Shen Weixi sat upright before a mirror framed with entwined peonies. Reflected in it was a face that still looked young and innocent. She was barely sixteen, yet her brows already held the frosty severity of plum blossoms enduring winter. She still wore plain white mourning clothes, while the gold-threaded wedding gown on her dressing table glowed a dazzling red. Tomorrow, she would take off her mourning clothes and put on that red gown, changing from the legitimate daughter of the Marquis of Anding's household into the new wife of the General of Zhenbei.
At first, it wasn't that she was an old aunt, but why was it her mother behind the scenes? Then I felt like I didn't know what I wanted to express, and the rhythm felt sloppy.