SES Chapter 151 Part 2

Qingshan’s.

“We’re cousins after all. It’s my big day—even if you can’t join the feast, I wanted you to at least see it…”

Cousins? Jinhua frowned. Did Qingshan even have a cousin? Suddenly, a name flashed in her mind—could it be Cao Tudun?

Really now? Hiding out like this after running away for so many years—too scared to even show his face at his own cousin’s wedding?

She frowned, but her heart felt strangely empty. Honestly, after all these years, she’d long let it go. If Tudun hadn’t run away, she herself might never have left the village to see the wider world.

If he had come back, why not just show himself proudly? Sure, old Cao had once sworn that if Tudun ever returned, he’d break his legs—but it was a wedding day. He wouldn’t actually do it.

Jinhua swallowed, about to call out to Qingshan.

“I had to sneak you out today. If Yafeng found out, she’d rather let you starve down in that pit. In a few days, I’ll try to talk to her again…”

That… didn’t sound right. Yafeng? The timid, frail little bride? Starve to death? What was that supposed to mean?

Something stirred inside the tarp. Qingshan seemed to be coming out. Jinhua shivered and, driven by instinct, hurried away—but halfway across the yard, she hesitated, turned back, and returned.

Just as she did, Qingshan stepped out. Jinhua rushed over, pretending she’d just found him.

“Everyone’s looking for you! Hurry, go greet the tablet!”

Qingshan smiled sheepishly. “The rain loosened the tarp—I was just tightening it. I’m coming now.”

The auspicious hour had nearly arrived. The gong beats stopped, the rain eased to a drizzle, tapping softly on the canopies. Qingshan carried the tablet in his arms, walking toward the stage with the villagers following in solemn procession. The bride stood waiting in her red qipao, two bridesmaids beside her holding red umbrellas.

Yan Hongsha switched her phone to camera mode, zooming in. As Qingshan passed, she snapped a clear photo of the tablet.

Just as Jinhua had said, it was an ordinary wooden plaque, with an old bronze plate inset in the middle, etched with an ancient oracle-bone “earth” character.

But it couldn’t be the cursed script—Master Wan San had said the cursed script would be attached directly to Qingshan’s body.

As she pondered this, she heard chairs scraping beside her—Cao Jinhua had returned from her search.

Yan decided to probe a bit.

She tucked away her phone and asked casually, “So that’s Qingshan—the groom? What kind of person is he?”

Cao Jinhua seemed distracted, still uneasy from earlier. Without thinking, she muttered, “Just… a regular guy. A good man.”

Yan glanced at her. Jinhua realized how odd that sounded and gave an awkward smile.

Feigning nonchalance, Yan asked, “Where’d he run off to just now? I saw people searching all over.”

Jinhua stammered, “Who knows—he was gone one second, then popped back up the next.”

Before Yan could press further, the speakers crackled to life. Old Cao took the microphone and, in heavily accented Mandarin, announced the wedding ceremony had officially begun. “Everyone, please rise.”

Chairs scraped as people stood. Following local custom, Yan stood too—and as she did, she caught Jinhua glancing nervously over her shoulder.

What was she looking at? Yan followed her gaze—toward the storage tent.

The first ritual began: bowing to the tablet.

There came a long string of blessings—good weather, family harmony, generations of prosperity, everlasting happiness. By the time the speech ended, the crowd let out a collective sigh of relief.

Yan thought the same: the most important part of the ceremony was clearly over, even though the couple’s vows hadn’t started yet.

What a strange custom.

Next came the usual rituals—bowing to parents, bowing to heaven and earth, the couple’s mutual bows. Candy was tossed, guests scrambled to grab some, and soon the loudspeaker announced the feast was open.

Throughout it all, Yan noticed that Jinhua kept glancing toward the storage tent.

Under other tents, large woks were sizzling as cooks dished out steaming food. The newlyweds, flanked by Seventh Aunt and others, went table to table offering toasts, laughing and playing little drinking games. Guests crowded around to watch.

An idea flashed through Yan’s mind. Pretending to drop a porcelain bowl, she knelt to clean up—snatched a shard, gripped it tightly until it cut her palm, then slipped into the crowd near the cooking area.

Taking an open bottle of baijiu from a nearby table, she pressed her bleeding hand over the mouth and gave it a few quick shakes.

The alcohol stung like fire; a few drops of blood mixed invisibly into the liquor.

Without drawing attention, Yan set the bottle back, retreated a few steps, and raised her phone again, camera zoomed in on that table.

Finally, the newlyweds reached it. Amid laughter, Seventh Aunt took the bottle and poured for Qingshan and Yafeng.

Yan’s pulse quickened. She zoomed in tighter.

Qingshan, face flushed, lifted his cup high and drained it in one gulp, proudly showing the empty bottom.

Yafeng brought her cup to her lips—then froze.

Yan saw her nostrils flare twice. Her brow furrowed sharply, and suddenly she looked up, alert and wary.

Before their eyes could meet, Yan turned her head quickly and grabbed a duck leg from the table, biting into it noisily as if nothing had happened, grease running down her chin.

But after a few bites, she stopped cold.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cao Jinhua slip quietly behind the storage tent.