To Get Married - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The body was plunging, constantly descending in endless fear.

She felt as if she had fallen into an abyss on that night of thunder and rain, accompanied by terrifying, piercing screams and intense pain all around her.

Sharp objects tore her skin, and the impact of the fall twisted her limbs, making movement impossible. Blood covered her vision, though she didn’t know where it was flowing from.

Her mother’s arms were tightly protecting her thin body, but ultimately to no avail.

Although she didn’t want to die, she slowly lost the last bit of strength she had to breathe.

She closed her eyes, letting the pain and fear completely overwhelm her.

Suddenly, something pulled her out of despair. The sensation was like an embrace, bringing a coolness that eased the nearly fatal injury.

She forced her eyelids open a tiny bit, and to her shock, saw a dark red giant python slowly coiling around her body from her waist.

At such a close distance, even with a layer of blood mist blurring her vision, she could clearly see the shape of every single snake scale.

Her heart and breath nearly stopped in that instant, and her pupils widened sharply.

The next second, the red python turned its head and met her eyes, finally flicking its scarlet tongue towards her face.

No…

“Don’t eat me!” The girl awoke from the dream, her forehead beaded with sweat.

A gentle ray of sunlight quietly streamed in from the window, falling onto the empty bed next to her.

There were footsteps outside, wearing cloth shoes, soft and slow on the floor. Before long, the hospital room door was gently pushed open.

Lu Yudong sat up, squinting towards the door.

The woman outside the door was wearing a light purple Qixiong Ruqun (a style of ancient Chinese dress), with a gauze-like, wide sleeve embroidered with delicate patterns. Her ink-black hair was casually tied up with a simple jade hairpin, and her makeup was subtle, yet her eyes held a hint of seductive charm.

Though completely out of place with everything she saw, she was beautiful enough to captivate the mind.

She curved her lovely willow-leaf brows and said softly, “Lu Yudong, you can be discharged today.”

Lu Yudong had been in a car accident two months ago, during the summer vacation after she graduated from elementary school.

It was supposed to be a family road trip, but no one ever expected the car to flip down a cliff. After the accident, her parents were gone, leaving only her.

She couldn’t get out of bed when she first woke up. Her parents had already been cremated and buried by relatives. She hadn’t even had the chance to see them one last time.

That year, Lu Yudong was eleven years old, old enough to understand.

Her mom and dad always loved her most. Their family wasn’t wealthy—they lived in a rented apartment—but they never let her go without anything.

A child cries over ordinary little things: unfinished homework, a bad test score, or a fight with a classmate. In the past, whenever Lu Yudong cried, her mother, tired from a long day, would put down her chores, pull her onto the sofa, and gently comfort and guide her.

And her father would go to the kitchen to fry his specialty shredded potato pancake—thin and crispy—cut it up, bring it to her and her mother, pinch her nose, and smile, saying, “Yudong, if you keep crying outside when you grow up, you won’t have Mom to wipe your tears anymore.”

Dad was right. She hadn’t grown up yet, but there was no one outside to wipe her tears.

After waking up in the hospital and learning everything, she cried several times, each time pulling at her wounds, but no one truly cared. At most, when they were annoyed by her crying, they would clumsily offer a few words of comfort, then tell her to be quiet in the hospital because other patients needed a quiet environment to recuperate.

No one stayed with her all the time. No one took care of her emotions.

A child who loves to cry and be coddled is a child no adult likes.

From that time on, the young girl learned to be quiet.

Yet, while everyone demanded silence from her, the hospital room was anything but quiet.

Several times late at night, she heard crying and shouting from somewhere. The sounds were so shrill they chilled her to the bone, yet no one seemed to go and tell them off.

Just as those sounds finally subsided and she had only slept a little, she vaguely heard people arguing in low voices outside her room.

The people arguing were the relatives she only saw once or twice a year during holidays. Listening closely, they seemed to be discussing her future placement.

To those relatives, she was an unexpected burden, constantly being kicked around like a small rubber ball.

No one cared about her feelings. After all, she was at the age where she needed schooling, and an extra child was a considerable expense for many. Finding a place for her was the last bit of pity those distant relatives had for this poor child.

But the discussion ultimately ended without a resolution. Someone suggested: “After she’s discharged, let’s send her to an orphanage.”

The child who had narrowly escaped death hadn’t yet had time to accept all the changes when she truly, tangibly felt like an unwanted child.

Later, those relatives stopped showing up. In their place came a particularly beautiful stranger.

Lu Yudong would always remember the first day she saw her. The woman wore a red-backed, black-gauze Jiaoling Ruqun (crossed-collar dress), with a large, red-sleeved gauze outer robe draped over her shoulders. Her waist-length dark hair was casually tied back with a single green jade hairpin, with two wisps of black hair framing her ears. The entire person looked as if she had stepped out of a traditional ink painting, unnaturally beautiful.

The woman had an exquisitely flawless face, with a red beauty mark below her right eye. She was like a mythical spirit—charming and alluring, yet not vulgar.

The young child thought she had never seen anyone more beautiful.

Lu Yudong stared at her blankly, her small, scarred hands tightly gripping the white quilt in front of her. A mix of anxiety, longing, and curiosity surfaced in her slightly troubled eyes.

The woman walked to Lu Yudong’s bedside, her eyes filled with a smile. She gently pried open the child’s stiff fingers. Her fingers, which were still cool in the height of summer, softly traced two characters onto the child’s small palm, stroke by stroke.

— 曼珠 (Manzhu).

“That’s my name.” Manzhu’s voice was low but not rough. Like her beautiful face, it carried a subtle charm that emanated from her very core.

