On the wedding day, my wife was abnormal

On a midsummer afternoon, the cicadas chirped cacophonously, yet the warm room of the Prince Regent's Palace felt refreshingly cool. The icebergs at each corner silently emitted a chill, completely insulating the scorching heat.

The long, carved windows stood half-open, a thin, smoke-like veil draped with moon-like shadows, filtering out the overly glaring sunlight while letting in the lush greenery of the courtyard, creating a cool atmosphere. The air was filled with the elegant fragrance of cold plum blossoms interwoven with the scent of ink from books.

Murong Yan didn't take a nap, but instead lazily leaned on a large rosewood chaise longue inlaid with mother-of-pearl by the window. The chaise was covered with a cool, soft cushion made of cloud-water silk, and several Suzhou embroidery pillows were scattered around it.

She still wore the same dark black robe with a hundred phoenixes. Under the soft light filtering through the screened window, the profound blackness of the robe, a texture more tranquil than the deepest midnight, softer than the smoothest black jade, absorbed the light while reflecting subtle shimmers of deep blue and dark purple from its deepest depths, a mysterious and noble quality.

Above the robe, the one hundred phoenixes, woven with countless rare gold and silver threads and using the peerless "gold-plated velvet" and "beaded embroidery" techniques, shone extremely restrained and softly under the diffuse light. The red gold was warm, the rose gold was gorgeous, the silver was bright, and the purple gold was noble. The tiny red and blue gems on the phoenix eyes reflected the star-like glimmer. The hundreds of phoenixes were in peaceful postures, some perched and some flying, and looked lifelike, as if they were just resting on her body for a while.

One of the extremely wide bell sleeves was spread over the cushion on the couch, with the fine black pearl tassels on the edge of the cuffs motionless, while the other one hung softly over the edge of the couch.

The giant, ink-colored, jewel-studded train, three meters long and seamlessly connected to the robe, was handled with extreme care. It was not spread out at random, but gathered and layered on a specially made low couch covered with thick, soft, dark green velvet on the inside of the couch. It meandered like a sleeping ink-colored galaxy, and the black diamonds, black jade, and deep sapphires inlaid on it sparkled with cold and bright starlight under the soft light, which was extremely luxurious.

She did not tie her hair up. Her cloud-like black hair was loosely tied up with a transparent black jade hairpin. The rest of her long hair was like a waterfall, draped over her shoulders and flowing over the phoenix pattern on her black robe and the cloud and water silk cushions.

She was barefoot, with a pair of delicate and beautiful feet sticking out from under the layers of her black robe, her ankles were exquisite and slightly curled up.

She was not holding an account book or a painting album in her hands, but a beautifully bound collection of poems from the previous dynasty. Her eyes were not on the pages, but she tilted her head slightly, looking at the green outside the window that looked particularly soft after being filtered by the gauze curtains. Her eyes were lazy and empty, and her long eyelashes drooped, casting a faint shadow on her fair cheeks.

Lin Zhen sat at a rosewood desk not far from the couch, several blueprints and documents concerning the improvement of new looms spread out before him. He wore a simple, elegant, rain-blue linen uniform, his dark hair half-tied with a simple jade hairpin. He stood tall and straight, his gaze fixed calmly on the blueprints, occasionally adding a few notes.

The warm room was extremely quiet, with only the subtle dripping sound of melting ice and the rustling sound of Lin Zhen's pen tip sliding across paper.

After a long while, Lin Zhen seemed to have finished some of his official duties. He put down his pen, rubbed his slightly tired brow, and looked up at the person on the couch. Seeing her staring blankly out the window, as if she were daydreaming, he couldn't help but raise the corners of his lips slightly.

He stood up without disturbing her, but walked to the small table beside the couch, picked up the sweet white glaze jade vase, and poured the chilled osmanthus and sour plum soup into a jade cup of the same material. The sweet fragrance quietly filled the air.

