HTCYH Ch 7

Chapter 7: Betrothal

The moment Tu Si was wrapped up, he immediately used his tendrils to form a protective cocoon around himself. However, the red threads only continued to tighten. Tu Si’s tendril cocoon was gradually compressed. If it had been an ordinary person, they would have already been sliced to pieces by the red threads. Fortunately, Tu Si had many methods of survival. He reverted to his true form, wrapping the translucent phalange hanging around his neck in layers of tender yellow tendrils. Around the phalange was a relatively thick, pure golden tendril—this was Tu Si’s most vulnerable core. Outside of that core were layers of thick tendrils, which managed to withstand the constriction of the red threads.

Another wave of dizziness came over him, and after the world stopped spinning, Tu Si sensed that the red threads around him had disappeared. He waited a moment before withdrawing his protective tendrils and returning to human form. While getting dressed, he surveyed his surroundings.

He discovered he had been transported again, this time to a small, rundown hut. The walls let in drafts, and the table had a chipped corner. Yet despite its dilapidation, the room was clean and well-kept. A bunch of wildflowers in a small earthen jar on the table added a touch of life and warmth to the space.

When he turned his head, Tu Si met Wuming’s eyes, which carried a faint smile. He paused for half a second.

Inside, Tu Si was falling apart, howling in despair. But on the surface, he remained calm as a breeze. He adjusted his clothes, composed his tone, and said with feigned surprise to Wuming, “What a coincidence. Captain, you’re here too?”

Wuming shook his head with a mild smile and said, “I just happened to find this little wooden hut and was about to take a look inside when you suddenly appeared from the bronze mirror. Are you hurt?”

Tu Si noticed that Wuming showed no intention of probing further and even covered for him. Although he found it odd, he didn’t explain his abnormal appearance, instead continuing along with Wuming’s words: “There was a minor accident, but I’m fine. Where is this place?”

Wuming replied, “This is deep in the northern bamboo forest of the Chen family estate. It’s a dilapidated wooden hut, somewhat disconnected from the main grounds. I suspect it might be the original home of the bride, a hidden map.”

Tu Si nodded after hearing that, then took out the bronze mirror. Swiping across the surface, he found no new information displayed. Since he was already here, he didn’t press the matter further and planned to explore.

Tu Si opened the door and stepped into the small courtyard, discovering it truly was an old, shabby thatched house. Firewood was neatly stacked in front of the house, and green onions and chives were planted under the fence. In the backyard, a few roosters clucked noisily. A faint smell of chicken droppings lingered in the air.

“Roosters? And they’re alive?” Tu Si exclaimed in surprise. These were the first living creatures he had seen in the game other than the players. Judging by the pile-up of droppings and the thickness of leftover feed in the troughs, he deduced that the roosters had been living here for quite some time. The only question was—who had been feeding them?

As Tu Si watched the lively roosters clucking and strutting in the pen, he felt a rare moment of reassurance. It was like discovering a little black cat in the middle of a mass grave—the one living creature in a sea of death, offering a glimmer of hope to someone drowning in despair. Yet the two feelings were subtly different; cats were soft and quiet, naturally comforting, whereas these roosters were bold and aggressive—vibrant to the point of being intimidating, like they could erupt into a brawl at any moment.

“In folk belief, roosters guide the sun and possess divine properties that ward off evil and reach the heavens. Their crowing symbolizes light. That’s why in rituals—weddings, funerals, exorcisms, or divinations—roosters play a vital role. Apart from offering cooked chickens in sacrifice, ancient people also used live roosters in place of the deceased to go through wedding rites,” Wuming’s voice suddenly sounded from behind Tu Si. Thankfully, it was soft and gentle, not startling Tu Si out of his momentary reflection.

Tu Si turned toward the voice and saw Wuming behind him. Just as he was about to speak, Wuming’s scent suddenly drifted to his nose. Tu Si’s expression changed, and he immediately held his breath, running from the chicken pen to the vegetable patch, dry heaving violently.

Imagine this: a bowl of fragrant, braised pork suddenly placed at the entrance of a dry toilet. The collision of those two scents—how jarringly outrageous would that be?

Wuming was stunned by Tu Si’s sudden reaction. He stood where he was, not approaching or asking questions.

After a while, Tu Si straightened up, glanced at Wuming still standing in the distance, and saw the chicken pen not far behind him. He instinctively stepped back in fear. Realizing his reaction might have seemed rude, he quickly stepped forward again, offering a somewhat awkward explanation: “Sorry, Captain. I was a bit nauseated by the smell of chicken droppings. Forgive my lapse in manners.”

