Chapter 69

In the past, Zhao Ling had also taught A Sen to recognize characters, but it was simply a matter of pointing out whatever characters he happened to see and telling him what they were. If A Sen remembered them, he remembered them; if he didn't, that was that. It wasn't like now, where Fu Tingjun started with the Thousand Family Poems , not only teaching him to recite them but also making a sand tray to practice writing.

A Sen was rather pleased with himself: "I've learned seven poems and am working on the eighth."

In just two months, using only his spare time, he could recognize and write seven poems—no wonder he was so proud.

Zhao Ling smiled at him and nodded approvingly: "Recite them for me!"

A Sen happily replied "Yes," straightened his back, and recited loudly: "Clouds are light, the wind is gentle, near noon of the day; past flowers and willows I walk by the river's way. People of the time do not know my inner joy; they'd say I steal leisure to imitate youth's play..."

But Fu Tingjun, sitting nearby, was in a poor mood.

Ever since they left Xi'an Prefecture, Zhao Ling had become a bit different.

Yet if she had to say exactly what was different, she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Take, for instance, the matter of him entering without knocking just now. Before leaving Xi'an Prefecture, he would never have done such a thing. But now, when she reminded him, he instead wore a nonchalant expression and even sat down beside her so casually.

The old days were better.

In the past, though he always kept a stern face, he was respectful and proper toward her, never once showing the slightest neglect...

A thought flashed through her mind, and suddenly she understood.

Yes, that was the feeling!

Before, he had been respectful and reserved toward her; now, he carried a hint of casual disregard.

Afraid of being surrounded by refugees, they had traveled day and night without rest. She was jostled senseless by the carriage, and Zheng Sanniang, holding Linchun, was no better off. Linchun cried the whole way, and Zheng Sanniang soothed him the whole way. Hearing it, her heart ached as if pierced by knives. She worried terribly, fearing something might happen to the child, and even regretted bringing the Zheng couple to Zhangye. Fortunately, A Sen produced a piece of candy; otherwise, Linchun's voice would have gone hoarse from crying.

After passing Mei County, they finally slowed down. At noon, they rested by the roadside.

She felt as if she had fallen apart, lying in the carriage, not wanting to move even a finger. She told Zheng Sanniang not to mind her and to take Linchun outside to play: "...Even adults can't bear it, let alone a child!"

Zheng Sanniang, with tears in her eyes, agreed and carried the child out.

She closed her eyes, wanting to lie still and rest, but Zhao Ling lifted the curtain and came in, bringing her a bowl of sugar water.

At the time, she hadn't thought much of it. In front of Zhao Ling, she drank it all down to the last drop. Then... she needed to relieve herself. Zhao Ling kept asking her, "Are you feeling uncomfortable anywhere?" She had to hem and haw, talking around it for a long while, until she simply couldn't hold it in anymore and had to say she wanted to get out for some air.

Zhao Ling jumped down from the carriage.

She breathed a sigh of relief and, enduring the aches, slowly climbed up.

But Zhao Ling stood by the carriage, reaching out a hand to help her down...

Then, chaos. She didn't even know how she got back into the carriage.

She only remembered her face burning like fire... and that when he helped her down, her whole body went stiff, she stumbled, and fell against his shoulder, catching that... pleasant scent of his.

Warm, cozy, baking one into a lazy drowsiness...

Thinking of it now, Fu Tingjun felt her face burn as if on fire again.

Zhao Ling listened to A Sen recite poems with half his attention, but his peripheral vision kept stealing glances at Fu Tingjun.

First, she pouted her lips in a childish way, then she lazily tilted her body slightly, leaning against the kang cabinet beside her, lost in thought.

When he looked again, her face had suddenly flushed bright red. She bit her rosy lips with a mix of coyness and shyness—she looked truly like a crabapple blossom in full bloom, delicate and alluring.

He couldn't help but ask softly, "What's wrong?"

It was like spring thunder waking the flower's dreamer.

She started in surprise and quickly said, "Nothing! Nothing!" A hint of panic in her expression, she shot him a quick glance, then composed herself and sat up straight.

Zhao Ling's heart sank.

He had thought they would grow closer, but instead she was drifting further away.

Before, she would always speak to him with a smile and laughter; now, she seemed to avoid him.

Why was this happening?

Zhao Ling felt troubled.

Fu Tingjun, meanwhile, felt a pang of guilt.

He couldn't have noticed something, could he?

She had clung tightly to his lapels at the time. If A Sen hadn't shouted "Miss Fu!" she might have nestled into his arms.

Thank goodness for A Sen's shout—everyone knew her body was stiff and she couldn't move, so they wouldn't think anything else.

Later, he had thrown his fur coat to her... Though it was new and he had never worn it, it was warm wrapped around her. In the carriage, she could avoid thinking about it, but the moment she got out and saw the fur coats on Jin Yuanbao and the others, she felt utterly uncomfortable and only wanted to hide in the carriage and not come out.

She quickly cleared her throat and collected herself. Just then, she heard A Sen reciting "We never tire of looking at each other—only Jingting Mountain"... For some reason, she felt her face burn and her heart race, and she blurted out without thinking: "Did Ninth Master also study the Thousand Family Poems as a child?"

The moment the words left her mouth, she wished she could bite herself twice.

Every child's first lessons begin with the Thousand Character Classic .

