Zhang Shen raised his hand, lifting the carriage curtain, and called out again,
"Qingyu, I'm coming in."
Just as he lifted the corner of the curtain, Zhu Qingyu emerged from the carriage, taking hold of his hand that had lifted the curtain, and said,
"Jingyan, it's so cold out, and you're terribly ill. Why aren't you resting at home instead of running around outside, making me worry for nothing?"
The carriage curtain fell behind Zhu Qingyu. In that brief moment, compared to the dark interior of the carriage, the outside might have revealed nothing—or perhaps everything.
But Zhang Shen asked no questions. Upon seeing Zhu Qingyu, he broke into a smile, helped her down from the carriage, and replied,
"The snow is falling too heavily, and the Temple of Imperial Awakening is so far away. I was worried you might be delayed on your way back, so I came to pick you up. Did you finish your pilgrimage to repay your vow to the Buddha?"
Zhu Qingyu had never been particularly devout toward gods and spirits. In the past, when she visited temples, she mostly did so as a sightseer and rarely made wishes or asked for anything before the Buddha.
But since she had told Zhang Ruohua that she was going to repay a vow, and Zhang Shen was asking about how that went, she jumped down from the carriage, took Zhang Shen's hand, and followed the thread of the conversation:
"Mm, I've finished repaying the vow. Let's go back. Your hands are so cold. It's chilly outside—don't catch a chill. Hold onto me so you don't trip."
Zhu Qingyu led the way, with Zhang Shen following behind, and she guided him step by step back through the snow.
As they passed Xiong Kun, Zhu Qingyu nodded to him in greeting:
"Lord Xiong, thank you for escorting me today. Farewell."
As Zhu Qingyu bowed, Zhang Shen followed suit, also nodding at Xiong Kun:
"Lord Xiong, thank you for looking after my wife today. Another time, please do come to our residence for tea."
Xiong Kun felt thoroughly uncomfortable at this expression of thanks. Truly, birds of a feather flock together—these two were a perfect match. Who would have thought that, in a situation like this, he'd still end up being thanked?
Saying "no need" seemed a bit insincere, as he felt he didn't deserve it. At a loss for words, Xiong Kun simply scratched his head and gave an awkward smile.
The two carriages had met face to face, only a few steps apart. Zhu Qingyu took Zhang Shen's hand, walked a few steps to their own carriage, leaped aboard first, and then reached out to help him up.
The snow kept falling, and Zhang Shen coughed more severely. Seeing Zhu Qingyu's outstretched hand, he laughed,
"Oh, come now, I'm not so weak that I can't even get into a carriage."
Seeing him cough like that, his face flushed with fever, his form thin and frail as if he might collapse at any moment, Zhu Qingyu frowned, still keeping her hand extended toward him:
"Yes, yes, of course—Master Zhang is so capable he could run ten miles in one breath, a veritable stallion among men, strong enough to punch eight oxen to death. Truly a modern-day Wu Song. So ill, he goes out into the snow and wind all the same—just to show off—and I'm supposed to praise you for it, aren't I?"
Being scolded like this by Zhu Qingyu, Zhang Shen didn't dare say a single word in reply. He stopped playing tough, took her hand, and climbed aboard the carriage.
Having finally retrieved his mistress, Uncle Lyu was afraid there might be more complications. Once both the master and mistress were in the carriage, he quickly jumped onto the driver's seat, cracked the whip with a loud whoosh, turned the horses in a sharp arc, and with another flick of the whip, drove the carriage back along the road at its usual breakneck speed, racing through the wind and snow. Soon, they disappeared into the white flurry.
By the time the Zhang family's carriage was out of sight, the young heir inside his own carriage had still not spoken. Xiong Kun cautiously called through the curtain,
"Young Master, shall we return to the Duke's manor?"
Inside the carriage, Gu Zhao leaned back against the carriage wall, covered his eyes with the back of his hand, and let out a long, weary breath.
Yesterday, in this same carriage, someone had sat on his lap, calling him "husband."
But today, she had left him behind without hesitation—to go with her lawful husband.
And he, he couldn't even appear in the open. To her, he was nothing more than a man who must be kept in the shadows.
Gu Zhao's voice was laden with exhaustion:
"Let's go back."
By the time Gu Zhao returned to the study in the front courtyard of the Duke's manor, even the usual lunch hour had passed.
For servants or disfavored masters, missing lunch simply meant going hungry until dinner.
But as the heir of the Duke's manor, even when he was not at home, the kitchen kept a stove burning twenty-four hours a day, just in case he might want something to eat at any time. No one could ever tell the master that there was nothing available.
So, though lunchtime was over, the attendant soon brought a meal for Gu Zhao.
Sitting alone at the table, Gu Zhao had not eaten or drunk anything since morning. Yet, despite the steaming, carefully prepared dishes set before him, he had no appetite at all. He held his chopsticks, staring blankly, making no move to eat.
Just then, the Duchess of Dingguo burst in hurriedly:
"Zhao'er, where on earth did you go last night? You didn't come home and stayed out all night, and you weren't back this morning either! I specifically reminded you that today the Eldest Grand Princess and Miss Wen were coming to call. If you had issues with this engagement, you should have said so in advance—we could have declined it easily. But to go through with the arranged meeting and then leave the girl cooling her heels? Is this what I taught you about hospitality? Now we've offended the Eldest Grand Princess, and Miss Wen has already gone home."
As the Duchess of Dingguo scolded him, Gu Zhao was still sitting there, holding his chopsticks, staring blankly ahead. He didn't even notice his mother coming in at first.
Only after a long pause did he seem to return to himself. He lifted his eyes to look at his mother, who was thoroughly incensed, and replied,
"This is my fault. Tomorrow, I will go to the Eldest Grand Princess's residence to offer my apologies in person."
The Duchess of Dingguo grew even angrier at his offhand tone:
"What good will offering apologies do? The Eldest Grand Princess is born of the most noble blood—do you think she'll stomach this humiliation from you? I think this match is lost. Tell me, what do you plan to do now?"
As she spoke, the Duchess suddenly sensed something amiss. She moved closer and caught sight of the obvious bite mark on Gu Zhao's neck. She gasped in shock.
"Zhao'er, have you...?"
No wonder he had been unwilling to meet the match. He already had a woman on the side!
Just a few days ago, she had criticized Young Marquis Xie for being a scoundrel, and now her own son, who had always conducted himself properly, was doing something so scandalous!
To have been intimate without an official engagement or betrothal—she could only imagine that the girl was not from a well-matched family that could grace the Duke's manor.
Seeing his mother's shock and fury, Gu Zhao gave her a helpless smile:
"Mother, don't worry. There is no woman on the side. And no one is trying to enter the Duke's manor. I'm just tired. Let me rest for a while."
After the Duchess left, Gu Zhao ate a hurried lunch and lay down on the bed, feeling utterly exhausted in both body and heart.
She had lingered in his arms briefly, then left him once more.
He had only just obtained her, and yet had already lost her.
Once, he had thought that she was deeply in love with another man, willing to sacrifice everything for him—and that had driven him to despair and pain.
But now he had come to know that the other man was clearly not her husband, so it wasn’t because of Jingyan that she had rejected him. Then why, after all, had she refused him?
The images of their night together last night tumbled over and over in his mind, tormenting Gu Zhao so much that he simply could not fall asleep.
Why—last night, she had seemed happy too. Why was she still unwilling to marry him?
Gu Zhao drew the pale green silk handkerchief from his bosom and covered his face with it, closing his eyes as if she were still beside him. His heart was filled with pain and confusion as he thought:
“Qingyu, teach me. What must I do to win your heart?”
