Chapter 67 - The All-Inclusive Demon Wedding
Leng Qingqing stood in the center of the small, dusty courtyard, his gaze fixed upward at the empty sky where the last sparks of the firework had long since vanished. A profound sense of melancholy washed over him as he realized the gravity of what the White Marten had done. That firework had not been a mere festive bauble; it was a specialized signal flare issued by the Inter-Species Matchmaking Association. In the world of demons, such a signal was a binding summons. Once released, it served as a beacon for a prospective bride, and within three days, a marriage would be finalized.
There was no reclaiming the spark, no undoing the call. The gears of fate—or perhaps just the gears of a very efficient demonic service industry—had begun to turn. He was, quite unexpectedly, about to be wed.
With a heavy heart and a face clouded by trepidation, Leng Qingqing turned his attention to Leng Jing. He watched the boy, wondering how on earth a Primordial Dragon God would react to the sudden arrival of a stepmother. Leng Jing, however, seemed entirely oblivious to the impending domestic upheaval. He sat on a weathered stone stool, his brow furrowed in concentration as he pored over a tattered, ancient book he had acquired recently. His indifference was a sharp contrast to Leng Qingqing’s frantic internal monologue.
Leng Qingqing paced back and forth, his silk robes rustling against the dry earth. He stole frequent, nervous glances at the boy, trying to gauge his mood. "Xiao Jing," he began, his voice trembling slightly with a mixture of guilt and hesitation. "Do you... do you remember what we discussed a few days ago? About finding a new mother for you? A stepmother to help look after the household?"
Leng Jing didn’t even lift his eyes from the yellowed pages. "What about it?" he asked, his tone flat and utterly devoid of interest.
"Well... you see... about that..." Leng Qingqing stammered, wringing his hands together. He pointed a shaking finger toward the main gate of the courtyard. "They... they’ve already arrived."
Leng Jing finally looked up, a flicker of skepticism crossing his handsome, youthful features. "How is that possible? We only just mentioned it. Even the fastest messenger couldn't have coordinated such a thing so quickly."
"They told me it’s part of their 'One-Stop Dragon Service,'" Leng Qingqing muttered, hanging his head in shame.
"One-Stop Dragon Service?" Leng Jing repeated, the modern-sounding terminology sounding alien and absurd in his ears. "What does that even mean? Is it a service specifically for me?"
Before Leng Qingqing could attempt an explanation, the silence of the suburban afternoon was shattered. The courtyard gates were not merely opened; they were practically burst asunder by a whirlwind of activity. A troop of fox spirits and mountain lynxes, all partially transformed into humanoid shapes but retaining their bushy tails and pointed ears, swarmed into the small space.
With a speed that bordered on the supernatural, they began to transform the drab courtyard. Heavy wooden tables and benches were materialized and arranged in neat rows. Silk tablecloths in auspicious crimson were snapped into place. Within heartbeats, the walls were adorned with large, golden "Double Happiness" characters, and vibrant red lanterns were strung from the eaves of the house, casting a warm, festive glow over the scene.
The air, previously smelling of dust and dry grass, was suddenly thick with the rich aroma of aged wine and roasted meats as a full banquet was laid out. Then came the noise—a cacophony of celebration. The shrill, joyous blast of the suona and the rhythmic pounding of drums and gongs filled the air, announcing the arrival of a wedding procession.
Even the guests had been provided. A motley assortment of local minor demons—rabbits in waistcoats, weasels in scholar’s caps, and various bird spirits—filed in, taking their seats with practiced ease as if they had been waiting just outside the wall for the signal. The courtyard, once a sanctuary of quiet contemplation, was now a boisterous, crowded wedding hall.
Leng Jing stared at the spectacle, his book forgotten in his lap. The sheer efficiency of the demonic matchmaking industry was, in a strange way, almost admirable.
"See?" Leng Qingqing wailed over the din of the flutes, his face a mask of misery. "It’s already started! There’s no stopping it now!"
