Chapter Thirty-One: The Bridal Lament (Part One)

It wasn’t that the man had never seen a wedding before, but this procession was undeniably strange. Most weddings were lively affairs, filled with music and laughter, but this one was suffocatingly somber. There was no music, no chatter—only silent, relentless marching, as if the bride were being delivered into the hands of a tyrant.

“Oh… that’s normal, it’s the local custom,” the tour guide replied. He had clearly noticed as well, a flicker of surprise and regret passing through his eyes, though he quickly masked all emotion.

Su Man, trailing a step behind, caught every nuance of his expression—he was lying.

“Can we go have a look?” they were all tourists, after all, and curiosity drew them forward. A plump, middle-aged man, visibly excited, still clutched his camera, eager for photos.

“You can, but don’t say anything out of turn. It’s not good to offend the locals,” the guide cautioned, not refusing but reminding them.

Their group blended into the crowd of onlookers, eager for a closer view.

Su Man followed at a measured distance, close enough to observe the wedding procession in detail—and the closer she got, the more unsettling it seemed.

It appeared to be a traditional Chinese wedding. The sedan bearers wore festive attire as they carried the bridal palanquin. Yet it wasn’t the specifics that felt so wrong, but the atmosphere—unlike any wedding she’d ever seen. The silence was suffused with a sense of death, so oppressive it felt as if a cold hand gripped her heart. There was none of the expected joy.

Even the onlookers wore expressions of sorrow, not a hint of blessing or shared happiness among them. Occasional sighs drifted through the crowd.

Su Man was pondering what could have happened here when someone suddenly tugged her sleeve—a young woman with a ponytail, timidly leaning in. “Listen, do you hear someone crying?”

Crying? Su Man hadn’t heard anything. She glanced at the hand clutching her sleeve, quietly brushed it away, and put some distance between them.

The girl was another tourist from their bus, but they weren’t acquainted.

“Aren’t you afraid? I am,” the girl persisted, ignoring Su Man’s avoidance and sidling closer, her large eyes brimming with tears. She looked pitiful, but refrained from grabbing Su Man’s sleeve again.

“My name is Huang Mei, but you can call me Xiao Mei. I see you’re alone too—let’s stick together.”

Su Man had no intention of doing so and refused bluntly, “I’m not afraid, and right now I just want to be by myself. If you’re scared, go to the tour guide—he won’t let anything happen to you.”

Huang Mei bit her lip, glanced at the guide, but ultimately stayed put, clinging to Su Man’s side, drawn by a sense of safety.

Su Man ignored her. As long as they kept their distance, she didn’t care. In a place full of strangers, sudden friendliness was always unnerving.

A shout rang out: “Hey, what’s happening? Why did the bride run out?”

Su Man looked over just in time to see the bride push open the sedan door and flee.

Then, before everyone’s eyes, she suddenly leapt from the bridge!

Cries of alarm erupted.

The already eerie wedding procession dissolved into a frantic rescue effort. Now the villagers seemed truly alive, full of energy.

The bridge wasn’t high, but the water below was deep and swift. The bride vanished beneath the surface after a single roll, leaving not even a shadow behind.

Men from the crowd leapt into the river after her, their shouts and screams blending into chaos.

“Could it be a forced marriage?” muttered the chubby man with the camera, the same one who’d wanted to come over.

Apart from their tour group, everyone was caught up in the commotion. The guide overheard the comment and his face darkened.

“I told you not to talk nonsense!” he reprimanded sternly.

The man grumbled but dared not argue, busy snapping pictures—until a hand suddenly smacked his camera into the water.

“My camera!” He snatched at empty air, furious. “Who did that? Do you know how expensive that camera was?”

From her vantage point, Su Man saw the commotion. The person confronting the man was a middle-aged local, dressed in traditional ethnic clothing and wearing a huge silver earring. His expression was grim.

“I’m the village chief! No photography here! Who’s your guide? Didn’t he warn you?”

“I don’t care who you are—who says we can’t take pictures? Even if it’s forbidden, you can’t just throw my camera in the water! I’ll call the police, believe it or not! I’m a journalist! If I write about this, you’ll be buried in public outcry!” the man fumed, more upset about losing his camera—and the ethnographic material he’d come for—than anything else.

The chief’s face grew even darker, and Su Man noticed the other villagers’ expressions turning equally grim at the mention of news.

Sensing trouble, the guide hurried over, all smiles and apologies.

“I’m sorry! Chief, it was my mistake. I’ll keep them in line.”

The chief glared at him, “Zhang Gui, is this your doing?”

“I’m sorry, Chief. I just wanted to make a little money. People are curious about our village, so I brought them for a look. It won’t happen again,” he pleaded.

The chief seemed ready to scold him further, but at that moment, someone shouted, “Found her! We found her!”

The chief hurried away, leaving the guide and the journalist behind.

“My camera!” the journalist still wanted to pursue the matter, but Zhang Gui slapped him hard.

“Shut up! I’ll deal with you later!”

“I—I paid you…” The slap left the journalist stunned, and after a moment, he shrieked, “I’m calling the police! I’m not staying here! You’re all crazy—take me back now!”

Zhang Gui sneered. “You think you can just leave? Without my permission, no one leaves this place.”

Su Man, not far away, heard all of this. She immediately turned to look where their tour bus had been parked.

Sure enough, the bus was gone.

“I… I’m scared,” whispered Huang Mei, who had crept back to Su Man’s side, her face pale. “Did you hear what the chief said? If this doesn’t work out, they’ll choose a replacement from among us.”