The Chen Household
After the wedding ceremony of the Third Young Master of the Chen Family, the grand hall was filled with celebration. Some guests laughed and raised their cups in joy, while others exchanged hushed whispers, mocking Chen Ying's inability to cultivate. Many believed he was an unworthy match for Yan Mei, the bride—a prodigious disciple of the Ice Palace, betrothed to him since childhood.
Meanwhile, in a secluded chamber, a young man clad in an intricate red hanfu—the ceremonial robes of a groom—sat before a canvas, his brush gliding across it with practiced elegance. He was Chen Ying, the Third Young Master of the Chen Household. A lover of art, he immersed himself in painting to escape the weight of the day's scorn. Yet, even as he focused, a violent cough racked his body. He pressed a delicate handkerchief to his lips, and when he pulled it away, a stark stain of crimson marred its fabric.
His almond-shaped eyes, framed by dark lashes, shimmered with quiet sorrow. His pale rose-pink lips, like cherry blossoms in early spring, trembled slightly. Despite his delicate and almost ethereal beauty, he was a man burdened by misfortune. He sighed, setting his brush aside, and stood with measured grace. With the handkerchief still in hand, he made his way toward the exit, preparing to face the ceremony once more.
As he stepped into the hall, guests turned their gazes upon him. Some sneered, others averted their eyes, as though his mere presence tainted the air. Ignoring the gossip that swirled around him like an invisible storm, Chen Ying moved forward, his every step composed, his expression unreadable.
Across the hall, Yan Mei stood among a group of guests. Draped in an exquisite bridal robe of white and silver, she was like a celestial being descended from the heavens. Her beauty was unparalleled—snowy skin as flawless as jade, eyes as cold as the winter moon, and raven-black hair cascading down her back like a silken waterfall. Although she had no malice toward Chen Ying, the marriage itself held little meaning to her; she had agreed only to fulfill her family's wishes. Her true concern lay in maintaining her reputation as a core disciple of the Ice Palace.
Chen Ying was greeted by a handful of guests who admired his musical talent, yet his nephews, Chen Xin and Chen Jin, made no effort to approach him. Instead, they merely raised their cups in a halfhearted gesture of acknowledgment before departing.
As he continued forward, he was stopped by a familiar figure—Yan Feng, his new brother-in-law. The man smirked, his tone laced with mockery. "Young Master Chen... You are fortunate to have my sister. If only Mei Mei had been engaged to Chen Xin instead. Someone like you does not deserve her."
Chen Ying's fingers clenched slightly, but he quickly masked his emotions with a serene smile. "But I am the one married to Yan Mei," he replied smoothly. "That is not for you to decide. Do not ruin this day for me, Yan Feng. This is my wedding, not yours. She is your sister, yes, but she is also my wife. Show proper respect to her husband."
With that, Chen Ying bowed his head slightly and walked past Yan Feng with effortless grace.
"You—!" Yan Feng's expression darkened, his teeth grinding in frustration as he watched the frail yet composed man walk away.
Scoffing, he muttered under his breath, "Trash... Just like your mother."
Chen Ying froze for a moment. His fists clenched so tightly that his nails nearly pierced his skin. His breath grew unsteady, yet he forced himself to move forward, swallowing the pain that threatened to overwhelm him.
Yan Mei, who had been watching the exchange, noticed the shift in Chen Ying's demeanor. Her cold, unreadable eyes softened as she saw the sorrow in his expression. Without hesitation, she let her wine cup slip from her fingers, the porcelain shattering upon the floor as she rushed toward him in her bridal attire.
"Ah Ying..." She reached for his hand, her fingers cool against his burning skin. "Ah Ying, what happened?" Her voice held a rare gentleness, a stark contrast to the icy reputation she upheld.
Chen Ying did not answer. Instead, he gently pulled his hand from her grasp and walked toward the bridal table. Without a word, he poured himself a cup of wine and drank in silence.
Yan Mei turned her gaze toward her brother, her expression darkening. Raising a single finger, she channeled her ice energy, causing frost to swirl around her fingertips. The air around her grew colder, and a thin layer of ice crackled along the ground beneath her feet. Yan Feng took an instinctive step back, momentarily unnerved by his sister's silent warning.
Without another word, Yan Mei turned and walked toward Chen Ying, taking her seat beside him. The hall fell into an uneasy silence as the ceremony continued.
Shortly, a servant approached Chen Ying, holding a jade bottle of wine. With a respectful bow, he extended the bottle toward the young master.
"Third Young Master, here is the wine you requested."
Chen Ying, seated gracefully with his long, ink-black hair cascading over his crimson wedding hanfu, accepted the bottle with a gentle smile. His slender fingers traced the bottle's surface before removing the cork. A rich, intoxicating aroma wafted into the air, mingling with the fragrant incense of the banquet hall.
