Chapter 49

Fu Tingjun finished brewing the tea and turned around to see Zhao Ling's gaze resting on the ink painting she had done.

Her paintings had never shown much flair—her fifth cousin had once teased her, saying, "All you can really do is paint embroidery patterns."

Seeing Zhao Ling staring at her painting, Fu Tingjun felt her ears burn red.

"A piece of the wall had peeled off..." she murmured in explanation. "It's not like we're at home... this is just temporary lodging... so I thought of this solution... it's not well done..." She wished she could tear the painting down, inwardly scolding herself—she could have just pasted paper over it, so why did she have to fuss over appearances and paint something to cover it?

Zhao Ling assumed she was uneasy because he had seen her private feminine work, so he smiled and said, "I think it's quite good!"

He thought the painting was good?

Her landscape painting was modeled after Xia Gui, the great landscape master of the previous dynasty. Though this painting had only a few brushstrokes, it was her finest work.

"Really?" Fu Tingjun's heart blossomed with joy.

Zhao Ling nodded and sat down in the armchair nearby. "Pasting one of your own paintings over a wall where the plaster has peeled—it's practical, economical, and quite elegant. Truly a rare approach!"

Fu Tingjun's smile stiffened.

So when he said "quite good," he meant her idea was good... not that her painting was good!

Zhao Ling lowered his head to lift his teacup and did not notice Fu Tingjun's change in expression.

As he lifted the lid of the teacup, a delicate floral fragrance wafted toward him.

He looked closely and saw several jasmine blossoms floating among the green tea leaves.

Zhao Ling nodded to himself.

Their daily necessities were all procured by Xiao Wu. Whether it was because he begrudged the silver or because Mo Yi didn't care about such things, what he bought was always coarse, large-leaf tea. No wonder Ninth Miss of the Fu family had to add some jasmine flowers to mask the astringency of the tea leaves.

She truly was someone who knew how to manage a household!

He took several sips.

Fu Tingjun sat there, her expression dejected, until Zhao Ling spoke to her before she roused herself.

"You're saying I should move with A Sen and Zheng San and his wife to Willow Lane?" She stared at Zhao Ling in shock, her eyes wide, a flicker of alarm passing through them.

Zhao Ling thought of the suffering she had endured, and his heart was filled with pity. The words of explanation tumbled out: "Willow Lane is a private residence of mine." But the moment the words left his mouth, he felt it was inappropriate.

Ninth Miss of the Fu family was sharp-witted, fierce and decisive, and carried a fair measure of aristocratic pride. If she didn't know he was in danger, that was one thing—but if she did, she would never stoop to a life of ignoble survival. The more he said, the deeper he would drag her into harm.

Zhao Ling changed tack: "The inn is a mixed crowd. Since we're addressing each other as... betrothed... the more people who know, the worse it is for your reputation. Better to use the excuse of visiting relatives and move to Willow Lane. It's only one street away from Guangren Temple—quiet within the bustle, a very good location. If your mother sends someone to fetch you, they'll feel more at ease seeing you there..."

Was he reproaching her for falsely claiming they were "betrothed"?

Indeed, that had been improper of her.

She had only thought of how to explain her relationship with him, without considering his feelings.

Before, she had treated them as mere chance acquaintances. Even knowing he had many secrets, she hadn't cared, let alone given it much thought. Now she realized—at his age, he might well already be married, or if not married, then betrothed... Before, the people around them were Mo Yi and the Zheng San couple, who knew nothing of their backgrounds. Now that he had met up with his companions, he would inevitably have to explain his circumstances. If his companions learned that they had been addressing each other as "betrothed," and word spread to his wife or his future in-laws, he would be utterly unable to clear his name.

Zhao Ling's words struck her heart like drumbeats, making it hard for her to breathe.

He must hold great respect for his wife and future in-laws—otherwise, why would he raise the matter of her moving to separate quarters the moment he met with his companions?

Fu Tingjun felt both shame and remorse.

He had saved her, and yet she, for her own selfish reasons, had placed him in a position of wrongdoing.

Truly, she was repaying kindness with enmity.

When had she become such a person!

Fu Tingjun suppressed the inexplicable panic in her heart and forced a smile. "It was thoughtless of me. I've put Ninth Master in a difficult position." She tried to appear composed and gracious. "A Sen doesn't need to come with us. You're still unwell and need someone to attend to you. And as you yourself said, Zheng San is shrewd and capable, skilled in martial arts, and Zheng Sanniang is honest and hardworking. With them by my side, I'll have support in all matters. Don't worry about me."

Yes—he had arranged everything for her, done his utmost for her. What more could she possibly be dissatisfied with?

But why did her heart feel so unsettled?

She mustn't think about it anymore.

People always want more once they have something.

The more she thought, the more heartbroken she would become.

Fu Tingjun took a deep breath, straightened her back, and assumed what she believed to be her most dignified and proper posture. "Ninth Master, when do we leave?"

Zhao Ling watched Fu Tingjun's rosy cheeks gradually turn pale, watched her upright posture sway like a magnolia in the wind, as if about to fall. His throat felt as if something were stuck in it, and for a long moment, he could not utter a single word.

She must have misunderstood him as trying to drive her away.

But even if he had guessed right, what could he do about it?

Take back what he had just said? Let her fall into danger along with him?

That was impossible.

In that case, let her misunderstand.

Zhao Ling only felt a bitter, astringent taste in his mouth.

