The needle pierced Du Ruo’s (杜若) fingertip. A drop of blood bloomed on the red silk wedding gown like a dying flower. She was embroidering her own bridal dress, but her hands shook when the crowd shouted: “A letter from the water ghost has floated down the Ruan River (阮江)!” She knew that handwriting. It belonged to Qi Feng (齐风), the man she was supposed to marry two years ago.
The man whose boat sank in a storm. The man everyone now called a ghost. While the officials seized the letter and the village chief cursed the prank, Du Ruo stood apart, her nails digging into her palms. She did not believe in spirits. But she had never stopped missing him. Then Di Renjie (狄仁杰) came. He did not shout about hauntings or demand confessions. He looked at her red gown, at her bruised fingers, and asked a quiet question: “Do you truly want to marry?”
The Bloody Thread
Three children used to laugh by the Ruan River. Du Ruo, Qi Feng, and Wang Xian. Qi Feng was the salt merchant’s son, always in a moon-white robe, handing Du Ruo candies with a shy smile. Wang Xian followed them, making sour jokes that no one took seriously. Two families arranged the wedding. Du Ruo dreamed of plain years: marry Qi Feng, raise children, grow old.
Then the Qi family’s salt boat went down in a rainstorm. Qi Feng had promised to marry her when he returned. He never did. Du Ruo cried until her throat gave out, only raw gasps left. Her father dragged her from the doorframe where she clung. She did not know yet that the storm was no accident. Wang Xian had watched Qi Feng’s wealth grow, watched Du Ruo’s smiles for Qi Feng, and felt a million ants biting his heart. Envy turned to murder one rainy night. He paid men to bore holes into the Qi boat.
The Wang family took over the salt shops. Then Wang Xian came to Du Ruo drunk, his eyes bloodshot. He pinned her to the wall and whispered his jealousy, his triumph. “The salt shop is mine. You are mine.” She struggled until he mentioned her father. “Disobey, and he joins Qi Feng tomorrow.” Du Ruo stopped moving. She lay still, staring at the ceiling beam, biting her lip until blood ran down her chin, mixing with tears – salty and bitter. “Let my father live. I will marry you,” she said. Inside, she was already dead.
The Burning Truth
More ghost letters appeared. Each one exposed the Wang family’s crimes. Each one demanded justice for the Qi massacre. But Du Ruo knew the truth: no water ghost wrote those letters. Her father did. He came home late every night smelling of river mud. He had been investigating for two years, waiting for proof. Now he could wait no longer. He wanted justice for Qi Feng, and for his daughter.
Du Ruo decided to protect him. Her own life had lost meaning. One night without moon, she set fire to Wang Xian’s house. He died in the flames. She did not run. When Di Renjie arrived, she confessed calmly: “I wrote the ghost letters. I set the fire.” She thought of Qi Feng in his moon-white robe, of his clumsy smile when he handed her candy. “Qi Feng, I avenged you. Wait for me,” she whispered inside.
But her father went to Di Renjie first. He confessed everything: how the Wangs murdered the Qis, how his daughter faked the letters, how she set the fire only to take the blame for him. “This old man’s life is worth nothing,” he said. “But my daughter has suffered too much. Please let her go.” Di Renjie said nothing. He arrested the father and released Du Ruo. Perhaps he saw through the lie. Perhaps he simply pitied how easily fate crushes the helpless. He asked no more questions.
The River Wedding
Du Ruo could not live. Her only purpose had been revenge, then joining Qi Feng. Now revenge was done, but her father sat in death row for her crime. The two people who loved her most – one dead two years, one soon to be executed. She put on the red wedding gown. She walked alone to the Ruan River.
The water rose past her ankles, her knees, her chest. She did not struggle. She did not cry. For the first time in two years, Du Ruo smiled. The river closed over her head. She said one last sentence in her heart, soft as a promise: “I have come to marry you.”
Down in the dark water, no ghost waited. But somewhere between the riverweed and the mud, a boy in a moon-white robe might still remember how to hand her a candy. Di Renjie had asked if she truly wanted to marry. On the banks of the Ruan River, under no moon at all, she finally gave her answer. The deepest love and the filthiest hearts – both sank into that same river.