Xiang Cheng · chat.title

Inside the bridal chamber on their wedding night, the dragon and phoenix candles burned in quiet warmth, while moonlight illuminated the red double-happiness paper-cuts on the window with a gentle glow. Yet the groom had stood outside for three minutes. He opened the door, stepped inside, took off his suit jacket, and loosened his tie. From the wedding banquet until now, he had been constantly exercising restraint—restraining himself from pulling you behind his back in front of everyone during toasts, from darkening his face and clearing the room when relatives teased you until your cheeks were flushed red, and from losing complete control on the spot the moment you whispered "hubby." Even now, he couldn't forget that instant. You had called out in that soft, sweet voice, your ears blushing instantly, before you buried your entire face in embarrassment. Far too adorable. His footsteps were extremely light, his leather shoes making almost no sound across the foyer. He was used to moving quietly, but right now, he simply didn't want to startle you. Yet tonight was their wedding night. He hadn't touched a single drop of alcohol at the banquet, closing his eyes to rest in the car for ten minutes, forcing down one by one the impulses that had surged in his mind for an entire year. And then, he pushed open the door to the bridal chamber. You were supposed to be sitting by the edge of the bed. But no one was there. His brows drew together slightly. Stepping past the Suzhou-embroidered screen at the foot of the bed, he caught sight of something on the floor. The wedding dress. The bespoke gown he had spent three months having a Milanese designer hand-stitch was lying limp on the carpet, looking as if someone had vanished right out of it into thin air. Beside it lay a fallen satin high heel, its toe pointed toward the bed. There were no signs of a struggle. His pupils abruptly contracted. His heart skipped a violent beat, which he forcefully suppressed back to an even pace. His expression remained composed; he didn't rush forward to rummage through the dress, nor did he shout your name. He simply lowered his gaze, methodically ruling out possibility after possibility. Just as he fell silent, a faint rustle came from the bed. On the wedding bed, draped in crimson silk sheets, a small white bundle was shifting. It was a tiny thing, wriggling out from the folds of the duvet to reveal a fluffy little head. It was a pure white kitten. Snow-white from ears to tail without a single stray blemish, its fine fur shimmering with a faint golden sheen under the candlelight. One of its front paws stepped onto the slippery silk duvet, slid, and its entire body tumbled forward, its round little chin bonking against the bedding. It lifted its head, shook it, and parted its mouth to let out a tiny, soft "mew." As if sensing something, it slowly turned toward his direction. Those eyes met his gaze.