Daylight streamed in through the doors and windows, filling the entire room with brightness. The youthful vigor and radiance on the young girl’s face became all the more impossible to suppress.
She said, almost as a matter of course, “Of course it’s a pity. In the hundreds of years of the Great Yin Dynasty, how many Wu’an Marquises have there ever been?”
Fan Changyu counted on her fingers as she spoke to him. “The throat of the northern frontier, Jinzhou, was retaken by him. The twelve prefectures of Liaodong, which had cost the lives of countless loyal ministers and renowned generals over decades of battle, were also recovered by him. The Battle of Jinzhou was controversial, yes—but when Jinzhou fell to the Baijue back then, weren’t the Central Plains people within its walls also massacred?”
“Old General Xie died standing, preserving his honor, yet his corpse was hung from the city tower by the Baijue to be exposed to the sun. The civil officials condemned and scolded the Wu’an Marquis for being cold-blooded and cruel, but were the soldiers and commoners who died in Jinzhou sixteen years ago not innocent? Why is it that just by moving their lips, they can lightly gloss over the Baijue’s crimes on behalf of the dead? Without the Wu’an Marquis, who else could hold the northwest?”
Xie Zheng had heard countless righteous denunciations of his Battle of Jinzhou, but this was the first time someone had spoken in his defense.
A strange feeling arose in his heart, and he couldn’t help but take another look at the woman before him. “You certainly dare to speak.”
Fan Changyu looked at him in puzzlement. “What the officials say is their business. We commoners aren’t fools. The Wu’an Marquis’s methods in military and political affairs were indeed harsh, but not nearly as heinous as those scholars claim. We common folk don’t curse the corrupt officials who drain the people’s fat and blood, but we curse the Wu’an Marquis who kills the enemy too fiercely? How big of a problem must one have in their head for that?”
Xie Zheng said, “…Do not people use his name to stop children from crying at night?”
Fan Changyu said, somewhat embarrassed, “My father’s appearance when he kills pigs is too fierce. The townsfolk often use my father’s name to scare children too.”
Xie Zheng: “……”
He lifted a hand to press against his brow, silent for a long moment. The hostility and gloom in his heart seemed, miraculously, to have dispersed a little.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
At noon, when they ate, Fan Changyu first lit an incense stick before her parents’ spirit tablets. Xie Zheng had heard her mention her father before, so he glanced toward the offering table against the wall in the main room.
When he clearly saw the names written there, he suddenly asked, “Is your eldest uncle called Fan Daniu?”
Fan Changyu looked a bit surprised. “How do you know?”
Xie Zheng said, “Your father’s tablet.”
Fan Changyu glanced at the three characters “Fan Erniu” written on her father’s tablet, and instantly understood what he meant.
She said, “My father’s given name was Erniu, but he got lost when he was young. After he grew up, he managed to find his family again. Later, the people in town gave him the nickname ‘Old Tiger Fan,’ and everyone just called him by that nickname.”
Xie Zheng only nodded faintly. His gaze swept toward her mother’s spirit tablet, where he saw that her mother didn’t even have a surname—the name on the tablet was simply Lihua, looking like something a rural family would casually give.
He couldn’t help but ask, “Were your and your younger sister’s names chosen by someone for you?”
This couple did not seem like the sort who could come up with names like Changyu and Changning.
Fan Changyu set the dishes on the table and said, “No, my mother named us.”
When she mentioned her mother, a hint of pride appeared between her brows. “My mother was really amazing. She could read and write, and she knew how to blend fragrances and make powders. Other butchers’ clothes would always reek after slaughtering pigs, but our family’s garments—after being washed clean—would be fumigated with the fragrance my mother made, and never had any unpleasant smell.”
A trace of surprise appeared in Xie Zheng’s cold eyes. “Your maternal family was quite well-off?”
To be literate and skilled in blending scents and making powders—either one alone would suggest an uncommon background, let alone both together. It ought to have been a household of considerable cultivation and means.
Fan Changyu shook her head. “I’ve never met my maternal grandfather. My mother was someone my father met years ago while escorting goods on the road. She wasn’t some young lady from a wealthy family—she had only served as a maid in a noble household.”
