Chapter 41

Chapter 41

"...It wouldn't do to always let the Marquis bear the expense."

At the teahouse where they paused to rest, Du Lingjing instructed Ruan Gong to settle the bill. As she spoke, she stole a glance at the Marquis from the corner of her eye.

The entire teahouse fell silent. The abacus beads in the shopkeeper’s hand stilled. Ruan Gong hesitated, his foot frozen mid-step, as if everything around them had congealed.

Du Lingjing blinked subtly, her gaze fixed on the man.

Hearing her words, he took a deep breath to quell the vexation in his chest. But when he turned, he immediately caught her gaze.

"Are you doing this on purpose, Madam?" he suddenly asked.

Du Lingjing’s heart skipped a beat.

On one hand, she privately mused how sharp his perception was. On the other, she was relieved that his unyielding silence had finally broken—he had spoken.

Yet her expression remained utterly unchanged.

Her voice was calm, as indifferent as ever. "What do you mean, my lord? I don’t understand."

She even glanced at him quite naturally as she posed the question.

For a moment, Lu Shenru couldn’t discern whether her reply was genuine or feigned.

He couldn’t help but scrutinize her expression more closely.

On her fair face, beneath her long brows, her eyes were as placid as ever. Her lashes fluttered like feather fans, and beneath her delicate nose, her soft lips were slightly pursed. She appeared utterly composed, with no hint of deliberate artifice.

Yet just moments ago, she had clearly stolen a glance at him.

Lu Shenru never imagined a day would come when he couldn’t read her thoughts. He frowned, studying her.

Fortunately, Chong Ping stepped in and paid the tea bill before Ruan Gong could.

Once the account was settled, Du Lingjing could no longer insist on her "politeness."

Still uncertain of her earlier intentions, the man let out a soft huff and rose, his expression cold.

Du Lingjing followed behind him, noting his displeased exhale and the chilly air that seemed to emanate from his stiff, irritated strides.

How strange. Du Lingjing watched as he mounted his horse, clearly still angry—his grip on the reins was so tight that the horse whinnied in discomfort before lurching forward.

Was he truly upset just because someone had been polite to him?

Naturally, it shouldn't be just anyone, but her...

By the time Du Lingjing boarded the carriage, he had already ridden far ahead.

The road here was gentler, so Ruan Gong resumed driving, though Chong Ping remained by her side as an escort.

As the carriage rocked along, Du Lingjing’s thoughts swayed with it.

She couldn’t help but reflect on the days since she had married him.

First, he had insisted on giving her the Returning-to-the-Forest Tower, going to great lengths to ensure she accepted it—opening its library, summoning servants at her beck and call, creating such fanfare that everyone knew of it.

Then, after she had agreed to consummate their marriage, he had abruptly left the room, only to later send maids with new clothes and have the Grand Steward personally invite her to a banquet at the Gargling-Stones Pavilion.

And now this—she had left a letter to avoid conflicting interests, only for him to chase her all the way to Baoding. He had been furious, refusing to speak to her, yet his anger dissipated the moment she poured his tea. But when she failed to mention her illness, his ire reignited even worse, swelling like a bullfrog in a summer pond...

The renowned Marquis of Yongding, a man of power and authority in the eyes of others—why did his actions seem so peculiar and amusing?

Lost in these thoughts, Du Lingjing lifted the carriage curtain and glanced outside.

He had long since vanished from sight, leaving only Chong Ping to accompany her at a leisurely pace. However, it seemed he had sent word ahead, instructing them to take a different fork in the road.

As Du Lingjing gazed out the window, Qiu Lin discreetly studied her mistress from inside the carriage.

Though vestiges of illness still lingered on her face, her long, delicate brows were relaxed, and her eyes—once frozen—now rippled like thawing streams. Despite the cold weather, her gaze glistened with quiet warmth, as if reflecting sunlight.

She was smiling, her lips curving slightly before she shook her head faintly, as if amused by some thought.

Qiu Lin was momentarily stunned. The last time she had seen her mistress wear such an expression was when her late father was still alive.

Back then, her younger self had been blissfully absorbed in her volumes...

Influenced by her mistress’s mood, Qiu Lin found herself smiling too. "My lady, don’t keep the window open for too long. You’re not fully recovered yet."

