Madam Sun, needing to oversee the entire banquet, could not linger beside Su Fuying for long. Soon she moved on, leaving Su Fuying in the company of several other ladies.
“This is truly the first time I have had the pleasure of meeting you—though we were introduced at the engagement banquet,” one lady said.
“Both you and your sister lost your mother at such a young age, and no one ever brought you out into society. Why, were we to pass you on the street, I doubt any of us would have recognized you!”
Su Fuying smiled gently. “And yet here we are, acquainted at last. I have heard you ladies gather often to play mahjong. I have always wished I might join you sometime.”
The ladies were delighted by her words. As members of the city’s social circles, they felt little deference toward the current military governor—currying favor with him would gain them nothing, nor would ignoring him bring harm to their households. But Song Bo was another matter entirely. His reputation and standing in Haicheng were second to none. To stand well with his future wife was, if nothing else, a source of considerable pride and prestige.
Not far away, groups of young men and women had begun gossiping.
“Have you heard the latest?” one said.
“What news?”
“It happened just the other day, at the Northern-style restaurant!”
“I have not heard a thing—what took place?”
“Young Marshal Song carried Su Fuying out in his arms! Those who saw her said her face was burning red, and she leaned against him as though she had not a single bone in her body!”
“Good heavens!”
“Surely they have not… been intimate already?”
“How could such a thing be? Is she not a scholar? How could she behave so improperly?”
Their conversation carried to the table where Su Qingwan sat. The young women beside her turned to look at her, their gazes tinged with amusement. “To hear them speak of your own sister in such a way—can you bear it?”
Su Qingwan’s mind had been fixed on one thought alone: that Song Bo had already possessed Su Fuying. The question snapped her back to the present. Emotions surged in her eyes, and her hand tightened sharply around the clasp of her handbag. “Let them say what they will. And besides—who is to say she was not entirely willing?”
It was a convenient turn of events. Then again, perhaps there was simply nothing else to say about Su Fuying. Before long, the ladies sitting with Su Fuying had also begun speaking of that very evening, when Song Bo had carried her out.
“Now I have heard it said that the Young Marshal carried you out of that Beijing-style restaurant the other day,” one lady teased.
“Ah, young love—so tender!”
“My husband, when we are in public, keeps such a distance between us you would scarce believe we are wed!”
Su Fuying offered a quiet explanation. “I had just finished my examinations, you see, and we wished to celebrate. I had no idea my tolerance was so poor—after but two cups, I quite lost my senses.”
The ladies glanced at the fruit wine she had been served, nearly half of which was already gone.
“Dear me! If you cannot hold your liquor, you ought not drink at all! What if you were to fall ill? The Young Marshal would hold us accountable for letting you tipsy!”
With that, the lady took Su Fuying’s glass and passed it to a waiting servant. The group continued to banter warmly of the affection between Su Fuying and Song Bo, their laughter ringing bright and clear—each peal cutting straight to Su Qingwan where she sat listening.
Su Fuying had spoken at length and her throat felt dry; having drunk plenty of fruit juice, she excused herself and stepped away to the restroom. Su Qingwan, who had watched her every move, let out a heavy, deliberate sigh the moment Su Fuying rose. Naturally, someone nearby asked what troubled her.
Su Qingwan sighed again. “I must speak with her. Even if marriage lies before her, one must still preserve dignity and propriety!”
With that, she stood and hurried after Su Fuying’s retreating figure. The young men and women nearby, eager to see how the scene unfolded, quickly followed in her wake.
Su Fuying had only just emerged from the restroom when she found Su Qingwan waiting outside the door. Beyond her, around the corner, she caught glimpses of clothing and heads peeking out—an audience gathered to watch. Most surprising of all: there was a look of pity upon Su Qingwan’s face.
Su Fuying was taken aback, though she knew full well her sister meant nothing good.
“Sister…” Su Qingwan began. “You and the Young Marshal—have you already…?”
