Gu Zhao’s long string of words left Zhu Qingyu completely bewildered.
What way of life?
What night?
What responsibility?
Where to even begin?
Her face full of confusion, she asked:
“What? Which night? What matter?”
Gu Zhao stepped closer, so near that their clothing nearly touched.
The distance completely breached Zhu Qingyu’s sense of personal space. His tone was gentle, yet the way he looked at her was so direct that it made her deeply uncomfortable.
Zhu Qingyu took several steps back, her expression clouded with irritation:
“Minister!”
She could not understand—why, out of nowhere, was this Gu Zhao suddenly being so rude?
Gu Zhao stopped moving. As he drew nearer, his body seemed to roar like a contained fire, intensifying with each step.
These past few days, while investigating the case, he had been unable to stop pondering this very question: what was wrong with him?
His gaze swept from Zhu Qingyu’s irritable eyes down to her partially exposed neck, along the arms hidden beneath her sleeves, following the sway of her skirt as she moved, before he finally said:
“I saw it that night. If you need, I can take responsibility.”
Today she was fully covered, but that fateful night, his glimpse into her room had been imprinted on his mind, adding layers of forbidden allure to the night and the dreams he could not share with anyone.
A graceful lady, sought in dreams.
Unable to obtain her, thoughts consume the waking mind.
For Gu Zhao, it was natural for a man to notice a strikingly beautiful woman. To admit he was a mere mortal with lustful desires was no difficulty.
The six human desires—this must be the cause. Otherwise, what else could explain his months-long, almost spellbound state?
Having found the root cause, he could not ignore it. After days of contemplation, he resolved to address the matter that had troubled him for so long.
Solving it was simple: desire unfulfilled, once fulfilled, the problem resolves.
He had not sought her out intentionally, yet repeatedly crossed paths with her—fate, perhaps, or destiny. Given her beauty, she ought to be pampered in silks, with servants attending, never touching a drop of work. Yet here she was, in plain clothes, exposing herself for mere coins.
Her life was not easy, and he could offer her a better, more dignified existence. Each would gain what they needed—an ideal solution.
Zhu Qingyu finally realized what Gu Zhao meant by “I saw it that night,” and what his “taking responsibility” implied.
Some matters, even for someone careful and astute from the modern world, were difficult to anticipate.
To her, that night when Gu Zhao entered and saw her in short sleeves and shorts—normal attire for going out in her world—could have been entirely innocuous. Yet in this world, such a sight might be linked to notions of chastity and propriety.
Hence, his sense of responsibility made sense, and it was no wonder he had avoided her all these days.
As for how the heir of a duke’s household might take responsibility, it was obvious: given his status, he would hardly marry her—at most, he could reserve a place for her in his household.
A surge of anger rose in her heart. This infuriating feudal society! This man! He seemed to arrogantly and condescendingly ask if she would become his concubine.
And the reason he proposed this was not desire for her personally, but his own high moral standard.
No wonder he had avoided her for days, struggled with this internally, and now descended to say such words. Perhaps he even felt wronged that a common doctor’s daughter would not ordinarily enter a duke’s household, and now he had to “take responsibility” for an accident.
Zhu Qingyu’s anger flared—she briefly wished she could smash the steaming brazier on the table into his face.
Seeing the growing fury in her eyes, Gu Zhao realized that the better, more dignified life he offered might not be what this young woman desired.
He had considered this—it would indeed require effort and thought—but it was not impossible.
Feigning ignorance of her thoughts, he said seriously and coaxingly:
“Madam Zhu, are you displeased? Indeed, though this matter was accidental, the responsibility lies with me. I delayed these days without a word, which is my fault. Or is it that by offering to take responsibility, I have instead offended you?”
A quarrel requires equal footing, a back-and-forth; his calm demeanor made Zhu Qingyu feel less confident in expressing anger.
She thought: fine, men of feudal society have their limitations. By today’s standards, his behavior could be seen as gentlemanly.
She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of centuries of different worldviews.
Fine—different views, different views, different views.
Fine—don’t argue, don’t argue, don’t argue.
Fine—don’t be angry, don’t be angry, don’t be angry.
Repeating this mantra, she finally calmed herself and said in a composed tone:
“I already have a husband; no need for you to take responsibility.”
Gu Zhao did not expect this answer—she was already married!
Though internally shocked, he could not help but doubt. Could this be an excuse? If she truly had a husband, why toil like this?
Even amidst the storm of his thoughts, Gu Zhao maintained a steady tone:
“Oh? Is that so? Then where is he? How has he been absent all this time?”
At that moment, Zhu Qingyu truly wished she could summon Zhang Shen by phone and slap him in Gu Zhao’s face.
Instead, considering his official rank—and the fact that the Zhang family’s business lay partly in his hands—she restrained herself.
Calming herself with repeated “fine,” she replied without overt anger:
“Zhang Jingyan, the chief merchant of Yangzhou, is my husband. You have met him. He is at the Huainan salt fields these days. When he returns, you may ask him yourself. I have no reason to deceive about such a matter.”
It was indeed Zhang Jingyan. She did not seem to be lying.
Gu Zhao glanced around the cramped pharmacy, unable to reconcile it with a merchant’s grand household. The Zhang family wealth was immense—why send their daughter out to run a small clinic in plain view?
No wonder she had been so furious earlier. Today he had, rashly, spoken to a married woman in such a manner—publicly, in broad daylight—it was utterly, completely absurd!
Though many questions remained, Gu Zhao, feeling the absurdity himself, refrained from pressing further and said:
“I see. Truly, I have been forward and offensive.”
For a high-ranking official to humble himself in apology, Zhu Qingyu also softened her tone:
“You meant well, and I appreciate it. But there is no need for you to take responsibility on my behalf. I must prepare medicine for Xie Gongzi now. Please excuse me.”
This was the closing of the topic, a polite dismissal. Zhu Qingyu no longer looked at Gu Zhao and focused on her distillation.
Out of the corner of her eye, someone left the pharmacy, reached the door, and paused.
Zhu Qingyu, puzzled, asked:
“Minister, is there anything more you wish to convey?”
Gu Zhao glanced at her once more, as if he had something to say, but ultimately remained silent and turned to leave.