Lu Yudong blinked awkwardly.

She was always shy. Her biggest fear during the holidays was having to greet everyone individually. She couldn’t even recognize the faces of the relatives she saw only once or twice a year. If she misidentified someone or used the wrong title, she would surely be laughed at.

Should she call the woman in front of her “Elder Sister” or “Auntie”?

Lu Yudong hesitated for a long while, but couldn’t reach a conclusion. She could only look up and ask timidly, “I, I haven’t met you before. Are you Mom and Dad’s friend?”

Her soft, waxy voice was incredibly timid.

Manzhu softly hummed in acknowledgment, casually picked up a small knife and a pear from the bedside table, and sat down facing her.

The hands peeling the pear were slender, soft, and beautifully white, like jade.

She sliced the peeled pear into small segments, gently prying them open from the top, removing the core, yet keeping them from fully separating. It looked like a half-open, shy snow lotus.

Lu Yudong had never seen fruit peeled this way before, except on television. It was done so quickly and delicately that she stared in awe.

“This is for you.” Seeing the little girl’s eyes filled with wonder, Manzhu smiled and offered the flower-like pear to her.

Lu Yudong held it with both hands, her gaze both delighted and bewildered.

It was just a pear, but sliced like this, she didn’t want to eat it.

Seeing her hesitation, Manzhu gently broke off a segment with her hand and elegantly brought it to her own lips.

Lu Yudong was dazed for a long time. When she snapped out of it and saw that the “flower” in her hand was damaged, she was actually relieved and started eating the segments one by one with delight.

Manzhu wiped her hands with a tissue, stood up, and walked to the window, thoughtfully gazing at the layers of clouds that blocked the harsh sun.

A moment later, she leaned somewhat lazily against the window sill, turned to Lu Yudong, and said softly, “Lu Yudong, I will take care of you from now on.”

Sunlight streamed in from the window. Standing against the light with a smile, her features seemed much softer.

“Really?” Lu Yudong looked up, staring blankly at Manzhu. In her pure gaze, a small, suppressed joy flickered.

“Of course.” Manzhu said, her eyes curving into a warm smile.

From that day on, the relatives who never wanted to bother with her truly stopped visiting.

Instead, Manzhu came every day to bring her meals, clean her body with warm water since she couldn’t shower, and sit beside her, chatting casually.

Lu Yudong once mentioned offhandedly that the hospital was always noisy at night. Manzhu said she would go talk to them, and a few days later, those loud arguments completely disappeared.

This care wasn’t exactly meticulous, but it finally allowed Lu Yudong’s restless heart to settle.

Before the desperate car accident, Lu Yudong had never met Manzhu, yet she felt an unexplained urge to be close to her. She couldn’t pinpoint the reason, but she felt deep down that Manzhu was different from everyone else.

Lu Yudong’s physical condition was improving day by day, but she didn’t want to get better too quickly.

The adults had said that once she recovered, they would send her to the orphanage.

She dared not cry or plead, dared not ask anyone if those words were true. She only harbored a silent fear in her heart: fear that once she was healthy and left this hospital bed, she would truly be homeless.

But she couldn’t stay in the hospital indefinitely, either.

Time flew by. More than two months had passed, the National Day holiday was over, and the weather had turned cooler.

Manzhu came to take her home from the hospital, though she didn’t know where she was being taken.

Lu Yudong took off her patient gown and changed into the clothes Manzhu had brought for her.

The clothes were a bit big. She squatted down, tied her shoelaces, then silently rolled up the overly long trouser legs, and bent her head to fold the sleeves that were clearly too long.

“Did I buy them too big?” Manzhu asked casually.

Lu Yudong timidly looked up at Manzhu’s beautiful jawline, her eyes flashing with a bit of helplessness.

Maybe she should be obedient and sensible, and say that she still had growing to do, so buying big clothes meant they would last longer.

That way, perhaps Manzhu wouldn’t think she was a troublesome child…

Manzhu felt the child’s gaze. Without waiting for her to speak, she curved her brows and smiled. “Let’s go. I’ll buy you new ones later.”

Then, she smiled.

A thousand charms were contained in that one smile.

Lu Yudong was momentarily stunned. When she finally recovered, Manzhu had already walked out of the room.

She quickly got up and chased after her, reaching out a small hand from her long sleeve to gently grasp Manzhu’s wide sleeve, asking quietly, “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you home,” Manzhu said.

“Home…” Lu Yudong suddenly felt overwhelmed. “I, I don’t seem to have a home anymore… Mom and Dad are gone. Going back, it will only be me…”

She was afraid of being sent to an orphanage, and even more afraid of being thrown back into the house that would be empty from now on.

She looked up at Manzhu, her eyes reddening little by little, full of suppressed, unspeakable pleading.

“You’re coming to my home,” Manzhu extended her hand to Lu Yudong, pulling her to her side. “I told you, I’ll take care of you from now on.”

Lu Yudong instantly quieted down. The tears she had held back for too long finally streamed down, but they were quickly and gently wiped away by Manzhu with a soft silk handkerchief.

“Why are you crying?” Manzhu asked, a bit flustered.

Lu Yudong quickly shook her head, said nothing, and stopped crying. She only gripped the hand that was holding hers even tighter.

On the way “home,” she kept her head down, her eyes fixed on the apricot-colored embroidered shoes under Manzhu’s long skirt, following silently, step by step.

She followed Manzhu onto the high-speed train heading from Jiangzhong to Yuanchuan.

From that moment on, the eleven-year-old child completely left the city she was most familiar with.

She was confused and at a loss because of it, but as long as she gently held that soft corner of the sleeve, she felt that all the unknowns were no longer terrifying.