Chapter 105

The bride nodded shyly. "Centurion Zhao and Commander Zhao are relatives. Every month, he sends a letter to Miss Fu, Centurion Zhao's betrothed who lives far away in Zhangye. Whatever rewards Centurion Zhao receives are also kept by Miss Fu. Everyone knows about this."

Fu Tingjun felt embarrassed and muttered inwardly: When did Zhao Ming become relatives with Zhao Ling? And "everyone knows"—this is probably just Zhao Ming spreading rumors everywhere.

She was considering whether to ask for more details when Centurion Si's wife walked in, carrying a tray with meat soup and dishes. "Miss Fu, Centurion Zhao said that since it's cold at night and you've washed your hair, he was worried you might catch a chill, so he asked that you dine in your room."

As if she were so delicate and frail.

Fu Tingjun thanked Mrs. Si. Noticing that Fu Tingjun seemed to be about the same age as her eldest daughter-in-law and that they seemed to get along well, Mrs. Si gave her daughter-in-law a meaningful look, signaling her to attend to Miss Fu carefully, then smiled and withdrew.

The bride stood nearby, serving Fu Tingjun's meal, and said enviously, "Centurion Zhao is so good to Miss Fu!"

Fu Tingjun suddenly felt uncomfortable and said with a smile, "You should go eat too. I'll let you know when I'm done."

The bride insisted on staying.

To refuse any further would seem overly affected.

Fu Tingjun had no choice but to let her stay, though she quickened her pace and finished dinner soon after.

The bride smiled and cleared away the dishes, and from outside came the sound of Zhao Ling's cheerful laughter.

Fu Tingjun found it a bit odd.

The bride poked her head out to look, then turned back to her with a smile. "My father-in-law, several banner leaders from the garrison, and my husband are all drinking with Centurion Zhao!" She looked as if she were basking in reflected glory, as though bringing joy to Zhao Ling was a matter of great honor.

Fu Tingjun grumbled inwardly. The bride fetched a fan and began fanning her. Having traveled for days without rest and experienced such great highs and lows upon arriving in Ledu, Fu Tingjun drifted off to sleep in the gentle breeze.

When she groggily woke, moonlight filled the window lattice. She was alone in the room—the bride who had promised to share the bed was nowhere to be seen, though someone had thoughtfully covered her with a blue-flowered cotton sheet.

Feeling thirsty, Fu Tingjun felt her way to the teapot of boiled water on the table by the moonlight. She had just taken a couple of sips when she heard soft voices outside the door: "You go to sleep. Don't worry about me. Miss Fu is still in the room!"

"I don't want to," the bride's voice was sweet and soft. "Miss Fu has already gone to sleep. I want to stay here with you. Besides, Centurion Zhao is drunk—he'll surely be troublesome in the middle of the night. If I'm here, I can help you fetch water and bring hangover soup."

"Silly girl!" The man's voice sounded young, tinged with affection. "You have to get up early tomorrow to serve your parents. If you sleep too late, you won't be able to get up again. Be good, listen to me, go to sleep. I can handle Centurion Zhao on my own."

"But I want to stay with you!" the bride coquetted.

The loving young couple brought a smile to Fu Tingjun's lips.

She coughed softly.

Suddenly, all was silent outside.

They must have been startled...

Fu Tingjun was about to laugh when she heard the door creak open. The bride slipped in and called out cautiously, "Miss Fu?"

"I'm here!" Fu Tingjun said with a smile.

"Oh my!" Seeing her standing in the middle of the room, the bride was startled. She hastily explained, "Centurion Zhao drank too much, and my husband is looking after him. He just asked me to help fetch some water..."

They must have been instructed by their parents to look after her and Zhao Ling.

Fu Tingjun quickly smiled and said, "You've worked hard." Then she asked, "Did Centurion Zhao drink a lot? How is he now?"

That man—drinking recklessly at a subordinate's home. If he behaved improperly while drunk, it would undermine his authority as a superior officer!

Seeing that Fu Tingjun wasn't angry, the bride relaxed and answered honestly, "He's been sleeping, groggy the whole time. He just said he was thirsty, and my husband has already given him water." She reached for the candle to light it.

"No need to light the lamp," Fu Tingjun said with a smile. "Let's go check on Centurion Zhao."

The bride immediately accompanied Fu Tingjun to the side chamber where Zhao Ling was resting.

Centurion Si's eldest son was a fair-skinned young man, at most seventeen or eighteen, with a hint of boyishness still on his face.

Fu Tingjun sighed inwardly at the sight.

She and Zhao Ling were only a year or two older than this couple, yet they seemed to have experienced so much more, and had lost such simple joy.

Under the dim lamplight, Zhao Ling lay quietly, yet his brows were tightly furrowed, as if he carried many worries even in his dreams.

What was troubling him so?

Fu Tingjun wondered, then asked Centurion Si's eldest son, "Has Centurion Zhao been sleeping the whole time?"

"Yes," Centurion Si's eldest son replied respectfully. "Centurion Zhao has been sleeping ever since he became drunk."

Fu Tingjun felt somewhat relieved.

The man on the bed let out a groan. "Water... water..."

Centurion Si's eldest son and his wife scrambled to pour water.

Suddenly, Zhao Ling grabbed Fu Tingjun's hand, which was by the edge of the kang.

"What's wrong?" Fu Tingjun asked, confused and a little anxious.

Zhao Ling seemed somewhat dazed, cracking one eye open to glance at Fu Tingjun before closing it again.

Centurion Si's eldest son brought over some water.

Zhao Ling kept holding tightly to Fu Tingjun's hand without letting go, so Fu Tingjun had no choice but to stand nearby, watching as Centurion Si's eldest son fed him the water.

