"To him….."
As Jingfeng's whisper, softer than the flutter of a butterfly's wing, almost failed to reach even Chuangxin's ears, the villagers, clad in their armor of good intentions, rallied around the notion of a heroic rescue. Unbeknownst to them, beneath the tranquil surface of Jingfeng's expression lay a sea of eagerness—an eagerness so palpable, yet masked by the calm so characteristic of him. They saw a man to be saved, oblivious to the fact that he was, in truth, impatient to embark upon this journey of matrimony.
While the head of the Zhou family hadn't been present for the procession, The head is a figure of reverence and authority, if he were witnessing this scene. Would he stand aside, a smirk playing on his lips as he observed the village's futile crusade to 'liberate' his son? Perhaps he'd chuckle under his breath, amused by the irony of the situation—his son, the epitome of poise and propriety, at the center of such a comedic misunderstanding. Or, might he shake his head, snatch the horn from butler and shout at top of his lungs "My beloved son absolutely wants this marriage with that Li fellow."
The humor in the situation lies not in the misunderstanding itself, but in the dramatic disparity between Jingfeng's desperate plea for marriage and the villagers' theatrical display of concern.
And adding to Jingfeng's utter dismay, the scenario before him veers further into the realm of absurdity. The well-intentioned but utterly misguided villagers, in a bewildering display of communal concern, not only attempt to halt his impending nuptials but also start to offer their daughters as alternative brides to his soon-to-be husband. Lost in a daze of anxiety, astonishment and perhaps even jealousy, Jingfeng barely registers a youth stepping forward, addressing him with a mix of respect and reproach.
"Leader Zhou," the young man begins, his voice a mix of admiration and incredulity,
"you may be a gentleman bound by your promises, but to go to such lengths… Li Chuangxin isn't worth this sacrifice."
Had Jingfeng's mind not been clouded by the warmth of Chuangxin's hand in his, this unintended slight against his commitment might have sparked a sharp retort. But before he can gather his thoughts to dispel the growing chaos, the grip on his hand tightens—a clear signal that Li Chuangxin has reached his limit.
"Shut it…" The words start as a growl, escalating to a command that slices through the air,
"Shut it, all of you!" The irritation in Chuangxin's voice is palpable, his frustration boiling over.
"Zhou. Jing. Feng…!" His fingers press against his temple, betraying his stress, as he snarls through gritted teeth.
With a decisive tug, Chuangxin pulls Jingfeng away from the spectacle, past the threshold of his modest home. Once inside, he steers Jingfeng with an urgency that leaves no room for resistance, pressing his back against the inner wall. Here, away from the prying eyes and clamorous offers of the villagers, the facade of public scrutiny falls away, leaving them in a stark, unfiltered reality.
As Jingfeng's back meets the wall, the closeness forces his breath to mingle with Chuangxin's, their proximity a stark contrast to the chaotic fervor they've just escaped. In this unexpected sanctuary, Jingfeng's eyes drift downwards, an attempt to quell the storm within his heart, now beating with anxious anticipation. The moment is taut with tension, with unspoken questions, and yet threaded through it is something older—a long-awaited reunion, a bridge to a past both distant and deeply cherished.
Amidst the turbulence of the present moment, Jingfeng finds himself transported back to a tender memory, They had been teenagers then, and a study in contrast: Jingfeng, always the quiet one, had drawn Chuangxin's attention like gravity. And Chuangxin unapologetically exuberant had never hesitated to voice what others might only dare to think. In that remembered moment, he had looked up at Jingfeng with bright, unguarded eyes, overflowing with admiration. His words had tumbled out in a rush: a fervent, clumsy confession of love, raw with sincerity and untouched by fear.
Even then, Jingfeng's silence had been his shield. He'd offered no easy reply, no promise. But Chuangxin had never needed one. He filled the space Jingfeng left behind—with warmth, with care, with declarations that turned awkward pauses into something close to poetry. He had called it love at first sight. Chuangxin in his youthful earnestness, sought nothing more than acknowledgment and perhaps, in time, reciprocation.
"How are you?"
Jingfeng, heart heavy with a longing unspoken, yearned to bridge the gap of years and circumstance with a simple inquiry into Chuangxin's well-being. Yet, before the words could find their way out, he's met not with a moment of tender reconnection but with a sharp challenge that cuts through the air.
"Jing. Feng. What the hell are you playing at?" Chuangxin's voice, laden with confusion and disdain, pierces the tense silence, leaving Jingfeng momentarily adrift in a sea of bewilderment. Before either can process the moment fully, the intrusive sound of a horn slices through the tension, accompanied by a booming announcement, "Congratulations, Li's, on accepting a bride."
The proclamation sends a jolt through them, their eyes locking in shared disbelief. In that instant, a piece of parchment, illuminated by an otherworldly glow and dancing on an unseen current of air, captures their attention. It's a promissory note, its edges tinged with the unmistakable aura of blood magic, floating down to reveal a promise made long ago, now coming to fruition in the most unexpected manner.
Chuangxin, his gaze fixed on the fluttering paper, feels the grip of realization tighten around him. Memories, vague and yet vividly significant, begin to resurface, painting the words of a youthful pledge he had made—a promise infused with the earnestness and impulsive wisdom of his fourteen-year-old self.
"I, Chuangxin, though lacking in age but armed with the wisdom of youth, promise that the moment Jingfeng comes to me as a bride and the moment I hold his hand and walk him into my house… for this life, he is mine. My bride."
The air itself seems to pause, holding its breath as the paper recites Chuangxin's declaration, his voice from the past now echoing a binding vow made with the gravity of blood magic. The weight of the promise, once made in a burst of adolescent fervor, now settles between them, tangible and irrevocable.