Chapter 4 — The Sedan Chair That Doesn't Wait

I stared at the characters in the letter, unable to grasp their meaning. My mind drifted, envisioning an eight-bearer sedan chair and wedding finery stretching across ten miles. Yet, I knew I would no longer be that girl. I would no longer wait for Thanh Tham. The following day, he did not receive my usual reply. For reasons unknown, he returned to our village dressed in common attire. Perhaps fearing recognition, he pulled his hat low, his features obscured by the deepening twilight. The first thing he did upon finding me was to seize my arm with a grip that tightened until it hurt.

Why did you not reply? So, Nguyet To Soc, have you changed? That day you asked me if I feared you would marry another. It turns out you truly have had a change of heart.

I despised him for that. He completely disregarded the three years I had spent waiting, willfully refusing to understand me time and again. I wrenched my arm from his grasp and shook my head. I have waited for you for three years, Thanh Tham, how could I have changed?

The one who had changed was him. I kept that thought buried deep within. His expression turned unsightly. Bound by the rigid status of an official, he could not bring himself to plead with me not to abandon him. He stood in silence, merely gesturing for his attendant to speak. The man stepped forward, offering a patronizing lecture: You must learn to distinguish between what is heavy and what is light. My master’s path in the bureaucracy is vast; following him will ensure you live a life of comfort. Furthermore, you have passed your prime, and no one else will want to marry you. A bride must bring a dowry commensurate with her husband’s betrothal gifts, and you have nothing. My master does not look down upon you; you would be wise not to stray from such a good man.

Those words pierced my spirit like thorns. The pain was so sharp that I could barely draw breath, and tears spilled forth. So, in his eyes, my three-year vigil was merely a scheme to climb the social ladder. He thought so little of me. I had not noticed when Nghien Lam Tieu had arrived at my threshold. His face was cool, yet he gently extended a handkerchief toward me. Do not cry, Sister Soc Nguyet, a cat-faced mess is not a pretty sight.

I pushed the cloth away, weeping openly. Both my parents have passed away. I have no dowry; they say no one will marry me.

Nghien Lam Tieu sighed softly, his voice filled with profound gentleness. There is someone who wishes to marry you. A person as good as you will certainly find a husband. As for a dowry, it does not matter.

My face was streaked with tears and snot as I choked out, Tomorrow, I shall sell my pig. That will be enough for a dowry.

He laughed, a warm, resonant sound, as he wiped my face with his sleeve. Everything shall be as you wish, but you must eat first. You will need your strength to take the pig to market tomorrow. Shall we go to the capital together tomorrow to sell it?

I looked up at him through tear-filled eyes, nodding and shaking my head in turns. But Aunt Trieu says you are an official; surely your wedding gifts for a bride must be magnificent. Even if I sold every pig and chicken on this farm, I could never gather a dowry to match your station.

Nghien Lam Tieu ruffled my hair, a tender smile playing on his lips. History tells us that in the old days, Bao Tuyen married Hoan Thieu Quan, and she used her wealth simply to honor his humble heart. Luong Hong and Manh Quang forged a union without the need for jewels, yet they found harmony. The essence of marriage lies in the union of hearts, not in gold or jade.

Seeing my bewildered expression, he laughed and explained, It means that in the past, people did not weigh marriages by the scales of dowries and gifts, but by the weight of their sincerity. If you are willing to sell your entire livelihood to be your dowry, that is an offering of your whole heart to me. Even if I were to offer ten thousand taels of gold in return, it could not compare to that.

The realization washed over me. I stood silent for a moment before my face flushed crimson. I lowered my head, my voice barely a whisper. Then, if I use all the money from my livestock as a dowry, would you be willing to carry me into your home in an eight-bearer sedan chair?

He faltered, his eyes turning a soft, misty red. That would be the greatest blessing of my life.

I did not fully grasp the weight of those words, but they sounded like a beautiful promise. That night, I tossed and turned, unable to find sleep. Bitterness lingered in my chest. I did not understand the arrogance of the capital that Thanh Tham had spoken of, nor the complexity of securing one’s standing in the world. I only knew that Thanh Tham had made me wait for three years. In his eyes, my time and my devotion were never worth an eight-bearer sedan chair. Yet, Nghien Lam Tieu had told me that to win his devotion, I only needed to offer my own true heart—that the price was no more than the sale of a humble pig.