Lihua did indeed sound like a maid’s name.
If she had served in an aristocratic family, such knowledge would not be strange.
Fan Changyu said, “It’s a pity I’m stupid. I used to study characters with my mother, but every time I looked at a book, my head hurt. I didn’t learn fragrance blending or powder making well either—otherwise, I’d have another way to make a living now.”
Xie Zheng recalled the scene of her swinging a stick to beat people and said, with an unreadable tone, “Perhaps you have more talent in other matters.”
Fan Changyu nodded in full agreement. “I think so too. If I hadn’t learned slaughtering pigs from my father, by now, my house and land would probably have been taken away, and I’d be wandering the streets with Ning-niang.”
Little Changning, who was struggling to pick up a meatball, widened her glistening grape-like eyes at those words. “Ning-niang doesn’t want to live on the street.”
Fan Changyu helped her younger sister pick up the meatball she had been trying and failing to grasp for a long time and placed it into her bowl. “We won’t live on the street. In the future, we’ll even buy a grand house in the county.”
Only then did Changning relax, resuming her duel of wits with the meatball in her bowl, occasionally chatting a few words with Fan Changyu as she ate.
Compared to the sisters’ cheerful chatter during the meal, Xie Zheng barely spoke after picking up his chopsticks—truly living up to the saying, “Do not speak when eating, nor talk when sleeping.”
His manner of eating was refined. Fan Changyu’s was not.
Slaughtering pigs was strenuous work, and with her physical exertion, her appetite was naturally greater than that of most women.
She lifted a large sea bowl and ate heartily, and Changning followed her example, almost burying her entire face into her rice bowl.
The two of them—one big, one small—moved in perfect unison.
When they finally set down their bowls, both let out satisfied sighs, as though the meal had somehow become even more delicious for it.
In all his life, Xie Zheng had never seen a woman eat in such a manner. His expression turned subtle and complex.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
In the afternoon, Fan Changyu called Carpenter Zhao to help repair the broken front door, while she herself took some silver and went to the market to buy pigs.
Because of preparing for the marriage to deal with Fan Da, her newly opened butcher shop had been closed for three days. If she didn’t reopen soon, all the reputation she had built with her marinated offal would go to waste.
Before she left, Xie Zheng suddenly asked, “Since your mother could read and write, do you have paper, ink, brush, and inkstone at home?”
Fan Changyu said, “We do. Do you need them?”
Xie Zheng nodded. “May I borrow them?”
Fan Changyu then went to fetch the Four Treasures of the Study her mother had once bought. Since they had been left untouched for a long time, the paper had yellowed, the inkstone had a large chip, and the goat-hair brush had spread out into something resembling a broom.
When Xie Zheng saw the Four Treasures placed before him, he paused for a breath before offering his thanks.
After all, it was still better than writing with charcoal on cloth.
Fan Changyu didn’t ask what he needed paper and brush for. She figured that since he was literate, perhaps he was simply bored from being confined with his leg injury and wanted to practice calligraphy or something.
After Fan Changyu left, Xie Zheng began grinding the ink and writing. The ink was of poor quality—it dissolved unevenly in the water.
Suppressing the urge to throw the frayed brush and crumbly ink stick out the window, he forced himself to stay patient and, before Carpenter Zhao finished repairing the door, managed to write an essay in the style of the civil examination.
He asked Carpenter Zhao to take the essay to a nearby bookstore to sell. “The Spring Examinations are near. Essays for the civil exams should sell well in major bookshops. Please, take this to one and see if they’ll accept such work.”
Carpenter Zhao was illiterate, but he could tell from the handwriting that it was exquisite. Astonished, he said, “Young man, so you’re a scholar too?”
Xie Zheng only said, “I studied for a few years when I was young. Later, I traveled far and wide escorting goods, gaining some worldly experience. Now that I’m injured and without any silver, I thought I’d try writing essays to earn a few taels.”
With the imperial house in decline and unrest in the northwest, these essays—once circulated—could stir a wave of denunciation of the Wei family among scholars across the land. The father and son would be kept busy, leaving them no time to pursue his trail.