Zhao Ling sank back into a deep sleep, yet his hand still gripped Fu Tingjun's firmly. She tried to pull free several times but couldn't, her face flushing crimson as she thought that since Zhao Ling was drunk, it wouldn't be proper to make a fuss.

Seeing this, the bride tugged at her husband's sleeve, and the two quietly slipped out.

Zhao Ling suddenly opened his eyes.

Fu Tingjun was startled and quickly asked, "What's wrong?"

He tightened his grip on her hand with sudden force, and Fu Tingjun tumbled into his embrace.

"What... what are you doing?" Fu Tingjun was terrified, her voice sharp and shrill.

Centurion Si's eldest son and daughter-in-law poked their heads through the door crack, then immediately withdrew.

Zhao Ling held Fu Tingjun's waist in a firm grip, and she couldn't move. Her gaze involuntarily fell on his face.

Though Zhao Ling's face was somewhat flushed, his eyes were clear and bright—there was not the slightest hint of a drunkard's confusion in them.

"You..." Fu Tingjun's heart pounded like a drum, a vague sense that something was about to happen stirring within her.

Zhao Ling had already murmured softly, "Don't move!"

His gaze was fixed intently on Fu Tingjun—from her black hair to her brows and eyes, from her brows and eyes to her red lips—so carefully, so earnestly, as if she were his most treasured possession that he could never look at enough. It made her face burn like fire, and she dared not meet his eyes.

"What... what are you doing?" Fu Tingjun struggled to rise.

"What... is your name?" Zhao Ling tightened his hold around her, his voice somewhat hoarse as he asked. An emotion she couldn't comprehend stirred in the air, making her feel uneasy at heart.

"Why... why are you asking this?" Fu Tingjun lowered her eyelids.

A young woman's given name was not something to be casually revealed to others. Aside from parents and siblings, only a husband could know it.

"Then how about I call you 'Nannan'?" A hint of mischief flashed in Zhao Ling's eyes. "I'm from Songjiang, and in Songjiang, we call the girls we fancy 'Nannan'!"

"Nonsense," Fu Tingjun retorted, unable to help herself, her face reddening. "Do you think you can fool me just because I've never been to Jiangnan? I've read in books that in Songjiang, they call young girls who haven't yet pinned up their hair 'Nannan'—since when do they call a girl who's already come of age 'Nannan'?"

A hint of amusement flickered in Zhao Ling's eyes. "Then what should I call you?"

Fu Tingjun suddenly realized—Zhao Ling was teasing her!

That cold, aloof man who usually faced even a collapsing mountain without changing his expression was actually using the excuse of drunkenness to tease her!

Fu Tingjun was at a loss, utterly bewildered.

But Zhao Ling continued on his own: "Anyway, you're bound to marry me in the future, and you're as moody as a child, so I'll just call you 'Nannan'..."

Fu Tingjun was both anxious and angry. "Who said I'm going to marry you?" Realizing she was still lying on top of him, her body felt as if it were on fire, burning all over. Yet the warmth of his body, tinged with the scent of wine, made her dizzy and her limbs weak. "You... you're bullying me!" Tears couldn't help but fall.

Zhao Ling had only been emboldened by the wine, but Fu Tingjun's tears fell on his heart like molten lava, causing him unbearable pain.

"Don't cry!" He quickly released her. "It's all my fault, all my fault..."

Taking the opportunity, Fu Tingjun sat up and wiped her tears with her sleeve.

Zhao Ling produced a handkerchief from somewhere and offered it to Fu Tingjun.

Fu Tingjun didn't take it. She stood up and said, "Since you're fine now, I'll be going." Her voice was muffled, clearly unhappy.

Zhao Ling was greatly alarmed.

Opportunities were fleeting, but they always went to those who seized them proactively.

He jumped down from the kang: "Wait, don't go yet. I have something to tell you." His voice was urgent and hurried, a far cry from his usual calm composure and confidence.

Fu Tingjun couldn't help but look up in surprise.

Zhao Ling's brow was furrowed with anxiety, but his voice gradually steadied: "I know what you mean. My feelings for you are the same as your feelings for me." As he spoke, his expression slowly turned serious. "Rest assured—'If I win one heart, I'll love her till we're both white-haired and never part.' I... I will never let you down... Between us, there will be no one else..."

Fu Tingjun froze.

If I win one heart, I'll love her till we're both white-haired and never part.

Between us, there will be no one else.

This... was this his promise to her?

Did he know what it meant?

Fu Tingjun stared blankly at Zhao Ling.

Zhao Ling nodded, his expression incomparably solemn.

Fu Tingjun sat down limply on the edge of the kang, tears blurring her vision.

"I know that I've lost both my parents, have no fixed home, and hold no official rank—just a lowly centurion. In the eyes of parents, I'm hardly a suitable match." He crouched beside her, his large hand gently covering her small one that had been nervously twisting the hem of her garment. Looking up at her with sincerity, he said, "But I will treat you well for the rest of my life. I'll earnestly plead with your uncle and aunt, work hard, and become someone who can protect you, so they can feel at ease entrusting you to me..."

Fu Tingjun's tears fell in a steady stream.

Was it so easy to become a son-in-law of the Fu family?

Especially for her, who had once carried such boundless expectations.

"And if my father and mother absolutely refuse?"

"Then I'll kneel at the front gate and beg them," Zhao Ling said with utter seriousness. "If anyone asks, I'll say plainly that I've come to seek the hand of the Ninth Miss of the Fu family. If they say, 'But wasn't the Ninth Miss of the Fu family already dead of illness?' I'll say, 'No, not at all—she's alive and well...'"

"You scoundrel!" Fu Tingjun broke into a smile through her tears and reached out to give Zhao Ling a gentle shove.

Zhao Ling, as if made of paper, tumbled to the ground.