After Constable Wang left, Fan Changyu sat in the disordered house with her younger sister in her arms, together with Carpenter Zhao and his wife, for a long while without speaking.

After quite some time, Aunt Zhao finally said hesitantly, “Taking in a son-in-law… that’s no easy matter, is it? I’ve lived to this age and have only ever heard of wealthy families’ only daughters taking in a husband. For poor families like ours, who would be willing to marry in and take the wife’s surname?”

Fan Changyu remained silent and did not reply.

The method Constable Wang had suggested was for her to quickly take in a husband through zhaozhui¹Zhaozhui 招赘: a marriage in which the man marries into the woman’s family and takes her surname.. In this way, her father would be considered to have a son, and naturally, the family property would fall to her.

But since the Song family had withdrawn from the engagement and her reputation as a “star of lone misfortune” had spread, it was already difficult enough for her to marry—let alone to find a man willing to marry into her family.

Those petition-writers she had previously asked for advice probably also knew of her family’s situation, which was why none of them had ever thought that zhaozhui could be a viable path for her.

After all, the world regarded marrying into another family as a disgrace. Once a man entered as a son-in-law, he had to give up even his ancestral surname, unable to hold his head high anywhere. Let alone ordinary men—even idle loafers and petty scoundrels would hardly be willing to do so.

Carpenter Zhao’s calloused hands rested on his knees, his wrinkled face looking even more aged. He sighed and said, “Marriage is a lifelong matter. You can’t just pick anyone at random to bow before the ancestral hall with. Otherwise, it’ll be you, Changyu girl, who suffers for it in the future.”

Hearing this, Aunt Zhao felt her heart ache all the more for Fan Changyu. Other young women married with their parents carefully choosing for them, investigating the man’s character and family background before marrying off their daughters in full splendor.

But Fan Changyu had already lost her parents. Now that she was urgently seeking someone to marry in, she could no longer afford to consider a man’s character—so long as he wasn’t deformed or hideous, that would already be good enough.

Just as she was about to wipe her tears, something suddenly came to her mind. Her gaze paused, and she lifted her head to look at Fan Changyu. “That young man you saved—does he have a family?”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than she answered herself, “He probably doesn’t. You said before that he escaped from the north as a refugee and that there’s no one left in his family but him.”

Fan Changyu naturally understood Aunt Zhao’s implied meaning, but she froze for quite a while.

Seeing that Fan Changyu showed no reaction, Aunt Zhao had to make herself clearer: “He’s badly injured and has nowhere to go, doesn’t he? Why don’t… I ask him on your behalf, see what that young man thinks?”

Perhaps because she already had the idea of matchmaking in her heart, the more Aunt Zhao looked at Fan Changyu, the more she felt that she and that young man suited each other. Changyu herself was capable; even if that man truly became crippled, she could still support the household alone.

Moreover, after being shut out today when she went to beg help from the Song family, Aunt Zhao’s teeth itched with hatred toward that ungrateful Song Yan. Thinking that the young man’s looks were even more upright than Song Yan’s, she felt all the more pleased.

Fan Changyu’s mind was a tangled mess at the moment. Hearing this, she only said, “Auntie, please don’t ask for now. Let me think carefully first. Once I’ve decided, I’ll ask him myself.”

Knowing that Fan Changyu was always one with her own mind, Aunt Zhao said no more. After she and her husband helped her tidy the house, they went back home.

Changning had the habit of taking a noon nap, and having cried herself tired earlier, she soon fell asleep. Fan Changyu carried her to bed, then lay down herself without undressing, staring blankly at the canopy above.

In her mind, Song Yan and the man who called himself Yan Zheng overlapped and appeared together.

Speaking of it, although she and Song Yan had been childhood sweethearts and betrothed since young, they shared pitifully few memories together.

Song Yan was always busy. Before being admitted to the county academy, he had devoted himself to study day and night. Though their two families lived in the same alley, she seldom went to find him, for fear of disturbing his reading. When she did go, it was mostly at her parents’ bidding—to deliver something to the Song family: sometimes meat, sometimes pastries.

At that time, Madam Song had treated her with warmth and kindness, often saying that Song Yan studied so hard only to earn fame and fortune one day so that she might live in comfort.

Later, after Song Yan was admitted to the county academy, his tuition and lodging were provided there, so he stayed home even less, and it became harder still for Fan Changyu to see him.

Once, when she went with her father to the county to attend the market, Madam Song had made a new set of clothes for Song Yan and asked them to deliver it to him.

That was Fan Changyu’s first time visiting the county academy. She thought the school buildings there were truly grand. When the gatekeeper relayed their message, Song Yan came out to meet them. She handed him the new clothes Madam Song had made; his expression was indifferent as he thanked her.

A passing classmate asked with a smile who she was. Song Yan replied that she was his younger sister.

On the way back that day, Fan Changyu felt stifled in her heart. She could tell that Song Yan did not really wish for her to visit him.

A fiancée who was the daughter of a butcher—no doubt, she made him feel ashamed before his fellow students.

Ever since that time, she had thought that if Song Yan did not like her, she might as well dissolve the engagement with him.

