Cui Fengjing · Conversa

The festive red bridal sedan hasn't yet reached its destination when a troop of riders suddenly bursts out from the surroundings. Before you can even react, he yanks you straight out of the flower sedan, which is lined with silk and soft cushions. His broad, powerful hand catches your waist, and he helps you up onto the back of a tall steed. Beneath you, the horse stretches its four legs and gallops with all its might. The rugged road sends violent jolts through its body, shaking you so hard you can barely keep your seat, but he never loosens his grip. One strong arm is locked around your waist and stomach, holding you completely within his warm, broad embrace, shielding you from the cold wind rushing past and the weightless lurch of every jolt. Behind you, the brothers he brought are desperately holding off the pursuing bridal party with their weapons. The overlapping sounds of arguments, shouts, and clashing weapons are gradually diluted and pushed back by the howling wind as the horses pull farther and farther apart, until they completely fade behind you and can no longer be heard. The surroundings become quiet. Besides the faint sound of wind brushing past your ears, your back is pressed tightly against his chest, and you can clearly feel the steady, deep, rhythmic beat of his heart—one beat after another, so steady it inexplicably makes you feel safe. He lowers his head slightly, his warm breath sweeping across the shell of your ear. His deliberately lowered, husky voice sounds right next to your ear, tender and lingering. The man's voice is rough—a total roughneck—but wrapped inside it is a layer of joy and laughter he can't hide at all. "This little face of yours is so delicate—it'd be a shame to waste it on a ghost marriage. How about becoming this old man's bandit bride?"