As she spoke, she tucked a lap robe over Du Lingjing’s shoulders.

Du Lingjing didn’t feel cold. Soon enough, the carriage turned onto the fork in the road as instructed. After about fifteen minutes, they passed through a small town.

The town was unassuming, but its streets were lined with stalls on either side.

Ruan Gong announced from the driver's seat, "Madam, the vendors here are selling mountain springwater. Would you like to take a look?"

Hearing this, Du Lingjing naturally stepped out, with Chong Ping gallantly handing her down.

To those unaware, Chong Ping might have been mistaken for a personal attendant of hers rather than the captain of the Marquis’s guards.

The Marquis himself had stopped here as well. Dressed in dark robes, he ambled at his ease ahead with his hands clasped behind his back.

For the moment, Du Lingjing ignored him, meandering toward the opposite stalls. There, she learned that nearby mountains held thermal springs that resisted freezing, even in winter. Villagers would trek up in the predawn hours to draw urnfuls of water to sell at the foot of the hills.

They explained that most hot springs had already been claimed by wealthy families who enclosed them within private estates. These were newly emerged springs—still untouched, clear, and sweet.

Du Lingjing sampled a taste. Seeing how elderly villagers labored to transport the heavy jugs down the mountain, she resolved to purchase multiple.

But before she could call Ruan Gong to make the purchase, a voice spoke up behind her.

"Will my lady insist on paying for these herself as well?"

She hadn’t noticed his approach. Only when he spoke did she realize he stood right behind her, so near she could feel his breath at her nape.

There was a peculiar lilt in his tone. Du Lingjing mused privately—here he was, being peculiar again.

Without turning, she replied, "Naturally. I still have my dowry. There’s no need to trouble the Marquis."

The man huffed near her temple before summoning Chong An.

"It’s too cold. Save these peddlers from further chill." He commanded, "Inform everyone on this street that I’ll take all their springwater."

The moment the words left his mouth, Chong An sprang into action.

The vendors, overjoyed at the unexpected boon, lavished thanks upon their benefactor.

Only then did Du Lingjing turn to look at him. To her surprise, he wore a demeanor of lordly generosity as he dismissed their thanks, demurring that it was trifling.

"This spring water is so clear and sweet. Now that I’ve bought everything, you all can head home early."

It was getting late, and who wouldn’t want to earn their money and return home? Soon, the marquis’s men fetched carts, and the entire street’s vendors loaded their spring water onto them.

Du Lingjing wanted to pay, but who was left to buy from?

Just then, he glanced down at her. "If my lady insists on paying herself for spring water, how much do you want? Just give the money to me."

Lu Shenru wanted to see if she’d really nickel-and-dime him.

He gazed into her eyes; her lashes fluttered like butterfly wings.

He braced for her reply, but unexpectedly, she suddenly lifted her gaze to meet his.

"My lord, honestly, I wasn’t actually going to buy any. I was just looking."

She wasn’t buying, yet he, just to oppose her, had bought up the entire street’s supply.

His own wife had outplayed him and couldn’t help but laugh in exasperation.

A vendor, stunned by his earlier bulk purchase, now grew nervous upon hearing his laughter and asked timidly,

"Does the lord not want the water after all?"

"Of course I do," the man replied, glancing at the person beside him. "It’s spring water—of course I’m taking it."

Jars of water clattered onto the carts one after another, the sound like a mountain stream tumbling over rocks.

For some reason, Du Lingjing’s heart leapt oddly, like the spring’s droplets. She remained silent, only blinking at the man twice.

But he called for Qiu Lin, "Get my lady another cloak."

Qiu Lin quickly returned.

He bundled her in two cloaks. Du Lingjing didn’t understand his intentions until he suddenly lifted her onto his Dark Amber.

Dark Amber was huge—even with prior experience, Du Lingjing startled at the sudden ascent.

He mounted behind her and kicked Dark Amber into a run.

This time, Chong Ping wasn’t needed—he took her himself.

They galloped off, soon outpacing Qiu Lin, Ruan Gong, and the carriage.

Swaddled in cloaks, Du Lingjing stayed warm. Unlike the stuffy carriage, the open air was a riot of freedom.

As he pulled her closer, she wondered if his anger had passed.

But then he spoke again.