But her parents seemed very fond of Song Yan, thinking him diligent and promising.

Back then, Madam Song had also liked her very much. She would often speak before others, saying that when Song Yan passed the imperial examination, she would be proud to have him marry her properly. Outsiders all praised Fan Changyu for her good fortune.

Fan Changyu had once privately mentioned dissolving the engagement to Song Yan. At that time, he was reviewing his books. Upon hearing her words, he lifted his eyes—those eyes that rarely revealed any ripple of emotion—and asked, “Marriage is a matter decreed by one’s parents and arranged by matchmakers. Do you take such a solemn affair as a child’s plaything?”

Fan Changyu thought his words meant he was refusing to dissolve the engagement. Having understood his attitude, she never brought it up again.

Later, after her parents passed away, Madam Song came to her house and used the excuse of their birth characters being incompatible to withdraw from the marriage.

Perhaps the deaths of her parents had exhausted all her sorrow, or perhaps there had never been much affection to begin with—now when she thought of Song Yan, she felt not the slightest grief.

As for the man she had rescued—the one who called himself Yan Zheng—she knew even less about him.

And he knew little about her as well.

If she were to rashly ask him, while he was still gravely injured and had nowhere to go, whether he was willing to marry into her family, it would inevitably seem like she was using her favor as leverage and taking advantage of his weakness.

Her engagement with Song Yan back then had also been established because her parents had once helped the Song family.

Fan Changyu did not wish to repeat the same troublesome fate as that previous engagement.

Yet at this moment, she truly had no other way.

After much thought, she felt that perhaps she should still discuss it with that man called Yan Zheng—ask whether he would be willing to pretend to marry into her family.

She only needed to secure the inheritance.

Once his injuries healed, he could stay or leave as he pleased.

If he wished to go, Fan Changyu naturally would not stop him.

She had saved his life, and he, by pretending to marry into her family, would help her through this difficult time—thus, their debts would be settled.

If he wished to stay… Fan Changyu thought of that face as clean and cold as new snow under a clear moon—and felt she might not be at much of a loss either.

· ─ ·✶· ─ ·

Upstairs in the Zhao family’s attic, Xie Zheng, who had just taken a letter from the foot of the gyrfalcon, suddenly sneezed.

He irritably furrowed his sword-like brows, thinking to himself whether he could truly have caught a chill.

The pure white gyrfalcon gripped the wooden window ledge with its iron-hook claws, tilting its head slightly, its bright bead-like eyes fixed intelligently upon its master.

Xie Zheng unfolded the letter. When he read its contents, his expression instantly darkened, and then a cold, mocking smile curved his lips.

That person, unable to find his corpse even for a single day, truly could not rest easy.

So quickly had they already sent someone to Huizhou to take over his command—and the one they sent was that man.

The letter was thrown into the brazier in the corner of the bed, and in an instant it turned to ashes.

Xie Zheng leaned back against the bedpost. The cold wind blowing in from the wide-open window stirred the loose hair on his forehead, yet could not dispel the gloom shadowing his face.

The one taking over his Huizhou military authority probably wished for his death even more than that man in the capital.

At present, his old subordinates could hardly protect themselves; they dared not act rashly, lest that wild dog catch their scent and track them down.

Until he recovered, he could only bide his time and plan in secret.

Xie Zheng glanced at the fresh bloodstains on his robe, and his expression grew even more impatient and disgusted.

“Gu?”

The gyrfalcon, having waited long for orders, tilted its head the other way and continued to fix its bead-like eyes upon its master.

“Get lost.”

Xie Zheng closed his eyes in irritation. His handsome face, overly pale from blood loss, revealed a rare trace of fragility.

The gyrfalcon seemed well accustomed to those words. Receiving the order, it was instantly satisfied and flapped its wings, flying off into the night.

· ─ ·✶· ─ ·

Xie Zheng did catch a chill.

Fan Changyu had spent the whole afternoon preparing what she wanted to say to him.

That evening, she even cooked two small dishes and sliced a plate of braised pig’s head meat to bring to him.

Unexpectedly, when she called several times outside the attic door, no one answered from within.

She feared something might have happened inside, so she pushed the door open directly—only to find that the man was lying on the bed.

His face, however, was flushed with an abnormal redness, and his entire body seemed sunk in a daze.

Fan Changyu hurriedly called Carpenter Zhao over. After taking his pulse, the old man flipped through his tattered medical book for quite a while before prescribing the most conservative remedy for a chill.

Late at night, Fan Changyu went to the pharmacy—which had already closed—and knocked until someone opened the door so she could have the medicine prepared. She brought it back, boiled it, and fed it to him. Before long, his body broke out in a sweat.

Yet while Carpenter Zhao was wiping off the sweat and changing his bandages, he noticed that the wound seemed to have split open again, the gauze heavily stained with blood. He found it rather strange.

· ─ ·✶· ─ ·

When Xie Zheng awoke again, it was already late morning the next day.

His fever had subsided, and his head no longer felt heavy, though his throat was parched and painfully sore.

