Bridal Red

Xiaojun stepped back and drew a deep, quivering breath. Her hands twitched nervously as she folded them back into her sleeves, the veins standing out on them from the long hours of combing, braiding, and pinning.

"You look beautiful, Young Mistress," she said softly. "Like a queen."

Mao Xiang stared dully at her reflection in the mirror. The gorgeous array of red and gold was dazzling. Against her smooth black hair the gold finery sparkled brilliantly like a phoenix rising from the ashes, and the crimson bridal robes shone with an overwhelming vibrancy against the paleness of her cheeks, as bright as blood.

She gave a short laugh. "As I must. What use would I be otherwise?"

Delicately, she raised her hand in its heavy embroidered sleeve and smoothed the wings of hair over her ear. Her eyes travelled over her reflection with a child-like fascination, and unexpectedly the reddened lips bent in a smile. "Like a queen," she repeated.

"Xiaojun," she said suddenly, turning to her maid with something almost like fear in her eyes. "Will I be happy with Lord Yang?"

"Of course you will be happy, mistress," Xiaojun said wretchedly, forcing a smile. She could not say anything more.

"I will be Lady Yang now," Mao Xiang said mechanically to herself in the mirror. "I am the young lady of Mao Manor no more. Lady Yang. The richest woman in the district. And, they say, the most powerful."

Xiaojun felt like her heart was breaking. "The veil," she said hurriedly, picking it up and shaking it out, a red film that blossomed in the air. Mao Xiang shut her eyes as Xiaojun draped it carefully over her head. She opened them just in time to see a last glimpse of the world before the red film fell over everything.

"It is time," a voice called excitedly from outside. Xiaojun dashed a tear from her eyes. Stepping forward, she took Mao Xiang's elbow and helped her to stand up. The rich robes were so stiff with embroidery that Mao Xiang could hardly move without help, and she had to keep her head stiffly erect at all times to balance the heavy headdress on it.

Her fingers were cold and clammy as she grasped Xiaojun's hand, so tightly the maid was surprised, and looked up at her. Mao Xiang took a deep breath and stood up, feeling the glittering pendants and gold fringe of the headdress swinging and tinkling about her face.

"Everything will be all right," Xiaojun said suddenly, without knowing why, or what she was trying to say. "Young Mistress--I--I wish--"

"That's enough," Mao Xiang said shortly. She lifted her chin and stared straight ahead, seemingly preparing herself. Her chest rose and fell unsteadily. "Let's go, Xiaojun."

Her fingers dug into Xiaojun's hand as the maid helped her over the step, and the nails left imprints on Xiaojun's flesh, yet the little maid never uttered a sound. She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears swimming in her eyes, and wondered to herself why, though she often imagined Miss Mao's wedding, she had never thought it would be like this.

Mao Xiang's face was invisible under the veil but her figure was as straight and regal as a true queen. As she walked slowly forward, her robes sweeping the floor in soft rustles, and the faint tinkling of the gems on her headdress, there were awed exclamations of admiration from the servants lining the manor in orderly rows, paying their respects to the Young Mistress on her last journey.

"A prosperous and fruitful marriage to you, Young Mistress!" called the bolder ones, and there was clapping and cheering as the younger servants set off the fire crackers they had prepared.

Mao Xiang did not stop, or turn to look at them, as they marched towards the bridal carriage waiting for them. Xiaojun almost wished she would walk slower, and linger to have her last glimpse of the courtyard she had grown up in, the plum tree she had danced under as a child, the familiar faces that she would not see again. She wondered how Young Mistress could be so calm now, when she had been so devastated days before.

Han Sheng stepped forward as they reached the manor threshold. He held his black horse by the reins; he was in charge of escorting the bridal carriage to the Yang Manor. Lord Mao was already there, greeting the guests that Lord Yang had invited.

"It is time," he said simply. "Would Young Mistress please step inside the carriage. The footstool, Guan." He jerked his head curtly.

Guan hurriedly laid down the small stepping stool for Mao Xiang to ascend into the carriage. Xiaojun took her left arm and Han Sheng grasped her right arm, and together they helped Mao Xiang mount onto the stool. With great difficulty she managed to shake the heavy folds aside and get her foot onto the stool in its little embroidered shoe, then climb clumsily into the carriage, without knocking her headdress against the sides of the door or stepping on the train of her robes. At last, when she was settled without crushing her clothes, Xiaojun lingered with her head inside, uselessly trying to find something else that might delay the inevitable.

Han Sheng took her arm ,not ungently. "Xiaojun. Your place is up front. Hurry--we cannot afford to be late."

She cast a last anguished glance at Mao Xiang's figure, silent and unreadable behind the red veil, and let him pull her back.

Climbing up onto the front of the carriage beside the driver, she grabbed hastily at the sides as the carriage set off with a rocking motion and she almost fell off. They set off with the deafening sound of firecrackers and the noisy cheering of servants sending Miss Mao off all around them, and the gaily decorated bridal carriage was a pretty sight as it left the Mao Manor.

But Xiaojun had never felt so alone. She sat miserably on her seat, deaf to the noise, and feeling her heart heavy under her best clothes.

Xiaojun looked timidly sideways where Han Sheng rode besides her on his horse. The bodyguard gazed ahead, his face calm and serene. There was no smile on it, to be sure, but he looked content. She thought back to Mao Xiang's face, and wondered why she could not feel happier for the Young Mistress. After all, it was an enviable thing to be Lord Yang's wife; Young Mistress would have all the prestige and luxury she could want.

Would she be happy? Xiaojun could not say. But she swore to herself determinedly that she would do her best to make sure Young Mistress was happy. She would serve her faithfully in the Yang Manor, as Lady Yang, regardless of what the future held. That, at least, she could do.