To do a good deed and end up like this—he must be the only one in the world!

"Leave at dawn tomorrow," he said, not intending to seek refuge with that Wu Xin. It was only a matter of time before Mo Yi turned against him, and every extra moment she stayed here was another moment of danger for her. "Pack your things tonight. I'll have A Sen escort you there."

"Leave at dawn tomorrow?" Fu Tingjun's face grew even paler.

Her clothes weren't finished yet!

Once they parted now, there might never be a chance to meet again...

"Could we leave in two or three days?" she asked. "I have many things, and I can't pack them all at once." Her voice already carried a hint of pleading.

Zhao Ling had a strong will, decisive and resolute. Once he decided something, he would see it through without wavering.

But seeing Fu Tingjun's face, once as lovely and innocent as a pomegranate, now as pale as a pear blossom, his resolve wavered for a moment.

Even if he was sending her away, he would need to make arrangements with Mo Yi first. Delaying two or three days shouldn't matter, should it?

Fu Tingjun did not know what was going through Zhao Ling's mind at that moment. She only sensed that flicker of hesitation in him.

She lowered her eyelids. "Or... stay two more days?"

That was already her limit. Any earlier, and the winter clothes would have to be abandoned halfway.

Her voice was soft, like drifting mist and smoke, entirely lacking in confidence.

Zhao Ling was deeply shaken.

Even when facing the ferocious bandits at the City God Temple, she had not been this weak.

"Fine!" he said. "Then we'll set out in two days."

Fu Tingjun nodded, saw Zhao Ling off, and then worked day and night without rest to finish the winter clothes.

Zheng Sanniang kept urging her: "You have to eat!"

Had Zhao Ling married or not?

If he had married, what kind of woman was his wife?

How could she let him wander about like this?

If he hadn't married, what did his betrothed, who had gone away, look like?

Did she know about his current situation?

Did she know that Zhao Ling was an extraordinary man of towering integrity and unwavering loyalty?

Would she cherish him?

"I'm not hungry!" Fu Tingjun shook her head, stitching with fine, dense stitches. Only this way could she temporarily forget the jumbled thoughts that kept surfacing in her mind. "Once you've washed the dishes, help me pack. Tomorrow we're moving to another place to stay."

"Why?" Zheng Sanniang looked panicked.

Having lived through the catastrophic famine years with bodies strewn across the fields, what she longed for most was stability.

"We came to Xi'an Prefecture to seek refuge with a distant aunt of Ninth Master's," Fu Tingjun said, using the story she and Zhao Ling had agreed upon. "A Sen and Chen Liu had come looking for her once before but couldn't find her. This time, we ran into Young Master Yang and Young Master Jin and learned where the aunt had moved. Ninth Master and I aren't married after all, and with all this talk of impropriety, it wouldn't be proper. Besides, Ninth Master is still ill—it's already a great kindness that anyone would take us in, and we can't very well bring illness into their home either. Ninth Master's intention is for us to move to the relative's place while he stays temporarily at an inn, and once he recovers, he'll come find us."

Zheng Sanniang breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. "That's good, that's good!"

Mo Yi frowned deeply when he heard this. "Moving back and forth like this is too troublesome. In my opinion, you might as well just get married!" Then he asked, "Your father-in-law hasn't been dead a hundred days yet, has he?"

Zhao Ling's brow furrowed as well. "Though neither of our families could be called scholarly houses of poetry and letters, we both know our characters. We could never do something like wearing red during the mourning period."

Mo Yi looked embarrassed and was silent for a long while.

After Zhao Ling left, he sent Chen Liu to investigate.

"It's a small two-courtyard residence, occupied by an elderly couple in their fifties," Chen Liu reported quickly. "Originally from Liangzhou, their children died in the war, and they moved to Xi'an Prefecture six years ago. They live off the rent from two shopfronts on Chang'an Street. They have one maidservant and one old steward."

On the surface, there was no flaw to be found. But why did he feel so uneasy hearing it?

Mo Yi was deeply agitated.

Chen Liu tried to console him: "Master Mo, could Miss Fu possibly escape from the palm of our hand?"

Mo Yi's heart settled slightly, and he sighed. "I don't know why, but I feel there's something suspicious about all this."

Chen Liu was dismissive. "Master Mo, no one has ever escaped the encirclement of the Divine Crossbow Battalion!"

That was true.

The thunderous volley of ten thousand arrows—even an immortal would be powerless against it.

Mo Yi's spirits rallied. "Any news on that Yang Yucheng and Jin Yuanbao?"

"Both of them have already sold off their goods at a loss, it seems they're planning to leave Xi'an Prefecture," Chen Liu said. "I've sent men to follow them. If they dare to leave, kill them without mercy."

Mo Yi nodded.

Fu Tingjun was standing at Zhao Ling's door, knocking.

A Sen came to open the door. Seeing the bundle in Fu Tingjun's hands, he vaguely guessed what was inside, but he hadn't expected it to happen so soon. He couldn't help but exclaim in surprise, "Miss Fu!"

Fu Tingjun smiled and nodded at him.

Zhao Ling walked to the doorway.

"What's this?" He glanced at the bundle in Fu Tingjun's hands, looking at her with some surprise.

It had only been two days since they last met, yet she had lost a whole circle of weight. Her once bright and clear eyes were now filled with exhaustion, and her fair face was marked by two dark circles under her eyes, as if she hadn't slept for days on end.