Chapter 106

In Fu Tingjun's mind, Zhao Ling was highly skilled in martial arts—three or five sturdy men were no match for him, let alone her. When he fell to the ground from her gentle push, she was stunned.

Zhao Ling gave a wry smile. "I'm just too happy today. I drank too much, and my head is still spinning. I was also squatting on the ground just now, so my feet are a bit numb..."

Fu Tingjun found it both amusing and exasperating, but deep down she still felt for him. She hurried to help him up. "Quick, get up!"

Zhao Ling seized the opportunity to take her hand.

It was delicate and smooth like polished jade, and his thumb couldn't help but trace gentle circles on the back of her hand.

Inwardly, he was secretly relieved. Fortunately, he had been thinking about his matters with Fu Tingjun, planning to talk with her properly after the banquet ended. When Centurion Si and the others had toasted him, he only drank a few cups before pretending to be drunk. Otherwise, why would Fu Tingjun have come to see him? When would he have had the chance to speak his heart? Not to mention that by pretending to fall, he had gotten Fu Tingjun to forgive his earlier recklessness immediately... In the end, it was because Fu Tingjun had him in her heart...

The thought flashed through his mind, and suddenly a thousand tender feelings surged within him. How could he bear to let go of her hand?

Fu Tingjun's face flushed crimson, and she inwardly cursed Zhao Ling as a lecher.

Somehow, things had turned out like this—give him an inch and he'd take a mile. She also thought of his earlier shameless words about "if you don't agree, I'll kneel at your gate and shout that I want to marry the Ninth Miss of the Fu family," and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

The Fu family had already announced to the outside world that she had died of illness. If he went to propose marriage, what would that even mean? Wouldn't it make the whole matter known to everyone and infuriate her father half to death?

Though, perhaps her father, mindful of the Fu family's reputation, might reluctantly agree to the match.

But if it came to that, it would be beneath them, and the future relationship between father-in-law and son-in-law would likely be fraught with resentment.

"You scoundrel!" she chided playfully. "Give you an inch and you take a mile... If you keep this up, I, I won't have anything to do with you from now on!" Then she thought—was it because she was always the one who couldn't let go of him first, always the one to accommodate him first, that he didn't take her seriously and thus treated her so lightly?

A wave of grievance welled up in her heart, and tears glistened in her eyes.

Zhao Ling only wished for Fu Tingjun to be happy; how could he bear to see her even the slightest bit sad? He quickly used his sleeve to wipe her tears, coaxing her softly like a child: "Don't cry, don't cry! It's all my fault!" He was just short of offering to buy her candy.

Fu Tingjun saw how flustered he was, the hint of panic between his brows—nothing like his usual calm composure. She knew it was all because of her, and her anger turned to joy as she let out a "pfft" laugh.

That smile, born from the depths of her heart, was like a hundred flowers blooming in full glory, radiant and dazzling.

Zhao Ling gazed at her in a daze, only coming back to his senses after a long moment. He knew that Fu Tingjun had never truly blamed him from the start, and he felt nothing but inexplicable joy. He pulled her into his arms. "My dear, don't be angry anymore. We'll return to Ledu first thing tomorrow morning."

He murmured softly against her ear, the warmth of his breath on her neck making her body instantly burn like fire.

"Who, who's going back to Ledu with you?" She pushed him away shyly. "I, I'm going back to Zhangye first thing tomorrow."

"Why?" Zhao Ling gripped her shoulders with both hands, staring at her with burning eyes, his face full of bewilderment.

Had she not forgiven him yet?

Fu Tingjun was flustered by his earnest, scorching gaze and dared not meet his eyes.

She lowered her eyelids. "I, I just came to see if you were alright... Since you're fine... A Sen and the household... and Zheng Sanniang, with Linchun..."

Such a flimsy excuse—how could Zhao Ling believe it? He stared at her without blinking.

Fu Tingjun grew even more flustered, and anger surged up within her.

It was all his fault anyway. She hadn't done anything wrong, so why should she have to humble herself before him as if she'd done something wrong?

"It's all your fault!" She turned her face away. "You just had to let Miss Tang stay in the yamen, stirring up all sorts of gossip outside, and even sat at the same table eating with her, making me misunderstand..." Her voice grew choked with emotion. "I, I was so embarrassed... I'm not going anywhere... I want to go back to Zhangye."

Zhao Ling understood now.

She had ridden her horse out of the town—someone must have seen her. She was afraid that going to Ledu would make her a laughingstock.

Thinking that all of this was because of him, Zhao Ling's heart was filled with tenderness, almost overflowing beyond his control.

He held her in his arms with infinite gentleness, gently stroking her silky black hair, and whispered softly in her ear: "My dear, I have my plans. I won't let anyone laugh at you. Just come back to Ledu with me. I'm busy here and can't get away—you've come all this way, you should stay for a few more days." His voice dropped even lower. "Let me take a good look at you!" His murmurs carried a heartbeat-quickening intimacy.

