Chapter 51

Chapter 51

“Our union was indeed solely by imperial decree; I never sought it. If my lady still harbors doubts and refuses to believe my words, you are welcome to inquire with His Majesty or the Prince of Yan another day.”

These resolute words landed squarely in Du Lingjing’s ears.

She met his gaze, finding no hesitation, only a deepening displeasure as he glanced at her.

Du Lingjing could only say, “The Marquis is busy enough as it is, let alone His Majesty.”

She couldn’t possibly ask the Emperor about such a matter, and as for the Prince of Yan, she was a complete stranger to him, so inquiring was out of the question.

The mention of busyness reminded Lu Shenru of another matter.

He immediately sent for the steward of the outer hall.

The man seemed to have been waiting outside all along. The chief steward of the outer hall, accompanied by the junior steward from earlier, swiftly arrived at the door.

The chief steward had been out on business that day, leaving his apprentice in charge, assuming nothing would go wrong. Who would have thought this boy would dare to make the lady wait for the Marquis in the hall for three hours?

Even if the lady was willing, the Marquis certainly was not!

The chief steward was beside himself with distress.

The master and apprentice knelt at the door, kowtowing incessantly. The junior steward trembled uncontrollably, while the chief steward pleaded bitterly, “Neglecting the lady was entirely this humble one’s fault! Please, Marquis and lady, punish us severely!”

The man stood on the stone steps of the corridor, his imposing presence suffocating. He merely swept his gaze over the two, who remained prostrate, not daring to lift their heads.

In a deep voice, he ordered, “Each of you will receive thirty strokes. Chong Ping, see to it personally.”

Chong Ping immediately acknowledged the command.

Du Lingjing was startled.

Chong Ping and the others were guards from the Marquis’s estate, all military veterans. These two stewards were mere household servants; thirty strokes from such men would surely cripple them.

She stepped forward hastily.

The stewards dared not defend themselves, but she could not let others suffer for her sake.

“Marquis, please do not punish them. I told the steward not to report.”

Yet after she spoke, his voice grew even colder.

“Fifty strokes!”

Fifty strokes—in this bitter cold, they would not survive.

Chong Ping accepted the order and immediately motioned for guards to drag the master and apprentice away.

“Marquis!”

Du Lingjing cried out urgently, but he ignored her. She stepped forward and tugged at his sleeve. He paused, then pulled away and turned to leave.

How could someone be so temperamental? So unyielding, like a block of granite.

She followed closely behind him. “Lu Weishi!”

The man’s long strides finally halted.

A breeze slipped quietly through the corridor.

She had called him by his courtesy name… his given name and surname, carrying an indescribable, special meaning.

Lu Shenru stood motionless, the name “Lu Weishi” echoing in his ears. Yet he resisted turning to look at her.

He had already reached the corner of the corridor. The two men had been dragged away by Chong Ping’s men, leaving only the wind chimes swaying gently in the breeze, occasionally emitting a crisp sound.

Du Lingjing wasn't sure what possessed her to suddenly call him by his courtesy name, but at least he had stopped.

She approached him. “I am at fault here. Why punish others?”

She knew the source of his anger. “Next time I come to find you, I’ll have the steward report immediately. Just don’t punish them, alright?”

She truly understood. Lu Shenru glanced at her, but she still didn't fully grasp it.

“That’s not it,” he said in a deep voice, lowering his gaze to meet her eyes.

Du Lingjing didn’t know how else to correct herself. Seeing the confusion on her face, he realized she wouldn’t figure it out on her own.

But he didn’t tell her what the correct answer was either. Instead, he glanced toward the two stewards who had been dragged away.

“Release them.”

He finally relented. The two stewards, as if reprieved from death, kowtowed profusely in thanks, then thanked Du Lingjing. She truly dared not accept their gratitude; they had only been punished because of her.

But if she refused now, he might lose his temper again.

She quickly waved them away.

The two escaped disaster. Silence fell over the outer study.

The outer study was an entire compound known as Yuanxiu Pavilion—a spacious estate housing not only his study but also a bedchamber for nights he worked late, two reception halls of different sizes, and a meeting place for the Marquis’s advisors.

Yuanxiu Pavilion was heavily guarded throughout, inaccessible to outsiders. This was Du Lingjing’s first time entering.

Now, with him silent, the pavilion was frozen in stillness, utterly devoid of sound.

It was Chong Ping who returned, reporting that Wei Jue, Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, had returned to the capital from Fujian and sent his congratulations to the Marquis on his marriage.

