Chapter 117

"So, we were just scaring ourselves, seeing enemies everywhere?" Fu Tingjun said, unable to hold back a laugh.

Zhao Ling smiled sheepishly. "It's mainly because everything was too coincidental—we couldn't help but think along those lines!"

Fu Tingjun nodded with a smile and pushed the blue-and-white porcelain bowl of chicken soup toward Zhao Ling. "Drink it quickly—it won't taste good once it's cold!"

Zhao Ling grunted in acknowledgment and lowered his head to drink the soup.

Fu Tingjun thought of what had just happened and burst out laughing again.

Zhao Ling looked at her and shook his head with a hint of helplessness.

Who would have thought that when the Marquis of Yingchuan specifically summoned him, it wasn't about the Datong trading house at all, but rather to expose his past?

Not only had he directly asked whether Zhao Ling was the salt smuggler Zhao Jiu from the northwestern road, but he had also brought up Fu Tingjun, suspecting she was the Ninth Miss of the Huayin Fu family who had supposedly died of illness. Fortunately, last year's drought in Shaanxi had sparked civil unrest, leaving everything in chaos—many county land registers and household registries had been destroyed. His master had originally brought him to the northwest to avoid enemies, and they had been extremely careful about their movements. He had never mentioned it to anyone else. The Marquis of Yingchuan had only managed to uncover that he had once smuggled salt—nothing more. As for Fu Tingjun's origins, it was mere speculation without evidence... Otherwise, if he knew only fragments about his opponent while his opponent knew everything about his past, it would be like standing there naked while the impeccably dressed Marquis of Yingchuan scrutinized him. That feeling of not knowing how to guard against an opponent was truly unbearable!

At this thought, his expression turned slightly grave.

Fu Tingjun, who had been watching Zhao Ling with a smile, noticed and felt a stir in her heart.

For no apparent reason, why would the Marquis of Yingchuan summon him to say such things?

Zhao Ling always reported only good news to her, never bad. Could there be some hidden agenda behind all this?

She thought for a moment, then suddenly said, "Ninth Master, could the Marquis of Yingchuan be planning to give you an important position?"

Zhao Ling nearly choked on his soup at her words.

He set down the soup bowl and quickly said, "Why would you think that?"

Fu Tingjun said, "When I helped Eldest Aunt manage the household, if I wanted to promote someone or deal with someone, I would investigate that person thoroughly—so as not to use the wrong person or provoke someone I couldn't afford to offend, which would not only fail to deal with them but also make me lose face and authority. The Marquis of Yingchuan must be the same. He's the Commander-in-Chief of Gansu, with great power and high position—ordinary people wouldn't easily catch his eye. Even promoting you to Qianhu of Nianbo Station was only because he saw that you had earned military merit for Commander Lu and saved his life, yet you never boasted about it—you remained humble and cautious. He wanted to use you as an example to show others that anyone who submits to him will enjoy wealth, honor, and a bright future. As for how highly he regards you—given the short time, I doubt it's much. Everyone guesses you killed Feng Dahu. The Marquis of Yingchuan managed to dig up your salt smuggling past—if he were so inclined, he could dig up the Feng Dahu matter just as easily. But when he summoned you, he only mentioned the salt smuggling, not the killing of Feng Dahu. This shows he doesn't care much about what you've done—what he cares about is your background, who you really belong to. If that's not a sign he wants to promote you, then what is?" Then she added, "The Marquis of Yingchuan has shown his hand—he wouldn't let you return unscathed. Tell me the truth: what exactly does he want you to do? If it's too dangerous, we need to come up with a plan. Three cobblers can outsmart Zhuge Liang—don't keep everything bottled up inside and say nothing!"

Zhao Ling felt as though cold sweat was seeping from his forehead. He let out a dry laugh or two, half sighing, half teasing: "Our little girl is getting sharper and sharper. It seems there's no hiding anything from our little girl anymore!"

"Stop with your glib tongue!" Fu Tingjun blushed at his repeated use of "little girl" and said with feigned anger, "I have a surname and a given name. If you keep calling me that, I really won't talk to you anymore!"

At this, a glint of mischief flashed in Zhao Ling's eyes. "Then what should I call you? Tingjun? Calling you by your given name doesn't seem quite right? Quanhui? That seems like something your family would call you..." He paused, his eyes lighting up. "How about I call you Ajun? Back in my hometown, we always called girls 'A-something.'" The more he spoke, the happier he became. "That's settled then—when we're around outsiders, I'll call you Ajun!" He added with a roguish grin, "Ajun, what do you think?"

Fu Tingjun saw him joking around in front of her, completely dodging the serious matter, and her confusion only deepened.

But Zhao Ling's expression turned serious, and he said, "Among the women of this world, many are clever and refined, but few are steadfast and virtuous. Ajun—this name is a good one!"

Fu Tingjun was stunned, meeting his gaze. His eyes were deep, carrying a lingering tenderness under the dim lamplight, making her heart falter. A thousand words gathered in her chest, yet not one could be spoken.

The room fell into silence.

Fu Tingjun's cheeks burned.

Was he praising her?

A trace of sweetness welled up in her heart.

She suddenly felt that being so particular about a form of address was perhaps too willful of her. Then she thought of his words about her becoming more formidable... Could it be that he didn't like it?