Through these essays, he could also covertly pass messages to his old subordinates.
The appearance of the falcon in town was far too conspicuous. If someone with intent were to trace it, trouble would surely follow.
Hearing his explanation, Carpenter Zhao’s eyes grew moist. “You’re a good lad. That girl Changyu has had a hard life. The fact that she found you wounded in the wild and still managed to save you—it must be fate between the two of you. Knowing that you care for her so much, my wife and I can rest easy…”
Xie Zheng realized the old man had misunderstood his reason for earning money—thinking it was out of affection for the butcher’s daughter. He wanted to clarify, but at that moment could find no better explanation, so he could only remain silent.
In Carpenter Zhao’s eyes, Xie Zheng’s silence was as good as an admission.
The strange feeling in Xie Zheng’s heart grew heavier. Afraid that Fan Changyu might also misunderstand, he deliberately acted more distant after she returned home. Unfortunately, his face seldom showed much expression to begin with, and Fan Changyu, being rather thick-skinned and slow to notice subtleties, did not detect anything unusual about him at all.
· ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
That night.
Fan Changyu made up the bed in the north room and let her younger sister sleep first. Then she went to the kitchen to marinate the pork for the next day’s sale. Remembering that Yan Zheng’s body was injured and that he might fear the cold at night, she scooped the still-glowing embers from the stove into a charcoal brazier and carried it over to his room.
Having lived in this house for more than ten years, she had yet to break her habit of walking straight in without knocking. So, as soon as she stepped through the door, she found that the man once again had his clothes half off, applying medicine to his wounds.
But this time Fan Changyu had no mind to feel embarrassed, for his entire back was covered in spreading bloodstains, and the white undergarment he wore was also blotched with red.
During the day, when she had offered to help him apply medicine, he had refused. She had thought his wounds were not too serious—who would have thought they were this bad?
When Xie Zheng heard the door push open, he frowned handsomely and was about to put his clothes back on, but a pair of warm, firm hands pressed down on his shoulders.
The instant of skin-to-skin contact sent a shudder through him, his brows furrowing even tighter. He instinctively tried to brush away the hand on his shoulder, yet the other restrained him, holding him firmly in place.
Xie Zheng’s breath caught, and in his beautiful eyes flickered a trace of startled confusion—he didn’t know whether to be more shocked by the woman’s strength or by her audacity. “You—”
“You what, you? Do you have a death wish? Is it so hard to let someone help you apply medicine?”
Seeing the torn wounds across his back, Fan Changyu’s tone was anything but gentle. She couldn’t fathom what he was being so stubborn about—those wounds, repeatedly splitting open, would cost a fortune to treat!
As she grabbed the medicine bottle on the table and sprinkled powder over the bleeding cuts, she muttered, “A grown man, acting all delicate!”
A vein throbbed sharply at Xie Zheng’s temple. The woman’s hand was still on his shoulder; that half of his body felt as if it had been branded with a hot iron. His brows twisted together. “Men and women should not have physical contact.”
Fan Changyu said, “I carried you back from the wilderness! Whether we should or shouldn’t have, we’ve already been in contact!”
The moment the words left her mouth, the entire room fell silent.
Fan Changyu also realized she had misspoken. She’d always hated scholarly talk, and yet this man insisted on speaking in such refined terms—irritated, she raked her fingers through her hair. “I don’t mean I’ve actually been intimate with you… ai…”
Xie Zheng’s eyelid began to twitch. Before she could utter another astonishing remark, he cut her off. “I know what you mean.”
Fan Changyu hurriedly nodded. “Good, as long as you know.”
Afraid he might misunderstand and think she harbored some kind of feeling for him, she clenched her teeth and lied through her conscience. “Don’t worry, I’ve no designs on you. I… I haven’t even gotten over my former fiancé yet! We were childhood sweethearts—he’s so good-looking and so clever, the only one in the whole county who passed the xiucai exam. How could I say I’ve moved on and really mean it?”
After finishing this speech, Fan Changyu shivered so hard her goosebumps nearly fell to the floor.
The man before her had an unreadable expression. He merely said, “My condolences.”
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