Chapter 103: The Disappearing Bride

Throughout the night, several large crates were transported into the Wen residence’s warehouse. Watching each heavy box carried in, Madam Wen’s eyes flickered with a burning intensity. To her surprise, once Wen Qiran spoke, Wen Jing was surprisingly decisive and retrieved the dowry. After all, as father and daughter, Wen Jing would never keep things hidden from her father. At this point, withholding the dowry would bring no benefit to anyone.

The crates were piled high—if not for Wen Qiran standing nearby, Madam Wen would have been tempted to open each one to see what precious treasures they contained. It turned out the dowry had indeed been stored outside all along. No wonder she had searched the Wen estate high and low without finding it. Where else could it have been hidden for so many years without a single leak?

The iron gate was wrapped with several thick chains, guarded around the clock by four security men in shifts, with a dozen men stationed to watch—no fly could get in.

Madam Wen said, “With this, it will surely be safe and sound.”

“Guard it well. If there’s any mishap...” Wen Qiran glared at Zhou Quan.

“If there’s any mishap, this old servant will find a rope for himself... Ah, rest assured, Master,” the steward Zhou Quan replied.

Wen Qiran nodded and turned away; many other matters awaited his attention.

...

On the sixth day of the lunar month, the Wang family was wrapped in a festive atmosphere, even more joyous than the slightly anxious Wen family. The mansion was decorated with lanterns and banners, guests arriving in droves. Grand Secretary Wang and Wang Sinian moved through the crowd.

“Congratulations, Lord Wang, finally able to enjoy tea with your granddaughter-in-law,” an official in a crimson robe said to Wang Xuelin.

“Congratulations, Lord Wang, may you soon hold a great-grandchild,” another added.

Wang Xuelin responded to each with a weary smile; age was taking its toll.

“Father, you should rest; I’ll handle things here,” Wang Sinian said.

“Indeed, these old bones can’t keep up anymore. I’ll rest for a while. Call me when Erlang returns,” Wang Xuelin wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Wang Erlang had already led the wedding procession to the Wen residence early that morning.

“Seventeenth Master, aren’t you going to the front to see the excitement?” Little Cui asked Wang Jue, who had been playing the zither for a long time.

Wang Jue seemed not to hear her, eyes closed, fingers swiftly plucking the strings.

The music was different today—no longer the gentle babble of a stream but sharp, urgent beats like war drums pounding the heart. Even Little Cui, unversed in music, could tell that the Seventeenth Master’s face clearly read: strangers keep away.

A breeze stirred, two leaves fell onto the zither strings, abruptly silencing the music.

“Seventeenth Master, a string broke...” Little Cui whispered.

Opening his eyes, Wang Jue looked at the crimson blood marking his finger.

After a long moment, he suddenly said to Little Cui, “Push me outside.”

“Yes,” she replied joyfully.

...

At the Wen residence,

Dressed in phoenix robes and crowned with a phoenix coronet, Madam Wen pinned a velvet flower at Wen Jing’s temple and smiled, “You look beautiful.”

Looking into the bronze mirror, the radiant woman before her was adorned in makeup more vibrant than ever—jet-black hair, arched brows, ruby lips. Her skin was like jade, and between her brows and eyes radiated a proud, natural elegance.

After the wedding meal, Madam Wen and the young maids wept until their eyes were swollen red. Even Wen Qiran’s eyes glistened with moisture.

“It’s time to board the sedan chair.”

Wen Jing tearfully bid farewell to Wen Qiran and Madam Wen.

“Don’t cry. Puffy eyes aren’t pretty,” Madam Wen said as she wiped her tears.

“Let’s get going; don’t miss the auspicious hour,” Wen Qiran smiled, his eyes betraying a hint of reluctance.

Wen Jing nodded, covered her face with a red veil, and was helped into the sedan chair by the bridesmaids. Qingliu followed behind.

Crowds lined the streets for several blocks, drums and suona horns blaring. Wang Erlang, his face flushed and beaming, mounted his horse, waving to the onlookers with an intoxicated gaze.

...

A grand procession moved steadily toward the Wang estate.

Inside the sedan chair, Wen Jing touched the dagger hidden in her sleeve.

Waiting always seemed slow. She felt sticky and uncomfortable on her back; sweat dampened her temples. After what seemed like an eternity, the carriage suddenly stopped.

Wang Erlang saw a crowd gathered ahead, scrambling over something on the ground.

“Go see what’s happening.”

“Yes, Young Master.”

The steward quickly went and returned.

“Young Master, a grain cart’s sacks tore open. Many people are scrambling for the grain.”

Wang Erlang frowned. “Tell them to step aside; everyone can come to the Wang estate to collect a sack of rice.”

After the steward’s announcement, the crowd exchanged glances and dispersed—except for two vagrants who frantically scooped up the grain, clutching their bags tightly as if afraid of losing them.

“Move aside! Stop picking it up!” the steward snapped impatiently. After several repetitions, the two seemed deaf to his commands.

