Fluffy white steamed buns, a bowl of milk-white mushroom and peach kernel soup with duck gizzard and pork tripe, a fragrant dish of mutton with carrots, a plate of aromatic and crispy gourd chicken, a plate of golden braised pork, a plate of plump chicken with sea cucumber, a plate of brilliant golden stir-fried dried lily buds, and a plate of snow-white candied yam—one bowl and six dishes, four meat and two vegetable. Mo Yi devoured it all like a whirlwind: “I knew it. When you returned, there would be good food to eat.” As he spoke, he dipped a steamed bun into the sauce left in the braised pork dish and stuffed it in his mouth.

Zhao Ling’s eating manners were much more refined than his, as he sipped soup from a small porcelain bowl decorated with gourd patterns.

Mo Yi put down his chopsticks and stared at him.

Zhao Ling felt uncomfortable under his gaze and said, “Though you don’t directly oversee me, you’re still my superior. If you have something to say, just say it!”

Mo Yi heard this and chuckled, “Now you acknowledge I’m your superior. Well then, when I speak, you can’t refuse!”

Zhao Ling naturally wouldn’t fall for this trick and responded calmly, “Tell me first, and I’ll consider it.”

A flash of embarrassment crossed Mo Yi’s eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, he said quietly, “I’d like Lu to come and learn needlework from the lady in your household.”

Zhao Ling was surprised.

Mo Yi looked somewhat awkward and explained, “Next September is my grandmother’s birthday, and my mother wants me to bring Lu back home…” Having spoken, his demeanor became more natural. “You know how many rules my family has. Lu grew up in the borderlands—how would she know these things? After much thought, in all of Zhangye, only your wife could offer her some guidance.” He added with a “Hey,” asking, “What do you say? This is the first time I’ve ever asked you for a favor!” His voice was slightly tense, partly because he wasn’t accustomed to asking favors, and partly because, facing Zhao Ling, he vaguely felt that putting on airs as a young master from a prestigious family might not be effective, making him somewhat nervous.

Zhao Ling frowned slightly: “I’ll need to discuss this with Miss Fu.”

Hearing this, Mo Yi laughed heartily, his entire body relaxing: “Then consider it settled!”

In whose household were matters not decided by the man?

Since Zhao Ling had agreed, the matter was settled.

“Come, let me toast you,” he said, raising his cup with a broad smile.

In the kitchen, Fu Tingyun placed the fried meat cakes she had made into a willow basket and set them on the outer windowsill to cool. Once cooled, she would wrap them up for Zhao Ling to take to Yang Yucheng, Jin Yuanbao, and the others.

A Sen, the little news-bearer, ran over: “Miss, Miss, General Mo wants you to teach his concubine proper manners.” He then repeated Mo Yi’s words to Fu Tingyun.

Having grown up in a distinguished family, Fu Tingyun knew the basic principle of minding one’s own business. That Madam Lu, as Mrs. Qi had correctly predicted, would at most be a secondary consort, not even a formal concubine. If she taught her etiquette, how would she face Mo Yi’s wife when they eventually met?

But thinking of Zhao Ling’s need for Mo Yi’s help, she could only sigh: “Go tell Ninth Master he can agree.”

A Sen, unaware of these complexities, only knew that Fu Tingyun was agreeing to help Mo Yi for Ninth Master’s sake, and happily went to the hall.

Despite this, Zhao Ling still didn’t agree to Mo Yi’s request.

“We needn’t concern ourselves with his household matters,” he told Fu Tingyun as he was leaving. “Just keep the courtyard gate closed. If he causes trouble, there’s still the Marquis of Yingchuan! I’m sure His Lordship wouldn’t want Mo Yi to become estranged from his family over this matter.”

Fu Tingyun nodded.

Zhao Ling then quietly instructed her: “I probably won’t be able to return before the Lantern Festival. On that day, Zhangye will have folk performances different from other places. Why not have the Zheng couple accompany you to see them? Don’t always stay cooped up at home.”

