Chapter 42

Golden-brown pancakes sprinkled with vibrant green scallions—just looking at them made one's mouth water.

Mo Yi glanced at Zhao Ling, who was leisurely sipping his egg-drop soup, then at the pancakes, and couldn't help but swallow.

There were three of them, yet only this one pancake remained...

Zhao Ling noticed this, set down his bowl, and said unhurriedly, "Brother Mo, no need to stand on ceremony. Since you find them delicious, just eat them. Between us, such formalities are meaningless—our days ahead all depend on your arrangements, Brother Mo. Surely you wouldn't think of settling accounts with me down to the last detail?" He smiled as he spoke, a hint of teasing in his eyes. "I'm prepared to freeload off you, you know. Even if Brother Mo wanted to tally up accounts with me, I wouldn't take the bait!"

Mo Yi was momentarily taken aback, then burst into hearty laughter.

His laughter was open and unrestrained, his bearing bold and heroic, carrying a faint air of vigor and might—utterly different from his usual silent, brooding demeanor. It was as if he had become a different person.

Fu Tingjun was secretly astonished.

Could this be Mo Yi's true face?

Looking at him now, there was not the slightest trace of a subordinate steward about him; rather, he resembled a great general surveying the world with disdain.

Zhao Ling, however, remained composed, taking a slow sip of his egg-drop soup.

"Brother, I was being too fussy." Mo Yi picked up the pancake and took a big bite, then remarked with feeling, "Sister-in-law's pancakes rival those of the master chefs at Thirteen Mountains. I could swallow my own tongue!"

Thirteen Mountains was one of the largest restaurants in Xi'an Prefecture, renowned for its noodles and pastries. Anyone who visited Xi'an would bring back two boxes of their snacks as gifts.

Hearing Mo Yi address Fu Tingjun as "sister-in-law," Zhao Ling looked slightly embarrassed. He shot a quick glance at Fu Tingjun and saw her bent over, scrubbing the stove, seemingly not paying attention to what the two men were saying. Relieved, he smiled and said, "Brother Mo flatters her. This is the only skill she has that's presentable."

"Having this one skill is more than enough," Mo Yi laughed again. "Brother Zhao will eat well from now on!"

Zhao Ling smiled faintly, a flicker of awkwardness passing through his eyes.

Mo Yi paid it no mind.

After all, they were young—an unmarried couple—and thin-skinned.

Fu Tingjun, however, grumbled inwardly.

Who says this is all I can do? I can do plenty more—you're just too ignorant to know it!

Even so, thinking that Zhao Ling had at least acknowledged her cooking skills were presentable, she felt a little pleased.

What a pity the ingredients were limited. Otherwise, she could have made some of the Fu family's private sauce for them to dip in; or wrapped up a filling of pork, dried scallops, and mushrooms—that would taste wonderful too...

She tossed the dirty water from cleaning the stove into the backyard.

Someone was peeking over the courtyard wall.

Fu Tingjun looked closely and saw that it was Zheng Sanniang, holding her child.

Seeing Fu Tingjun, Zheng Sanniang broke into a delighted smile.

Fu Tingjun went to open the back door.

The aroma of scallion oil wafting through the air made Zheng Sanniang's face take on an intoxicated expression. She swallowed hard a few times before speaking with a smile: "Miss, I told my husband about your kindness in giving us food. My husband was extremely grateful when he heard. He said he should have come in person to kowtow and thank you, but since men and women should observe propriety, he asked me and the child to kowtow to you on his behalf." With that, she knelt down.

Fu Tingjun felt that she had merely done a small, convenient deed and hardly deserved such repeated thanks from the Zheng family. No matter how she protested, Zheng Sanniang still kowtowed nine times.

"Miss, my husband said," she rose with a smile, a hint of relief showing at the corners of her eyes and brows, as if she had accomplished something very important, "please give our little boy a name. That way, when he grows up, he will always remember your great kindness."