"Ruan Gong and the others aren't here. Can't pay now, can you, Quan Quan?"

Du Lingjing said nothing.

Why was he so hung up on this? Still keeping score?

Had she married the pettiest man alive? And yet, he refused to let her "settle accounts" with him.

She almost retorted that her hairpin could cover it.

Then it hit her—since when had everything on her, from head to toe, whether clothes, embroidered shoes, hairpins, or sachets, all belonged to him?

Hell, even yesterday’s smallclothes were embroidered by the marquis’s seamstresses.

She hesitated, swallowing back the words about using the hairpin.

Yet he read her mind, laughing low in her ear.

By dusk, they’d reached a respectable inn.

As they entered, an old peddler hawking handmade pouches shuffled over.

She was down to her last two rejects.

Her eyes brightened at the sight of the tall, imposing man.

He nodded politely, and the woman stepped forward to greet him. Then she spotted the moonlit beauty trailing him.

The old woman smiled. "This your wife, milord? No wonder he got her a whole case of hairpins."

The man said nothing, but Du Lingjing paused.

"Hair ornaments?"

She hadn’t seen any. Glancing at the marquis, she said to the woman,

"You’re mistaken, granny. Those hairpins must’ve been for someone else."

The old woman blanched, noticing that the lady wore only two strands of pearls in her hair.

Had she put her foot in it?

She looked anxiously at the man.

Lu Shenru spared the old woman panic and shot a glance at his companion.

"Another woman? Oh, let’s see—the Tatar Princess, the brothel singer, the society girls, the convent girls, that winsome widow..."

He’d meant it as a joke, but the old woman’s eyes popped—

That many women?!

Du Lingjing pressed her lips together to keep from laughing as he continued, gesturing at her,

"If even one existed, I might catch a break from her."

The peddler’s panic eased.

But Du Lingjing gaped at him.

Who was tormenting whom here?

Their eyes met, charged.

The granny tittered.

"What a doting couple."

Doting.

Du Lingjing's mind went blank for a moment.

Seeing her silence, Lu Shenru thought of the events of recent days.

"Love cannot be relied upon."

Right now, she treated him like a stranger.

His voice was low and somber, but he refrained from dragging the flower-selling old woman into their affairs any further. With a nod to her, he stepped past Du Lingjing and walked inside.

The old woman, too, could hardly linger. She curtsied to Du Lingjing and moved away, carrying her remaining pouches to a nearby teahouse to sell the rest.

Du Lingjing had thought he seemed much better just moments ago, yet now he was sulking again. He strode ahead without another word to her.

She lingered silently behind him, watching him for a long while.

Qiu Lin and Ruan Gong caught up after a while. Chong An had reserved the entire top floor of the inn for their party.

After dinner, Du Lingjing returned to the inn, weariness creeping over her once more.

Qiu Lin touched her forehead. "Madam, you feel a bit warm?"

Du Lingjing blamed it on fatigue from the journey. She was about to say she just needed rest when Qiu Lin turned and reported it to the marquis.

The man strode over immediately. Seeing her still standing by the bed, he lifted her and placed her on it, then sent someone for a physician.

He pressed his hand to her forehead repeatedly, frowning. "You are a bit warm."

Fortunately, there was a physician staying at the inn. After taking her pulse and examining her carefully, he assured them it was nothing serious.

"It's residual illness lingering. Illness comes like a landslide but fades like unraveling silk—it will take a few days to fully recover."

At his words, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Lu Shenru also composed himself and spoke to her.

"Rest for now. If you feel worse, call for me."

Then, as if remembering something, he added sternly, "You must call me."

His expression was serious, but it was no longer the distant, angry silence he had shown earlier. Du Lingjing found herself studying him for a few extra moments.

The candlelight made his gaze piercing, reflecting only her silhouette within.

The reasons for his recent anger inexplicably flitted through her mind.

And then Tingjun's voice whispered in her ear.

"Think about it—why is he upset?"

She answered him, "I’ll keep it in mind."

He still seemed doubtful, so she repeated, "If I feel unwell, I’ll speak up."

Only then did he blow out the bedside lamp and urge her to sleep early.

He still had letters to reply to and sat down at the table by the window.

Chong Ping brought the letters, but he couldn’t concentrate.