Everyone was now saying she was faithful and virtuous, willing to follow her fiancé to this remote region to endure hardship rather than stay with relatives in the capital to enjoy comfort… Though she had a vibrant appearance, it didn’t mean she enjoyed drawing attention. Zhangye was a small place, and she lived on a back street where the same people passed by regularly. Even while staying at home, people often asked Mrs. Qi about her appearance. If she went out, she would likely be followed by a crowd of gossipers.

He wasn’t her fiancé… How could such a fire be wrapped in paper?

As the saying goes, the more one speaks, the more likely one is to err. The same applies to one’s conduct—going everywhere means meeting more people and being more easily recognized. If her identity were exposed, she feared she couldn’t clear her name even if she jumped into the Yellow River.

It was better to stay quietly at home and avoid going out.

But she couldn’t express this directly to Zhao Ling. She simply made a sound of acknowledgment and asked about his ancestral worship for New Year’s Eve.

Zhao Ling was stunned for a long while and wrote somewhat dazedly, “Late father Zhao Jiyun” and “Late mother, Née Meng” for Fu Tingyun: “It’s been several years since I properly paid respects to my parents.” Tears glistened in his eyes.

Seeing Zhao Ling so sad and vulnerable, Fu Tingyun felt only reluctance to part, tenderness, and heartache. Her previous frustration and dissatisfaction suddenly seemed somewhat ridiculous. Her voice was as gentle as spring wind caressing leaves: “Don’t worry, Ninth Master. I will prepare the offerings properly.”

If he didn’t trust her, how could he entrust her with such an important matter as honoring his parents?

Zhao Ling smiled at her, though his smile couldn’t erase the sadness within.

Fu Tingyun clenched her fists tightly, restraining her desire to reach out and touch his forehead.

…

After Zhao Ling left, Fu Tingyun first commissioned ancestral tablets for his parents, then steamed buns and rice cakes. Since the shops were closed for the holiday, she couldn’t buy the traditional three animal offerings, so she made dough figurines of pigs, cattle, and sheep as substitutes. By New Year’s Eve, with whole chickens, ducks, fish, and meat arranged, the offerings were quite abundant.

After paying respects to the ancestors, everyone—masters and servants alike—gathered for the reunion dinner. At midnight, they set off firecrackers and stayed up chatting and laughing to welcome the New Year.

On the first day of the New Year, Zheng San, following Fu Tingyun’s instructions, dropped Zhao Ling’s calling cards into the baskets outside the mansions of various officials, serving as Zhao Ling’s New Year greetings. With that settled, they closed their doors and focused on preparing delicious foods each day, with everyone’s faces radiating joy.

In the blink of an eye, the Lantern Festival arrived. Zheng San took A Sen and Linchun to see the folk performances in the street, while Fu Tingyun and Zheng Sanniang stayed home sewing.

Spring had officially begun. In a few days, the wind on their faces would lose its chill, and Zhao Ling would need to change into spring clothes.

Her father was an official of the sixth rank, and his salary wasn’t enough to buy even a Song Dynasty book he fancied, let alone support Zhao Ling.

Having more firewood and rice wasn’t as good as having more days to live frugally. They needed to find ways to be economical.

Early the next morning, someone came knocking: “Miss Fu, Miss Fu!”

The voice sounded familiar, but Fu Tingyun couldn’t place it.

Zheng San went to open the door.

It was Xuemei, the personal maid of Madam Lu, accompanied by two servant women—one carrying a stacked food box, the other holding five or six bolts of dazzling gold-threaded fabric.

“Is Miss Fu at home?” She smiled and curtseyed to Zheng San. “Our Young Mistress has come to visit Miss Fu.”

Zheng San looked up to see Madam Lu standing dignifiedly outside the door.

He quickly apologized and called Zheng Sanniang to announce the visitors.

Fu Tingyun vaguely understood the reason for this visit. Thinking of Zhao Ling, she hesitated briefly before instructing Zheng Sanniang to invite Madam Lu in.

