The Wedding Rite (1)
Marriage.
A word for the act of a man and a woman formally binding themselves as husband and wife. Was there any other word in the language that marked so vast a turning point in a person's life? Ah, right—in this day and age, I really ought to be calling it the wedding rite rather than marriage.
In ancient China, sundown was regarded as a fortunate hour, and so a couple's bond was joined in the window of time when twilight settled over the land. The ceremony was originally called hunli—"the rite of dusk"—a name written with the character for dusk until, over the centuries, an identically pronounced character meaning "marriage" took its place. At least, that was how the story went.
There were plenty of other traditions besides. Red was held to be a propitious color, so joyous occasions like weddings saw entire halls draped head to toe in crimson, and cutouts of the double-happiness glyph—a character symbolizing joy doubled—were pasted all over the house.
Then there was the Confucian wedding culture known as the Three Vows and Six Rites, and as for what exactly that entailed…
"…Whew."
Good grief, it was needlessly complicated.
So what did all of this amount to?
Simply this: a wedding ceremony binding me to the most exalted person in the nation—the sovereign herself—was going to be a colossal pain in the ass.
Heaving a long sigh, I kept cramming matrimonial knowledge into my skull from the books spread before me.
Come to think of it, this was the first I'd ever heard of red being a lucky color.
Lü Bu had once told me that from childhood, people had dreaded her, claiming her hair color was an ill omen. Perhaps in Bing Province, where every day was a battlefield, people simply saw things differently? Then again, in a land like that, far more people thought of blood the moment they saw red—nothing strange about it at all.
I turned to Diaochan, who stood nearby.
"How much of the year is left?"
"It is already late December, my lord. Not long now."
Late December. Which meant roughly ten days remained until the new year.
Her Majesty had yet to fix an exact date for the ceremony, but I could read the writing on the wall. The instant the year turned, she would dispatch people to whip the wedding preparations into motion. I could already picture it perfectly—the Empress's mischievous grin as she delighted in watching me flounder at the sudden summons.
"Diaochan."
"You called, my lord?"
At my summons, Diaochan bowed with effortless grace.
For a heartbeat my eyes were stolen by the fluid line of her figure before I clawed my attention back.
Damn it all. We really did need to have a word about how much she left on display. …Well, at the very least, I supposed there was no need to worry about her failing to bear an heir.
"Do you know how a wedding is conducted within the Imperial Palace?"
"…You mean a wedding held in the palace itself, my lord?"
"That's right."
At my abrupt question, Diaochan gave a small blink. I gazed into those eyes—lovely as a river of stars—and went on.
"These books describe nothing but rites for ordinary weddings."
It went without saying that an emperor's wedding would be another beast entirely. Without a single grain of exaggeration, this was an event on which the future of the nation would turn, and no one would celebrate it like a common farmer's match. And with the Empress herself so transparently giddy about it, the weight pressing down on me was honestly suffocating.
"My lord, there is truly no need to worry so much."
Diaochan, having sensed the trouble written across my face, intoned in her level voice,
"Her Majesty is quite likely to dispense with the elaborate formalities altogether."
That answer wrung an inevitable question out of me.
"…And why do you think so?"
"If the rumors this humble servant has quietly gathered here and there hold true, Her Majesty is not one to let herself be bound by tradition."
Diaochan replied with an expression suggesting nothing in the world could be simpler. She wasn't wrong. This was, after all, the Empress who refused to wear the mianliu—the ceremonial crown of emperors—purely because she found it uncomfortable. I myself hadn't been especially fazed, but the memory of certain high ministers recoiling in open alarm at the sight of her still warmed me to this day.
"Her Majesty would far sooner spend her time alone with you, my lord."
Diaochan's explanation flowed on.
"Between having the whole world bless their union for months on end… and freeing themselves from interference even a single hour sooner."
"……."
"By my estimation, Her Majesty will choose the latter."
She… had a point.
Well, perhaps that was only fitting from the woman who had once driven a wedge clean between Dong Zhuo and Lü Bu. When it came to love, Diaochan possessed sharper instincts than anyone alive.
I nodded along, slow and deliberate.
"Then there's nothing to fret over."
"No, my lord."
Having given her answer, Diaochan resumed her quiet post at my side, serene as ever.
The situation beyond the capital showed no dramatic change.
For reasons beyond my understanding, Liu Yan of Yi Province—living far, far longer than he ever did in the original history—had clashed with Zhang Lu of Hanzhong, his old adversary from way back. Old news, that. As for Yuan Shao and Gongsun Zan, who had spent years grinding each other down in a war of attrition, baring their teeth the whole while—the moment winter set in, they both began discreetly reorganizing their armies, as though bound by some unspoken pact.
