“They both came,” Wang Shi said. “They came to offer incense and mourned, but your Uncle Shuzu quickly took them away, saying there were important matters to discuss. Ah, only those two know about your grandfather’s affairs.”

Wang Shi wasn’t particularly concerned about these two. She was more concerned about Chengbo. “Sanniang, you must secure Chengbo. Though your dowry has all been organized, some of it is still in your grandfather’s courtyard. You’ll need Chengbo to retrieve it.”

That was only the openly acknowledged dowry. The truly valuable items were elsewhere.

Still, Zhao Hanzhang nodded. She already had a plan—she needed to meet with Ji Yuan first.

Zhao Erlang was still young with a child’s nature. Wang Shi had been frightened and worried all day and was exhausted. Zhao Hanzhang didn’t make them keep the full night vigil, having Qinggu and the others help them back to rest.

The servants also withdrew. Aside from the two guarding the door, only Zhao Hanzhang and Fu Tinghan remained in the mourning hall.

Fu Tinghan had also changed into mourning clothes. He wasn’t carrying a mourning staff and was observing齐衰 (qīshuāi – second degree mourning), the same level as Zhao Ji, who had inherited Zhao Changyu’s title. This was why everyone in the Zhao household hadn’t stopped him from keeping vigil with Zhao Hanzhang. As a son-in-law, it was already extremely filial of him to observe xiǎogōng (lesser mourning); observing齐衰 meant even the most critical—Zhao Zhongyu and Zhao Ji—couldn’t find fault.

Fu Tinghan refilled the lamp oil and sat back beside Zhao Hanzhang, saying quietly: “Do you want to rest a bit? You haven’t slept for two days and nights since last night.”

Zhao Hanzhang: “My cerebral cortex is extremely active. I can’t sleep for the moment. You haven’t closed your eyes either. Want to lean against something?”

Fu Tinghan thought for a moment. “Why don’t we talk? Expressing yourself can help disperse emotions. Once the emotions settle, you should be able to sleep.”

Zhao Hanzhang unconsciously grabbed a handful of sorghum stalks and tossed them into the brazier. “What should we talk about?”

Fu Tinghan paused. “I didn’t expect your feelings for the Zhao family to run so deep.”

After all, she was the one who had always thought about returning, and she was the one who couldn’t let go of the people here.

Zhao Hanzhang lowered her eyes to look at her pale fingers, but turning them over revealed calluses on her palms and fingertips—calluses left from the young girl’s reading and martial practice. Like her, the girl had always worked hard to live, striving to make herself better and help those around her live a little better.

“Zhao Changyu treated me very well,” Zhao Hanzhang said. “He was kind-hearted and upright. We feel empathy even for strangers—how much more so when we’ve lived together day and night for over a month?”

Zhao Hanzhang wasn’t a cold person. During this month-plus, Zhao Changyu had schemed for her at every turn. Even knowing he did it for his own granddaughter and grandson, she inhabited this body—how could she separate it?

Fu Tinghan reached for a handful of sorghum stalks and gave them to her, asking quietly: “Now, do you still want to go back?”

Zhao Hanzhang turned to look at him. “Of course. I have feelings for the people here, but that doesn’t prevent me from still wanting to return.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Professor Fu doesn’t want to go back?”

Fu Tinghan sighed. “I do, but I think the feasibility is very low. I don’t want you to hope too much. I don’t want you to be too disappointed.”

Zhao Hanzhang sat up straight, studying him intently. “Professor Fu, did we know each other before?”

Fu Tinghan looked up at her with a smile, though the corners of his mouth held a bitter tinge. “I attended both junior and senior high at No. 22 Middle School.”

“But I went to No. 24 Middle…” Zhao Hanzhang trailed off. No. 24 Middle School was directly across from No. 22 Middle School—the two schools faced each other, even competing in academic performance with a certain rivalry, as if two kings refusing to acknowledge each other.

No. 22 Middle School, huh…

Zhao Hanzhang dredged up distant memories, looking at Fu Tinghan in surprise. “You’re that classmate from No. 22 Middle who skipped grades the same year I did?”

Fu Tinghan: “Yes. For two years of junior high, at every final exam, either you were first or I was first.”

“In the third year, you skipped to senior high. By such coincidence, I also skipped to senior high. The first semester, you were first, I was second.” Fu Tinghan stared into her eyes and fell silent.

Zhao Hanzhang also reached up to touch her own eyes, chuckling softly. “Ah, I remember now. After that, you were always first, right? I occasionally heard classmates mention that No. 22 Middle had a very impressive student who was first in the entire city every semester, leaving second place far behind. I heard you went straight to a university’s gifted youth program.”

Fu Tinghan lowered his eyes. “That’s because you had to repeat a grade…”

When Zhao Hanzhang had her car accident and came out of the hospital, both her eyes were blind. Between rehabilitation and learning Braille, she essentially started from scratch. When she returned to school, she had already fallen behind a full grade.

Zhao Hanzhang looked at him in surprise. “So Professor Fu has known me all along?”

Fu Tinghan didn’t deny it.

Zhao Hanzhang felt a bit awkward. Thinking of her reputation at school, she felt it damaged her youthful prestige, so she tried to salvage it: “I was actually always quite courteous and mild-mannered.”

Fu Tinghan couldn’t help laughing, looking at her with gentle eyes. “I know. You kicked Teacher Jin because he was too annoying.”

Zhao Hanzhang: “…How did you know I used my foot? He always said I pushed him.”

“That’s why my testimony said I didn’t see you push anyone.”

Zhao Hanzhang looked at him, at a loss for words. “That anonymous witness who testified for me was you?”

“It didn’t originally need to be anonymous, but the dean said since we taught at the same school, making it public wouldn’t look good. Everyone trusted me anyway, so they used my testimony but kept my name from both parties.”

Zhao Hanzhang said sincerely: “Thank you. Without your testimony then, the one who would have had to leave the school would have been me.”

So Fu Tinghan had actually known her all along? Then…

“About the blind date before coming here…”

Fu Tinghan changed the subject. “Zhao Changyu left you so much—can you actually get it all?”

Zhao Hanzhang looked at his thoroughly reddened ears, staring for a moment before saying: “Mm, it shouldn’t be a big problem as long as Ji Yuan doesn’t stab me in the back.”

After chatting for a while, Zhao Hanzhang’s brain relaxed and she actually became drowsy. Her eyes slowly closed and her head began to nod.

Seeing her head about to drop, Fu Tinghan quickly reached out to catch it, gently guiding it toward himself and letting her lean on his shoulder.

Zhao Hanzhang unconsciously opened her eyes briefly, saw it was him, then closed them again.

Seeing her sleep with closed eyes, Fu Tinghan’s anxious heart slowly settled. He relaxed his shoulder to let her rest more comfortably.

Fu Tinghan looked down at this familiar face from memory, feeling momentarily dazed. More than once he had encountered her at the school gate—just across one street, she was always surrounded by many people. Everyone liked being friends with her. Each time he passed before her eyes, he could hear her cheerful laughter.

Fu Tinghan extended a finger, wanting to touch her cheek. Before making contact, Zhao Hanzhang’s head suddenly moved. He immediately withdrew his hand and sat up properly…

—