Su Fuying raised an eyebrow. Slowly and deliberately, she folded her used handkerchief and dropped it into the waste bin. “Have we already what?”
“Everyone knows what happened that day at the restaurant,” Su Qingwan said.
Everyone knows what? That he carried me? Su Fuying thought. Surely not what she implied.
She met Su Qingwan’s gaze with a calm smile. “Are you speaking of how I drank too much before dinner and he escorted me home?”
Su Qingwan’s tone grew earnest and pleading. “Sister—there is no one but us here. Tell me the truth, I beg you! I speak only out of concern for you!”
Glancing toward the corner, Su Fuying saw that more people had now gathered to watch. If this was to be a performance, it ought to have a truly memorable ending. She stepped forward, and before Su Qingwan could react, she took her hand in hers.
“Qingwan,” she said gently. “Whatever are you talking about?”
Su Qingwan looked down at their joined hands, then glanced toward the onlookers peeking around the corner. She spoke with greater urgency still. “Sister! We may live in modern times, but a woman’s virtue remains her most precious possession! How could you have… surrendered your honour to Song Bo before marriage?”
Su Fuying’s expression shifted instantly to one of profound hurt and disbelief. The next moment, she swayed and sank to the floor.
“What are you saying?”
Su Qingwan stared at her empty hands, then at Su Fuying seated upon the ground—stunned into silence for a heartbeat.
Then Su Fuying spoke, her voice trembling with sorrow. “When our betrothals were exchanged, I yielded to your wishes. At our engagement banquet, you came and caused such unrest. And now—now you would heap these shameful lies upon my name?”
“What more do you want from me?!”
“The exchange was made. We are both betrothed. Even were you to regret it now, nothing can undo what has been done!”
The onlookers murmured in sympathy, their attention fixed wholly upon the scene before them—none noticed the group approaching from behind, led by Song Bo.
Su Fuying continued, her voice clear and ringing. “And this talk of lost honour—there is no truth to it at all! You are my own sister. Why would you believe strangers’ words over mine? Why would you speak so certainly of lies?”
“Song Bo has faced untold dangers to keep this city safe. And this is how you speak of him?”
It was not only men who could perform such feats of feeling, bringing tears to the eyes of all who watched. Su Fuying’s performance was no less masterful. And standing in the shadows, Song Bo listened—and felt a quiet, heavy sense of remorse settle deep within his heart. He knew she was acting, yet her final words struck him to the core. She was defending him.
At Song Bo’s signal, Yu Sui stepped forward and cleared the crowd from the passageway. The moment they caught sight of Yu Sui in uniform, silence fell over the group.
Su Fuying glanced up at his approach. The look of stricken sorrow upon her face flickered—gone in an instant. Then came the sound of boots striking the floorboards, sharp and heavy in the quiet hall.
Song Bo stepped into view. Su Qingwan paled, panic rising within her. Without a word, Song Bo reached out, swept Su Fuying straight into his arms, and held her close—his grip firm and protective. Then he turned his gaze upon Su Qingwan, cold and unyielding. Just as it had been in her past life, when she had stormed through the Song residence in fury because he had failed to return home for the night. Su Qingwan felt certain she would die beneath his gaze.
“I do not know why our betrothals were exchanged,” Song Bo said, his voice low and steady, “yet I thank you—for it was you who brought Fuying to me.”
“And because you are Fuying’s sister, I said nothing when you disrupted our engagement banquet. I suffered it all in silence.”
“But now—you, her own flesh and blood—would turn against her. You would believe lies and cast slander upon her name. Why?”
Su Qingwan stood frozen, watching as Song Bo held Su Fuying close. In that moment, memory after memory rose unbidden—of his coldness, his silence. For eight months they had been wed. He had never once embraced her. Never once even held her hand.
Dimly, troubling, disjointed images rose in her mind—scenes from strange, vivid dreams. Only dreams, she told herself. Not real. And no one but me shall ever know.