Su Fuying picked up her matching handbag and stepped out the door.
Song Bo had not come inside; he was simply waiting for her at the entrance.
When he saw Su Fuying walking toward him, he could not help but be struck anew by how breathtakingly beautiful she looked.
He opened the car door and helped her in.
The automobile slowly pulled away and vanished around the bend.
Su Qingwan stood in a corner watching the scene unfold. She could not quite put it into words, but it felt as though her very being was being torn apart.
After a long while, she turned to the maid, her expression wooden. “Have the carriage prepared.”
The young maid replied, “Second Miss, the family’s carriage has been sent for repairs and will not be returning anytime soon.”
Some time later, Su Qingwan stepped out of the house dressed in elegant, costly attire. She walked to the street corner and hired a rickshaw to take her away.
The car rolled smoothly along the road.
Song Bo spoke up first. “Have you had breakfast?”
“I have,” Su Fuying answered, then added, “though I’m still not full.”
Song Bo gave a calm instruction to the driver. “Take us to Xu’s.”
Su Fuying was familiar with Xu’s—a renowned breakfast establishment in Haishi. Its reputation came with immense crowds, however, and she disliked waiting, so she had rarely eaten there. Thinking back now, she had to admit the food was truly delicious.
The car came to a steady stop outside Xu’s. Song Bo turned to look at her.
Su Fuying leaned back against the seat, appearing languid and utterly spoiled in her charm.
“Can we buy it and eat in the carriage instead? My head feels heavy—I’d rather not get out.”
The soldier driving glanced into the rearview mirror, thinking to himself that truly beautiful women were indeed accustomed to being pampered. He was about to step out to purchase breakfast when he saw the General himself alight from the car.
Song Bo held the car door open for her. His voice was as cool and composed as ever, yet softened with indulgence. “Wait here for me.”
Su Fuying leaned against the window, watching Song Bo stand in line. Passersby turned to look—at the General queuing for food, and then at how he carefully opened the wrappings and handed the meal to her through the window.
The car set off once more. Su Fuying ate while gazing out at the scenery. Occasionally she would take the thermos from Song Bo’s hands—he sat like a refined statue beside her—take a sip of soy milk, and place it gently back.
Her mood was exceptionally bright. She had meant to test the limits of Song Bo’s tolerance toward her. It seemed, however, that she was still very far from reaching it.
Truth be told, she had been waiting for him to bring up the matter involving Su Qingwan yesterday. Yet he had said nothing at all.
By the time Su Fuying finished her breakfast, the car was drawing near to the Song Manor. She glanced out at the surroundings and remarked softly, “It is rather far from the city streets… but the scenery is quite lovely.”
Song Bo appeared to have already given this considerable thought.
“In time I shall purchase another automobile for you. You may obtain a driver’s license, and should you prefer not to drive yourself, there will always be a dedicated chauffeur at your service.”
Su Fuying looked at him as he spoke earnestly. Did he not believe it was unladylike for a woman to drive?
“If you would rather not live so far from the city, I also own an apartment on Central Street. I am having it renovated these few days.”
Su Fuying stared at him, her heartbeat quickening beyond her control.
Song Bo continued, “When it is ready, I shall take you to see it. You may furnish and decorate it exactly as you wish.”
Song Bo stepped out of the car, walked around to her side, and opened the door for her.
The Song Manor now stood fully revealed before her eyes—a magnificent Western-style house. In the front courtyard sat a fountain, bordered by blooming flowers and foliage. At one corner stood a pagoda tree; its flowering season nearing its end, only a scattering of white blossoms swayed gently in the breeze. At another corner grew a crabapple tree, beneath which rested a Western-style stone table and chairs. Sitting there, one could look up and take in the entirety of the manor grounds.
The manor’s housekeeper came out to greet them.
“General, Miss Su.”
Su Fuying withdrew her admiring gaze and looked at the woman before her—a kind-faced, honest-looking woman in her forties or fifties.
Song Bo introduced her. “This is Aunt Ying. She oversees the household affairs here. Should you need anything in future, simply give the instructions to her.”
Aunt Ying regarded Su Fuying, her eyes crinkling with pleasure. Just as the Madam had said, Bo had chosen a truly fine wife indeed.