"Give him a name?" Fu Tingjun was taken aback. "No, no, no—such an important matter, how could it be entrusted to me! How about I give the child a milk name instead?"

Milk names were given by family members, while formal names were usually bestowed by a respected scholar or an elder of the clan when the child reached the age of schooling.

"My husband said to ask you to give him his formal name." Zheng Sanniang smiled. "He was born on the first day of the month, and he's the eldest son and eldest grandson of the family, so his milk name is Yuanyuan."

Fu Tingjun felt embarrassed.

Mo Yi appeared at the back door: "Who's in the courtyard?" His voice carried a hint of wariness, as if he feared something might happen to her.

"Someone I know." Fu Tingjun said, signaling Zheng Sanniang with her eyes, then added, "I'm going inside now. If there's anything else, we'll talk another time."

Zheng Sanniang assumed Mo Yi was a member of her household. She had witnessed his ferocity when he entered town, and thought that Fu Tingjun's gift of food had been done behind Mo Yi's back. Afraid of causing trouble for her, she hastily bowed and hurried away with the child in her arms.

How could Fu Tingjun possibly hide from Mo Yi the fact that she was giving food to others right under his nose?

He considered it the soft-heartedness of a woman and thought little of it.

Zheng Sanniang had already fled at the sight of him. He muttered a few words under his breath, then turned and went inside, saying to Zhao Ling, "Don't worry, it's just a woman holding a child." He added, "But sister-in-law's heart is a bit too soft. She'd better be careful not to be taken advantage of."

"Better to learn how to read people now than to be deceived later," Zhao Ling said leisurely, pouring a bowl of clear water into Mo Yi's large bowl. "Brother Mo, please, have some water."

Mo Yi raised it and drank it all in one go.

Anyone watching might have thought it was wine.

He sighed and remarked, "If only it were wine!" Then, brightening, he said, "But don't worry—I've already instructed Chen Liu to bring some chicken, duck, and fish. When he gets here, we'll have sister-in-law cook us a proper feast, and we brothers can have a good gathering."

Zhao Ling said tactfully, "She rarely does such things at home, so I'm not sure how well she handles chicken, duck, and fish. I just hope it will be to your satisfaction, Brother Mo."

Mo Yi was taken aback.

Just a moment ago, he'd said Miss Fu's cooking was presentable, and now he was saying he didn't know how she'd fare with chicken, duck, and fish... His mind turned, and he burst into laughter.

Clearly, the real point of that sentence was the earlier part—"she rarely does such things at home."

"Brother Zhao, you're already fretting over her before she's even crossed the threshold. Once she does, won't you be a henpecked husband?" he teased Zhao Ling. "You're too protective of Miss Fu. Let me tell you—women are like cats: if you don't discipline them for three days, they'll be up on the roof tearing off the tiles..."

Fu Tingjun happened to walk in just as Mo Yi was speaking, and her face flushed red.

What a misunderstanding this was... She had no idea when it would ever be cleared up.

But then Mo Yi went on to say something about "if you don't discipline a woman for three days, she'll tear the roof off," and her faint embarrassment was instantly swept away by a surge of indignation.

Was this how one incited others?

No wonder those uneducated, coarse men often beat their wives—it was all taught by people like Mo Yi.

This Mo Yi was not someone worth befriending.

Yet she showed nothing on her face, walking in with a gentle smile.

Zhao Ling saw her and, recalling the phrase "crossed the threshold," felt deeply awkward. He quickly coughed.

Mo Yi was laughing inwardly until his stomach ached.

Being trapped in this godforsaken place was unbearably dull. If he didn't find some way to pass the time, he'd go mad.

Thank goodness for this betrothed couple...

But he had no idea he'd thoroughly offended Fu Tingjun.

...

That evening, Fu Tingjun poured water for Zhao Ling to wash up.