“Take those two away.”

“Hey! They’re hurting people!”

The two vagrants were dragged to the roadside as the wedding procession continued.

At the Wang mansion,

A large crowd awaited at the gate, eagerly watching until the bridal sedan finally arrived.

“The bride, please alight.”

The bridesmaids helped the bride down, who nearly stumbled but was steadied just in time.

Drums and firecrackers erupted once more.

Wang Xuelin and Madam Wang joyfully watched Wang Erlang lead the bride inside. The bride appeared shy, her steps unsteady.

“Bride and groom, please pay homage,” the master of ceremonies announced loudly.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted outside.

“Make way!”

Everyone stared in shock as a man, looking wild, stormed in—it was Ji Changge.

Following him were Wang Jue and Little Cui, who pushed a wheelchair, helplessly behind.

“Seventh Miss, you cannot marry Wang Erlang!”

“Seventh Miss, you cannot wed!”

Both shouted simultaneously.

Wang Erlang stared blankly at Ji Changge and Wang Jue, who had burst in, while Wang Xuelin angrily ordered, “Drag them out! What disgrace!”

Ji Changge ignored the command, stepping forward to tear off the red veil covering the bride’s face.

Wang Xuelin was about to erupt in fury but froze. The bride was not only blindfolded but gagged as well, her skin darkened—she was not Wen Qiuniang at all!

Removing the cloth from the bride’s mouth and eyes revealed Qingliu!

“How could it be you? Where is your mistress?” Wang Erlang asked in shock.

Qingliu shook her head blankly. She felt weak all over and could not recall how she had been blindfolded and gagged...

Ji Changge grabbed Wang Erlang’s collar, furious. “Where have you hidden Wen Qiuniang?”

Wang Erlang was speechless, stunned. “I don’t know either...”

“Feiran, calm down. Erlang could never have hidden the Seventh Miss,” Wang Xuelin pulled Ji Changge’s hand away.

Outside, the guests watched curiously. The bride disappeared before the ceremony—an unprecedented scandal.

“Everyone, please leave. We apologize for this embarrassment. We will visit to apologize properly another day,” Wang Sinian dismissed the guests.

The guests took their leave; without the bride, there would be no wedding feast.

“Master, bad news! The dowry has turned to stone!” the steward hurried in.

Wang Xuelin’s face darkened. “How could this happen? In broad daylight, the bride is gone, and the goods have vanished. Are you all blind?”

Ding Wu and a group of guards rushed in, out of breath. Ji Changge’s horse had sped far ahead, leaving them behind. Ji Changge gripped Wang Erlang’s collar but found no sign of Wen Qiuniang.

“Qingliu, are you sure the Seventh Miss boarded the sedan chair?” Ji Changge asked.

“I watched her get in myself. Since yesterday, I have not left her side,” Qingliu replied.

“Master, excuse me. Erlang, I must take him back for questioning,” Ji Changge said to Wang Xuelin.

“Ding Wu, bring back everyone who went with the wedding procession.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Feiran, Erlang would never abduct the Seventh Miss. Think about it—why would he take his own wife? Today is his joyous day,” Wang Sinian said.

Ji Changge coldly replied, “Everyone involved must be brought to the Dali Temple for investigation.”

“Master, several sedan carriers are missing!” Ding Wu reported hurriedly.

It seemed the problem lay with those carriers—only someone inside the procession could have spirited Wen Jing away unnoticed, Ji Changge thought.

“Bring them all to the Dali Temple. I want to interrogate them,” Ji Changge ordered urgently. All he wanted now was to find Wen Jing’s whereabouts quickly. He did not want to see her next time as a mutilated corpse like He Yunxiu.

“I’ll come with you,” Wang Jue said.

Ji Changge nodded, sensing Wang Jue understood.

In the dim interrogation chamber, Ji Changge slammed the table, furious. “Speak! Where have you hidden Wen Qiuniang?”

Wang Erlang stared blankly at the floor. “I really... don’t know.”

“Don’t play dumb. I’ve investigated thoroughly. You killed He Yunxiu, Shen Ying, and Liang Shuxuan too!”

Fear flashed in Wang Erlang’s eyes as he shook his head violently. “Not me! Why would I kill them?!”

Ji Changge studied Wang Erlang’s eyes for any sign of deceit, but he looked genuinely confused.

“Erlang, the Seventh Miss has done much for your family. Without her, Grand Secretary Wang would be dead. She’s always been kind to you, speaking of you often. You can’t harm her. If you tell me where she is, I can plead for leniency on your behalf,” Ji Changge’s tone softened.

Suddenly, Wang Erlang clutched his head and wept, “I really don’t know... Please stop asking. It’s not me.”

Ji Changge’s eyes narrowed, a deadly glint flashing. Pretending ignorance to buy time?

“Ding Wu, use torture!”

Ding Wu hesitated briefly. “Yes, Master.”