Chapter 80

Plump white steamed buns, a bowl of mushroom and walnut soup with double-crisp toppings as white as milk, a plate of fragrant carrot-braised lamb, a plate of crispy and savory gourd chicken, a plate of glistening red-braised pork, a plate of rich chicken and sea cucumber, a plate of golden stir-fried daylily buds, and a plate of snowy white honeyed yam—one bowl, six dishes, four meat and two vegetable. Mo Yi devoured them like a whirlwind sweeping through clouds: "I told you, if you come back, there's bound to be good food." As he spoke, he dipped a white steamed bun into the plate of red-braised pork now reduced to sauce and stuffed it into his mouth.

Zhao Ling's table manners were far more refined. He was holding a small pastel bowl decorated with gourds and pheasants, sipping his soup.

Mo Yi set down his chopsticks and stared at him.

Zhao Ling grew uncomfortable under the gaze and said, "You may not manage me, but you're still my superior. If you have something to say, just say it outright!"

Mo Yi chuckled and said, "Now you know I'm your superior. Well then, since I'm saying it, you can't refuse!"

Zhao Ling naturally wouldn't fall for that trick. He said slowly, "Tell me first, and I'll hear it."

A flicker of embarrassment passed through Mo Yi's eyes. After a long pause, he lowered his voice and said, "I want Madam Lu to come and learn needlework and embroidery from the women in your household."

Zhao Ling was surprised.

Mo Yi looked somewhat awkward and said, "Next September is my grandmother's birthday. My mother wants me to bring Madam Lu back..." Once the words were out, his demeanor became more natural. "You know our family has many rules. Madam Lu grew up in the borderlands—how would she know any of that? I've thought it over, and in all of Zhangye, only your wife can give her some guidance." He then said, "Hey," and continued, "So what do you say? This is my first time asking you for something!" His voice was a bit tense. Partly because he wasn't used to asking favors, and partly because facing Zhao Ling, he vaguely sensed that putting on the airs of a noble scion might not work, leaving him nervous.

Zhao Ling frowned slightly: "This needs to be discussed with Miss Fu."

Mo Yi burst into laughter upon hearing this, his whole body relaxing: "Then it's settled!"

In any household, wasn't it the man who had the final say?

Since Zhao Ling had agreed, the matter was as good as done.

"Come, let me toast you." He raised his cup with a beaming smile.

In the kitchen, Fu Tingjun placed the freshly baked meat pies into a willow basket and set it on the windowsill outside—once they cooled, she would wrap them in a cloth bundle for Zhao Ling to bring to Yang Yucheng and Jin Yuanbao.

The little messenger A Sen came running over: "Miss, miss, General Mo said you're to teach his concubine proper conduct." Then he recounted Mo Yi's words to Fu Tingjun.

Fu Tingjun had grown up in a large clan, where the most basic principle was: each sweeps the snow from his own doorstep, and let others mind their own frost. That Madam Lu—just as Madam Qi had predicted—was at most an unacknowledged mistress, not even a proper concubine. If she taught her proper conduct, and one day she ran into Mo Yi's legitimate wife, how would she face her?

But thinking of how much Zhao Ling still needed Mo Yi's help, she could only sigh: "Go tell Ninth Master to agree to it."

A Sen had no idea of the complexities involved. He only knew that Fu Tingjun had agreed to help Mo Yi for Ninth Master's sake, and he happily went off to the main hall.

Even so, Zhao Ling still didn't agree to Mo Yi.

"There's no need for us to meddle in the affairs of his household," he said to Fu Tingjun as he was leaving. "You just keep the courtyard gates tightly shut. If he makes a fuss, there's still the Marquis of Yingchuan! Surely the Marquis wouldn't want Mo Yi to fall out with his family over this."

Fu Tingjun nodded.

Zhao Ling then lowered his voice and instructed her: "I'm afraid I won't be able to return before the Lantern Festival. On that day, Zhangye has a village fair procession unlike anywhere else. Why not have Zheng San and his wife accompany you for a stroll? Don't stay cooped up at home all the time."

