Su Fuying accepted the invitation from the servant.
“This arrived first thing this morning,” the servant said. “The messenger also brought a message from the hostess—she wished to make clear the banquet is scheduled after your examinations, so you will not be delayed.”
Su Fuying had turned down five or six invitations in a row recently. The wives and ladies of society doubtless spoke ill of her behind her back. This time, Madame Sun had gone out of her way to specify the time—clearly determined to ensure she could not refuse.
The servant handed over the card and prepared to leave—only for Su Qingwan’s voice to ring out from the doorway.
“Su Fuying has returned?”
Su Fuying turned. There stood Su Qingwan, dressed in Western-style clothing. It had been some time; she had evidently picked up new styles from the foreign concessions. One might think she had studied abroad. Su Fuying found it faintly ridiculous—all show, no substance.
“This is what comes of marrying Song Bo,” Su Qingwan jeered, her tone dripping with schadenfreude. “One of these days you may well meet a sudden, violent end.”
Su Fuying went still. Their ambush had occurred only yesterday afternoon; news had barely reached the garrison. How did Su Qingwan know? The Qin household had already packed and left the city—no one ought to be passing her such information.
Su Fuying studied her closely. Clearly Su Qingwan had been moving in influential circles. Which meant someone in the concessions was tied to their attackers—or worse, there was a traitor within the military itself.
Seeing Su Fuying silent, Su Qingwan laughed louder. “Cat got your tongue? Don’t look so terrified. You’ll see plenty more like this.”
Su Fuying stepped toward her. Su Qingwan instinctively backed away.
Su Fuying spoke softly, deliberately. “What are you talking about? A violent end? Why would you say such things?”
Su Qingwan frowned, realizing she had said too much. “Don’t play innocent! Weren’t you ambushed on the road back from River Capital yesterday?”
She knew the exact time and place.
Su Fuying kept her face composed, feigning genuine confusion. “Ambushed? What on earth are you speaking of? Who told you such nonsense?”
Su Qingwan caught herself. “Never mind who told me! Enjoy your life while it lasts—that is all!”
With that she turned and left. Su Fuying had not drawn the full truth from her—but she now knew exactly where to begin her investigation. A single syllable had slipped from Su Qingwan’s tongue: Lan.
She went downstairs. Tong Da and Pang Wenshan stood guard nearby.
“Miss Su—are you leaving?”
Su Fuying handed Tong Da a sealed letter. “Deliver this to the General personally.”
“At once.”
“Did either of you see Su Qingwan just now?”
“We did,” Tong Da replied. “She was brought home in the Qin family automobile.”
The Qin family’s car?
“And,” Tong Da added, “it appears the Qin and Su families have settled on a wedding date. In half a month’s time.”
Half a month. Su Fuying calculated. It was the very same date Su Qingwan had married Qin Yiheng in her past life.
“Return to your posts,” she told them. Evening had fallen, and she chose to remain indoors.
When Tong Da reached Headquarters, Song Bo had just finished his meetings. He delivered the letter directly into his hands.
Song Bo read it, considered, and immediately narrowed his suspicions toward a single person. Su Fuying had detailed Su Qingwan’s new acquaintances and social connections—and the single word Lan that had slipped out. Between those two clues, the trail was clear. She had also warned him: there may be a traitor or a mole within his own command.
Song Bo stood by the window, watching the city lights come on, drinking alone. He remembered the first time he had seen her. Walking the streets with her. The day they became betrothed. By the river. When they had chosen their future home together. That night by the lantern-lit lake in River Capital. And yesterday—gunfire, smoke, and blood.
He had loved her from the very first glance. He wanted her as his wife—but he would never forgive himself if harm came to her. With yesterday’s ambush, the three great factions had begun to draw battle lines. Even within his own Southern Faction, loyalty could no longer be assumed. Danger lay all around him.
He poured another cup. Xu Mang knocked and entered.
“General—reports on recent events in Haishi.”
Song Bo set down his glass and accepted the papers. Every transaction, every movement, clearly recorded.
“Madame Sun will soon host a banquet,” Xu Mang finished. “Miss Su has received an invitation.”
Song Bo lifted his glass again. “Noted.”
The next morning, as Su Fuying stepped out, she saw Song Bo’s military automobile waiting. He stood in full uniform—the gentle scholar of River Capital gone. Yet Su Fuying knew that part of him remained, and always would.
She climbed into the car. “General.”
Song Bo looked at her—unshaken, calm, as ever. His eyes brightened. She carried the other satchel he had bought her.
“Why not the one with the little fox?” he asked.
Su Fuying realized then—he had meant that one especially for her. “That one has seen much use. It is being cleaned.”
Song Bo nodded. Neither spoke further. He longed to comfort her, yet hesitated—afraid to bring it up and cause her pain. Silence stretched between them, gentle and understanding.
Haishi University’s gates were crowded with students awaiting the exam. When Song Bo’s automobile arrived, all eyes turned. Among them, Cao Jiayue—who had been watching eagerly—scowled visibly. Jealousy and resentment warred openly on her face.
Su Fuying bade Song Bo farewell and walked toward the entrance. Amid the crowd, one man stood apart—Geng Xingjin. He too was watching her.
Geng Xingjin was refined, scholarly, and had been well known at the university for his bearing. He came from poverty—admired by some, dismissed by others. Su Fuying knew him from three years prior. He had been the senior student who had shown her around on her first day. In a strange place, the first friend one makes holds a special place. They had remained close.
She had felt a flutter then—the quiet thrill of admiration. But she had always known it was not love, and that between them, nothing could ever be. Yet she also knew he had been the only one to try to reach her, to save her, when the Qin family held her prisoner. Alone and unaided, he had stood no chance.
Su Fuying walked toward him—not avoiding him, as she had in her past life simply because she was engaged. They exchanged a quiet greeting.
“I heard the news—congratulations,” Geng Xingjin said. His smile carried a faint, quiet ache. He too had once felt that flutter. Now reason had taken its place.
Song Bo watched from the automobile, his brow drawing tight as he saw the man speaking with his betrothed.