When He Captured the Wrong Bride

Our village has a tradition of bride snatchingthe groom must sneak into the bride's home at night, carry her on his back, and break through all obstacles.

I'd waited three years for Ethan Quinn. Finally, the night came when he and his brothers crept into my family's courtyard.

I waited joyfully for him to carry me away, but instead I heard him say to his crew:

"When chaos breaks out, grab Chloe. We can't let her marry that playboy from the next village over."

"As for Aria, she's got a fiery tempershe'll protect herself just fine."

His friends exchanged uncertain glances.

"Ethan, this isn't right. You and Aria already got your marriage certificate. If she finds out the truth, all hell will break loose."

"Let it break loose then." His tone was dismissive. "

It's pitch black out heremistaking someone is perfectly normal. I'll smooth things over with her afterward. Besides, that marriage certificate is fake."

I stood behind the door in silence, then calmly retreated to my room.

Then I simply climbed onto another stranger's back and became his bride.

"Aria, my friend who works at the Marriage Bureau checked for me. You're definitely not Ethan Quinn's spouse."

I set down my phone.

Something in my chestso quietly, so gentlyshattered.

Five years married to Ethan.

Throughout those five years, no matter what I did, the Quinn family elders never accepted me.

My mother-in-law never mentioned my name in front of others, only referring to me as "that girl from the mountains."

At family banquets, I was always seated in the most remote corner.

In group photos, I was always arranged at the edge where I could easily be cropped out.

He said he didn't want me to feel hurt, so he had me return to the village first.

He said he'd wait until he completed our village's bride snatching ritual, followed all the proper procedures, then bring me back legitimately.

I obediently returned.

Though we spent little time together, to outsiders we seemed loving and harmonious enough.

But I'd waited three years for him, saved up three years' worth of things to say, longed for this night for three years.

Yet he came for another woman.

He'd fooled me with a fake certificate for three years.

All just so I wouldn't discoverthe person he truly wanted to capture was my stepsister, Chloe.

I looked at the woman in the mirror.

Expressionless, neither joyful nor sorrowful.

Soon, commotion erupted in the courtyard. The bride snatching had begun.

People were shouting "They're here, they're here!" Someone laughed. Footsteps pounded past in chaos. Someone deliberately blocked the path.

The firelight painted half the sky red. The excitement belonged to them.

The excitement was for Chloe.

The other group consisted of people from the neighboring village who'd come for the capture.

They'd originally come to capture Chloe.

According to tradition, if a girl was unwilling, she could hide away early and let them make a wasted trip.

But Chloe didn't hide.

She'd been waiting in her room all along, waiting to be carried away.

And the person she was waiting for

Was my husband.

The room I was in wasn't my usual one.

It was Chloe's.

That afternoon, my stepmother had called me over, held my hand, and spoke with rare gentleness:

"Aria, tonight during the capture, you stay in Chloe's room. Your room is too quietthe capture group won't find it easily."

"Those thugs coming for Chloe are troublemakers."

"You've always been tough since childhood, can take a beating. Not like Chloe with her delicate constitutionif she got hurt by accident, it would be terrible."

I said nothing.

I knew what she meant.

According to village tradition, during bride snatchings, the groom's brothers would charge in first to "seize the bride."

The woman had to resist, struggle, fight desperately to prevent being carried awaythis was called "blocking the door."

The harder you blocked, the fiercer you fought, the more precious the girl was considered.

The harder the groom's side had to fight to carry her away.

Those punches and shoves would land on you for real.

My stepmother sighed, acting as though sharing her deepest thoughts.

She studied my expression, testing the waters: "Besides, Ethan's from the cityhe's not familiar with our customs. If you stay in this room by the entrance, he won't have to search the whole courtyard."

Back then, wanting to make things easier for Ethan, I'd agreed.

I'd even sent him a message with my room's location.

But who knewthey'd been planning this switch all along.

Outside, a louder commotion suddenly erupted.

Someone shouted: "Got her! Got the bride!"

People laughed, people cheered, firecrackers crackled and popped.

I listened but didn't move.

I knew who they'd captured.

I could even picture the scene

Ethan carrying Chloe on his back, stumbling through the crowd.

His brothers flanking them protectively.

Someone deliberately blocking their path, people throwing things at them.

Chloe burying her face against his back, pretending to struggle a few times.