Hearing it was Wei Jue’s messenger, the man called for them to be brought to a side hall for a conversation.

He turned to enter the small hall.

Du Lingjing, unsure where to go, considered returning to the main courtyard. But as soon as she took a step toward the gate, he turned and pinned her with a look, fixing her in place.

She understood his meaning well enough and could only retreat, returning to his bedchamber in Yuanxiu Pavilion.

The small hall where he received Wei Jue’s messenger was adjacent to his bedchamber.

The moment Du Lingjing sat down, she could faintly hear the conversation next door.

Commander Wei—Du Lingjing was actually acquainted with him.

This was back during the years she lived in the capital with her father. Empress Xiaorong, the late emperor’s consort, often summoned her to accompany her in the palace. Wei Jue, as a member of the imperial family, along with Princess Nianjia, the surviving daughter of the deceased Prince Yu, and Wei Jue, had met several times in the palace.

Later, when the current Emperor ascended the throne, Wei Jue’s father was granted the title of Count of Xin Yun for being the imperial uncle, while his mother was specially bestowed the honorific Lady Protector. Both father and son entered the Embroidered Uniform Guard. After the Count’s death, Wei Jue assumed the title, and within years, the Emperor also elevated him to Commander of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

And Lady Protector was born into the Lu family of the Marquis of Yongding. Though not the blood aunt of Lu Huairu and Lu Shenru, she was still of the same lineage, so the two families remained close. Marquis Lu and Commander Wei were practically cousins.

Previously, many in the capital speculated that the Marquis had remained unmarried for years because he was waiting for the youngest daughter of the imperial uncle's household—Wei Jue's younger sister—to come of age. Yet when the imperial edict came down, he took her as his wife instead.

Now, Commander Wei had sent someone to deliver wedding gifts, which he accepted without pretense. He openly inquired about the Wei family's situation and asked about Wei Jue's year-long assignment in Fujian.

Every word of this reached his bedchamber.

He made sure she heard everything, just as he had kept her in Yuanxiu Pavilion—making clear she could examine every aspect of his life.

What more did she have to doubt about him?

Du Lingjing sighed inwardly.

Following his unspoken directive, she first listened by the window as he spoke with Wei Jue's envoy, then slowly took in his bedchamber in the outer courtyard.

Every object here was his.

He seemed to favor ebony-toned wood; his room was dark and austere, yet clean and simple, exuding a noble elegance. It was entirely different from her own study, her father's, or especially Third Brother's.

This was the study of a military general and powerful minister—Lu Weishi's domain, where even the very air carried his presence alone.

Du Lingjing moved slowly through the space. His desk was piled with palace memorials, which he often grew weary of. A square jar beside it held discarded drafts.

With her good arm, she neatened them somewhat.

The inkstone on his desk was carved from thin black jade, square in shape, engraved with a babbling mountain stream.

Du Lingjing hesitated momentarily, then noticed a discarded sheet on his desk.

It listed several key government posts, all crossed out—except for the Jiangxi Provincial Surveillance Commissioner, which he had dotted twice in ink.

His handwriting was bold yet controlled, like sheer cliff faces standing tall atop a mountain.

Silently, she recalled how he had mentioned the Jiangxi position to Mr. Liao earlier that day.

It seemed he hadn't been making empty talk—he had truly considered it beforehand, with no intention of forcing the advisor to change his stance. Evidently, the Fu Party officials were free to stay or leave as they pleased.

Had he long intended to dismantle the Fu Party, would someone of his temperament have given them that choice?

Du Lingjing stood at his desk for a moment longer, weighing down the paper under a paperweight before turning toward his bedchamber.

Compared to the luxurious bedding in their main courtyard, his bed here had only a sparse padding.

She was slightly surprised—if he was accustomed to such a hard bed, why did he arrange such thickly padded bedding for them in the main courtyard?

Cocking her head, she stood there, beginning to understand. The scent of him was stronger here, and thoughts of their shared nights came unbidden. She quickly withdrew from the bed.

Turning, something else drew her attention.

Five swords hung by his bedside, displayed high on sandalwood racks.

She studied each in turn—some were sabers, others swords, each heavier and longer than the last.

Every blade bore battle scars, proving they were not mere decorations but weapons that had seen war. A faint lingering scent of battle.

She reached out, touching their scabbards. Four were unwieldy heavy, but the one on the side seemed lighter.

