Chapter 6 — The Sedan Chair That Doesn't Wait

The expression on Xiao Lin Yan’s face softened into a veil of melancholy as he let out a long, weary sigh. "The breaking of the engagement was the fault of the groom’s family, not yours. Moonrise, you are pure and blameless; you must never look down upon yourself."

Could his words truly be the truth? I looked at him, my voice barely a whisper, "But the women in the village say that a girl who has been cast aside can never hope to marry again. Even if a gentleman like you were willing to ask for my hand, I am illiterate and uneducated. I would only bring shame upon you."

Xiao Lin Yan reached out, his hands cupping my face with a gaze so earnest it felt like a vow. "Moonrise, you know how to tend to the livestock and weave cloth; you are capable of living a life as bright and beautiful as a blooming flower. These are things a clumsy, book-obsessed scholar like me could never master. How could you ever be a disgrace to me? Your lack of schooling is not a fault of your own. I will teach you to read, I will teach you each character, just as you once taught me how to kick the shuttlecock when we were children. Would you be willing?"

Perhaps it was the way the moonlight shimmered that night, crystal clear and cool, casting its glow into the warmth of his eyes. It made his entire demeanor seem impossibly gentle. As if spellbound by some mysterious force, I selfishly whispered, "I will."

The matchmaker worked with startling speed, making a grand spectacle of the affair. Within days, the entire Moon Village was buzzing with news of the impending wedding between Xiao Lin Yan and me. With the coin she received, the matchmaker ordered bridal robes perfectly tailored to my frame. Crimson paper-cuts adorned the windows, and the air everywhere seemed heavy with the scent of impending joy. Life continued on its steady, rhythmic path, with only one shift: the young servant of Shen Qing began visiting our village with greater frequency, his satchel heavy with letters. Stack after stack of parchment arrived, all of which I promptly tossed into the pigsty. They now sat there in a heap, forming a small, sodden mountain. I would never know what was written in those pages, nor how many characters they contained, for I no longer cared. Xiao Lin Yan had promised me marriage; I had a wedding to prepare for, and I had no desire to waste my focus on letters I could not comprehend.

The memory of that final parting in the rain had long since faded from my mind, but Shen Qing cherished every detail. The golden hairpin that had tumbled to the dirt that day, lost before it could ever reach me, remained a source of deep regret for him. He would sigh, meticulously brushing the dust from the ornament before locking it away in an exquisite silk-lined box. For weeks, he sent letter after letter, each filled with flowery prose expressing his remorse, his lingering affection, and his hollow longing. In his final messages, he declared that after the mid-autumn festival, he would return to the village to collect me personally. He wrote that he was a magnanimous man, willing to overlook my past "faults," and that he still intended to honor me with an eight-bearer sedan chair.

Despite the gravity of his intentions, his pride as a high-ranking official in the capital held him back; he did not wish to lower himself by returning to the countryside to speak to me face-to-face. He feared for his reputation. And so, he continued to send his servant in secret. He had long since ordered his own wedding finery prepared. On nights when sleep eluded him, Shen Qing would rise and don the scarlet robes, clutching the embroidered sachet I had given him as a love token years ago, sitting in a stupor until dawn.

Even his closest servants could not fathom the state of their master’s mind. Shen Qing himself did not understand it either. He would stare at the sachet and see my eyes, red-rimmed and brimming with tears. He would look at the wedding robes and envision me entering his manor. Even while meeting with the daughter of the Minister, the image of my faint, shy smile would suddenly intrude upon his thoughts. He could not grasp why a man who prioritized his own advancement above all else would, simply because he remembered the sight of my weeping eyes, hesitate again and again until he finally rejected the alliance with the Minister’s family.

Shen Qing’s heart was a tangled web of contradictions. He sent letters almost daily, yet never received a single line in return. He convinced himself I was merely pouting, waiting for him to play the role of the doting suitor. *It does not matter,* he thought. *When the auspicious day arrives, I will bring the sedan chair and reclaim what is mine. She will surely weep with joy and fall into my arms.* He refused to consider any other outcome. Clasping the sachet tightly, he would drift into a fitful sleep. *As long as Moonrise enters my home, all will be well.* In his dreams, he saw me clad in red, walking toward him, just as he had held my hand when we were but children.