How wonderful.

I lowered my eyes, refusing to look.

Before long, my room door burst open.

A group of people surged into the darkness, their footsteps heavy and chaotic.

Someone grabbed my arm. Multiple hands came at me roughly.

I felt fists landing on my shoulders and backnot too light, not too heavythe ritual of blocking the door.

The harder you hit the bride, the more the bride's family treasured her, the harder the groom's side had to fight.

I didn't dodge or resist.

I let them push and shove, let them drag me from the chair, let those fists fall.

At first it seemed like going through the motions, but quickly, the shoving changed its nature.

Someone pinned my arm and slammed me against the wall. Someone pounded my waist with punch after punch.

The force was vicious and deliberate, nothing like the ritual of blocking the door.

This was intentional.

It hurt, but I made no sound.

I understood now what my stepmother meant by "tough since childhood."

Just as I expected more to come, someone shielded me: "Enough."

An unfamiliar voice, laced with anger.

He blocked me, using his arm to push back those still surging forward:

"You done yet? Hitting her this hardshe's a person, not a punching bag."

Someone laughed sheepishly in explanation: "It's tradition. The harder you block, the more precious the girl"

"What tradition?" His voice rose sharply. "Easy for you to say when it's not your wife. If someone beat your wife like this, would you just stand there watching?"

Silence fell around us.

He glanced back at me. In the dim light I couldn't make out his face, only a vague outline.

Then he bent down and lifted me onto his back.

Behind us, someone muttered: "Where'd this hothead come from? It's a bride snatchingwhy's he taking it so seriously..."

Carrying me on his back, he strode outside with long steps.

People chased behind us. People deliberately blocked the path. People threw things at us.

His steps were steady, his pace quick.

One hand gripped my legs firmly, afraid I'd fall.

When we crossed the first ridge, he stopped to catch his breath.

In the distance, firelight moved faintlythe other capture group.

Through the bushes, their laughter drifted over indistinctly.

Soon, that group drew near.

The firelight flickered, illuminating several faces.

The man in front carried a girl on his back, running until he was covered in sweat, but smiling nonetheless.

It was Ethan.

Chloe buried her face in his shoulder, arms circling his neck.

They were laughing, teasing each other.

The brothers following behind chanted: "Kiss! Kiss!"

I lay on the stranger's back, watching quietly as they approached.

The firelight swept across my face.

Ethan's gaze passed over, pausing on my face for an instant.

Just an instant.

His eyes swept past, continuing his banter with his brothers.

Chloe clung to Ethan's back, saying something sweetly. Ethan turned his head to listen, his smile devastatingly tender.

I suddenly remembered three years ago when I'd returned to the village to visit my father.

The first time he came to the village to find me, he'd worn that same smile.

That day he'd crossed two mountains.

His shoes worn through, his heels bleeding.

I'd asked, "Don't your feet hurt?"

He scratched his head, grinning: "Hurt? For my wife, I'm happy to do it."

A privileged young master accustomed to being waited on, yet willing to trek through these deep mountain forests for me.

He always said the distance wasn't far.

But I knewfrom town to the village, the bus only went to the mountain's foot. The rest of the way had to be walked.

Once when it rained, he stood at the courtyard gate soaked through, but the sweets tucked inside his jacket were still dry.

I'd called him foolish, coming in the rain.

He pressed the sweets into my hands, smiling: "I was afraid you'd get impatient waiting."

Afraid I'd get impatient.

Holding those sweets, looking at his rain-soaked hair, I'd thought: This man, for the rest of my life.

But now, carrying Chloe on his back, he smiled exactly the same way.

My vision blurred for a moment, then cleared again.

When did things start to change?

Probably three years ago when my father died.

I'd felt completely hollowed out. Ethan postponed all his commitments and stayed with me in the village for half a month.

The day he had to leave, he held my hand, his tone gentle with instructions:

"Aria, you just finished the funeral. You look so pale. If my mother sees you like this, she'll just complain again. I don't want you suffering through that."

"Stay in the village for now, rest and recover. Didn't you always want to take over the family business?"

"Once I get things settled back there, I'll come get you."

I looked at him and nodded.

I was truly exhausted from the mother-in-law relationship that could never be repaired.

Back then, I believed he was thinking of me.

Couldn't bear for me to go back and face scorn.

