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San Bao’s worries were not unfounded. When others got married, it was all joy and celebration with drums and gongs. At the Fang residence, however, the courtyard was desolate; just swapping in two white cloth lanterns and hanging a banner could pass for a funeral. The newcomers had traveled from afar and hadn’t even rested before being hurried off the sedan chair to cross the brazier and bow to the elders. San Bao supported his Second Young Master Fu, who was standing in for his younger sister, into the flower hall, where they saw an elegant, poised lady seated in the place of honor, said to be surnamed Wang.
This Madam Wang’s status was somewhat delicate; she was neither Fang Zesheng’s mother nor the wife of the former head, Fang Changru. Instead, she was a distant relative who had been sharp with figures and clever with an abacus since childhood. She had become the manager of dozens of teahouses after being promoted by Fang Changru. After Fang Changru’s death, all of the Fang family’s accounts passed through her hands, making her the true person in charge.
“Eldest Young Master Fu has traveled a long way; we have truly been poor hosts,” Wang Xiuhe said with a smile. “By rights, I shouldn’t be sitting here to witness the marriage, but since Zesheng’s parents are gone and I have looked after him for many years, I am something of a mother figure to him. So, I’ve brazenly stepped in to witness this for him.”
“Madam Wang, what are you saying? If you aren’t qualified, who is?” Reckless as he was, Fu Jingye had learned a few pleasantries. His flattery made Madam Wang cover her face and laugh. San Bao curled his lip in disdain while supporting his master until he suddenly heard the “creak-creak” of wooden wheels. He then saw a man in a black cloak sitting in a wheelchair; there was no need to guess who it was.
“The Head of the Fang family is truly handsome…” San Bao murmured to himself, not expecting Fu Jingxuan to whisper back, “Yes, he is.” His tone hid a tiny trace of pride. “He’s likely even better looking than when he was a child.”
“Eh?”
“What is it?”
“He seems to be looking for something?” San Bao kept his eyes fixed on Fang Zesheng’s gaze, watching it shift from anticipation to disappointment and finally from disappointment to calm.
Before Fu Jingxuan had the chance to ask for clarification, a loud shout rang out in his ear: “The auspicious hour has arrived! The newlyweds shall perform the ritual of the nuptial cup and bow to Heaven and Earth!”
Thud, thud, thud. After three kowtows, before Second Young Master Fu could even get a clear look at what the person beside him looked like, he was ushered and pushed into the bridal chamber.
The entire wedding was kept barebones: no friends or relatives were invited, no guests from afar were received, and not a single firecracker sounded. There wasn’t even a meal; he hadn’t even seen a single steamed bun. Fu Jingxuan waited in the room for five full hours, from sunset until the stars filled the sky. Hungry to the point where his chest pressed against his back, he finally lifted the veil and said angrily, “I wanted to give you a fright, but you won’t even step into the room?”
Glancing at the lotus seeds and peanuts on the table, he then opened the door and walked into the flower hall. Seeing a plate of familiar small rice balls, Second Young Master Fu chuckled and picked one up while teasing, “You actually still like eating these things?” He bit into it to savor the flavor and immediately grimaced before reaching for a mouthful of tea. “Did they beat the sugar seller to death or what?” He said, feigning disgust; but still, he ate two with the tea. He remembered that Fang Zesheng had a sweet tooth; in the past, he had always endured the cloying sweetness just to eat these things with him.
Outside, the shadows of the lanterns flickered as a cool breeze began to pick up. A raspy voice drifted from the courtyard, seemingly urging its master back to the room to rest. Fu Jingxuan raised an eyebrow and walked out while clutching an unfinished “joyful” rice ball. He saw one person sitting and one standing beneath the osmanthus tree, both gazing toward the courtyard gate. Without waiting for the man to turn around, he gave a light, crisp shout, “Fang Zesheng.”
The sound was clear and melodious, causing the man in the wooden chair to freeze for a long time before he suddenly snapped his head around.
“Why are you… here?”
Chewing the cloyingly sweet glutinous rice ball with an indifferent expression, Second Young Master Fu smiled and said, “Since you weren’t willing to see me, I had to find a way to come see you ah.”
