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There’s a ghost living in the temple.
Her dress was as crimson as blood and her hair as smooth as silk. A wedding veil obscured her features, leaving only glimpses of rouge-rubbed cheeks and red-pressed lips peeking beneath the darkness.
The ghost bride does not weep, nor does she wail.
Her dowry was dripping with wealth, chests of jewels and gold secured tightly by her natal family. Her attendants both dead and alive are strong and loyal, capable of protecting her during the trip and after her in-laws.
All she needs is to wait for a handsome groom, and her wedding will be had.
Alas, a temple is no place to meet marriageable men.
After her surviving attendants scolded her for scaring the monks away, the bride scurried out of the temple with her tail between her legs.
How mean! Monks made terrible husbands anyway, they’re horribly stuffy and terribly attached to rules.
The bride resorted to pouting high amidst the trees, leaning against a branch that overhangs across the road.
Then she heard it.
Loud trumpets, cheering of crowds.
A cheering crowd of men.
What luck!
A red packet fluttered from above, glinting underneath the dusk light as it settled onto the dirt.
A piece of her dowry, and an insidious marriage agreement, hidden innocuously inside the red paper.
A pair of bunny teeth grinned underneath the veil, as the bride shook in anticipation.
However, as the crowd grew nearer, dread began to grow in the ghost bride’s heart.
It was not cheering that she heard.
It was chanting of prayers.
A funeral.
Judging by the loudness of wailing and grief, it is a funeral of a well-loved (or at least, influential) person even.
The bride scratched her nose awkwardly. To kidnap a groom in this circumstance is too shameless, even for her.
Well, it's too late to grab her red packet, the ghost bride will sacrifice her dowry just this once.
Decision made, the ghost bride turned away from the funeral and drifted back to her temple. The events were already half-forgotten.
Until she met a pair of golden eyes.
The ghost bride almost fell from the branch.
His eyes were as cold as ice, his frown as firm as pine, and his nose as straight as an arrow.
What a handsome man!
As shameless as the circumstance is, no one will fault the bride for kidnapping the man after they see his face. Such elegance! Such grace! Truly, one would have thought the man was carved from jade.
The ghost bride fawned as the man glared from atop his coffin, seemingly annoyed by all the fuss.
As if sensing her fondness, her to-be groom glared upwards, his frown disappearing when he saw her.
The ghost bride quickly hid behind the leaves, suddenly overtaken by strange shyness.
Peaking from the leaves, the man was still staring. Although his frown remained, his eyes shone with interest.
The bride pointed at the red packet on the road, slightly embarrassed by its stomped state.
The man summoned the packet to his hand, opening it with leisure as the bride waited in anticipation.
The wailings of the trumpets ceased as the man raised his head, his mouth curling up into a smile.
“Wei Ying.”
The bride jumped from the branches to her groom with glee. If the man catches her, then she’ll…
“I’m here!”
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Wen Qing sighed as a wild gust of wind shook the temple’s door open.
So, it's that kind of night.
Wei Ying was famous for her intellect in her life. A master of the scholar’s six art despite her gender and status. However, in her death, her sharp mind muddled, leaving only her childishness and proneness to mischief behind.
(Wei Ying’s sense of justice, although less famous, remained after her death. Her spirit still guarding the temple where the Wen refugees were hiding. A protector, even in death.)
Her childishness while harmless, results in many tantrums of unsuccessful groom-nappings. Wherein gusts of wind blew around the temple, slamming doors and shuttering windows until the ghost was distracted by a well-placed drum rattle or A Yuan’s bedtime.
(Wei Ying’s lack of courting prowess, unfortunately also remained in death. In life, her obnoxious personality and unladylike skills acted as a deterrent, while in death, her obvious traps and Wen Ning’s well-placed warnings continued her single status.)
However, Wen Qing is not prepared for the maniacal laughter.
Loud, boisterous laughter echoed through the temple, as a red shadow danced above the ceiling beams.
Wen Qing turned towards Wen Ning, the only living person who could speak to Wei Ying.
The boy shrugged, “She got married.”
Wen Ning raised her eyebrows, as the bouncing become more erratic.
“Which poor monk do we need to save now?”
“The groom…may not be unwilling …”
Wen Ning rose her eyebrows.
“So not a monk then?”
Wen Ning winced as Wei Ying’s dancing transitioned to bawdy singing.
“It’s a nun.”
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Liar!
Her shidi is right, woman with beautiful faces should never be trusted.
After landing on a pair of voluptuous breasts, the ghost bride finally noticed the finer features of her groom.
Her husband is a woman!
“You’re not a man!” the bride accused as she struggled from Lan Zhan’s hold.
“I will be your husband nonetheless.” The not-man gently set her bride down beside her. “And cherish you as any man would.”
The ghost bride squeaked at such earnest words; her rouge-covered cheeks burned despite being undead.
“That’s not right,” the ghost bride insisted. “I’m a ghost bride, and I need a groom so that I can be married.”
“Who says that only men can be grooms,” the woman retorted, her hand gently covering the ghost bride’s palm. “I will be your groom and our wedding will be as true as any other wedding.”
The ghost bride hesitated.
“My attendants are hunted by men,” she whispered. “I need a groom with a man’s power to protect them.”
She had tried using all the tools in her arsenal to protect her friends. All her skills, credentials, and contributions ended up useless against a man’s word.
(“I saw her meeting up with Wen Ning behind Jin GuangYao’s back! What a loose woman!”
“Hah! They say she is talented and bright, but in the end, she is still a woman, prone to the weakness of the heart.”
“I just hope after she wed Jin GuangYao, she will stop all this nonsense. Wen dogs are Wen dogs after all.”)
The woman went quiet, her hand still clutching Wei Ying’s softly. The funeral party had walked a distance away from the forest, instead nearing Biling Lake.
A lake notorious for water ghosts.
“I am dead Wei Ying,” She said as the party walked towards the lake, their trumpets rang as sorrowful as ever. “If I were a male, I will remain powerless over the words of the living.”
Wei Ying bowed her head, there were no tears in her eyes.
Wishing for a groom to clear her name….
Wishing for a man, anyone, to advocate for the Wens……
Those were the dreams of the ghost bride’s life.
Delusions of the dead Wei Ying.
“But my xiongzhang is a good man,” the woman continued, her coffin slowly starting to sink into the water. “He will be willing to listen, and the living listens to him.”
“You can have my headband as a token,” Wei Ying gasped as the woman gave her the pale, mud-stained ribbon. Though it may look dirty and plain, the headband contains Lan Zhan’s essence of being, the quintessence of her soul. The attachment of the woman towards the headband is strong to forge such a bond, but…
“You’re willing to give it to me?” Wei Ying dared not even look at the ribbon, her heart quivered.
“You are my zhiji,” the woman sighed. “My heart and soul.”
She leaned in and boldly lifted Wei Ying’s veil.
“My bride to the death and evermore,” there’s a wry smile on the woman’s face. “I will always trust myself to you, even if you don’t remember me.”
“……Lan Zhan?”
“Wei Ying.”
Cold lips pressed together, softly, gently. The coffin is completely submerged now, the water lapping on the pair’s necks.
Wei Ying sighed.
“My groom.”
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“Aren’t you abstinent from marriage Lan Zhan?”
“I am abstinent from marriage to men specifically.”
“Lan Zhan, you sly fox! I can’t believe you let me believe that you were a nun before I died.”
“Mn.”