To make it easier for him to fetch water himself, the elderly couple had placed a round stool beside his bed, on which sat a teapot and a rough clay cup.

Propping himself halfway up, Xie Zheng was about to pour a cup of water when the door suddenly opened. The young woman came in carrying a large bowl. Seeing what he was doing, she said, “The tea’s cold. You’ve only just recovered from your fever—don’t drink that. I’ve made you a bowl of pig’s lung soup.”

Carpenter Zhao had said that pig’s lung soup could clear heat, stop coughing, and moisten the lungs. The pig slaughtered the previous day had still left a bucket of offal, so Fan Changyu had taken the lungs to make the soup.

Xie Zheng hoarsely thanked her. Since this time the food was not intestines, he accepted it without the slightest psychological resistance and began to drink.

But as soon as it entered his mouth, his expression turned peculiar.

Under Fan Changyu’s gaze, he silently swallowed the mouthful of pig’s lung soup and asked, “You cooked this?”

Fan Changyu nodded. “Yes, why?”

It was, after all, her first time making this thing called pig’s lung soup.

Xie Zheng held the bowl but did not drink further. “Nothing.”

He simply found it hard to believe that this bowl of pig’s lung soup and that previous noodle dish with pork intestines had come from the same pair of hands.

Fan Changyu urged him on. “You’d better drink it while it’s hot. Uncle Zhao said pig’s lung soup can stop coughing and moisten the lungs—it’ll be good for your health.”

Xie Zheng said, “…It’s a little too hot. I’ll drink it later.”

He thought that after saying so much, the woman before him would take her leave. Unexpectedly, she pulled over a chair and sat down.

“I don’t think I’ve told you my name yet. My surname is Fan, given name Changyu. The people in town all just call me by my name—you can do the same.”

Xie Zheng nodded lightly. He had already heard the old woman call her by that name earlier and thus knew it.

He didn’t speak much, and silence once again filled the room.

Forcing conversation felt awkward for Fan Changyu, but remembering her purpose in coming, she had no choice but to press on.

“You said before that your surname is Yan and your given name Zheng—what Yan, and what Zheng?”

Xie Zheng replied, “Yan as in ‘reasonably spoken,’ and Zheng as in ‘upright gentleman.’”

Thinking that Fan Changyu might not have studied and might not recognize the characters, he dipped his finger into the cold tea and wrote, one stroke at a time, the two characters “言正” (Yan Zheng) on the round stool beside the bed.

These two characters were each derived from parts of his original name.

His fingers were long and slender, the joints clearly defined—like slender bamboo.

They must have once been hands well-suited for holding a brush. Yet both the pads and backs of his fingers bore crisscrossing scars of varying depth, leaving one to wonder what he had gone through before this.

Even with his fingertip as a brush, the characters he wrote carried an innate strength and grace, and Fan Changyu found herself unconsciously absorbed by them.

Only when he finished the final horizontal stroke of the word Zheng did his deep, hoarse voice sound: “These two characters.”

She abruptly came back to herself, and after a moment of hesitation, asked, “You must have been a scholar before, right?”

His handwriting was excellent—she thought, perhaps even more forceful and dignified than Song Yan’s.

Xie Zheng replied, “Merely a man of arms—how would I dare to call myself a scholar?”

Though his tone seemed modest, there was an undercurrent of scornful pride within it, as if he held a particular disdain for those so-called “men of letters.”

Fan Changyu let out a quiet breath of relief, then asked, “Then what kind of work did you do before?”

Xie Zheng’s brows knit imperceptibly. He felt that she was being rather probing today, though considering she had saved him and taken him in to recuperate, it was only natural she should want to know a little more.

After a moment’s thought, he said, “It can’t be called an honorable trade. I once worked for an escort agency²Escort agency (镖局): a security escort bureau that transported goods or people under armed protection..”

To his surprise, the woman’s face lit up with delight. “What a coincidence! My father used to work as a bodyguard too when he was young!”

Xie Zheng: “…How coincidental indeed.”

Fortunately, she did not continue questioning him about the escort agency.

Her hands were clasped tightly together, as though somewhat nervous, and then she asked another question: “Have you ever been married?”

Xie Zheng studied the woman before him.

Under his gaze, she looked a bit ill at ease—but not in the least shy.

For a moment, he could not quite fathom what she meant by asking this, and so he answered truthfully, “I have not.”

Fan Changyu’s hands were nearly red from being clenched so tightly. At last, she steeled herself and blurted out, her face completely bare of pretense:

“That… I want to ask a favor of you. My family has run into some trouble. After my parents passed away, my uncle has been set on seizing our house and land. Yesterday he tried to snatch the deed by force; failing that, he’ll likely file a complaint with the yamen next. If the magistrate rules on the matter, since my parents left no son, the property will by law belong to my uncle. To keep the house and land, the only way now is for me to quickly take in a husband.”

Xie Zheng’s eyelids twitched sharply.

“You want me to marry into your family?”

Footnotes

• 1
  Zhaozhui 招赘: a marriage in which the man marries into the woman’s family and takes her surname.
• 2
  Escort agency (镖局): a security escort bureau that transported goods or people under armed protection.