Chapter 122

"Yuwei!" Fu Tingjun choked, tears streaming down her face.

The scrawny man stared at Fu Tingjun in shock, then at Yuwei sobbing at her feet, his eyes darting around nervously. "So the lady knows this person! It's all a misunderstanding, a complete misunderstanding..." He edged backward as he spoke. "Standing out here in this cold weather talking—you'll catch a chill! Why don't you ladies step inside for some hot tea, and whatever business you have, you can discuss it slowly." He turned and bolted. "I'll go boil some water and brew tea for you ladies..." His figure vanished swiftly around the corner of the post station.

Zheng Sanniang, following behind Fu Tingjun, heard the implication in Yuwei's words and knew that the two were not merely old acquaintances—there was likely some history between them. Yet Fu Tingjun showed no sign of blame, only grief and sorrow. She hurried forward to help Yuwei up. "Miss, please rise! Our young lady is the most kind-hearted person you'll find. Whatever matter you have, just speak to her properly..." She noticed out of the corner of her eye that the man who had been beating Yuwei had slipped away, but paid him no mind.

"Your young lady!" Yuwei glanced at Zheng Sanniang, then looked up at Fu Tingjun, confusion filling her eyes.

Fu Tingjun had never dreamed she would encounter Yuwei—her former personal maidservant—here, nor that Yuwei would have fallen to such a state. A thousand words clogged her chest; she didn't know where to begin, what to ask. It wasn't until Zheng Sanniang moved to help Yuwei up that she shook herself from her shock and said in a low voice, "Rise, and speak."

The familiar face, the familiar voice, the familiar manner... so vivid that the haze of disbelief in Yuwei's heart gradually receded, her gaze growing clear.

"Miss... Miss, can it truly be you?" She gazed at Fu Tingjun in a daze, shaking off Zheng Sanniang's hand and refusing to rise. "You really are Ninth Miss!" She cried out hoarsely, clutching tightly at Fu Tingjun's calf. "Ninth Miss, it really is you!" She burst into wracking sobs. "Ninth Miss, I've searched for you for so long! I have no face to see you, but if I died, who would bear witness for you... Ninth Miss, Ninth Miss..."

The past unfolded before Fu Tingjun like a series of paintings, scene after scene, bringing tears to her eyes—yet that same past was like a thorn lodged in her heart, one she could not let go. She gazed at Yuwei with complicated eyes. Though she tried to make her voice sound gentle and courteous, a faint distance crept through. "This isn't the place to talk. Come with me."

Yuwei had always been meticulous and cautious. Thinking of what had come before, she already understood much of it, and her heart ached as though she had swallowed bitter gall by mistake. Yet she couldn't utter a single word in her own defense. Her lips trembled as she answered, "Yes." She felt she didn't even have the right to cry. Supported by Zheng Sanniang, she followed Fu Tingjun into the station's guest quarters, tears silently streaming down her face.

Throughout their journey, though Fu Tingjun was not an official, she had always stayed in the finest guest quarters—first, because she carried the name cards of the Duke of Fuguo and the Marquis of Yingchuan, and second, because as a woman, the officials found it awkward to quibble with her. Even so, the station's guest quarters were far more spartan than a decent inn—nothing more than a black-lacquered canopy bed draped with white netting, a tea table flanked by two official-style armchairs, and a mirror stand with a brass basin in the corner.

Fu Tingjun sat in one of the armchairs. Yuwei knelt before her with her head bowed, trembling—whether from cold, or nerves, or some other reason, it was hard to say. Fu Tingjun sighed inwardly and instructed Zheng Sanniang, who stood nearby: "Take her below first to wash up, then find her a winter garment to change into, and prepare some hot congee to warm her."

Zheng Sanniang smiled and acknowledged the order, then stepped forward to take Yuwei's arm. "Miss, come with me."

"Ninth Miss..." Yuwei seemed about to speak, then hesitated.

Fu Tingjun said coolly, "Whatever you have to say, there's no need to rush."

Yuwei kowtowed respectfully, then withdrew with Zheng Sanniang.

Fu Tingjun sat alone in the room for a long while before calling for Zheng San to have a brazier brought in.

The charcoal crackled and burned, quickly dispelling the chill from the room, yet Fu Tingjun drew her fur coat tighter around herself.

The ruddy firelight played across her face, shifting and uncertain, lending her expression a somber cast.

Yuwei entered with an uneasy air. Her black hair, still damp, was neatly coiled into a bun, revealing a face as fair and delicate as pear blossoms—large eyes, a pointed chin, her thin, frail frame wrapped in Zheng Sanniang's loose, dark purple cotton-padded jacket. With the fear lurking in her eyes, she carried a fragile, willow-in-the-wind air of vulnerability.

Fu Tingjun sighed softly to herself.

Mother's judgment had indeed been sound. When she had purchased Yuwei for the household, it was precisely because of her beauty, intending to bring her along to the marital home. Thus, in needlework, embroidery, account-keeping, and household management, she had hired people to spend considerable effort teaching her. Yuwei had a steady temperament and was willing to devote herself to learning—within just a few years, even a young lady from an ordinary family might not match her bearing... At this thought, she gently shook her head, casting those notions aside.

Times had changed, and no matter who it was, everyone had undergone transformation. There was no returning to the past.

