Chapter 43

As soon as the sun rose, a blaze of fiery clouds rolled across the horizon, and the sunlight carried a scorching brightness that made everything gleam white.

Zhao Ling leaned against the headboard with a bundle propped behind his back, reading a copy of A Thousand Sayings that Fu Tingjun had somehow scrounged up from who-knows-where the day before. Fu Tingjun, meanwhile, sat at the large round table in the outer room, flipping through a copy of Annotations on the Four Books . Mo Yi was practicing his boxing in the back courtyard, and the occasional vigorous shout only made the surrounding stillness more pronounced.

What name would be fitting?

"Just, resolute, simple, and reticent—these are close to benevolence."

Taking one of these characters for a name... but the child came from poverty, and these characters were too solemn and weighty, not quite suitable.

"The gentleman is at ease without arrogance; the petty man is arrogant without ease... 'Tai' carries the meaning of peace and safety. After great hardship, one only seeks tranquility. This name is good!"

Fu Tingjun mused, yet she kept feeling a gaze tinged with curiosity, faintly and intermittently settling upon her. But whenever she looked up, the gaze vanished without a trace.

There was only her and Zhao Ling in this room...

She glanced toward Zhao Ling.

He sat there quietly, reading.

His gaunt face was calm and serene, like moonlight spilling over a courtyard, bearing an unshakable composure that was unhurried and steady.

Fu Tingjun felt a twinge of embarrassment.

It couldn't be him, could it?

Judging by his demeanor, he didn't seem like someone who would sneak glances!

Besides, what reason would he have to spy on her?

Fu Tingjun lowered her head.

Thinking of the words she had spoken last night... She could no longer act on impulse; she had to think twice before acting. Otherwise, she would only make a fool of herself again.

That probing gaze immediately followed once more.

Fu Tingjun frowned and raised her head again.

The room was utterly still, save for the rustling sound of Zhao Ling turning pages.

Fu Tingjun was momentarily stunned.

"What's the matter?" Zhao Ling suddenly looked over, his gaze clear and bright, like the radiant moonlight—gentle and luminous.

Fu Tingjun couldn't help but feel self-reproach.

She had just suspected him...

"I feel like someone's been staring at me," Fu Tingjun muttered, "but I haven't found anything..."

"Is that so?" Zhao Ling set down his book with an expressionless face, a hint of cold severity creeping into his brow. "I'll get up and take a look." He spoke slowly, his voice more deliberate than usual, bracing himself to get out of bed.

"Or maybe I'm just being paranoid—you know, that little rascal came sneaking around for food again last night!" Fu Tingjun quickly stopped him. "Besides, Mo Yi is still downstairs!"

If someone had truly gotten in, and even Mo Yi couldn't stop them, then the injured Zhao Ling would be no match at all. By her instincts, that gaze held no ill will toward her. Why stir up unnecessary trouble... Zhao Ling could have a bad temper at times.

Still, she couldn't say such things to Zhao Ling, lest she wound his pride.

Zhao Ling gave an "Oh" and didn't insist.

Fu Tingjun breathed a sigh of relief.

She poured him a cup of cold boiled water: "You've been reading for so long—would you like to rest for a bit?"

Zhao Ling drank the water and handed the cup back to Fu Tingjun: "Alright! I'll lie down for a while."

Fu Tingjun helped him settle down.

He asked her, "What were you thinking about? You seemed so lost in thought."

Was she really that absorbed?

Fu Tingjun asked herself.

She hadn't felt that way.

"Does Ninth Master still remember that Zheng Sanniang?" she said, closing the book and placing it beside Zhao Ling's pillow. "The woman I gave two steamed buns to," she continued, sitting on the stool by the head of the bed. "Yesterday afternoon, she came again carrying her child, saying her husband asked if I would name the baby, so the child would remember for life who saved him..." She rambled on through the whole story. "...I've been flipping through books for ages and still haven't found a suitable name." She frowned with some frustration. "What do you think of the name Zheng Tai?"

A name would follow a person for life, and on this matter, she was quite hesitant.

Zhao Ling thought for a moment, then said, "'Tai' isn't very good. It carries the meaning of peace, but in the Book of Changes , it also implies 'small goes, great comes.' I think it's better to choose a different character." He paused in thought. "...How about 'Linchun' instead?" As he spoke, his gaze fell upon Fu Tingjun. "After surviving a crisis, all anyone seeks is peace and smooth sailing. You saved this child in Linchun Town. Spring is the first of the four seasons, carrying the meaning of thriving vitality. I think this name is the best choice!"

He even knew the Book of Changes ...

Fu Tingjun found Zhao Ling even more unfathomable.

Seeing her clear, bright eyes gazing at him with curiosity, Zhao Ling hesitated briefly before saying, "When I was young, my mother had great hopes for me and began my education at the age of three. Later, our family fortunes declined, and we could no longer afford my studies... I only know a smattering of everything."

Fu Tingjun recalled how he had once mentioned learning calligraphy from his mother as a child.

"Your mother must have been an exceptionally brilliant woman!"

The softness on Zhao Ling's face gradually faded, and a chill crept into the corners of his eyes and brows. For a long while, he said nothing.

The atmosphere suddenly grew heavy.

Fu Tingjun felt she had said something she shouldn't have.

"Linchun is a lovely name!" she said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Linchun, Linchun—the arrival of spring. We too have found new life in this town. It's a fitting name!"

Zhao Ling smiled back at her, his expression softening like melting ice, warmth returning to his brow.