It was a silver-gleaming sword, distinct from the others, its sheath patterned with intricate tracery.

As she studied it, Chong Ping entered with tea. Noticing her gaze, he remarked, “The other four belong to the Marquis, but this one—” he paused, “—was Second Master’s.”

Second Master Lu—Lu Hengru.

His mother's family was the Yangs of the Earl of Rongchang. Du Lingjing recalled Yang Jinyu's barbed words toward Lu Shenru that afternoon.

She couldn’t help but ask Chong Ping, “Did Second Master… die taking an arrow for the Marquis?”

Chong Ping placed the tea tray down and nodded.

That was years ago now.

The Marquis’s household suspected Tatars had infiltrated the court. In the Hongqi 14th year, the Lu family led the Yongding Army beyond the pass to battle the Tatars, but civil officials united to push for surrender, delaying the campaign and causing devastating losses—likely linked to the infiltration. The old Marquis ordered the current Marquis to investigate.

That year, just as he uncovered some leads, unidentified assailants ambushed him, intent on killing him. Unprepared, he was gravely wounded—had he not been exceptionally skilled, he would have died then...

Chong Ping glanced at her.

Marquisate secrets were not to be divulged, so he only said the Marquis was injured while investigating the Tatars. The old Marquis, worried, sent Second Master with reinforcements.

“Second Master was sharp—he uncovered clues along the way. But when he and the Marquis went to investigate, they were ambushed. An arrow shot straight for the Marquis, who was too injured to dodge. Second Master leaped in front of his brother and took the arrow.”

The memory vivid, Chong Ping sighed.

“Second Master died from an arrow through his throat. For seven days after, the Marquis could not speak.”

Whether from his own throat injury or grief, his voice afterward became the low rasp it was now.

The trail went cold. The old Marquis, devastated by his son’s death, fell gravely ill but forbade further investigation.

Years had passed since.

Yet by the Marquis’s bedside still hung Second Master’s Silver Snow Sword.

Chong Ping briefly recounted the past between Lu Shenru and Lu Hengru.

Hearing it involved Tatar investigations, Du Lingjing asked, “Was it beyond the pass? So perilous…”

Not beyond—it was in Shandong...

Chong Ping glanced at her discreetly.

That year, the Marquis barely escaped, but the pursuers gave no quarter. In desperation, they fled to Qingzhou and hid in Mianlou.

This could not be hidden from Grand Secretary Du, who secretly sheltered him in the building’s hidden compartment, nursing him under an alias.

As for how the Marquis came to Mianlou, what he endured, and how he left—Chong Ping had witnessed it all.

But since the Marquis refused to speak of it, neither could he.

Just then, the man entered.

Seeing this, Chong Ping bowed and withdrew.

Now, only the two of them remained in the room.

Unconsciously, Du Lingjing’s gaze drifted to his neck—where a deep scar ran across.

If every scar represented a searingly memorable past, then with so many scars covering his body, how many trials must he have endured to forge his current unyielding resilience?

He seldom spoke of the past, always preoccupied with planning for the future—but who could truly forget what had come before?

Yet this time, his face still looked pallid, though his gaze drifted to the silver sword at her side.

Lu Shenru’s eyes fixed on the blade of his younger brother’s sword.

It was said in legends that the weapons wielded by commanders in battle—swords, spears, halberds—contained spirits formed from their masters’ battle-shed blood.

He’d kept Heng’s sword by his bedside, hoping that if the blade housed a spirit, perhaps it might summon Hengru into his dreams.

But that boy had never once visited him in his sleep.

Not even once…

Now, however, he looked at the silver sword, then at the wounded figure standing beside it.

Suddenly, an old memory surfaced.

That summer had been sweltering, and the loft in Mianlou was even more stifling. His wounds healed slowly, and Grand Secretary Du, unfamiliar with a soldier’s wounds, feared the worst for him. Somehow, the elder scrounged up two boxes of healing powder for his wounds.

The medicine had to be stored in a sandalwood case, and each application required a specific method to preserve its potency.

But Grand Secretary Du was waylaid by scholars seeking an audience, so he entrusted the instructions for the medicine to his daughter, asking her to deliver them to the loft.

At the time, she had stood outside the compartment and asked, “Have you ever used this special wound medicine from the sandalwood case before?”

His younger brother had been there too, and at the sight of the medicine, his expression had turned knowing. Their family, bred for battle, had seen every kind of wound remedy.

But his brother, ever mischievous, suddenly put on a mock-serious tone and answered for him, “Never seen it before.”