The one thing that stood out, if anything did, was Cao Cao's uncharacteristic docility—this, from a woman who had looked ready to snuff out Tao Qian at a moment's notice. Ever since answering the General-in-Chief's call for reinforcements and returning home, she had kept herself shut up in Chenliu, her home base, without fail.
Just as the warlords of the world were beginning to puzzle over what she was playing at, a single piece of stupefying news struck the realm like a thunderbolt.
— Her Majesty the Empress Shall Wed —
The General-in-Chief!
Anyone with even a sliver of political sense could have toppled clean out of their seat and no one would have blinked.
'…Is that… genuinely true?' The golden-haired woman, in the very thick of pressing her offensive against the White Horse General, froze solid as a statue.
'At last. He's become the perfect man—the very image of my tastes.' The silver-haired woman in Yanzhou, tenderly caressing her own pregnant belly, simply burst out laughing.
The central government had fallen, whole and entire, into the General-in-Chief's grasp.
Some insisted the General-in-Chief had forced the marriage upon the throne; others claimed the imperial house had moved first, hoping to bind a formidable military power to its side.
They shared exactly one commonality: not a single soul among them managed to look unsurprised.
And the ones toiling through various duties at their far-flung posts were no exception.
"…What?"
A desolate stretch of earth where nothing met the eye but cracked, barren ground. On a vast plain where every gust of wind flung dust against her skin, a woman opened her mouth.
"Say that again. Who is wedding whom?"
"Y-yes, my lady. Word has it Her Majesty the Empress is to hold a wedding ceremony with the General-in-Chief before long—"
Thwuck!
"Hk—!"
The courier, mid-report, strangled on his own breath at the woman's sudden movement.
She had driven her spear into the corpse of a Qiang tribesman sprawled nearby.
"What? Keep talking."
"……."
"So when, exactly, is this wedding supposed to take place?"
Under those frigid azure-silver eyes that chilled him to the marrow, the courier cautiously resumed his report.
"…No exact date has been set yet, but it is certain to be held next spring."
"Is that so."
"Didn't think anyone would steal a march on me like this," the woman murmured, yanking her spear smoothly free of the corpse.
The courier turned an ashen shade of blue as he watched the body—run through dead-center in the heart—gout blood in thick, heaving surges.
The woman looked at him and said,
"Ah, that was just a confirmation kill, so don't you go getting any strange ideas."
"H-haha! Surely not, my lady. Perish the thought."
"Exactly."
At his answer, the woman favored him with a beautiful smile.
"I only mention it because I'd so hate for any odd little rumors concerning the General-in-Chief to find their way anywhere."
"Would I ever dare, my lady!"
The courier bellowed with everything he had.
Ma Chao Mengqi. The valiant general lately known throughout Xiliang as the Splendid Ma Chao. A woman whose temperament swung by catastrophic degrees depending on whether the General-in-Chief was anywhere in sight, she urged her horse onward, azure-silver hair streaming behind her.
In her wake, the corpses of the Qiang raiders who had lately been stirring up trouble lay scattered like so much trash. Some had been shredded so savagely that no one would ever guess a spear had been the cause of death; others had been pulped from crown to heel, as though trampled flat under horse hooves.
"……."
The courier—himself a son of Xiliang—gazed upon that ghastly tableau and thought only this:
It never ceases to amaze me, how completely she smothers that ferocious temper of hers the moment she stands before the General-in-Chief.
"Hmm… if I ride hard, I wonder if I could make it there in three days…"
Slinging her spear—its blood not yet even dry—across her shoulder, Ma Chao muttered.
"Hey."
"You called, my lady!"
The courier snapped to attention at her summons.
When a catastrophe beyond one's capacity to endure could be avoided, one avoided it. Keeping low and agreeable beat pointlessly earning her displeasure here and now by a country mile.
"Tell my father that everything he set me to is finished."
"…Is there nothing else you would have me tell him…?"
"He'll see to the rest himself, so don't fret."
Ma Chao said,
"As for me—I need to go attend my lord's joyous celebration and offer my congratulations."
"……."
Nothing about her eyes said congratulations, and the courier swallowed hard.
She isn't about to get swept up in some sordid scandal over this… right?
All the courier could do was place his faith in one thing: Ma Chao's nature turned unmistakably docile the instant she stood before the General-in-Chief.