Now everyone was spreading word of her loyalty and devotion—how she'd rather follow her betrothed to this desolate borderland than stay with relatives in the capital and enjoy comfort... Though she had a striking appearance, that didn't mean she enjoyed being conspicuous. Zhangye was a tiny place, and she lived on the back street, where the same people passed by day after day. Even staying at home, people often asked Madam Qi what she looked like. If she went out and about, she'd surely have a crowd of pointing and whispering people following behind.

And he wasn't really her betrothed... How could paper ever wrap fire!

As the saying goes, too much talk leads to errors. The same applied to one's conduct—wander around too much, meet too many people, and you'd easily be recognized. If the truth came out, she wouldn't be able to wash herself clean even by jumping into the Yellow River.

Better to stay quietly at home and go out as little as possible.

But this wasn't something she could say openly to Zhao Ling. She gave an "mm" in acknowledgment, then asked him about the ancestral rites on New Year's Eve.

Zhao Ling was stunned for a long moment, then with a somewhat dazed expression wrote out "My late father, Zhao Jiyun" and "My late mother, Lady Meng" and handed them to Fu Tingjun: "I haven't properly paid respects to my parents in several years." Tears were already glistening in his eyes.

Looking at Zhao Ling, who seemed so vulnerable in his grief, Fu Tingjun felt only reluctance to part, only tenderness, only heartache. Her earlier indignation and dissatisfaction suddenly seemed somewhat ridiculous. Her voice was as gentle as the spring breeze brushing through leaves: "Ninth Master, rest assured, I will prepare the offerings properly."

If she didn't trust him, she wouldn't have entrusted the ancestral rites for his parents to her.

Zhao Ling smiled at her, but the smile carried an ineradicable sadness.

Fu Tingjun clenched her fists tightly, only then restraining the urge to reach out and touch his forehead.

...

After Zhao Ling left, Fu Tingjun first had someone make ancestral tablets for Zhao Ling's parents, then steamed buns and New Year cakes. Since the shops were closed for the holiday and the three sacrificial animals could no longer be purchased, she used flour to shape pigs, cows, and sheep as substitutes. By New Year's Eve, she laid out whole chickens, ducks, fish, and meat—quite a lavish spread.

After paying respects to the ancestors, everyone, master and servant alike, gathered together for a reunion dinner. At midnight, firecrackers were set off, and they chatted and laughed while staying up to welcome the New Year.

On the first day of the New Year, Zheng San, following Fu Tingjun's orders, took Zhao Ling's name cards and dropped them into the boxes outside the residences of various officials, which counted as Zhao Ling paying New Year's calls. After that, there was nothing much to do. They closed the doors and spent each day thinking about what delicious food to make, with joyful smiles on everyone's faces.

Before they knew it, the Lantern Festival arrived. Zheng San took A Sen and Linchun to watch the street festivities, while Fu Tingjun and Zheng Sanniang stayed home doing needlework.

Spring had already begun; in a few days, the wind would no longer carry a chill against one's face. It was time for Zhao Ling to change into spring clothes.

Her father had been a sixth-rank official, and his salary wasn't even enough to buy a preferred Song-dynasty woodblock print, let alone for Zhao Ling.

Firewood and rice may be plentiful, but days are even more numerous. She still needed to find ways to economize.

Early the next morning, someone came knocking: "Miss Fu! Miss Fu!"

The voice sounded somewhat familiar, but Fu Tingjun couldn't place who it was.

Zheng San went to open the door.

In came Xuemei, Madam Lu's personal maidservant, followed by two rough-duty matrons—one carrying a tiered food box, the other holding five or six bolts of gleaming gold-thread brocade.

"Is Miss Fu at home?" She curtsied cheerfully to Zheng San. "Our mistress has come to visit Miss Fu."

Zheng San looked up and saw Madam Lu standing demurely outside the door.

He quickly begged pardon and called for Zheng Sanniang to announce the visitor.

Fu Tingjun had a vague sense of what this was about. Thinking of Zhao Ling, she hesitated for a moment, then had Zheng Sanniang invite Madam Lu in.

Madam Lu was only seventeen or eighteen, with a delicate figure and a clear, lovely face. Though she came from the northwest, she possessed the gentle grace of a woman from the Jiangnan water towns.