Zhao Ling quietly apologized to her on Mo Yi's behalf: "Miss Fu, don't take Mo Yi's words to heart. That's just how people talk in the military—they love to joke... In a few days, we'll go our separate ways..."

Fu Tingjun cut him off indignantly: "He still wants to eat the chicken, duck, and fish I cook? Hah, just you wait—see how I deal with him!"

Zhao Ling looked at her puffed-up, angry expression and felt the very air around them grow livelier.

He laughed quietly, his gaze upon her as clear and bright as the moonlight outside the window.

Fu Tingjun's restless heart suddenly grew calm.

"How can this be Ninth Master's fault?" she said, lowering her head. The moonlight streamed through the window frame, which had no paper covering, casting the lattice pattern onto the floor—in the silent summer night, there was an eternal tranquility and peace. "If anything, it's all my fault. If I hadn't spoken nonsense, Steward Mo would never have said such things..."

"No, no, no." Seeing her head bowed and hearing the unease in her voice, Zhao Ling quickly said, "At the time, you were only trying to save me. If anyone is at fault, it's all mine..." But he couldn't find the words to say where his fault lay, and his voice trailed off.

For a moment, the room fell as silent as the cold moonlight.

In the moonlight, Fu Tingjun could clearly see the anxiety on his brow.

She couldn't help but let out a "pfft" laugh, breaking the silence in the room: "It's clearly Mo Yi's fault, yet here we are apologizing to each other—that's letting Mo Yi off far too easily!"

In the cold moonlight, her smile was radiant, delicate yet with a hint of playfulness, and his heart suddenly skipped a beat, leaving him flustered. "Yes, yes!" he said with an awkward smile.

Fu Tingjun felt a pang of regret at the sight.

Such an embarrassing matter, yet it came out of her mouth so lightly—no wonder Zhao Ling didn't know how to respond.

She was deeply mortified and lowered her head, turning to leave: "I'll be going then! It's getting late—Ninth Master, wash up and rest early!"

Her expression was a little forlorn.

Zhao Ling's heart tightened at the sight, and he called out, "Miss Fu!"

Fu Tingjun turned back, looking at him with a puzzled expression. Her bright, apricot-shaped eyes were as clear as a spring, seemingly reflecting his image, which only made Zhao Ling's mind, already at a loss for words, even more chaotic. He blurted out a random remark: "If you don't want to cook, I'll talk to Mo Yi about it." Before he even finished speaking, he felt it was inappropriate, as if she had ever complained to him about such things. In reality, throughout their journey, no matter what happened, she had never shown the slightest impatience. He hastily explained, "What I mean is, for the few days A Sen is away, we can just eat whatever's convenient. You don't need to go to all the trouble of making pancakes..."

At this mention, Fu Tingjun felt a bit disheartened: "I know... but Mo Yi is such a big eater... I made ten pancakes, and she ate eight of them by herself. It still wasn't enough, so she had me make ten more... I had originally planned to let Mo Yi deal with the headache herself..." She sighed as she spoke, "The rest of us can make do with anything, but you're still recovering from your injuries—surely we can't just have you eat whatever's convenient!"

Zhao Ling recalled how she had insisted Mo Yi go out to find eggs: "Pancakes definitely need eggs—without eggs, how can you even make them!"

In the end, of the three eggs, she had used two to make him egg-drop soup...

A strange emotion suddenly stirred in his heart, like water rippling outward, as if in the next moment it would overflow and flood his chest, leaving him feeling unsettled and at a loss for words.

The room fell silent.

Receiving no response, Fu Tingjun found it odd. After thinking it over, her face flushed crimson.

How had she let slip such an intimate remark as "The rest of us can make do with anything, but you're still recovering from your injuries—surely we can't just have you eat whatever's convenient"? No wonder Zhao Ling didn't know how to respond.

"A gentleman is quick in action but slow in speech," she silently admonished herself. "The more you say, the more mistakes you make... I must never make the same mistake again."