Chapter 102

Zhao Ling never dreamed that Fu Tingjun would appear at Nianbo Station, would appear before his very eyes. His eyes widened, utterly unable to believe what he was seeing, until Fu Tingjun walked toward him, her bright eyes gazing at him with the cold clarity of the morning stars at the edge of the sky. Only then did he confirm that the person before him was truly Fu Tingjun.

"You, how did you come?" He was both startled and delighted, the handkerchief in his hand soaked through his robe with drops of water like beads of dew, yet he noticed nothing. "Who sent you here? Zheng San? A Sen? What about Zheng Sanniang? Why didn't she come with you?" He looked toward the space behind her.

But Fu Tingjun didn't even glance at him. She pushed past his shoulder and surveyed the inner chamber.

The government office looked quite old and worn, but the furnishings inside were extremely luxurious.

Dark green Hangzhou silk bed curtains, black lacquered furniture inlaid with snow-white marble, cool green bamboo mats, and floors paved with blue brick—the room exuded coolness from every corner.

There was only Zhao Ling in the room. The bedding was folded neatly, only a moon-white Songjiang three-strand cloth shirt hung on the black lacquered clothes rack, and the bronze mirror stand with flower-and-bird carvings was completely bare, giving the room a somewhat monotonous feel. When she opened the wardrobe, aside from a few official robes, there were only the summer shirts she had made.

Fu Tingjun felt slightly better in her heart.

But Zhao Ling was utterly bewildered: "What's wrong?"

What's wrong?

I should be the one asking you what's wrong!

Fu Tingjun felt the anger burning in her heart once again. She turned to face Zhao Ling, and from the corner of her eye caught sight of the two women who had been setting out bowls and chopsticks in the main hall, now crowding at the entrance of the inner chamber with shocked expressions, staring at her with their mouths agape.

Clearly, both of them had witnessed the scene just now.

Fu Tingjun's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

Her actions just now had been rather rash. According to Zhao Ming, these two women who served Zhao Ling were both relatives of some centurion or another, and presumably held some standing in Nianbo Station. This was her first time at Nianbo Station, and she had left such an impression on these two women. If word got out, given their prestige, it would hardly do her reputation any good.

The more she thought about it, the less she wanted others to see her as a laughingstock.

Fu Tingjun smiled and said, "I was worried that Ninth Master might be living in frugal conditions here, but I never expected that there was a whole different world hidden inside this room!" She understood the logic in her heart, but the words that came out still carried an unmistakable trace of sarcasm.

The two women exchanged a glance.

The woman before them had skin as white as snow and an air of noble elegance; even in her fury, she could not hide her graceful bearing. One could tell at a glance she was the daughter of a prominent family. She had barged in and turned the inner chamber upside down, yet Centurion Zhao just stood there dumbfounded, watching her, letting her do as she pleased, his expression a mix of joy and helplessness, without the slightest trace of anger... The two women were not foolish—in fact, they were quite clever; otherwise, they would not have been chosen to serve Zhao Ling... They sensed the implication in Fu Tingjun's words, and recalling their earlier disrespect, a hint of fear crept into their hearts. In unison, they called out, "Centurion!" Their voices already carried a faint note of pleading.

She had stormed in furiously and searched the entire room, all because the furnishings were too lavish?

Zhao Ling felt that the Fu Tingjun he knew was not the kind of person to do such a thing. There had to be a reason for her behavior. But whatever the reason, he did not want those two women present. After all, Fu Tingjun throwing a tantrum like this would only make those meeting her for the first time think she had a violent temper, and a violent temper was incompatible with virtue and gentleness... He did not want Fu Tingjun to appear lacking in virtue before his subordinates' wives.

"You may leave now!" He waved his hand with a stern expression. "And set out another pair of bowls and chopsticks!"

The two women quickly bowed in acknowledgment and withdrew.

Another pair of bowls and chopsticks—who were those for? Surely the three of them weren't going to eat at the same table?

Fu Tingjun trembled with anger, and it was a long moment before she said, "So Ninth Master has a guest after all!" Her tone carried an acerbity that could not be mistaken.

Zhao Ling was a very perceptive man, and also a man skilled at resolving complex problems. In his view, whether it was Fu Tingjun's fury or her barbed words, it was all because she was angry. As long as he found the reason for her anger, the matter would resolve itself.

He cut straight to the heart of the matter: "You're furious—what exactly is it about?"

What exactly is it about?

You tell me what it's about!

Why won't you answer me about who your guest is?

Fu Tingjun glared at him, her gaze burning as if a fire blazed within: "Who is Ninth Master's guest?"

Her aggressive questioning made Zhao Ling's brow furrow slightly. He didn't understand why she was so fixated on this, but he still answered patiently: "Do you remember how I once told you that when I first started out, there was a man named Tang Daishan who lent me a helping hand?"

How could Fu Tingjun not remember.

Tang Daishan had wanted to invite Zhao Ling to go to the capital together to find connections for obtaining an official salt license, and she had done everything in her power to stop him...

"He was killed two days before he was set to leave for the capital, and the hundred thousand taels of silver notes he was bringing with him vanished without a trace," Zhao Ling said, his brows furrowed tightly together. "The Feng family took advantage of the situation to seize his private salt business. Tang Daishan had only one daughter, and Miss Tang was unable to hold things together on her own. She came to me, hoping I would step forward as a mediator. The Tang family would never touch the private salt trade again from then on, and the Feng family would let the Tang family go..."

Fu Tingjun's internal alarm bells rang loudly.

Miss Tang?

The Miss Tang who had lent Zhao Ling the Longquan sword!