"Before you moved here, I often heard the General mention you," she said with great humility. "I should have come to visit often, but then I heard you were in mourning, and I feared disturbing you, so I came less frequently. A few days ago, the General mentioned you again, saying you have excellent culinary skills—especially that double-crisp dish with morels and walnut kernels. The tripe is snowy white, the duck gizzards crisp and tender, refreshing and delicious—he praised it endlessly. These past few days, the General has been busy with official duties and has no appetite for anything. Seeing this made me sad, so I've had to be bold and come to ask you to teach me how to make this dish. Please don't mind my clumsy hands and teach me."

She never once mentioned propriety or rules, only asking to learn cooking from her—indirect yet tactful. Clearly, she was an intelligent woman.

She must have already discussed this with Mo Yi.

Fu Tingjun smiled and agreed, and the two chatted pleasantly, arranging a time for the cooking lesson.

From then on, Madam Lu came every day. Sometimes she came to learn cooking, sometimes she brought needlework for Fu Tingjun to look at, sometimes she brought paintings or poems for Fu Tingjun's critique. Seeing that Fu Tingjun was busy making spring clothes for Zhao Ling, Yang Yucheng, and others, she brought along her maidservants to help Zheng Sanniang with the sewing.

Those maidservants were quite skilled with a needle, but Fu Tingjun still felt more at ease doing things herself. Zhao Ling's clothes and shoes she continued to make personally, while the maidservants helped with the sewing for Yang Yucheng and the others.

Madam Qi noticed all of this.

Watching the chimney of Fu Tingjun's house, she deliberately chose a time when Madam Lu was learning cooking from Fu Tingjun to pay a visit, then bustled into the kitchen with exaggerated exclamations.

"I never imagined Miss Fu's culinary skills were so impressive! Look at this camel-hoof soup—fine, smooth, tender, and delicious," she said, picking up a spoon and taking a sip. "Delicious, delicious!" Then she deliberately asked Fu Tingjun, "Miss, you're from Pingliang County, aren't you? How is it you know how to make dishes from our Zhangye?" She completely ignored Madam Lu, who stood to the side with her sleeves rolled up.

Fu Tingjun's head began to ache. She smiled and said, "Once, Ninth Master ordered a banquet from Xiqin Tower, and this dish happened to be among it. I saw that Ninth Master liked it, so I paid extra attention."

"Miss Fu truly has a heart of orchid and wisdom of bamboo!" Madam Qi said at length, then took her leave as abruptly as she had arrived.

Fu Tingjun was baffled.

Madam Lu's expression, however, turned very sour. She forced a smile at Fu Tingjun, made an excuse about not feeling well, and also took her leave.

What grudge existed between those two women?

Fu Tingjun had no intention of being led astray, so she sent Zheng San out to make inquiries.

She didn't manage to learn anything about Madam Qi and Madam Lu's affairs, but she did hear that people on the back street were all spreading word about how skilled Fu Tingjun was at cooking—even Madam Lu had humbly sought her advice.

This news must have been spread by Madam Qi.

She had no desire to use others as a stepping stone, and couldn't help but feel a quiet irritation.

A letter from Zhao Ling arrived via Zhuanglang Guard.

It was only then that Fu Tingjun learned that before the New Year, Zhao Ling had accompanied Lu Cheng on a trip to Zhenfan Guard, where they were delayed by a heavy snowstorm on their return journey. By the time they got back to Zhuanglang Guard, Lu Cheng was in a hurry to send New Year's gifts to the Marquis of Yingchuan, and Zhao Ling had never even received her letter.

"Honestly!" Fu Tingjun muttered softly, her face flushing. After searching in vain for a suitable box to keep the letter in, she specifically instructed Zheng San to make a trip to the street and buy a carved red lacquer box decorated with interlocking branch patterns. She carefully placed the letter inside and hid it in the kang cabinet at the head of her bed.

That evening, alone under the dim lamplight, she quietly wrote a reply to Zhao Ling.

She only asked about his daily life and well-being—of everything else, she said not a word.