Fu Tingjun breathed a sigh of relief.

Someone came thumping up the stairs.

Mo Yi's voice echoed from the stairwell: "Brother Zhao! Brother Zhao!"

Fu Tingjun got up and opened the door.

Mo Yi was carrying the two-foot-square kneading board Fu Tingjun had used yesterday to work dough, along with a few scraps of wood in his hand.

"This damn weather—hot enough to make your throat smoke." He strode in and set the board on the table. "I made a set of chess pieces. Let's play a game!"

The scraps of wood had characters like "Cannon" and "Pawn" written on them in charcoal.

Zhao Ling rose with a smile. "How about I go downstairs and play a couple of rounds with you, Brother Mo?"

Mo Yi knew he was worried about the empty shop below—that someone might slip in and steal the food from the kitchen.

"Don't worry," Mo Yi laughed, his voice full of smug satisfaction. "We've got someone watching the door for us." Before Zhao Ling could ask, he added, "I promised that little brat who comes to steal food ten steamed buns a day, and he agreed to keep watch right away."

"Ten steamed buns?" Fu Tingjun had made both last night's dinner and this morning's breakfast, so she couldn't help asking, "Where did you get the buns to give him, Manager Mo?"

"You'll make them later!" Mo Yi's eyes went wide. "Cooking is women's work, isn't it?"

Though that was true enough, something about Mo Yi's matter-of-fact tone stirred a faint resentment in Fu Tingjun.

Zhao Ling noticed and smiled. "In that case, surely Brother Mo wouldn't begrudge two more buns?"

Mo Yi looked slightly puzzled.

Zhao Ling continued, "You remember that woman carrying a baby? Why not hire her to do the cooking!"

Mo Yi was taken aback at first, then looked at Fu Tingjun with a teasing grin and burst out laughing—laughing so hard that Fu Tingjun flushed with embarrassment and even turned her irritation on Zhao Ling, shooting him several glares.

Zhao Ling turned his head away, pretending not to notice.

But then he let out a soft "Huh?" and pointed out the window. "Brother Mo, look!"

Mo Yi sprang to the window in a single bound, resting a hand on Zhao Ling's shoulder. "Twenty-some people in all—old and young, plus four women and two children..." He vaulted down from the window to the street below. "I'll go check it out—be right back!" he called to Zhao Ling, his figure quickly disappearing down the road.

Fu Tingjun hurried over and saw a group of people approaching on the post road—still far off, no bigger than shadow puppets. There was no way to tell men from women, old from young at that distance.

"That Mo Yi does have sharp eyes." His words still echoed in her ears, and her expression turned a little awkward.

Zhao Ling gave a soft "Mm" and gazed toward the post road, his expression growing serious.

Fu Tingjun didn't dare say more and stood quietly to the side.

She didn't notice Zhao Ling stealing a quick glance at her during that time.

Soon Mo Yi returned. "No problem, no problem. They're from Jiuligou. Seems someone there may have caught a plague. The whole village banded together and headed south, planning to go to Huguang. They're just passing through Linchun Town." He beckoned to Zhao Ling. "Come on, come on—let's play chess!"

...

That group didn't just stop in Linchun Town for a rest as Mo Yi had said—they settled in. What's more, relying on their numbers and a few men skilled in fighting, they seized three shopfronts at the head of the street.

When Zheng Sanniang told Fu Tingjun about this, she was quite worried: "That compound has a well in the backyard that still draws water. The whole town depends on that well for drinking water. There's bound to be a fight over it."

Fu Tingjun wasn't worried about that.

With Mo Yi around, that problem shouldn't be hard to solve.

She was worried about Zheng San instead. "Didn't you tell him? If you come cook for us, you'll get two buns a day. Tell him to stop eating that white clay."

"I did tell him!" Zheng Sanniang hung her head in shame. "He said, you folks are so capable, but you're only passing through Linchun Town temporarily. Once you leave, we'll be without food again. He wants to save up the buns for me and Linchun."

Zheng Sanniang had taken a real liking to the name Zhao Ling had given the child. She was always holding the baby and calling "Linchun, Linchun," and she said Zheng San also thought it was a good name—simple and clear.

Just as they were talking, Mo Yi walked in.

Seeing Zheng Sanniang holding the baby while tending the fire at the stove, and Fu Tingjun with her hair wrapped in a cloth kerchief frying flatbreads at the cooking station, his face darkened. "If this woman can't cook, find another one. Two buns a day—I don't believe no one would take the job."

Zheng Sanniang was already terrified of him. At his words, her face went white with fear, and she trembled all over, unable to get to her feet for a long while.

"Leave the kitchen matters to me, Steward Mo." Fu Tingjun gave her a look full of confidence, signaling that she need not panic, and addressed Mo Yi, "Steward Mo, just tell me what you'd all like to eat today!"

By household custom, domestic affairs were decided by the woman who presided over the inner quarters.

Mo Yi was momentarily at a loss for words, her lips twitching for quite a while before she finally left without another word.

"The young lady is truly formidable!" Zheng Sanniang finally breathed a sigh of relief, gazing at Fu Tingjun with utter admiration.

It seemed Mo Yi's background was not to be underestimated either!

Fu Tingjun pondered this, and while attending to Zhao Ling's medicine, she took the opportunity to remind him of it.

Zhao Ling gave an "Mm" in acknowledgment, showing no sign of surprise, and instead said, "You mentioned that Zheng San used to be an escort? Then have Zheng Sanniang ask Zheng San if he'd be willing to take on a job."