased.

The bridal chamber.

The wedding chamber was set up in the Phoenix Roost Pavilion on the main peak of the Sword God Palace.

The pavilion was draped with red canopies. Dragon and phoenix candles burned on the table, their dancing flames enveloping the entire room in a warm, ambiguous orange-red halo.

Shen Qingshuang sat on the edge of the bed.

Her bridal veil had already been lifted.

An impeccably exquisite face was revealed in the candlelight, with skin like creamy jade and lips painted vermilion. Her affectionate, watery almond eyes tipped up slightly at the corners, carrying an innate charm.

Her wedding dress was made of pure red Shu brocade, heavily embroidered with golden phoenixes and peonies. The pearls and jade on her phoenix coronet swayed gently as she lowered her head, emitting crisp, delicate chimes.

She was breathtakingly beautiful.

As beautiful as a peony blooming in its prime season.

Sitting there, she twisted the handkerchief in her hands, her fingertips turning slightly white from tension. Her eyelashes cast a small, fan-shaped shadow in the candlelight, covering her pink-tinted cheekbones.

She was waiting. Waiting for her husband to walk over.

Cousin...

Her voice was soft and timid, carrying the unique apprehension and anticipation of a new bride.

Ye Jiuzhou stood with his back to her.

He stood by the window. The windows of the bridal chamber were wide open, and the night wind poured in, making the canopies rustle loudly.

He faced the night scenery outside, his back pulled taut and straight.

Do not touch me.

These words.

As cold as a corpse.

Ye Jiuzhou did not look back. He did not even turn his body.

Shen Qingshuang's hands paused. The fingers twisting the handkerchief slowly loosened, and it slipped silently onto the edge of the bed.

Her lips parted, then closed again. The watery luster in her almond eyes froze in that moment.

It was not tears.

It was the death of her heart.

She was no fool.

Before becoming Ye Jiuzhou's fiancee, she had heard more than enough rumors.

Regarding the relationship between the Young Palace Master and his sworn brother, she had heard as many versions of the rumors as there were. Some versions said they were as close as real brothers, some said the Young Palace Master had abnormal feelings for his sworn brother, and other versions were even more explicit...

She had chosen not to believe them.

She told herself that it was merely the malicious speculation of the jealous. Her cousin was the number one young sword cultivator in the world, the universally anticipated proud son of heaven; how could he possibly feel that way about a man...

But as she sat in this bridal chamber, looking at the man's cold back, she understood everything.

Another person lived in his heart.

And that person was not her.

Cousin... she called out again. Her voice was much lower than before, carrying a trace of unwilling, final pleading.

Ye Jiuzhou did not respond to her.

He turned from the window and walked to the center of the room.

But he did not walk towards the bed.

His hand rose, reaching for his waist. His slender fingers grasped the hilt of the Heaven-Severing Divine Sword that never left his side.

Clang!

A clear dragon's roar exploded in the bridal chamber.

The Heaven-Severing Divine Sword was drawn.

The blade was like autumn water; its three-foot-seven-inch edge refracted a blinding white light in the candlelight. As that white light swept across the room full of red canopies, the fabric was sliced into countless fragments by the sword qi, fluttering down like a red snowstorm.

Shen Qingshuang suddenly covered her mouth, her pupils shrinking sharply.

But Ye Jiuzhou did not look at her.

His sword was not aimed at her.

Sword in hand, he walked to the empty space in the middle of the room. The shredded red canopies formed a layer beneath his feet. As he stepped on them, the soles of his boots crushed the torn red silk, making a dull, teeth-setting grinding sound.

Then, he began to practice his swordsmanship.

One strike.

Fierce sword qi shot from the tip of the blade, striking a Dragon and Phoenix Auspiciousness tapestry hanging on the wall. The tapestry was split right down the middle, the two ruined pieces of cloth sliding limply to the floor.

Two strikes.

The burning dragon and phoenix candles on the table had their top halves cleanly sliced off by the sword wind. Liquid wax splattered, and the red candle tears flowed across the table like a shocking pool of blood.