Su Fuying smiled and nodded. “Aunt Ying.”
Aunt Ying beamed in reply and said warmly, “Tea and pastries have been prepared. Please, come inside, Miss.”
They walked around the fountain, ascended several stone steps, and passed through the heavy mahogany doors into the manor.
The interior blended Eastern and Western styles beautifully—crystal chandeliers, warm redwood floors, intricately carved lattice screens, plush sofas, and elegant rosewood dining tables. Su Fuying found herself instantly fond of the aesthetic.
She walked toward the sweeping curved staircase.
Aunt Ying explained as they went, “Your chambers and the General’s are both on the second floor. Would you care to see them now, Miss?”
Song Bo asked, “Is the bedchamber fully prepared?”
“It was finished just two days ago,” Aunt Ying assured him.
The room was spacious and bright. The bed, draped in soft, flowing curtains, looked wonderfully inviting. The furnishings were distinctly Western in style. Directly across from the bed stood a broad desk—where Song Bo would doubtless conduct his work in the future. The room was filled with natural light from two arched windows. Beside one stood an elegant dressing table; along the opposite wall sat a polished fireplace, waiting for winter days when one might stack logs and curl up beside the dancing flames in comfort.
Adjoining the main chamber was a private space.
“This section serves as both dressing room and bath,” Aunt Ying explained. “Your wardrobe and personal effects may be kept here from now on.”
The dressing area also had a window draped in white lace. Beneath it stood another table, more precisely described as a vanity for jewelry. Flanking the window were tall, spacious wardrobes and cabinets for footwear, and in one corner stood a full-length mirror framed in fine carving. There was scarcely a girl alive who would not adore such a space.
The bath contained both a changing area and bathing space. The changing room held a large, plush sofa—perfect for resting after dressing or before stepping into the large porcelain tub.
Aunting Ying asked cheerfully, “Is there anything here that does not suit your taste, Miss? Anything at all can be altered or remade.”
“The General gave strict instructions some time ago to expand his former quarters. We joined the two chambers into one and arranged everything according to his directions. We did not know your preferences, however, so certain things remain provisionally arranged. Whatever you might wish added or changed, you need only tell me, and I shall attend to it.”
So it was true, Su Fuying realized. Song Bo had made all these changes only after confirming that she—Su Fuying—was to be his bride.
Had Su Qingwan not proposed the exchange of marriages, the course of events would likely have unfolded much as they had in her past life. Yet having spent this time together, Su Fuying was certain Song Bo had not lived through this before. Where, then, did the divergence lie? Was it with Su Qingwan? With Song Bo? Or… was it somehow with her?
Her thoughts drifted uncontrollably to the romantic tales she had read. Could it be that Song Bo had long held deep feelings for her, hidden in his heart? That seemed unlikely.
She stood lost in thought until Aunt Ying spoke gently, drawing her back.
Su Fuying smiled, the warmth reaching her eyes. “Everything is perfect. I am very pleased.”
She walked out from the dressing area and glanced toward the desk that would be Song Bo’s, then said to Aunt Ying, “There is but one small request—might another writing table be placed in this bedchamber?”
Song Bo, who had been standing gazing out the arched window, turned at her words. His face retained its habitual calm, yet his eyes shone with quiet pleasure.
Aunt Ying smiled broadly. “The General has already foreseen this, Miss. Carpenters have been at work these past two days. Once the lacquer has fully cured and the scent faded, it shall be brought here and placed just where you wish.”
Truly, she did not know whether to describe Song Bo as exceedingly thoughtful or simply perceptive enough to read her every thought.
Afterward, Su Fuying toured the rear gardens—even more expansive than the front, with additional courtyards, a glass conservatory, pavilions, and ornamental bridges over flowing streams. It was hardly surprising that Su Qingwan had long coveted the Song Manor.
By the time they departed, it was nearly noon. Song Bo directed the driver toward the city’s most famous Cantonese restaurant. Truly, he thought of everything.
Su Fuying had been exhausted from the previous day’s events and the wine she had drunk; she had no appetite for heavy, rich fare. Cantonese cuisine, with its emphasis on delicate flavors and fresh ingredients, was exactly what she needed.