Chapter 271. The Chaotic Wedding Ceremony

Song Meiyu stormed through Xuanyi Pavilion with a list she had scribbled in a hurry, shouting orders like a general at war. “We need red silk, now! Someone fetch plum blossoms, hurry! No, no, those are cherry blossoms—do you want her spirit to get confused and wander off?”

Servants ran. He Yuying sat on a stool by the doorway, gnawing on dried meat, shaking his head. “The bride’s unconscious. The groom looks half-dead. The wedding guests are crying. I give this a three out of ten. Too much drama, not enough food.”

Song Meiyu smacked the back of his head. “You will eat cake and cry like everyone else!”

Meanwhile, Shen Zhenyu was the unfortunate soul roped into handling logistics. He stood stiffly, arms crossed, watching red lanterns being strung up around the pavilion. “This is… not proper,” he muttered under his breath. Yet his hands still moved, adjusting the height of the lanterns so they hung straight.

Master Yin Xue, after one long, incredulous stare at the chaos, buried herself back in the healing hall. “If they want to waste their time playing house, let them. I have more important things to do, like making sure the bride lives long enough to regret this farce.”

And Shu Mingye?

He did nothing but sit by Linyue’s side. Day and night. He held her hand as Song Meiyu fitted a crimson veil over her pale face. He brushed strands of hair from her cheek while lanterns glowed outside. He whispered her name, over and over, even as musicians tuned their instruments in the courtyard.

He didn’t care that it wasn’t proper. He didn’t care that she couldn’t answer. All he cared about was this: if she opened her eyes, if she ever saw him again, she would not see him grieving. She would see him as her husband.

And so, the Demon King prepared to marry his unconscious bride.

The day of the wedding came. Xuanyi Pavilion was draped in red silk, lanterns glowing like captured fireflies. The scent of incense clung heavy in the air, mixing with the faint sweetness of plum blossoms Song Meiyu had insisted on scattering everywhere.

The bride was carried out on a soft bed, dressed in crimson robes that shimmered faintly in the light. A veil of the same red silk covered her face, hiding the stillness beneath. She didn’t move, didn’t speak, but Shu Mingye held her hand like she was more alive than anyone else in the courtyard. He stood tall at her side, dressed in crimson robes embroidered with golden dragon. His jaw was set, his eyes dark and unyielding.

Master Tian Mo acted as officiant, because no one else was shameless enough. He cleared his throat loudly and clapped his hands together. “Very well! Today we gather for a most unusual wedding between one overly stubborn king and one unconscious bride who, if awake, would probably throw a shoe at us all. Let us begin.”

Song Meiyu choked on a sob-laugh at the same time. He Yuying stuffed a steamed bun in his mouth so no one could see him snort. Shen Zhenyu just rubbed his temple like his soul was slipping out of his body.

The ceremony began.

Shu Mingye moved through each bow with steady, unshaking steps. To heaven and earth. To the ancestors. To each other. He bowed deeply to her, holding her hand as if it were the most sacred vow of all.

“From this day forward,” he said, his voice low but strong, “you are mine, and I am yours. No matter what comes. Awake or asleep. Living or dead.”

Master Tian Mo coughed into his sleeve, muttering, “Dramatic, this one. Very dramatic. I like it.”

Then—

“Wait, wait, wait! I’m not late, am I?”

Prince Lu stumbled in, panting, robes half undone and hair sticking up like he had wrestled a goose on the way. He carried a wedding gift the size of a wagon, wrapped poorly in gold paper.

Everyone stared.

Prince Lu straightened, puffed out his chest, and grinned. “Congratulations! Though I still think I should be the one marrying her. This time, however, I’ll be generous.”

Shen Zhenyu covered his face with one hand. Song Meiyu snorted. He Yuying muttered around a mouthful of bun, “At least he brought a gift.”

Prince Lu dragged the massive gift box forward with a grunt. “It’s a sword! Or maybe a teapot. I forgot. Anyway, it’s from the royal treasury, very expensive. Please pretend to be impressed.”

Shu Mingye ignored him completely. He only lifted his new bride gently into his arms. She was still, but now she was dressed as his wife. “You’re mine now, Pie,” he whispered, soft enough for only her to hear. “And you’re not allowed to run away.”

Behind him, Prince Lu whispered loudly to Shen Zhenyu, “Is this the part where we clap? Or cry? I can’t tell.”

