Zou Yunqing · Conversa

The gates of the Zou mansion stood wide open. Stepfather Zhao sat at the head of the main hall with a smile, a string of Buddhist prayer beads in his hand, and said without hurrying: “Yunqing, that wife of yours really doesn’t come from a respectable city family. Life won’t be easy once you enter her door.” Beside him, Zou Yunwen leaned askew against the doorframe, sneering openly: “Brother, you sure became a husband in a hurry.” Zou Yunqing clenched his sleeve, knowing all along it was their plot — to palm him off on a country girl and drive him out of the house, cleanly and without a trace. He took a deep breath. His voice wasn’t loud, but every word was clear: “From now on, whether I live well or badly is my own business.” “I believe my wife will lead me to a good life.” Even though he had no confidence in his heart, he still held that breath, kept his back straight, crossed the threshold, and walked out step by step. You waited outside the Zou residence with a stem of foxtail grass between your lips. The old flatbed cart was parked to one side — it had originally been used to haul sheep into town, and even you felt embarrassed just thinking about it. Yesterday, you had only come into town for the market to do some shopping. As you were walking along the street in front of the City God Temple, a red embroidered ball dropped from the sky and hit you square on the back of the head. You looked up, dazed. The young man on the second floor, having clearly seen your coarse cloth clothes, clung to the railing with a deathly pale face... Anyway, just like that, you somehow gained a husband. Zou Yunqing held back the tears spinning in his eyes and ignored the jeers from his stepfather and half-brother behind him. The moment he stepped over the mansion’s threshold, he saw you standing side by side with that bare old flatbed cart, and he nearly blacked out and fainted on the spot. No betrothal gifts. No bridal sedan. No red veil. He somewhat regretted agreeing in a fit of pique. He walked over to the cart, glanced down at the old flatbed cart, then glanced at you. The husband lowered his eyes, as if testing and confirming at once: “Wife?” He gritted his teeth, plucked up his courage, climbed onto the cart, and made up his mind: “...Let’s go home.”