Sixth Uncle had been traveling abroad for years, and the family all said it was because Sixth Aunt was too formidable that she drove Sixth Uncle away!

She grew a little uneasy, turning her face aside, and asked Zhao Ling softly, "Is being too formidable... a bad thing?"

"I wouldn't know about others," Zhao Ling said with a composed expression. "But I like Ah Jun's formidability!"

Fu Tingjun looked up in surprise and caught a flicker of pain passing across Zhao Ling's face.

She was taken aback.

Zhao Ling smiled at her reaction. "I once told you that my mother was falsely accused of having an affair with the steward..."

Hearing this, Fu Tingjun felt only heartache. She felt that even dwelling on the matter would be an insult to Zhao Ling's mother, let alone probing further. Now that he brought it up, afraid he might dwell on it and feel upset, she nodded hastily. "You told me."

"Sometimes I think, my mother didn't have to die," Zhao Ling said, his expression obscure and somewhat strange. "They called my maternal uncle to catch her in the act. It was said that when they found my mother, she was unconscious, lying naked in bed with Steward Zhou. It was my uncle who doused her with a basin of cold water to wake her. After waking, my mother only wept and begged my uncle to seek justice for her. Steward Zhou swore to heaven he had done no such thing and demanded that all those on duty that day be summoned for confrontation. They said my mother was a titled lady of the court, and that in the future I would need to study for the examinations, marry, and have children. If the matter spread, the Zhao family would merely be the subject of gossip, but my reputation would be tainted—whether I could even sit for the imperial examinations would be in question. This matter was clearly Steward Zhou bullying his mistress; as long as he was dealt with, the affair would be settled. They also suggested that my mother hand over the family properties to them to manage until I reached adulthood. When my uncle refused, they said he was scheming to seize our family wealth. Seeing that they kept circling around the family estate, my mother thought that as long as she handed over the property, they would stop troubling our family. Then she took me back to my uncle's home, urged me to study and write, saying that once I passed the provincial and metropolitan examinations, the gold scattered would return again... She watched helplessly as Steward Zhou was dragged away... Steward Zhou was beaten to death, and the matter became even murkier... They took the opportunity to invite Prefect Zou Zixiang... With conclusive evidence, and knowing my father was a jinshi, Prefect Zou was unwilling to hold a formal hearing and let the Zhao family settle it privately... My mother realized she had been deceived, and hanged herself before the Zhao ancestral hall... She hoped to use public opinion to condemn the Zhao family's wrongdoings, but never imagined that death extinguishes all like a lamp. Even those who had once received favors from my father and mother feared that speaking out against the Zhao family would bring them no good days, let alone the onlookers... Ah Jun," his voice turned bitter, "after all these years, whenever I think of it, I always ask myself—if my mother had been more formidable, would none of this have happened..."

After all these years, when he thought of it, did he still harbor a trace of resentment toward his mother's weakness?

Fu Tingjun couldn't help but reach out and grasp Zhao Ling's tightly clenched fist. "Does Ninth Master regret it? Regret learning martial arts with the Daoist master? Regret smuggling salt, making the Feng family—who could shake the northwest with a single stomp—give way? Regret sneaking into Biyun Nunnery to steal food?" She let out a giggle. "Only to be entangled by a shameless little girl—do you regret it?" Her large almond eyes slanted a teasing glance at him, as alluring as the fine scenery of May, pressing him willfully. "Tell me quickly—do you regret it or not?"

Zhao Ling's heart stirred violently. His gaze burned upon her, and the passion he had carefully hidden deep within surged forth like an unstoppable volcano. He rose abruptly, and with a slight twist of his wrist, Fu Tingjun stumbled and fell into his embrace.

"No regrets!" He held her tightly, pressing his face against her jade-like, luminous cheek and murmuring low, "Not for a lifetime!"

His heartbeat was as clear and steady as a drum, his embrace as scorching as fire, and his cheek against hers—unlike her smooth, delicate, almost translucent skin—was slightly rough, carrying a tingling, numbing prickle that left her flustered and weak-limbed... She let his arms tighten around her, let his palm roam back and forth over the graceful curve of her back... trembling with a tingling numbness, as if she might melt into a pool of water, with no strength left to stand... Such unfamiliar emotions made her afraid.

"Zhao Ling!" She called his name in a panic, pushing at him clumsily, but her hands were soft and powerless.

Zhao Ling's breathing was rapid. The fragrant, soft body in his arms seemed to melt like water, yet it left his mouth dry, his blood surging, his body beginning to change subtly... so exquisite, and yet so agonizing... like standing at the edge of a chasm—one step forward was heaven, one step back was hell... but he dared not advance, nor could he bear to retreat... Just as he was at a loss, he heard Fu Tingjun's voice, slightly choked with tears.

Like a bucket of cold water poured over him, he shuddered and released her in a fluster.

"Ah-jun..." He called her name guiltily, but what met his eyes was a pair of eyes hazy with rising desire.

With a bang, the flame he had just barely suppressed rampaged recklessly through his body, like an unbridled wild horse, causing him to lose his composure. He murmured to her, "Ah-jun, how about we let the Marquis of Yingchuan preside over it—shall we get married?"