His gaze fell on his wife, asleep behind the bed curtains, and he suddenly smiled.

What was he even mad at her for?

The man stood, pushing the window open a sliver. The night was thick, with only faint pinpricks of light in the distant mountains.

Her father had died in those mountains years ago.

When he heard the news, he had ridden nonstop for five days straight. By the time he reached the accident site, rain still poured in the mountains.

Chong Ping told him she had already found her father’s body but was unable to leave the mountains.

He couldn’t imagine what she must have been feeling. He hurried up the mountain until he reached the makeshift lodge where she was staying.

By then, the sky was completely dark, and rain still drizzled well into the night. He hadn’t expected to see her.

But as he approached, he spotted a solitary figure holding a lantern, standing in the heart of the mountains outside the villa.

She seemed unwilling to accept it—or perhaps she couldn’t understand why her father had come to these mountains. She wandered aimlessly, raising the lantern to scan the peaks.

Dressed in flimsy white mourning clothes, she looked minuscule against the towering, insurmountable mountains—like a single speck of dust.

Yet she refused to leave. With no one to keep her company, unable to sleep, she had wandered outside.

Holding the lantern, she pleaded with the mountains in the dark.

Lu Shenru’s heart twisted. He loosened the reins, dismounted, and hurried toward her.

At first, she didn’t notice him, her back turned as she gazed up at the dark peaks. Only when he drew near did she turn at his approach.

In the darkness, she couldn’t see clearly. Noticing he was alone, his horse still tethered on the path below, she assumed he was a passerby and asked,

"Are you just passing by?" She pointed ahead. "From here, it’s another forty-five minutes downhill."

Her voice was hoarse, rasping in his ears. "But be careful—there may be mudslides in the mountains."

Her words sent a pang through his chest.

He was about to reply when someone called out from the lodge.

Seeing her lantern in the distance, the figure called,

"Quan Quan?"

It was Jiang Zhuxiu.

Hearing him, she turned back to the stranger. "My betrothed is calling me. You’d best go down now—don’t linger. I must go now."

As she spoke, tears spilled, one after another.

Each one cut into his heart.

He wanted to tell her not to cry. He wanted to pull her into his arms. But she only cried harder, dashing tears away frantically before turning toward Jiang Zhuxiu.

The lantern in her hand guttered out in the rain.

"Quan Quan!" Jiang Zhuxiu called again, rushing toward her, lantern held high.

She suddenly dropped the extinguished lantern and burst into quiet sobs, then suddenly rushed toward Jiang Zhuxiu.

"Third Brother!"

Unable to suppress her cries, she flung herself into Jiang Zhuxiu's arms.

The lantern in Jiang Zhuxiu's hand swayed from the impact as she clung to him, burying her tear-stained face in his chest.

"Third Brother, you must live well—we must grow old together, you hear me!"

......

The mountains stood silent. Lu Shenru averted his eyes and looked at his wife sleeping in the tent.

He knew she could never forget that man—how could she forget the one she had sworn to grow old with?

That man was the real husband of her heart.

Back then, the rain had been a relentless downpour that lasted all night in those mountains. But now, the mountains were dry, and not a single drop of rain had fallen over the capital.

Times changed—what was the point of dwelling on it?

If she insisted on treating him with formal politeness, so be it. Even if they remained practically strangers, it didn’t matter.

She would always be Lu Shenru’s wife, and no one could change that.

If she refused to see him as her husband, what did it matter?

Even if she regarded him as an outsider for the rest of her life—so what?

The man shut the window, cutting off the distant mountain view.

Just then, the tent rustled. She sat up.

"What’s wrong? Can’t sleep? Are you feeling sick?" he asked.

She parted the tent curtains and sat at the edge of the bed. "I’m kind of thirsty."

The man immediately poured her a cup of warm water and handed it to her.

He reached out to touch her forehead. "You’re still running a slight fever."

"It's nothing," she said, then lowered her head and drank the entire cup. As he took the cup back, he heard her mutter, "Thank you..."

Again with the thanks.

Lu Shenru bit back a sigh, forcing himself not to dwell on it. Pressing his lips together, he prepared to pour her another cup.

Before he could turn away, however, she suddenly spoke again—adding to those two words.

"Thank you," she said, her voice so soft it nearly vanished, calling him—

"...Husband."