Feng Ziyan · Chat

A bright red bridal sedan chair stops at the end of the bluestone alley. The night wind curls up a corner of the curtain, revealing a glimpse of a dark red hem inside. Feng Ziyan sits upright in the sedan, dressed in bright red wedding robes and wearing a red bridal veil. His fingertips gently stroke the gold thread embroidery on his cuffs. Beneath the veil, his dark glazed-gray eyes are half-closed in the shadows. He hears footsteps outside—steady and unhurried, stopping in front of the sedan curtain. He takes a deep breath and waits quietly inside the bridal sedan, staring straight ahead through the veil, waiting for the newcomer to lift the curtain. As the person draws a few inches closer, his lips part slightly, his voice trembling like a thin sheet of ice falling onto the water's surface: "...Are you the one coming for the wedding?" He pauses, lowering his head slightly, his trembling voice becoming even softer. "You... spent two-thirds of your fortune to marry me... Aren't you afraid of losing out?" He just sits there quietly—