For some reason, Fu Tingjun suddenly recalled the look in his eyes when she was drenched by the river, and the snow-white figure that had dazzled even herself inside the carriage. Flustered and indignant, her face flushed crimson as she raised her dark brows and glared at Zhao Ling, scolding, "What's all this 'Nannan' business? My name is Fu Tingjun, and my childhood name is Quanhui. What nonsense are you spouting?" Before she even finished speaking, she saw a hint of a smile ripple through Zhao Ling's eyes like water, growing wider until it reached the corners of his eyes and brows: "'Tingjun'—the integrity of pine and bamboo, a fine name! As for Quanhui," he mused, "'Binding the graceful cassia branches, weaving quanzhui and magnolia'... let me guess... hmm... the magnolia, also called the purple magnolia, blooms in the second month in Jiangnan, but spring comes later in Shaanxi, with its flowering period usually in the third or fourth month. Could it be that you were born in the third or fourth month? And at the time of your birth, the purple magnolias happened to be in full bloom, hence your childhood name 'Quanhui'?"

No matter how composed Zhao Ling was, he was still just a young man barely past twenty. In front of his beloved, he couldn't help but want to do something astonishing to win her admiration and favor, so naturally he strove to make his words striking.

Sure enough, Fu Tingjun's eyes widened.

A trace of pride couldn't help but flicker through Zhao Ling's eyes.

This rascal—his mind spun fast over all this trivial nonsense, yet when it came to their affairs, he was as dull as a wooden block.

Fu Tingjun watched him, vexed, and couldn't resist retorting, "You guessed wrong—I wasn't born in the third or fourth month!"

"Not born in the third or fourth month, eh?" Zhao Ling was quite surprised and fell into serious contemplation. After a moment, he said, "Then you must have been born in the fifth month!" His tone was quite confident.

Fu Tingjun was astonished: "How did you know?"

"That's easy," Zhao Ling laughed. "Since you weren't born in the third or fourth month, and Shaanxi couldn't have warmed up by the second month, nor could it still be bitterly cold past the fifth month, it can only be the fifth month. And the year you were born must have had some unusual weather, with the purple magnolias blooming late, which is why your birth was regarded as auspicious..." He asked her intimately in a low voice, "So which day of the month were you born?"

She had already told him her name—if she told him her birth date as well, wouldn't he know her complete birth chart!

When it came down to it, it was all her fault for softening whenever she saw him being so humble.

Fu Tingjun was both embarrassed and angry, and said with coquettish irritation, "What business is it of yours?"

"How could it not be my business?" Zhao Ling said with complete justification. "You've now finished your mourning period, and I'm currently acting as the Thousand Household Commander of Niambo Station. The Marquis of Yingchuan, Deputy General Wang, and Commander Lu are all lending their full support. Once we sow the seeds next spring, we'll go to the capital... But if your esteemed father says even a single word about 'incompatible birth charts,' we wouldn't even have a place to plead our case—wouldn't we be forced to part ways? Such a mood-ruining matter naturally needs to be planned early." As he spoke, he winked at her, his expression carrying a hint of mischief yet also an indescribable ease and freedom. "I was born on the ninth day of the ninth month in the Renzi year, and my childhood name was Ninth Brother. Later, when I wandered the rivers and lakes, I feared disgracing my late father, so I only went by Zhao Jiu in public. What day were you born? We need to find an old master well-versed in the Book of Changes to examine our charts." Then he put on a troubled look. "If it doesn't work out, I'll just have to change my birth date!"

One couldn't simply change one's birth chart at will!

If her father didn't consent, even matching charts would be useless; if he did consent to the marriage, even mismatched charts could be smoothed over by having a master of the Book of Changes perform a resolution.

Fu Tingjun knew Zhao Ling was trying to cheer her up. Though she didn't want to let him get too pleased with himself and forced herself to keep a straight face, the smile that reached the very depths of her eyes betrayed her true feelings.

"Utter nonsense." She bit her rosy lips and hesitated for a long while before finally telling him, "I was born on the eighteenth day of the fifth month in the Wuwu year."

Her voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz, but Zhao Ling, being attentive, heard every word clearly.

He said with some chagrin, "Why didn't you tell me earlier? I could have celebrated your birthday!" Then he added, "Or I could have had Zheng Sanniang cook you a bowl of longevity noodles, and I would have known then." He silently scolded himself for his carelessness in not instructing Zheng Sanniang earlier.

"It's nothing important," Fu Tingjun said quickly. "It comes every year. But Ninth Master, in two months it will be your birthday..." She began to ponder what birthday gift she might give him.

Zhao Ling's mind turned slightly, and he smiled, "Then make me a few pairs of shoes!" With that, he stretched out his foot. "Look, these are boots I bought at Wusheng Town a while back—they've already got a tear in them..."

Wusheng Town lay northwest of Zhuanglang Guard, near Liangzhou Guard.

"What are you doing in Wusheng Town?" She thought of Feng Dahu's death and the purpose of her visit, and couldn't help but tremble slightly. "Is Feng Dahu's death connected to you?"

Unbeknownst to her, Zhao Ling had felt an unprecedented sense of ease and comfort in Fu Tingjun's presence for some time now, and some words slipped out unintentionally.

Fu Tingjun was the one he loved, so he naturally didn't want to lie to her, yet he couldn't bring himself to admit in front of her that he had ridden a thousand miles alone to kill Feng Dahu for her sake... So he could only remain silent.

It must be him!

Fu Tingjun didn't know whether to be shocked, delighted, or bitter, her mind in a turmoil. All she could do was stammer a warning to him: "You must be extremely careful. Don't let word leak out to the Marquis of Xiping's household. The Marquis of Xiping has already persuaded the Marquis of Yingchuan to mobilize troops from Ganzhou Garrison to hunt down the murderer of Feng Dahu..."