So the woman everyone had been gossiping about was Miss Tang.

Few people knew that Zhao Ling had entered the military registry—how had she come to know of it?

Or perhaps she had been keeping an eye on Zhao Ling all along?

Xi'an Prefecture was a thousand li away from here, and Zhao Ling had already washed his hands of the underworld. Why would she still ask him to come forward as a mediator?

"Did Ninth Master agree?" She stared intently into Zhao Ling's eyes.

Zhao Ling had never seen Fu Tingjun so sharp-edged, and he couldn't help but pause for a moment.

That pause, however, stirred Fu Tingjun's displeasure: "The grudge between the Tang and Feng families arose entirely because of the private salt trade. Since Tang Daishan had only Miss Tang as his daughter, and now that Miss Tang has decided to give up the salt business, the enmity between the two families should be resolved. Why would a mediator be needed?"

With Zhao Ling's intelligence and wit, could he really not see this? Why the hesitation? Or was it because the one who came to ask him was Miss Tang?

"There are some things you don't know," Zhao Ling said. "The two families have been feuding for years—it's not simply a matter of a grudge. There are deaths involved as well. Giving it up isn't such an easy thing..."

"Then has Ninth Master already agreed to serve as mediator between the Tang and Feng families for Miss Tang?" Fu Tingjun asked, her expression grave.

"No..." Zhao Ling thought of how scheming Fu Tingjun had been at the start, and of the joy and delight of Yang Yucheng, Jin Yuanbao, and the others. He didn't want to get entangled in this again.

"Then what is Ninth Master hesitating about?" Fu Tingjun said immediately. "Rather than dragging things out and giving people false hope, it would be better to refuse plainly and clearly. Perhaps she might find someone more suitable than you to be the mediator. By doing this, you're not helping her—you're holding her back."

Zhao Ling knew this as well.

"It's just that when Old Master Tang was on his deathbed, he asked Miss Tang to come find me, hoping I would help her break free from the Feng family," he said with a bitter smile. "The Tang family had been in the private salt business since the previous generation, with family wealth in the tens of millions. And Miss Tang has no brothers or sisters to help her..."

Fu Tingjun was furious.

Who in this world didn't have their own troubles? It wasn't as if Miss Tang couldn't survive on her own. And since when did Zhao Ling become some kind of Guanyin Bodhisattva who saves the suffering? Back then, he had even tried to strangle her!

A gentle female voice sounded from outside the door: "Ninth Master, I heard you have a guest? I wonder if it would be convenient for me to meet them?"

The way she spoke to Zhao Ling—Fu Tingjun didn't need to guess to know that this was the Miss Tang in question.

A guest. Fine. So now she was the guest? And what about Miss Tang? Was she the mistress of the house then?

Fu Tingjun looked at Zhao Ling.

Zhao Ling said softly to her, "It's Miss Tang," and quickly took a Daoist robe that Fu Tingjun had made for him from the wardrobe and put it on.

Watching this, Fu Tingjun's mood improved considerably.

But in the next moment, Zhao Ling stood there with the bearing of a pine tree, revealing a gentle and refined smile—like still water, like unyielding stone—possessing a calm and composure tempered by the passage of years.

As if she had taken too much sweet, a feeling of sour jealousy welled up in Fu Tingjun's heart.

Then she saw a beautiful woman walk in gracefully.

She wore her hair in a drooping bun, dressed in a white gauze blouse, with bright eyes and snow-white skin, long brows like distant mountain ridges—exquisite, elegant, and so lovely that one forgot the mundane world upon seeing her.

When she saw Fu Tingjun, a flicker of admiration passed through her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a radiant smile: "This young lady is truly beautiful!" She said, then turned her gaze to Zhao Ling. "May I ask who this is?"

Zhao Ling smiled and said, "This is Miss Fu!"

Miss Tang greeted her with a bow and called out warmly: "Miss Fu!"

Miss Fu!

He had introduced her to Miss Tang as Miss Fu!

Fu Tingjun's fingertips went cold.

So she was merely Miss Fu after all!

Just like Miss Tang.

The only difference was that one was called "Miss Fu" and the other "Miss Tang."

And she had been foolishly hoping... that she would be different to him!

She thought of the gentle gaze he had given her under the bright moonlight on Mid-Autumn Festival; she thought of the warmth of wrapping herself in his leather coat; she thought of the solemn, vow-like expression on his face when he handed her the deed to the property; she thought of the sweet feeling in her heart every time she thought of him; she thought of her terror when she heard he might have lost in battle; she thought of the three arrows she had shot at Feng Dahu... Even so, she had to ask him clearly—why did he treat her this way? Could it be that all of this was truly just her own wishful thinking? Just her own self-deception?

Even if she had lost completely, she could not lose her composure in front of Miss Tang. Once she lost her composure, that would be a true defeat.

She should ask Miss Tang gently when she had arrived, whether she was comfortable living in Niambo, and whether she needed any help... She knew all this in her heart, but it was as if all the strength had been drained from her body, and she could no longer maintain even the surface of her poise.

She only felt tired.

She had never felt so tired before.

What was she doing?

Truly laughable!

Following him from Xi'an Prefecture to Zhangye, and then from Zhangye to Niambo... it was nothing but self-inflicted humiliation!

Fu Tingjun felt a deep weariness rise from the bottom of her heart, along with a sense of abandonment and despair.

She had offered even her self-respect to Zhao Ling. What else did she have? What was left?

"Zhao Ling!" Tears welled up in her eyes. "From this day forward, you and I are through! You go your way, and I'll go mine."

She rushed out of the second hall.