Chapter 39

Fu Tingjun was very clever and sharp in her observations, having guessed most of what had happened at the City God Temple, but that didn't mean Zhao Ling would change his mind and pour out everything on his mind to her.

Since she was determined to get to the bottom of things, he would give her an explanation, if only to stop her from pestering him with endless questions.

Zhao Ling pondered this as he struggled to sit up.

He was still very weak, needing help to get out of bed. By all rights, Fu Tingjun should have given him a hand, but she couldn't help feeling resentful—she had treated him as her most trusted person, carrying out his decisions without hesitation, while he treated her like a stranger, always hiding things from her. She decided to make him taste what it felt like to be treated as a stranger.

Seeing him sit up, she pretended not to notice and went to find a palm-leaf fan.

It was sweltering hot, and she wasn't about to make herself suffer—why not cool down when she could?

She turned and sat down, only then noticing that Zhao Ling's face was pale and covered in sweat.

For some reason, seeing him leaning against the bare bed frame, thinking of his gaunt frame... she felt a twinge of guilt.

It must hurt, leaning against something so hard!

Especially since he was still ill.

She stood up involuntarily, picked up the bundle that had been propped behind him and was now discarded to the side: "Move!" Her voice was low, her tone cold and stiff.

Zhao Ling couldn't help but turn to look at her.

Her delicate brows were slightly furrowed, her almond-shaped eyes lowered. Her jet-black hair was tied tightly into a bun at the back of her head with a moon-white coarse cloth hair tie, revealing a neck as fair and delicate as fresh snow, and a thin red scratch at the nape that disappeared into her collar—like a crack in white porcelain, marring the overall beauty and making one feel a pang of regret at the sight.

He suddenly realized it was a mark left by her scratching the heat rash on her back.

His heart sank for no reason.

Thinking of how she had never complained during their journey through wind and dew; thinking of how she had cared for him meticulously without regard for her own reputation... the words that came to his lips simply wouldn't come out.

Fu Tingjun was unaware of all this.

She sat back down on the stool by the bed, casually fanning herself with the palm-leaf fan, and only then realized what she had done.

She secretly regretted it.

Seeing that Zhao Ling wasn't speaking either, she decided not to speak as well. The two sat there in silence, letting the hot wind blow over them, sweat soaking through their clothes.

From downstairs came a frightened shout.

Fu Tingjun's face changed dramatically.

"It's A Sen!" She stood up to leave. "I'll go check!"

"Come back!" Zhao Ling grabbed her wrist.

Even through her clothes, Fu Tingjun could feel Zhao Ling's hand trembling. She turned back to look—his face was even paler than before, beads of sweat densely covering his forehead.

"What's wrong?" Fu Tingjun dared not struggle. "Is your wound hurting again?"

"Mo Yi, Chen Liu, and Xiao Wu are downstairs," he said, not answering her question but speaking as if to himself. "If something happens that they can't handle, going down there would just be throwing your life away. You're safer by my side!"

In a flash of insight, Fu Tingjun suddenly understood why she was so angry at Zhao Ling's secrecy.

She stared into his eyes. "Of course I know—I'm safest by your side, that I should pretend I heard nothing, saw nothing, and hide under the bed. If someone rushes in and kills you, maybe in their excitement they'd carry your corpse away without even thinking to check under the bed, and I might just survive because of that." Her red lips trembled. "But have you thought about how I feel? If Mo Yi and the others are downstairs, why would A Sen cry out in such terror?" She thought of the fear, panic, and bewilderment she'd felt when Zhao Ling had fallen face-first onto the dirt road, dust flying; she thought of the fear, sorrow, and desolation she'd felt when the dagger was pressed against her neck at the City God Temple. Her voice dropped low. "To live a life of shameful survival, you'd have me watch something happen to you all, watch you die right before my eyes... I'd rather die—I'd rather die first!"

Like a flower blooming in summer, the more scorching the sun, the more freely it opens.

Fu Tingjun stood there straight-backed, her gaze burning like flames, igniting her face, making the sleeve he held feel scorching hot.

He laughed softly.

Slowly, he released her wrist.

"Go stand at the top of the stairs and take a look," he said, a smile spilling from his eyes, brightening his brow, as refreshing as a clear breeze and bright moon. "If something's wrong, hide under my bed—if someone rushes in and kills me, in their excitement they'd carry my corpse away without even thinking to check under the bed, and you might just survive because of that!" By the end, his tone was teasing, with none of his usual inscrutable depth, leaving Fu Tingjun staring at him with wide, astonished eyes.

From downstairs came A Sen's sharp rebuke, mingled with Chen Liu's angry shouts.

Fu Tingjun didn't have time to think. She hurried out the door with a clatter, grabbed the stair railing, and looked down.

In the small shop, A Sen was chasing a boy of similar build around the room. A Sen was quick, but the boy was even more agile, slippery as an eel. Several times A Sen nearly caught hold of his clothes, but the boy dodged away each time, provoking more angry shouts from A Sen.