Fu Tingjun instructed Zheng Sanniang: "Stand guard outside. No matter who comes, do not allow them in. I have questions for Yuwei."

Zheng Sanniang lowered her head in acknowledgment, then walked out softly, closing the door behind her and taking her position beneath the eaves.

A gust of cold wind swept past, and she couldn't help but shrink her neck. Thinking of the scene between Fu Tingjun and Yuwei, a trace of confusion flickered in her eyes.

Though Miss Fu's speech remained as gentle as ever, and her bearing as composed, somehow she seemed different from the Miss Fu she had known... What exactly was different, she couldn't quite articulate... It was as if, like Ninth Master, she carried a faint air of authority that made one dare not jest carelessly.

At this thought, Zheng Sanniang nodded heavily.

Yes, that was the feeling.

Just like every time she saw Ninth Master.

Could it be that when two people spent a long time together, they began to resemble one another?

Zheng Sanniang smiled.

What did it matter? Miss Fu was their lifesaver—she treated not only her and her husband well, but even Linchun like a nephew. Her husband had also said that being able to follow Miss Fu, with a formidable protector like Ninth Master watching over them, was their good fortune.

Her hands had grown stiff from the cold.

She rubbed them vigorously and stamped her feet.

Yuwei's hands were clenched tightly into fists.

She knew what Fu Tingjun would ask her, and shame weighed heavily upon her. The tears she had barely managed to hold back welled up once more.

Fu Tingjun watched her with a hint of melancholy. After a moment, she asked in a low voice: "How did you know I was still alive?"

The Fu family had told everyone outside that she had "died of illness," yet when Yuwei saw her, she had insisted over and over that she had searched for her desperately.

"It was Sister Yitong who told me." Yitong was only three months older than Yuwei—both had just turned seventeen this year. Yuwei sniffled and said through her tears, "The mistress asked us who had stolen your personal belongings and given them to Zuo Junjie." As she spoke, she gritted her teeth.

Fu Tingjun fell silent.

In the past, they had all called Zuo Junjie "Young Master Biao," but now they addressed him by his full name directly.

"Your clothing was all kept by me, and your personal items were washed and ironed by Zheliu. What you wore today, what you would wear tomorrow, how many pieces there were in total—everything was accounted for clearly, and there was never any confusion. But no matter how we thought about it, we couldn't figure out who could have stolen your things. When we inventoried everything in front of the mistress, not a single item was missing." Yuwei lowered her head, and a drop of water fell onto her dark purple cotton-padded jacket, gradually spreading outward like a fresh stain of blood. "We all breathed a sigh of relief at the time. The mistress even instructed us, telling me and Zheliu to watch over your trunks carefully and not allow even the slightest mistake. She said that in a few days, First Madame, Grand Madame, or even the First Master might summon us for questioning. Sister Yitong and I acknowledged her orders, but a foreboding feeling rose in our hearts. Immediately, Sister Yitong discussed it with me, saying that something might have happened to you. I would be responsible for the belongings in the room, and she would be responsible for the servants. In the coming days, we had to be doubly careful—not a single mistake could be made."

"I thought Sister Yitong's words made sense, so I stayed up through the night with Zheliu to inventory everything, while Sister Yitong gathered all the serving maids into the eastern wing and sternly ordered that no one was to leave. If anyone dared to step out of the eastern wing without permission, she would immediately report it to the mistress and have a slave trader summoned."

"Everyone was terrified, but no one dared to defy the order."

"Who would have thought that the very next morning, while we were having breakfast, First Madame and Nanny Chen came in with several burly matrons. First they blocked us all inside the room, then searched every corner one by one. Afterward, they announced that Zheliu had contracted a vile illness and that we were all to be sent to the country estate."

"Sister Yitong and I both realized something major had happened, but caught completely off guard, we were stunned with shock and fear, frozen in place. Zheliu, however, began shouting loudly. Nanny Chen personally slapped Zheliu across the face and said coldly: 'Anyone who dares to make another sound will be beaten to death on the spot.'"

As Yuwei spoke, the scene replayed in her mind, and she couldn't help but shudder.

"We were taken to the country estate in the countryside and placed in separate rooms, where Nanny Li led several rough-serving matrons in interrogating us personally..." Her voice gradually dwindled to barely a whisper. "But we truly didn't know anything, and we couldn't accuse innocent people... Zheliu couldn't bear it, and that very night, she was gone..."

Her voice faltered slightly, but Fu Tingjun felt as if struck by a thunderbolt, springing to her feet. "You... what did you say?" Her almond-shaped eyes widened as she looked Yuwei up and down.

Yuwei choked back sobs. "Zheliu... passed away that very night..." Tears streamed down her face.

But what Fu Tingjun noticed was the hand Yuwei had hidden beneath the hem of her robe.

"Show me your hand!" she demanded sharply.

Yuwei trembled, lifting her head to look at Fu Tingjun, her face as delicate as pear blossoms in rain, quivering and unsteady. Her hand felt as heavy as lead, unable to come out freely.

Fu Tingjun's expression darkened, her voice rising. "Show me your hand!"

The tone was calm, flat, and cold, yet it drained the color from Yuwei's face.

Slowly, she extended her hand.

Her right hand was relatively intact, but her thumb and index finger were missing their nails. The nails on her left hand were perfectly whole, yet her index finger was bent at a strange, unnatural angle.

Fu Tingjun took a deep breath and closed her eyes.