"Good wine..." he murmured, a rare flicker of joy dancing in his melancholic eyes.
The servant bowed once more before retreating into the shadows.
"Ah Ying, I—" Yan Mei started, her voice hesitant, but Chen Ying raised a hand to stop her.
"Save your words... He was right. I don't deserve to marry you." His voice was soft yet carried an unshakable weight. "It was my elder brother, Chen Xin, who should have been your groom."
Yan Mei's gaze fell upon the delicate handkerchief he clutched. A stark crimson stain bloomed against the white silk—blood.
"After tonight, you will return to the Ice Palace and continue your path as a cultivator," Chen Ying continued, lowering his gaze. "I, however, am bound by my fate. A bearer of the Jade Yin Lotus Constitution is not meant to cultivate... This body, frail and unnatural for a man, will not last much longer. My time of death is near."
A bitter smile curled his lips as he poured the wine into a cup, the liquid reflecting the flickering lantern light. Yan Mei hesitated, watching him carefully as he pushed the cup toward her.
"Good wine... Where did it come from?" she asked, her voice laced with unease.
Chen Ying tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear and spoke lightly, "I requested it. The wedding wine was unsatisfactory."
"Chen Ying, wine is not good for your health—your condition—" she protested, frowning.
Murmurs spread like wildfire among the guests as Chen Ying, unbothered, raised the cup to his lips.
"Sick yet drinking? He's courting death..." one of the guests sneered.
A Chen elder sighed deeply, shaking his head. With a glance, he signaled the guards to intervene.
Yan Mei yanked the cup from his hands, the porcelain shattering upon impact with the ground. "Can't you listen for once?! You're so stubborn!" she scolded, drawing the attention of everyone present.
Chen Ying simply looked at her, his expression unreadable. "If you don't want the wine, I will take it myself. I am tired. I need to rest. You will be leaving soon—save your concern for yourself."
Yan Mei stiffened at his sharp words, unable to respond as he turned away. Without hesitation, he lifted the bottle to his lips and drank deeply. The moment the wine passed his throat, a cold chill spread through his body.
A sudden force knocked the bottle from his grasp. It shattered against the floor, the remaining liquid spilling like crimson ink. Chen Ying turned his gaze downward, mildly annoyed—until his breath hitched.
A grotesque centipede slithered out from the shards, its segmented body pulsating with a sinister, iridescent sheen. Gasps echoed through the hall.
"Beaded Centipede?" Yan Mei's blood ran cold. "How did it get in the wine?!"
Chen Ying's vision blurred. His limbs trembled, and an unbearable heat surged through his meridians, only to be replaced by an icy pain that gnawed at his bones. He rolled up his sleeve—blackened veins stretched grotesquely beneath his pale skin.
A violent cough wracked his body, black blood spewing from his lips. He stumbled, falling to his knees as another wave of pain crashed over him. His meridians burned, corroded by the potent poison invading his core. He clawed at his chest, his once smooth skin now marred by jagged black cracks from which tendrils of darkness writhed and spread like a curse.
A chilling aura engulfed the banquet hall. Plants withered instantly. The once-lively torches dimmed, their flames flickering as if suffocated by the oppressive Yin energy now radiating from Chen Ying's deteriorating form.
His breath came in ragged gasps. His lips had turned black, his once-ethereal beauty now twisted into something tragic and horrifying. His sea of consciousness cracked, waves of darkness swallowing his mind. The pain was unbearable, his very soul eroding away.
Chen Ying groaned, gripping his head as a sharp agony tore through his skull. He screamed. Thunder rumbled above, the heavens mourning the fate of the forsaken Third Young Master.
An elder rushed forward, catching him before he could collapse entirely. Chen Ying's hairpin loosened, his silken black locks cascading freely over his shoulders. His delicate hands twitched, reaching toward something unseen.
Then his heart stopped.
His body slumped, lifeless in the elder's arms.
Yan Mei's breath hitched. Her heart pounded in her chest as she rushed to his side. "Ah Ying! Ah Ying!" Her fingers trembled as she touched his cold skin. There was no response. The warmth had already faded from him.
Guards and elders called his name, their voices drowned by the sudden downpour of rain that roared against the rooftop. The heavens wept for him.
A physician rushed forward, pressing trembling fingers against Chen Ying's pulse. He checked his meridians—only to shake his head solemnly.
"The poison has devoured his core. His meridians... shattered beyond repair. There is no cure."
Silence fell upon the hall, punctuated only by the distant rumble of thunder.
And so, under the heavy storm, the Third Young Master of the Chen Household—Chen Ying—was no more.