Fu Tingjun relaxed, though she found it strange and wondered what had happened. Her gaze inadvertently met the boy's, and she realized he was the leader of the group of boys who had begged from them on the street earlier.

Mo Yi stood nearby with a grim face, watching coldly. Chen Liu and A Wu blocked the front and back doors respectively. Several times the boy slipped toward the doors, only to be driven back by Chen Liu and A Wu.

After several rounds, the boy seized a moment while A Sen was catching his breath and shouted, "This isn't fair!"

A Sen, unable to catch him and feeling humiliated in front of Mo Yi and the others, immediately retorted loudly, "Fair? Is it fair that you stole our food?"

"Your food was bought by force," the boy argued defiantly. "Why shouldn't I steal it?"

"Then you deserve to be caught," A Sen said dismissively about the forced purchase. "At least we paid silver for it."

Mo Yi was clearly satisfied with A Sen's answer and barked, "Why waste words on him? Just catch him and be done with it."

Hearing this, A Sen threw a punch at the boy.

The boy sidestepped and threw a punch back at A Sen.

The two clashed again.

Fu Tingjun returned to the room. "One of the leaders of those begging boys came to steal food. A Sen caught him, and they started fighting."

Zhao Ling nodded lightly, looking unconcerned, and said to her, "Pour me some water!"

Since Mo Yi was in charge of their food and drink, they now had plenty of water and dry steamed buns.

Fu Tingjun poured a bowl of water and handed it to him. "Water goes bad if left out too long. Better to drink it."

Zhao Ling smiled softly and drank it all in one gulp, then said, "There's another important reason Mo Yi and Sixteenth Master pretend not to know each other—because they suspect we're after them."

The statement came out of nowhere, and Fu Tingjun was momentarily stunned before she understood. But she deflated like a punctured balloon, losing all her earlier enthusiasm.

"Is that so?" She sat listlessly on the stool by the bed, ready to listen.

Hadn't she been pressing him for answers? Why, now that he was telling her, did she seem so uninterested?

Zhao Ling felt he truly couldn't understand her.

Yet he didn't want to see her so dispirited.

After a moment's thought, Zhao Ling said, "It's not that I didn't want to tell you—I just didn't want you to worry..." His tone was gentle.

"I know!" Fu Tingjun cut him off. "I often wonder—was it Eldest Aunt's idea to drug me, or Eldest Uncle's, or Grandmother's? Did Mother know beforehand? Did she also think it was for the best?" She lowered her head, gazing at her jade-white hands, her voice gradually fading. "Being framed like this by Zuo Junjie—maybe they all thought it was the right thing for me. But I don't accept it. I'd rather confront Zuo Junjie face to face. I'd rather hang myself with a white silk cord on the memorial archway than live in hiding under a false name." She felt her eyes growing moist. "And about your injury—maybe knowing wouldn't have changed anything. But when I was at the City God Temple, thinking you might die there, my heart ached terribly. I kept asking myself—was I right or wrong? If I hadn't chosen to come to Linchun Town, would we have never run into the bandits? If we'd come to Linchun Town but chosen to stay in town, would things have turned out differently? ... I always feel like I'm the one who killed you..." Her tears fell, dripping onto the back of her hand like crystal dew, destined to vanish without a trace once the sun touched them.

Suddenly, Zhao Ling was filled with self-reproach.

She was, after all, just a young girl who had barely come of age. Thrust into chaos, traveling alongside him—a stranger who had nearly killed her—she appeared composed on the surface, but deep down she had been restless and anxious all along...

"It's my fault!" His apology came out somewhat stiffly, perhaps because he rarely admitted fault. "From now on, I'll tell you everything. But you mustn't lose your temper so easily either. If you have something to say, say it properly—don't go sulking at the slightest thing..."

His words flowed more and more smoothly, and Fu Tingjun, who had just been slightly moved, raised her eyebrows higher and higher until she finally couldn't help but stomp her foot: "When did I ever throw a tantrum? It's you who's always being sarcastic and impossible to read. I won't bring up the past, but let's talk about the present—you clearly suspect Mo Yi, yet you don't tell me a thing. If it weren't for my quick wits, if Mo Yi ever decided to pump me for information, wouldn't I just spill everything like beans from a bamboo tube? Then what would you do? As they say, even a hero needs three helpers. I'd like to see what you can accomplish all alone..."

Zhao Ling burst into laughter.

What a childlike temperament.

She'd gotten angry again mid-sentence.

But this spirited, animated look was far more pleasant to see than that dejected, frostbitten gloom from before.

He laughed too loudly, which pulled at his wound. He quickly suppressed his smile, touched his shoulder, and coughed a few times.

Fu Tingjun's face flushed crimson.

Why was she so lacking in composure?

Provoked by just a few words from him...

"Hey!" she said, half-embarrassed and half-annoyed. "With us being sick, the little one being young, and a woman in tow, how could they possibly suspect we're after them?"