Only later did I learn

Distance doesn't make the heart grow fonder. It just makes it easier for him to love someone else.

Last year when his mother turned sixty, Ethan came to bring me back.

The moment I entered, I saw my stepsister Chloe, who was supposedly working in the city.

She was in the living room helping arrange fruit, her movements practiced.

Ethan paused while changing his shoes, explaining:

"Chloe's workplace is near our house. She's staying here temporarily."

He showed no guilt, so I said nothing more.

When my stepmother married into our family bringing Chloe, we were both already grown.

We'd never had much of a sisterly bond.

Over the years we only saw each other during holidays.

I couldn't quite identify my feelings about her staying there.

Seeing me enter, Chloe called out affectionately, "Aria."

"Don't overthink it. I'm just temporarily staying here. Once I find a place, I'll move out."

I nodded without responding.

Back then, I never imagined that while I, his wife, spent three years guarding an empty house in the village

My sister had also been "working" away, living at the Quinn house for three years.

...

Now, watching Chloe cling to Ethan's back, I suddenly understood.

From start to finish, I wasn't waiting for him to bring me home, wasn't waiting for him to capture me in marriage.

I was waiting for my own heart to die.

Voices drifted over on the night wind, growing clearer.

Chloe's voice.

"...What about Aria? If she finds out, she'll raise hell."

Ethan's tone was certain: "She's all bark, soft-hearted underneath. Once she's done being mad, it'll blow over. Besides"

He paused, his voice dropping: "Bride snatchings happen in pitch darknessI just made a mistake. She'll feel sorry for me before she gets angry. She won't blame me."

"Once she knows, I'll smooth things over."

Chloe laughed softly.

My knuckles turned white from gripping so hard.

One of the brothers suddenly said: "Ethan, what if Aria gets captured by someone else?"

Silence fell on their side for a moment.

Then Ethan laughed: "You think she'd let herself get captured without a fight? With her temper, she'd tear the roof off tonight."

"True, with Aria's personality, there's no way she wouldn't fight back."

"Feel sorry for that poor groomwonder what kind of beating he took."

The laughter grew louder.

I lowered my eyes. "Let's go."

The man carrying me was very quiet.

Since earlier, he hadn't asked a single question.

Lying on his back, I could feel his stepssteady, unhurried, like someone who'd walked night roads a thousand times before.

He must have figured it out.

Figured out who they were laughing about, figured out that the person who could "tear the roof off" was me.

But he said nothing.

Just kept walking.

Until at a bend in the path, we came face to face with that other group.

Torchlight swept toward us. Someone from the other side spoke first: "Lucas?"

His steps paused briefly. He responded flatly, "Yeah."

Ethan, carrying Chloe, walked closer a few steps.

Smiling, he looked him over: "It really is you? You're doing a bride snatching too tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Which family's girl?" Ethan's gaze swept over, landing on me.

I buried my face in Lucas's shoulder, showing them only the back of my head.

"From the neighboring village." Lucas said, his tone neutral.

Ethan stared at me for another moment, then suddenly laughed: "Well, well. I always thought you were the stay-away-from-people type, figured you weren't planning to settle down. Congratulations."

Lucas responded with another "yeah."

Ethan took two more steps forward. The torchlight drew closer.

I could feel his gaze land on my back, lingering for a moment.

I thought he was about to recognize me.

"Let's go." Lucas suddenly spoke, taking a step forward.

"Wait." Ethan blocked our path.

Ethan frowned, about to say something else.

Chloe's voice suddenly rang out, soft and sweet: "Ethan, the cut on my foot hurts a little."

Ethan immediately turned to her: "What's wrong? Did you bump it just now?"

"I don't know, it just hurts..." Chloe's voice grew fainter. "Let's hurry. We need to reach your place before dawn."

Ethan couldn't worry about anything else.

He nodded at Lucas: "Gotta go. When we're back in the city, drinks are on me."

Their footsteps gradually faded.

Only then did Lucas say quietly: "He really didn't recognize you."

Lying on his back, I said nothing.

My eyes felt hot.

But I didn't cry.

He seemed to sense something. His steps slowed slightly, walking steadily onward.

The moon was bright. The mountain path was long.

I didn't know where he was taking me.

But in that moment, I suddenly felt that anywhere was better than turning back.