The restroom door had been locked from the outside. Su Fuying pulled firmly, but it would not budge an inch.
Hmph.
So Su Qingwan was repaying her in kind, returning old grievances exactly as they had been dealt. Su Fuying realized she had thought too highly of her sister. And, she admitted, she had been careless.
Su Fuying lifted her skirts, crouched down, and peered through the gap at the lock mechanism. Good—it was not a square-tumbler design.
She stood up and glanced around the restroom for something useful. Her gaze settled on a slender metal hairpin lying in the corner. She picked it up, rinsed it clean under the tap, lifted her skirts once more, and crouched again. She slid the hairpin gently into the lock above the mechanism, gave it a light twist—and the door clicked open. Restroom locks were always the simplest to pick.
Outside, Su Qingwan had posted a young girl on guard. Seeing Su Fuying emerge, the girl stepped forward trembling, half-hearted in her attempt to bar the way.
Su Fuying wore a faint smile, though her eyes held a cool, unyielding glint. “Are you quite certain you wish to stop me?”
The wife of the General! Not for all the courage in the world would she dare interfere. Still, the girl glanced anxiously toward the lounge, caught between duty and dread, unsure which way to turn.
Su Fuying set the hairpin on the washstand, washed her hands, and walked past the girl with effortless grace, ignoring her entirely.
She reached the lounge and pushed the door open.
Su Qingwan was preening before the mirror, admiring herself, turning this way and that. She only looked around when she heard the door open, her face bright with self-satisfaction—until she saw Su Fuying standing there. Her expression curdled instantly.
Su Fuying stepped inside, shut the door, and locked it behind her.
A moment later, she stood back and surveyed her handiwork with quiet satisfaction. Su Qingwan’s elaborate hairstyle was a tangled mess, her makeup streaked and smudged beyond recognition.
Su Fuying had no intention of striking her. Any blow would leave bruises and marks—handles that others could seize and turn against her. She would never hand her enemies ammunition of her own making. Su Qingwan loved to preen and admire herself above all else. Very well—let her admire herself now.
Su Qingwan dared not scream. This was her betrothal day. Qin Yiheng’s behavior had already made her a laughingstock. If anyone saw her looking like this—disheveled, ruined, ridiculous—what little dignity remained would be gone forever.
Su Fuying did not return to the banquet hall. She walked straight out of the hotel, hailed a rickshaw, and returned to the Su household.
Outside the Government Offices in Northern Capital, the willows swayed gently in the breeze. In the distance, shop banners fluttered above the doorways of restaurants serving Northern Capital’s famous cuisine.
Song Bo’s thoughts turned to his betrothed back in Haishi. That delicate, proud, clever little fox—spoiled, pampered, yet sharp and quick. They had met only a handful of times; their acquaintance was still new. Yet already she had found a place within him. He saw her in his mind: head tilted playfully, eating with unguarded delight, or gazing back with cold, unflinching resolve. There was something endlessly unfolding about her, a secret depth waiting for him to discover, layer by layer.
His soldier pulled the car around. Yu Sui opened the door for him, only to find Song Bo still standing motionless, gazing into the distance.
“General?”
Song Bo stirred, adjusted the brim of his cap, and climbed into the car.
Groups of students passed along the street, their satchel bags slung over one shoulder. Song Bo glanced at them—and thought again of Su Fuying. Soon she would sit for her examinations. A bag like that would suit her perfectly—practical, and pretty to look upon.
As the car moved past a corner general store, Song Bo ordered it to stop. He stepped out in his crisp military uniform, the very emblem of his rank—strikingly out of place amid the cluttered, humble shopfront. The shopkeeper greeted him with visible trepidation.
Song Bo selected a satchel embroidered with a little fox. He turned to Yu Sui. “Pay the man.”
Yu Sui met his General’s gaze—and was struck by a look of such quiet tenderness that he nearly stammered. “H-how much, sir?”
They drove on to the finest boutique on Central Street, where Song Bo stepped out once more. He chose the most elegant leather satchel in the shop, instructed the clerk to wrap both gifts beautifully, and only then returned to the car—heading for a reception he was already late to attend.
This banquet, Song Bo reflected, might more justly be called a banquet of knives.
He held the designs for a new aircraft, and was mastering its core technology. The Northern Capital Government had long cast covetous eyes upon his work. And among the three great factions of Huaxia—civil, military, and political—cooperation was always strained. They would not demand his work outright. Instead they probed, testing him gently: which did he value more—the lives and well-being of the people, or hoarding power and advantage to himself?
When Song Bo finally arrived, all the senior officials were already assembled. He had no doubt they had been whispering that his delay was a deliberate slight—a sign he meant to keep his discoveries to himself. Accordingly, when he made his entrance, they greeted him with a warmth that verged on over-eagerness.
The Military Governor of Northern Capital stood upon the upper balcony, looking down at the young General below. Once he had been the most admired man in all Huaxia. Now here was Song Bo—barely twenty-four—holding the greater part of Haishi’s military might. For all his own rank and title, even he must treat this young man with deference.
Gao Kaijie straightened his cuffs. His aide stepped forward. “Shall we begin the banquet, Marshal?”
“Begin,” Gao Kaijie commanded.
He descended the staircase, offered a few opening remarks, and then made his way to Song Bo’s side.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” he said smoothly. “Your recent betrothal—why did you not send word? Had we known, we would have dispatched gifts even could we not attend.”
“And does the Governor truly wish to give one?” Song Bo replied, his tone level. “Then perhaps you might present it to me now. I shall send it to my betrothed. I am certain she would value it greatly. When the wedding day comes, you shall all be invited in person. Then you may offer your congratulations face-to-face—no need for gifts beforehand.”
The Governor’s smile faltered. It had been a polite formality—yet Song Bo had taken him at his word.
Yu Sui stood behind his General, suppressing a smile. His commander was by no means indifferent to worldly things or gain. After all—how else did one build a marriage portion worthy of the woman one loved?
When the banquet concluded, Song Bo returned to his temporary quarters within the Northern Capital Government compound. He had scarcely bathed and changed before gifts began piling upon his table—more arriving with every hour. He broke the seals on a few: jewels, trinkets, curios. He surveyed them with quiet amusement.
“Yu Sui,” he said. “Catalog these. Tomorrow, send them all by rail to Haishi. Send a wire to Xu Mang—have him deliver every gift to the Su household.”
Yu Sui glanced toward two exquisitely wrapped boxes resting upon a cabinet. “And those two, General?”
Song Bo’s gaze softened as he looked upon the satchels he had chosen personally. “Those… I shall present to her myself, when I return.”
Then, as servants came to remove the gifts, he added quietly, “Send those two along as well. I cannot say when I shall travel back. Best they reach her sooner.”
Presently, a courier arrived carrying dispatches from Haishi. Yu Sui handed them to Song Bo. They contained not only routine military reports—but also news of the betrothals and engagements recently struck between the Qin and Su families.
Song Bo read every wire in silence. He then issued instructions to Yu Sui regarding official business, ordering dispatches drafted and sent back to Haishi. Just as he was dismissing his aide to rest, a thought came to him.
“Yu Sui,” he said. “Tomorrow—make inquiry regarding the exact dates of the Northern Capital University entrance examinations. And reserve a suite at the Yanjing Hotel for several days about that time.”
Su Fuying intended to sit for Northern Capital University. She would travel here beforehand. And when she did—she would have a comfortable, quiet place to rest while she prepared.