After the ancestral rites and the brief prayers to gods and ancestors, the rest of the wedding proceeded under the master of ceremonies. Tan Linyuan finished burning the prayer scrolls in the brazier and stepped out of the ancestral hall.
Shen Suhai, leaning on his cane, stood outside the hall and watched the newlyweds being swarmed by guests. Tan moved to his side without haste. His voice was calm, thin as always.
“Uncle Shen.”
“Linyuan’s here.” Shen Suhai didn’t spare him a glance, eyes fixed on his son. “My son is getting married—today’s a great day for our family.”
Tan’s tone remained steady. “Where did you hide Nanyu? My people can’t find her.”
Shen Suhai chuckled, only then turning to meet Tan’s clear, cold gaze. “What is this all of a sudden, Linyuan?”
“Nanyu is missing,” Tan said each word slow and precise.
Shen Suhai feigned surprise, brow knitting as if trying to recall. After a long moment he said, “Who is Nanyu? There’s no such person in the Shen family.”
Tan watched him without blinking, scrutinizing every twitch in the old man’s face for the slightest tell. Shen Suhai kept his expression smooth as silk. “Linyuan, I told you—today is my son’s wedding. The guests were all invited by the Shen family. There’s no Nanyu here.”
Tan’s eyes narrowed. After a few seconds he allowed himself a laugh that had no warmth. “Uncle Shen has been through storms and calms. No wonder you sit so steady.”
“I’ve been steering the family longer than you’ve been alive,” Shen Suhai puffed. “You should be the one to show some humility. Don’t try to scheme against your Uncle. My health—”
“You’re steady because you’ve got experience,” Tan finished for him with a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. Then, without hiding his mockery: “I do wonder how long you can sit like that.”
“That’s for me to decide.” Shen Suhai’s voice sharpened. “Challenging an elder’s authority is the stupidest thing.”
“All I want to know is where Nanyu is.”
Shen Suhai snorted. “If you’ve got the ability, tear this house apart—dig the earth three feet over and find her.”
“You think I can’t?” Anger flickered across Tan’s face, quickly masked. He had felt that chill the moment he realized Nanyu was gone, but he restrained himself—this wasn’t yet the time. Still, Shen Suhai’s composure planted a seed of doubt. Could she really not be here?
“If you have that power, then by all means—show me.” Tan’s voice was low now, not a threat so much as a quiet decision.
For a heartbeat Shen Suhai looked shaken. Was Linyuan actually capable of some reckless fit? Not possible—this was Shen family celebration, with the city’s respectable people in attendance. How much trouble could one man stir? Even if he made a scene it would only hurt both sides.
Before Shen Suhai could recover his posture, the sound cut through the murmur of the crowd: the sharp crash of ceramic shattering.
Chaos spilled from the hall. Chairs toppled, guests pushed toward the exits, faces white with panic. Someone was shouting, “Call the police! Somebody call the police!”
Shen Suhai’s composure snapped. His face drained of color as he turned to Tan with an accusing stare.
Tan’s smile was thin; he lifted his chin. “Isn’t this what you wanted to see, Uncle Shen? Let’s go in.”
He strode toward the hall. Shen Suhai staggered after him on unsteady legs, almost falling, his cane rattling. Tan glanced back once, meanings packed into that look.
“You should rest, Uncle.”
Inside the ancestral hall the scene was brutal and immediate. Beyond the fleeing guests, a cluster of onlookers—important families from the city—hung around like spectators at a bad play. At the center of it all, Shen Yanche’s eyes were rimmed with red fury. He clutched a jagged shard of porcelain—one of the pieces from the smashed shrine—with the cutting edge pressed to Wen Ying’s throat. The statue’s mercy had never imagined itself sharpened into a weapon.
Opposite them stood a tall man whose face was all coiled hatred. He was clearly attempting to intercept a forced elopement.
“Let her go!” the man bellowed, voice thick with force and warning. “Or I’ll snap your neck.”
Shen Yanche didn’t budge. He tightened his grip on Wen Ying’s throat. “Who the hell are you?” he spat.
“Your enemy,” the tall man said coldly. “Let her go and I’ll leave you alive.”
“You should be saying that to me!” Shen Yanche roared back. “Wen Ying—whose child is in your belly?”
Wen Ying said nothing. Tears tracked down her cheeks as she shut her eyes. “Please—just let me go… I beg you…”
Laughter laced with venom came from Shen Yanche. “You think I’ll let you run off with some stranger after you’ve put this on me? You’ve made a mockery of me.”
The porcelain shard scraped wickedly against Wen Ying’s skin. A thin line of blood appeared where the shard bit into the hollow of her throat.
Shen Suhai watched as if struck, breath hitching. “Yanche! You—filthy son! Do you want to kill her?” His voice was a ragged mix of rage and fear. With so many witnesses, if his son harmed her—if blood were truly spilled—the Shens would not just lose face; they might be finished.
Tan watched the spectacle without moving, but his attention wasn’t fixed on the drama at center stage. He scanned every face, searching for a familiar silhouette, for the one person who mattered. There was no sign of Nanyu.
A subordinate leaned in and whispered. “We saw her go upstairs into the study. We meant to follow but Shen family men blocked the stairs—we didn’t want to spook her.”
Tan’s face went hard. He sprang up the stairs in two long strides, reaching the study door in a heartbeat. It was, as his subordinate had said, locked.