Sure enough, Zhao Ling nodded slightly and smiled, saying, "Yes!" He added, "My father passed away when I was six, but ever since I could remember, he loved to sit me on his knee and teach me to read. He also said that although the world values eight-legged essays over poetry, whether one writes a good essay depends entirely on how well one breaks the topic; and whether one breaks the topic well depends on whether the parallel prose and ornate phrases can dazzle." As he spoke, a look of reminiscence crossed his face. "I still remember, on his desk there was a jade Pixiu paperweight, smooth and lustrous. Sometimes when I grew impatient listening, my father would give me that jade Pixiu to play with. Once, I broke it, and my father replaced it with a jade deer paperweight, still letting me play with it. Back then, I thought all paperweights were made of jade..."

Fu Tingjun's heart trembled violently.

This was the first time she had heard him speak so detailedly about his parents in front of her.

From his tone, his father must have been a scholar as well.

She wondered why he had died so young.

And how had Zhao Ling ended up in such circumstances?

She wanted to ask what had happened, but she held back.

With both parents dead and him drifting outside, bringing it up would only stir bitter tears. Why should she ask and make him grieve again?

Besides, these days, whenever she asked anything, no matter what it was, he would answer her patiently...

Thinking of this, Fu Tingjun's mind wandered slightly.

He truly treated her very differently now.

In the past, if such matters came up, he would either stay silent or change the subject. Never had he been like now, like a closest friend, willing to open his heart and let her see the memories hidden deep within.

Fu Tingjun felt quite uneasy.

She felt that if things continued like this, something major might happen... But if she were to stop here and never ask about Zhao Ling's affairs again, she couldn't bear not to know...

She was conflicted.

The room suddenly fell silent.

She looked up in surprise. She saw Zhao Ling sitting there quietly, his expression somewhat dazed.

Was he recalling the good old days or the sorrowful ones?

Fu Tingjun's heart ached, tinged with pain.

Just as she was thinking how to comfort him without being obvious, A Sen suddenly said, "I, I've finished reciting it!"

How could she have forgotten him!

Fu Tingjun felt embarrassed and quickly looked toward A Sen.

A Sen hung his head, mumbling softly, "You two were just talking, no one paid attention to me!"

He looked very aggrieved.

Fu Tingjun was both ashamed and embarrassed.

Zhao Ling, who had just been silent, burst into laughter and said, "When adults are speaking, children should listen from the side." Then he stood up and said, "Come, let's go have dinner—it's getting late, aren't you hungry?" His brow was clear and bright, with no trace of the earlier daze.

Youth knows not the taste of sorrow, yet feigns it for new verses. Now that sorrow's taste is fully known, one only says, "What a cool autumn day."

Seeing Zhao Ling like this made Fu Tingjun's heart ache even more.

But A Sen immediately cheered up: "Master, shall I go call Brother Yucheng and Brother Yuanbao?"

Zhao Ling nodded, and A Sen ran out joyfully.

Zhao Ling stood with his hands behind his back, gazing at A Sen's retreating figure for a long time without moving.

Fu Tingjun didn't want him to feel alone, so she quietly stood with him.

After a long while, he said lightly, "When I was little, I was just like A Sen—happy at the mere mention of food."

From a child who "thought all paperweights were made of jade" to one who was happy at the mere mention of food...

Her urge to comfort him could no longer be suppressed.

Fu Tingjun reached out to touch his head, just as she did with A Sen, but as she extended her hand, she realized he was a head taller than her... She quickly withdrew her hand in embarrassment.

Zhao Ling, noticing her gesture, brightened like a ship setting sail.

She had already chosen to go to Zhangye with him—why should he overthink things? He should just treat her well!

"Let's go have dinner!" He turned to look at her, warmth slowly flowing from his brow.

...

Hearing that they would stay in Yongjing for two days, Fu Tingjun's spirits lifted.

She called Zheng San over: "Accompany me to the market tomorrow; I want to buy a fur coat." Then she paused and added, "Or, we could buy a fur coat for Ninth Master instead!"

Zheng San looked at Fu Tingjun's delicate, beautiful features and hesitated: "This place is a mix of all sorts, and we're just passing through..."

Having been an escort guard for so long, he always thought of reaching the destination safely, and beauty and wealth were the two things most likely to breed trouble... He feared unnecessary complications would bring trouble.

Fu Tingjun felt deflated and said, "Then you go out tomorrow and buy a fur coat for Ninth Master!"

Zheng San was quite confident in himself and respectfully agreed.

Fu Tingjun opened the chest and gave him two hundred taels of silver. The next day, she sat somewhat gloomily in her room doing needlework.

A Sen eagerly brought over the sand tray to ask her to teach him characters, and only then did she muster some spirit. But A Sen still sensed her displeasure and quietly told Zhao Ling, "Miss Fu is unhappy!"

"Oh!" Zhao Ling's hand, which was about to write, paused. "Why is Miss Fu unhappy?"

A Sen secretly laughed to himself.

He knew that as long as he mentioned anything about Miss Fu, Ninth Master would always ask.

"I don't know!" A Sen said. "Anyway, she's unhappy."

Zhao Ling hummed in acknowledgment and continued writing with his head lowered.

A Sen found it boring and squatted in the room practicing characters on the sand tray.

After a while, he saw Zhao Ling put down his brush and walk out.

A Sen stood on his tiptoes to look.

He saw Zhao Ling knocking on Fu Tingjun's door.

A Sen felt a bit emotional.

Ninth Master really did listen to Miss Fu's words—she had only said something yesterday, and Ninth Master had already taken it to heart.