He held the jade cup and walked to the edge of the couch, sitting very naturally on the edge of the couch, right at the starting point of the winding inky trail. He did not speak immediately, but his eyes lingered gently on her face, which was particularly quiet under the soft light.

Murong Yan seemed to sense something, her long eyelashes trembling slightly. She slowly withdrew her gaze and turned to him. Seeing the jade cup in his hand, her eyes lit up slightly, like a kitten attracted by delicious food.

"Awake?" Lin Zhen chuckled and handed the jade cup to her lips. "Drink some sour plum soup to cool down the summer heat."

Murong Yan took sips of the cool and sweet soup from his hand, squinting her eyes in satisfaction, and her hand under her flared sleeves gently rested on his wrist.

"Husband, are you done with your work?" Her voice was soft and tender, as if she had just come back to her senses.

"Well, let's call it a day." Lin Zhen gently wiped away the water stains on the corner of her lips with his fingertips, and his eyes fell on the collection of poems she had placed aside. "What is Yan'er reading?"

"Take a look," Murong Yan stood up slightly and moved closer to him. The phoenixes on her black robe swayed gently, bringing a subtle rustling sound. She handed the collection of poems to him and pointed at a random place.

"When I read Li Houzhu's poem 'Yu Meiren', 'When will the spring flowers and autumn moon end?' I always feel it's too sad."

Lin Zhen took the collection and glanced at it, not reading any of the words. Instead, he closed the book in her hand and set it aside. He lowered his head, looking deeply into her eyes: "My Yan'er, you don't like sadness, you should only read happy things."

Murong Yan pouted slightly: "But...poems are always moving when they are sad..."

"Then I won't look at the words," Lin Zhen chuckled. He reached out and naturally took her into his arms, letting her lean on his shoulder. "Would you like to look at me?"

Murong Yan's cheeks flushed slightly, and she glanced at him in reproach, but her hands under her flared sleeves subconsciously tugged at the collar of his casual clothes: "What's so good about my husband..." There was an unconcealable sweetness in her tone.

"Isn't it pretty?" Lin Zhen feigned disappointment, lowered his head, and nuzzled her sensitive earlobe, causing a slight shudder. "Then I must ask you, who does my Yan'er always look at?"

"You...you know very well..." Murong Yan was tickled by him and could not help but shrink her neck and chuckle, hiding in his arms. Her wide flared sleeves brushed against his cheek, bringing with them a hint of cold plum fragrance.

Lin Lang laughed out loud, tightening his arms to hold her tightly in his embrace. He lowered his head to gaze into her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes. "What do I know? Hmm? Yan'er, tell me, what do I know?"

His breath brushed against her cheek, carrying the sweetness of sour plum juice and his unique cool scent. His eyes were burning, full of teasing and doting.

Murong Yan's heartbeat quickened when he looked at her. She felt extremely embarrassed and buried her face in his shoulder. She muffled her voice and said, "...you only know how to bully me..."

"How is this bullying?" Lin Zhen chuckled, his fingertips gently running through her loose hair, stroking the back of her neck, his movements gentle yet filled with infinite cherishment, "This is... love."

He spoke the last two words almost close to her ear, his breath warm, his voice low and magnetic, filled with unquestionable affection.

Murong Yan felt a tingling sensation at the base of her ear, which quickly spread throughout her body, causing her to soften in his embrace, even her fingertips trembling slightly. Even her elegant black robe couldn't seem to block out the warmth of his palm or the thrill of his words.

She raised her head slightly, looked at him with moist eyes, and parted her red lips slightly, as if angry or resentful, but more like an invitation.

Lin Zhen's eyes darkened, and he said no more. He slowly lowered his head and kissed those two beautiful and attractive red lips.

The kiss was gentle and lingering at first, like savoring the sweetest iced brew of summer, sipping it slowly and slowly going deeper. Gradually, the force grew, carrying with it a day's worth of longing and affection, as if wanting to merge her into his own flesh and blood.