Madam Lu was only seventeen or eighteen, with a delicate figure and lovely features. Though born in the northwest, she had the gentle grace of a woman from the southern water towns.

“I often heard the General mention Miss Fu before you moved here,” she said with great humility. “I should have visited more frequently, but later heard Miss was in mourning and feared disturbing you, so I came less often. A few days ago, the General mentioned you again, praising your cooking skills, especially your mushroom and peach kernel soup with duck gizzard and pork tripe—white tripe, crisp gizzard, refreshing and authentic—he couldn’t stop praising it. These days, the General is busy with official duties and has no appetite for anything. Seeing this troubles me, so I’ve come shamelessly to ask Miss to teach me how to prepare this dish. Please don’t think me clumsy, and teach me.”

She made no mention of learning etiquette, speaking only of learning to cook, her approach tactful and appropriate—clearly a clever person.

She must have already discussed this with Mo Yi.

Fu Tingyun smiled in agreement, and they chatted pleasantly, arranging a time for cooking lessons.

From then on, Madam Lu came daily—sometimes to learn cooking, sometimes bringing needlework for Fu Tingyun to inspect, sometimes showing paintings or poems for guidance. Seeing Fu Tingyun busy making spring clothes for Zhao Ling and Yang Yucheng’s group, she brought several of her maids to help Zheng Sanniang with the sewing.

These maids were quite skilled with needlework, but Fu Tingyun still felt more at ease making things herself. She continued to make Zhao Ling’s clothes and shoes, while the maids helped with items for Yang Yucheng and the others.

Mrs. Qi observed all this.

She watched the smoke from Fu Tingyun’s chimney and deliberately chose a time when Madam Lu was learning cooking from Fu Tingyun to visit, then dramatically entered the kitchen.

“I never imagined Miss Fu would be so skilled in the kitchen. Look at this camel hoof soup—smooth, tender, soft, and delicious,” she took a spoon and ate a mouthful. “Delicious, delicious!” she deliberately asked Fu Tingyun, “Wasn’t Miss from Pingliang County? How do you know how to make Zhangye dishes?” She completely ignored Madam Lu who stood nearby with her sleeves rolled up.

Fu Tingyun felt a headache coming on and smiled: “Once, Ninth Master ordered a meal from Xiqin Restaurant, which included this dish. Seeing that he liked it, I paid attention.”

“Miss Fu truly has a refined and virtuous character!” she went on at length, then left as abruptly as she had arrived.

Fu Tingyun was puzzled.

Madam Lu’s expression had turned sour. She forced a smile at Fu Tingyun and excused herself, claiming to feel unwell.

What grievance existed between these two?

Fu Tingyun didn’t want to be manipulated and sent Zheng San out to inquire.

Though he couldn’t discover anything about Mrs. Qi and Madam Lu’s relationship, he heard that people in the back street were saying how skilled Fu Tingyun was at cooking, and that even Madam Lu had humbled herself to learn from Fu Tingyun.

This news had certainly been spread by Mrs. Qi.

Having no desire to use others as stepping stones, Fu Tingyun felt secretly annoyed.

A letter arrived from Zhao Ling at Zhuanglang Guard.

Only then did Fu Tingyun learn that before the New Year, Zhao Ling had accompanied Lu Cheng to Zhenbian Guard and encountered a severe snowstorm that delayed their return. By the time they got back to Zhuanglang Guard, Lu Cheng was rushing to deliver New Year gifts to the Marquis of Yingchuan, and Zhao Ling had never received her letter.

“Really!” Fu Tingyun murmured with a flushed face. After searching for a while without finding a suitable box for the letter, she specifically instructed Zheng San to go to the street and buy a red lacquered box carved with intertwining branch patterns. She carefully placed the letter inside and hid it in the cabinet by her bedside.

That night, by the dim light of her lamp, she quietly wrote a reply to Zhao Ling.

She asked only about his daily life, not mentioning anything else.