The wedding feast was laid out in the grand hall of Xuanyi Pavilion. Red lanterns hung from the beams, tables stacked high with food, wine jars lined up. But the mood was strange. Too quiet for a wedding. Too heavy for a celebration.

Shu Mingye sat at the head table, his new bride beside him, still and silent in crimson robes. He didn’t drink. Didn’t eat. He only sat there, one hand wrapped around hers, as if letting go for even a moment would be a betrayal.

Song Meiyu had already gone through three bowls of soup, her face blotchy from crying into every spoonful. “She’s so beautiful in red,” she sobbed, dropping dumpling wrappers all over the table. “Why doesn’t she wake up? Weddings are supposed to be loud and happy! Where’s the laughter? Where’s the teasing? Where’s the pie?”

He Yuying leaned back in his chair, chewing slowly on a meat bun. His hair was still wild, like he hadn’t brushed it in a month. “The Pie’s right there,” he said lazily, nodding toward Linyue. “She just isn’t eating.”

Song Meiyu slapped his arm with her chopsticks. “Don’t joke like that!”

Prince Lu, meanwhile, had thrown himself fully into the role of self-appointed master of ceremonies. He stood, wobbling slightly after too much wine, and raised his cup.

“To the bride and groom!” he bellowed. “May their love last ten thousand years! Or at least until the dessert course.”

No one clapped.

Shen Zhenyu rubbed his temple. “Sit down, Your Highness.”

Prince Lu ignored him. He pointed dramatically at Shu Mingye. “You! Don’t look so gloomy. Your bride is… er… very quiet, but she looks lovely tonight!”

He Yuying nearly choked on his bun. Song Meiyu threw a dumpling at Prince Lu’s head. It bounced off his crown.

Master Tian Mo sipped his wine, smiling shamelessly. “I must say, I have never officiated such a unique wedding. It is both tragic and hilarious. A masterpiece.”

“Not helping,” Master Yin Xue muttered under her breath, though her lips twitched like she was hiding a smirk.

Through it all, Shu Mingye never lifted his eyes from Linyue. His thumb stroked the back of her cold hand, slow and steady. The noise around him faded. The laughter, the crying, even Prince Lu loudly trying to balance a wine jar on his head—none of it mattered.

He leaned close to her ear and whispered, quiet enough that only she could hear. “Pie… I don’t care how long it takes. Wake up when you’re ready. I’ll be right here.” And then, very softly, he added, “Also… don’t get too comfortable. I won’t forgive you if you make me eat this entire feast by myself.”

By midnight, Xuanyi Pavilion was a battlefield. Not of blades or blood, but of wine, dumplings, and overturned stools.

Prince Lu lay sprawled under one of the long tables, his crown tipped over his eyes, snoring so loudly the lanterns shook. At some point he had challenged Master Tian Mo to a drinking contest, which he lost spectacularly, then declared himself the “guardian dragon of the feast” before falling asleep face-first in a plate of duck.

Song Meiyu had cried herself into hiccups and then into sleep, curled on the bench with her cheek pressed to her sleeve. Her chopsticks were still clutched in her hand like weapons.

He Yuying was slouched against the wall, a meat bun in one hand even in sleep, his head tilted back and mouth slightly open. Every so often, he mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “more buns…” before snorting and turning his head.

Shen Zhenyu was the only one still upright, sitting cross-legged with a book open on his lap. But his head kept dipping forward, his hand dragging across the page, his eyes losing the battle.

Master Tian Mo had disappeared entirely. No one knew where. Which was probably for the best.

In the middle of the mess, Shu Mingye sat in silence. He had not moved from Linyue’s side. Her chair had been pulled close, and she rested there, dressed in her wedding red, still and pale. He held her hand gently in both of his, brushing his thumb along her cold knuckles.

The hall was loud with snores and hiccups, but around him, there was only quiet. He leaned closer, resting his forehead against the back of her hand. His voice came out low, meant only for her.

“See? They all celebrated for you,” he murmured. “Even if you slept through the entire wedding feast.” A faint smile curved on his lips. “You always said you didn’t like noise… so I suppose this suits you.”

From under the table, Prince Lu suddenly rolled over and shouted in his sleep, “Another round of dumplings!” before sinking back into snores.

Shu Mingye sighed softly. His eyes darkened as he pressed a kiss to her hand. “Pie… wake soon. Before I go mad sitting here with these fools.”

And so, while the others slept in a drunken chaos around him, the Demon King stayed awake. Watching her. Waiting. Always waiting.