He cut his brother a sharp look, only to hear her say, “Then… would it be all right if I came in to show you how to use it?”

If she wanted to enter, why would he refuse?

He gave a soft “Mm” of assent.

The moment he agreed, his brother stifled a laugh. His face warmed slightly, but he remained still.

She soon stepped into the loft.

His identity was a secret—no one but Grand Secretary Du knew of it.

She kept her eyes down, and with his figure shrouded in shadow, she couldn’t see him clearly anyway.

Head bowed, she carefully explained how to use the medicine from the sandalwood case.

He already knew how, so his gaze lingered on her face instead.

The sole beam of sunlight in the compartment fell across her hands and the long, delicately curved lashes of her eyes.

She had only entered his hidden space twice. The first time, she had stumbled in chasing a mouse by accident, discovered him, and bolted in fright to find her father.

The second time was now.

He missed when she finished demonstrating the medicine’s application. When he didn’t respond, she hesitated to ask further and turned to leave.

But then, she suddenly tripped over something and stumbled sideways.

Startled, he reached out to steady her by the waist.

In her panic, her hand pressed directly onto the wound on his arm.

He inhaled sharply—inaudibly to her, but his brother noticed.

“That spot’s injured!”

The moment his brother spoke, she flinched in alarm, her hands hovering nervously.

“Are you all right, sir?”

“It’s fine,” he said, noticing she still teetered. “Did you sprain your foot?”

She shook her head quickly.

The compartment was too dark for him to see her expression clearly, so he only said gently, “Then find your footing slowly. No rush.”

But she soon regained her balance and did not linger.

“My apologies,” she murmured, leaving the medicine down before hurrying away.

She seemed deeply embarrassed—so much so that she stayed away from Mianlou for the next six days.

At the time, he had only watched the yellow skirt’s hem flutter away in that single shaft of sunlight, like a yellow butterfly skimming a bloom before taking startled flight.

He stared at where she’d gone until his brother remarked, “Brother, your wound’s bleeding. Doesn’t it hurt?”

He said it was nothing, but when he glanced at what had tripped her, he saw it was his brother’s Silver Snow Sword.

With a scoff, he muttered, “Leave it lying around again, and I’ll feed it to the flames.”

“You can’t!” His brother turned to Chong Ping in feigned alarm. “The medicine the Du family sent—was it some kind of love potion?”

The remark got a laugh from Chong Ping.

“Enough nonsense,” he chided.

But his brother pressed on, “Look at you—she made your wound bleed, and you don’t even feel it. If you marry her and bring her back to the marquis’s estate, won’t you be henpecked every day? Where’s your authority as a man?”

Back then, he had simply booted his brother out of Mianlou.

Yet eight years later, those offhand words had proven prophetic.

His gaze shifted to the woman standing by the sword rack—

Wasn’t he bearing her scolds every single day?

Had he known marrying her would mean putting up with her temper daily, he would have…

Lu Shenru left it unspoken.

They had been wed for months, and she still distrusted him.

The man’s gaze turned stormy as he looked at the Silver Snow Sword on the rack, then at the woman beside it.

The room was utterly silent—but someone by the sword rack gazed at him before edging closer softly.

In a low voice, she uttered his style name once more.

“Weishi,” she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

She seemed downcast, her gaze trembling as she looked at him.

She raised her hand—he thought she might tug at his sleeve, but instead, she suddenly grasped his hand.

He froze, hearing her say,

“I won’t doubt you anymore.”

***

Hongluo Temple, Outer City.

The temple was unusually bustling today. Jiang Fengchuan had just finished an essay and was blowing on the wet ink to dry it. As he rolled up the scroll to store it away, Nanny Pu hurried to his door.

Seeing him, Nanny Pu smiled and said,

“Is Sixth Young Master available? Prince of Yan is staying at Hongluo Temple today and asks if you might have time to spare. If so, he invites you for conversation.”

Jiang Fengchuan also smiled.

“Since His Highness requests it, however busy Liulang might be, he can always make time.”

With that, he stood and changed his clothes, then suddenly remembered something. He asked Hui Shu to fetch the essay he had just written. “I only hope His Highness won’t disdain it and might offer some guidance.”

Though Prince of Yan suffered from a weak condition that made it difficult for him to hold a brush, he greatly admired literary works.

Nanny Pu readily agreed, “Go quickly, Sixth Young Master. His Highness will surely be delighted with your essay!”