After a few sharp words between them, Yao Shu and Fu Xiujin left Marquis Dingguo’s residence. At the gate, a carriage was already waiting. Standing in front were a dignified middle-aged man and the lady from earlier—it was easy to guess they were General Deng Tingjun, titled Zhenwei General, and his wife, Madam Guo, who had invited Fu Xiujin for tea.
General Deng Tingjun was speaking with Deng Xunfeng, who responded with his usual cheeky grin. Deng Lingyun stood quietly beside Madam Guo, holding her arm. Sunlight fell on the four of them, painting a harmonious scene.
“The old man doesn’t like going out, so you youngsters can accompany us for tea. Consider it a welcome banquet for Lingyun.”
After a few polite words, Fu Xiujin brought Yao Shu into the carriage. Two carriages rolled along the stone-paved road for about half an hour before arriving at Zhidian Hall.
The waiter recognized them immediately, greeted them warmly, and led them to a private room. He didn’t forget to flatter Deng Lingyun with phrases like “General Lingyun is a heroine who rivals men,” which made Madam Guo beam with pride. She promptly rewarded him with a handful of coins.
Yao Shu’s doubts grew. The household had a legitimate son—why had he not inherited the family duty of battle? Instead, an adopted daughter had taken up the mantle, becoming a formidable general of the court. And this Yi dynasty even allowed women to hold office—truly unusual.
Once seated, the men began their conversation, while Madam Guo drew Deng Lingyun and Yao Shu into casual talk.
When she learned Yao Shu’s parents had died and she had inherited her father’s profession as a coroner, Madam Guo sighed, patting her hand. “What a pity. With such beauty, if your parents were alive, suitors would be breaking down the door.”
“Who would dare? She’s Fu Xiujin’s fiancée, betrothed by the late Emperor and Consort Shao. Anyone who tried to marry her would have to be madly reckless.” Deng Xunfeng’s words sounded like a joke, but Madam Guo was startled.
Yao Shu glanced at him, knowing exactly what scheme he had in mind.
Fu Xiujin’s betrothal, decreed by the late Emperor, carried more weight than any marriage granted by the current sovereign. If Deng Lingyun were married to him, she would likely be relegated to a concubine’s position—hardly a good match.
“This… Xiujin, why have I never heard you mention this?” General Deng Tingjun paused, setting down his chopsticks, his face tinged with regret.
“It was an old matter, many years ago. At the time, Yao Shu’s parents refused the marriage, but my father and mother said it would not be annulled. If in the future they agreed, the promise would still stand. After tragedy struck her family, she sought refuge. Naturally, I would not refuse.”
As he spoke, Fu Xiujin lowered his head, pouring wine for General Deng. From Yao Shu’s angle, his demeanor was gentle, his appearance refined and elegant.
“Ah, I had hoped to match you with Lingyun. But it seems fate has other plans. Forget it.”
“Father, don’t worry about sister’s marriage. Children have their own fortunes. Let’s drink. It’s a great joy that sister has returned victorious and can remain in the capital.”
Hearing his father drop the idea of arranging a marriage, Deng Xunfeng looked as delighted as if he had won a prize, flashing a row of white teeth at Deng Lingyun. She said nothing, but Yao Shu noticed the faint curve of her lips as she sipped her tea.
So, it seemed the feelings weren’t one-sided after all.
General Deng raised his cup, clinked glasses with the younger ones, and drained it. Suddenly, his brow furrowed. He poured himself another cup, drank, and shook his head.
“This wine—why does it taste strange today? It’s sour.”