Three strikes.

The nuptial wine pot on the table was split in half. Ten-thousand-year spiritual brew surged from the shattered pot, soaking the red tablecloth. The aroma of wine permeated the air, so strong it was suffocating.

Four strikes. Five strikes. Six strikes.

The sword strikes did not cease.

Sword qi ran rampant.

The entire bridal chamber was utterly destroyed beneath his sword. The red canopies, the red brocade quilts, the red curtains, the red lanterns, all the red was crushed, sliced, torn apart by his sword, and completely erased from this room.

Finally, the entire room was left in absolute ruins.

Shredded cloth, shattered porcelain, splintered wood, and torn paper, mixed with the spilled wine and wax tears, covered the entire floor.

The brocade quilt on the bed was shredded into thread-like strips by the sword qi, while the longans and red dates rolled onto the floor, trampled into a mush.

The dragon and phoenix candles went out.

The bridal chamber plunged into darkness.

Only the pale moonlight from outside the window shone in, falling upon Ye Jiuzhou.

He stood in the center of the ruined floor, sword in hand. His bright red wedding robes were stained with debris and wine, his long hair was disheveled, and his chest heaved rapidly.

He was not panting from exhaustion.

His rapid breathing was not due to the physical toll of his sword practice.

For a mighty figure at the peak of the Void Refinement stage, this bit of swordsmanship was no more effort than waving his hand.

He panted because of pain.

This kind of pain had already exceeded the limits of what the flesh could bear; it was overflowing.

Shen Qingshuang sat on the edge of the bed.

Throughout the entire process, she had not moved an inch.

When the sword qi whistled past her side, it severed a pearl tassel from her phoenix coronet.

That string of tassels slipped down, landing on her knee with a clink, and then rolled from her knee to the floor, making an insignificant, crisp sound amidst the debris.

She did not hide.

Not because she was brave.

But because she knew these streams of sword qi would not hurt her.

No matter how mad, how chaotic, or how reckless Ye Jiuzhou's sword was, every single stream of sword qi precisely avoided where she sat.

It was not a coincidence. It was instinct. It was the kindness of this man who, even in his most agonizing moments, was unwilling to harm an innocent person.

Yet, to Shen Qingshuang at this moment, this kind of kindness was more despair-inducing than cruelty.

He did not even give her the right to hate him.

He disdained even to lose his temper at her.

His anger, his pain, his madness, none of it was because of her.

She was merely a stranger who happened to be sitting in this bridal chamber, bearing no relation to him whatsoever.

Shen Qingshuang looked at her husband in name.

His silhouette appeared exceptionally frail in the moonlight. The bright red wedding robe was soaked with sweat and wine, clinging to his back and tracing the contours of his shoulder blades.

She watched.

Tears finally welled up in her eyes.

She was not crying for herself.

She was crying for Ye Jiuzhou.

In that moment, she suddenly realized one thing: Ye Jiuzhou was even more pitiful than she was.

She at least knew what she had lost. And he could not even utter what it was that he had lost.

Cousin.

Her voice was very light, as light as the last wisp of burnt-out smoke in the dead of night.

Ye Jiuzhou did not turn around.

You have someone in your heart, she said. I know.

Ye Jiuzhou remained silent.

"I won't make things difficult for you." She lowered her head, gazing at the broken pearl and jade tassels resting on her lap. "Go and do what you must. As for this bridal chamber... I am fine staying here alone."

Ye Jiuzhou's shoulders trembled slightly.

Then, he sheathed his sword.

He did not say a single word. He did not cast a single glance back.

Pushing open the doors of the bridal chamber, he strode out into the encompassing night.

Behind him, Shen Qingshuang finally broke down and wept.

Her sobs were stifled as she pressed both hands tightly over her mouth, refusing to let a single sound escape the ruined bridal chamber. Tears spilled through the gaps of her fingers, soaking the cuffs of her crimson wedding gown.

Her weeping, much like the shattered debris littering the floor, was completely swallowed by the darkness.