Chapter 75

Jin Yuanbao deliberated, "Since that Feng Baihu has mistaken us for sons of wealthy families, why don't we just let him keep thinking that?"

Yang Yucheng caught his meaning and chuckled, "You mean, we should pretend to be Ninth Master's attendants?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he laughed, "Why not? We've been earning our keep under Ninth Master all along—it's just that he's been kind enough to treat us as brothers." Then he added, "You're being so hesitant—surely there's something else you need me to do?"

It's easy to share hardship, but hard to share prosperity.

Though they couldn't claim any great wealth or status now, their circumstances had changed somewhat.

Seeing that Yang Yucheng was as straightforward as ever, Jin Yuanbao breathed a sigh of relief and smiled, "When the time comes, we'll have to trouble you to serve the wine and drinks on the side."

Yang Yucheng spat a "pah" at that and laughed, "I'm not some girl from a brothel." The moment the words left his mouth, he remembered Fu Tingjun was present, and gave a few awkward dry laughs.

Everyone else laughed along.

As the saying goes, it's easy to be an official when you have connections at court. If they wanted to stand out within three to five years, they'd have to take an unconventional path.

Zhao Ling smiled, "Then you'll have to hold your temper—we'll put on a good show for them."

"Don't worry, don't worry," Yang Yucheng said, "I promise I'll be even more deferential to Ninth Master than A Sen is."

Seeing himself dragged into the conversation, A Sen muttered discontentedly under his breath, "What about me? I've never caused any trouble for the Master!"

Yang Yucheng shot A Sen a fierce glare.

A Sen quickly fell silent.

It seemed this Yang Yucheng had caused trouble before!

Fu Tingjun pressed her lips together in a smile.

Being around these people, she always heard so many amusing things, encountered so many interesting moments.

Zhao Ling glanced over at her, his brow carrying warmth like the spring breeze of March.

Fu Tingjun's cheeks flushed slightly, and she only wished this joyful atmosphere could last a little longer.

She offered her advice: "When Ninth Master arrives in Zhangye, you'll inevitably need to host banquets for the Marquis of Yingchuan and the other officials. What are their preferences? Should you invite them together or individually? If together, does the timing work out? I was thinking—perhaps Ninth Master should first meet with General Mo to settle these matters before going to the Commander's Office to register. That way, things will go more smoothly. And if you could see the Marquis of Yingchuan before the registration, even better." She explained tactfully, "If you meet with the officials before formally going to the Commander's Office, and share a drink together, then by the time you register, you'll be more familiar. Those in the know will see that Ninth Master, a mere centurion, can host the Commander and Deputy Commander of the Commander's Office, and will naturally regard him differently. Those not in the know might think someone has put in a good word with the officials, which is why they treat Ninth Master with such courtesy... With so many people coming and going at the Commander's Office, each with their own thoughts, perhaps even Feng Tong, that official far away in Liangzhou, will hear of this matter!"

Zhao Ling smiled faintly, looking at her with an expression of "only you would think of that"—indulgent and affectionate.

Jin Yuanbao glanced at Zhao Ling, then nodded in approval with a somewhat ingratiating air.

Yang Yucheng went so far as to give a thumbs up: "Miss Fu can think of all this—truly a heroine among women!"

This made Fu Tingjun unable to suppress a laugh, and recalling Jin Yuanbao's earlier expression, she thought to herself with mild annoyance: Was what she said really that far-fetched? Why did he look like he was humoring her for Zhao Ling's sake... Who was she to him? Why would Jin Yuanbao think that giving her face would make Zhao Ling happy?

But an irrepressible joy welled up from the depths of her heart, and her clear eyes sparkled brightly, radiant as the morning glow.

Seeing her cheerful expression, delicate and lovely as a flower, Zhao Ling's mood immediately became as clear and boundless as a summer sky, his gaze fixed unblinkingly on Fu Tingjun.

Watching this, Jin Yuanbao discreetly tugged at Yang Yucheng to leave: "We've been running around all day, covered in dust. Let's go back and freshen up first, then we can have dinner together."

But Yang Yucheng remained seated: "It's only the hour of You—dinner is still early. Why don't we discuss what to give Mo Yi as a gift?"

Jin Yuanbao was caught between exasperation and amusement.

Fortunately, Zhao Ling was decisive in word and deed, and stood up with a smile: "Very well, let's go visit Mo Yi now, and then settle on the time for registering at the Commander's Office."

Yang Yucheng and Jin Yuanbao naturally had no objections, and the two carried the gift boxes as they left with Zhao Ling.

Fu Tingjun returned to her guest room at Hetu Book House, and her smile immediately collapsed.

She lay on the bed, her mind in a tangle, images of being with Zhao Ling spinning through her thoughts like a revolving lantern—so clear, yet so distant—until she drifted into a daze. It wasn't until Zheng Sanniang brought her evening meal that she realized it was already lamplighting time.

"Has Ninth Master returned yet?" she asked, chewing her food without tasting it.

Zheng Sanniang was somewhat surprised that she spoke while eating, but replied respectfully, "Not yet." She added, "According to my husband, Ninth Master went to see General Mo, so he probably won't be back until late."

Let him come back late.

If he comes back late, it means the two of them could find common ground in their conversation.

Fu Tingjun nodded, washed up hastily, and drew the bed curtains to rest.

In the middle of the night, she suddenly woke with a start.

All around was silent, not a single sound.

Yet she felt something stirring outside the door.

She pricked up her ears and listened for a long while—no sound at all—but that strange feeling simply would not dissipate.

Fu Tingjun secretly regretted not having kept Zheng Sanniang to stay with her.

She thought for a moment, then quietly rose, reached under the pillow, and pulled out the dagger Zhao Ling had given her for protection. Clutching it in her palm, she listened carefully through the guest room door.