Wuming glanced at the chicken pen, then back at Tu Si, smiling playfully, “Ah, so it was the chicken pen’s smell? I almost thought it was something on me.”

Tu Si shook his head repeatedly and changed the subject. “Captain, just now you mentioned roosters warding off evil—makes sense. This courtyard is full of roosters, all with shiny feathers and high spirits, vivid in color—quite like solar birds.”

Wuming said, “Yes, it seems these roosters are guarding this little courtyard.”

Tu Si, holding his breath, stepped up beside Wuming and said, “Shall we take another look inside?” Without waiting for Wuming’s response, he rushed back into the house.

Wuming stayed in place, raising a brow as he watched Tu Si’s retreating figure, a playful glint flickering in his eyes.

Back inside, Tu Si began searching meticulously. The thatched house wasn’t large. Besides the central hall that held a dining table and cabinet, there were only three small rooms. Each room had a wooden bed and a low cabinet. From the way the belongings were arranged, it was evident the family had a son and a daughter.

The daughter seemed to have been well cared for. Despite the poverty, there was a jewelry box on her cabinet containing several roughly made wooden hairpins and combs. There was also a box of rouge wrapped carefully in a handkerchief. Only a thin layer had been used, but the ceramic bottle’s paint had already worn off in places—clearly something cherished and loved.

In the boy’s room, brushes, ink, paper, and inkstone were neatly stored in a shaded spot. On the table lay a partially copied version of the I Ching, written in neat, precise script. It looked like he had been copying books to help support the family.

Tu Si stepped forward and picked up the I Ching on the table, finding a peach blossom bookmark tucked between the pages. The five soft pink petals were evenly spread and pressed flat. The bookmark was paper-thin—fragile enough to tear with the slightest force—but had been carefully preserved by the boy, obviously treasured.

Just then, a light breeze blew in through the window and lifted the bookmark. Tu Si instinctively reached out to catch it. As the bookmark neared his palm, it suddenly ignited, and a memory not belonging to him appeared in his mind.

It was the memory of a beautiful rural girl who lived in an ordinary farming family—a family of four with a gentle, virtuous mother, a hardworking father, and a well-behaved younger brother with excellent grades. Though they lived modestly, their life was warm and happy.

One day, while celebrating the younger brother’s success in passing the scholar exam, a matchmaker arrived with news of a prestigious marriage proposal—for none other than the girl, to a young master from a wealthy city family.

Double blessings in one day—the family was overjoyed and, without questioning the proposal’s oddity, eagerly handed over the girl’s birth date and hour.

But the next day, once the excitement wore off, the younger brother raised doubts: “I studied in the city, and I know that family. That young master isn’t exactly a paragon of charm, but he’s certainly refined and already engaged. He wouldn’t suddenly fancy our sister. Though she’s quite the beauty in our village, city families don’t choose wives based on looks alone. Frankly, our family’s status is nowhere near good enough for her to be a legitimate wife.”

Once he voiced his concerns, the rest of the family, though understanding, began to sense the irregularities. They planned to question the matchmaker, but before they could go looking, the matchmaker came back herself, bearing a lavish betrothal gift. When they saw the chests of gold and jewels, the whole family was stunned. Something was definitely wrong.

Sensing their hesitation, the matchmaker explained, “Oh, you don’t know the whole story. That Chen family truly is a noble household, and their young master was engaged from a young age. But misfortune struck—he had an accident and injured his leg. His fiancée refused to marry him, insisted on breaking the engagement just days before the wedding. The Chen family patriarch knows it’ll be hard to find a proper match now, given the injury. So, they’re seeking pure, respectable girls. Your daughter is lucky—her birth chart matches his perfectly. That’s why they’ve come to propose. This is just the engagement gift. The actual dowry will be even more generous. They don’t want to wrong your daughter, you see?”

The matchmaker wasn’t overly pushy. After delivering her message, she left the betrothal gift and said, “If you’re still uneasy, you’re welcome to investigate in the city. If not for Scholar Sun’s sterling reputation and Miss Sun’s virtuous name, the Chen patriarch wouldn’t have taken notice. I won’t rush you, but don’t wait too long. If this wonderful match gets snatched up by someone else, you’ll have missed a golden opportunity.”

Later, the younger brother went to the city and confirmed that the Chen family’s young master had indeed suffered an accident and his engagement was broken. He also learned that the young master was not a bad man—well-educated and a talented painter. Although a bit of a flirt, to the girl’s family, this marriage seemed like a godsend. So, when the matchmaker came a third time, the family accepted the invitation and sealed the engagement.

They began to look forward to the wedding.

After processing all this, Tu Si muttered to himself, “The matchmaker’s tongue—a liar’s ghost. Guess that fits perfectly.”