Outside came a sound as light as wind brushing past.

The weather in the northwest was cold; the corridors were all sealed shut, and a thick leather curtain hung at the entrance. How could there be a sound of wind blowing in?

She held her breath and called out in a low voice: "Who is outside the door?"

The sound outside suddenly vanished.

Fu Tingjun's body went stiff... she had to find a way to let Zhao Ling know... Just as she was about to cry out, a low voice came from outside: "It's me!"

She let out a breath of relief, her body nearly collapsing to the floor.

"Why is it you?" She went to open the door, her hands so weak and limp she could barely muster the strength, and it took a long while before she managed to draw the bolt.

Bright moonlight shone upon the window, casting a soft glow throughout the room.

Seeing that Fu Tingjun was only wearing a small padded jacket and trembling while clutching something, Zhao Ling quickly said: "You must be frozen! Go put on your fur coat!"

Fu Tingjun's lips twitched slightly: "I'm scared half to death by you, that's what!" Then she muttered under her breath, "In the middle of the night, even if something's the matter, can't you just knock? Standing there at the door like that—good thing I have strong nerves. If it were anyone else, they'd be frightened half to death." Only then did she realize her back was drenched in cold sweat. The chill from outside rushed in, making her body shiver slightly. Remembering that he had just gone to see Mo Yi, she figured he must have something important to discuss, so she stepped aside to let him in.

Zhao Ling had originally planned to have a proper talk with Fu Tingjun after returning that night, but Mo Yi had brought along Tao Mu and a man named Lin Chi, insisting that they drink until all were thoroughly drunk. He had no choice but to keep them company. They drank until curfew, and Mo Yi made an appointment with him to go see the Marquis of Yingchuan at the hour of Mao the next morning, saying: "If the Marquis has nothing pressing, you play host, and we'll have a few cups with him too. In the afternoon, we can go to the General's Office to file the report."

He naturally agreed.

By the time he returned to the inn, it was already past the second watch.

After washing up and settling down, he thought of Fu Tingjun, and a sense of unease lingered in his heart.

He decided to get up and knock on Fu Tingjun's door. From afar, he heard the night watchman's clapper sounding the third watch. Thinking she must be sleeping soundly, he couldn't bear to wake her—but if he didn't clear things up today, tomorrow might be too busy, and if too much time passed, she would keep it bottled up inside, and a small matter would become a big one. He hesitated at the door for a long time, so long that he didn't even hear Fu Tingjun's footsteps as she rose from bed.

He smiled awkwardly: "I didn't expect you to be such a light sleeper..." As he spoke, he stepped inside, only then noticing the dagger in Fu Tingjun's hand, and became even more embarrassed.

Fu Tingjun wrinkled her nose: "Did you drink a lot of wine?"

"No," he said—remembering how Fu Tingjun had stopped him at the Mid-Autumn family banquet that day, and sensing her displeasure now, his instinct was to deny it. But then he realized the smell of alcohol on him couldn't be hidden no matter what, so he sheepishly changed his tune: "A little, but it's fine. After all, I went to see Mo Yi on business."

Fu Tingjun was only worried that he might drink too much and harm his health. Knowing he was a man of discretion, she didn't press further. She brewed a pot of strong tea, draped her fur coat over her shoulders, and sat on the heated brick bed across from Zhao Ling, quietly waiting for him to speak.

Though neither of them said a word, a tranquil and peaceful atmosphere lingered between them—one that Zhao Ling found himself reluctant to leave. He slowly drank more than half a cup of tea before speaking.

"Why were you crying this afternoon?" He looked at Fu Tingjun with gentle eyes, speaking frankly, his tone carrying a hint of intimacy.

He—he had been pacing outside her door in the middle of the night for this very reason?

Fu Tingjun stared at Zhao Ling in astonishment.

Zhao Ling had always been a man of decisive action. Though being looked at like this made him uncomfortable, he wouldn't resort to lying.

He nodded: "I've been worried, wondering what happened to you."

Could it really be, as A Sen had said, that whenever it concerned her, he would take it to heart?

Suddenly, Fu Tingjun felt as though she had returned to her childhood—secretly drinking her grandmother's treasured pear blossom wine with her sisters, drowsily sleeping beneath the camellia tree, the brilliant crimson petals blazing before her eyes, as she floated weightlessly on clouds like riding the mist.

So Zhao Ling's feelings for her were sincere after all...

She shyly lowered her head.

If they could be together... that would be wonderful too!

A scene suddenly flashed through her mind—of her leaning against his shoulder after stumbling.

His body had been so warm...

Her heart felt like fifteen buckets being drawn from a well—rising and falling in turmoil.

Her cheeks began to burn.

A woman properly wed is a wife; one who elopes is a concubine.

She wondered what his family was like.

If her mother saw Zhao Ling, she would certainly be astonished!

Her heart felt sweet, and her eyes and brows carried a smile, but soon, her expression turned stern.

Not to mention that Zhao Ling had already cleaned up his background, while she herself was someone who couldn't be seen in the light—not only would she be of no help to his official career in the future, but if she were ever discovered, she might even drag him down. And then there was her father... She thought of how, every time her father mentioned the Yu family of Nanjing to others, his face would glow with pride, and how, when her mother wrote to say that Eldest Aunt was going to marry Second Cousin to Zuo Junjie, his reply had been stern and measured in its wording... A feeling rose in her heart that even though she had been stricken from the Fu family register, her father would still, nine times out of ten, look down on Zhao Ling. A true man need never worry about finding a wife—why would Zhao Ling willingly endure her father's cold disdain? Rather than let things end in discord, turning them into strangers or even enemies, it would be better to...

Fu Tingjun's face turned slightly pale, as if she had fallen from the clouds into the mud in an instant.