Chapter 47: Jealousy

The man’s face was dark, as if she owed him money. That was Liu Chuyan’s first impression upon meeting him.

Han Shujing, too, sensed something was amiss. The messenger had said Han Zhen was waiting at the palace gates—so where was he?

“Madam Han, Miss Han,” Xue Ao greeted, pausing deliberately to ignore Liu Chuyan before clasping his fists and continuing, “Brother Han Zhen had originally come with a carriage to fetch you, but along the way he ran into some scoundrels, got into a fight, and was injured, so he cannot come to welcome you himself. I happened to be passing by, and hearing I might fetch a few young ladies from the Han estate, volunteered to do so in his stead. After all, Brother Han Zhen and I are quite close, and your family’s young ladies are dear friends with my sister. I hope my arrival has not startled you, Madam Han.”

Lies spoken with open eyes, Liu Chuyan thought bitterly. But with Rong Mingxiu and Han Shujing present, it wasn’t her place to speak. She only watched to see how they would respond.

Madam Han pursed her lips in silence. Illness? More likely it was a tale spread by the Duke of Xinguo’s household. Yet the men and horses behind Xue Ao were indeed from the Han estate, and even the carriage was one she’d ridden before—it hardly seemed a ruse. Perhaps the Han and Xue households had conspired together, hoping to help the young ladies escape the palace, and above all, to spirit away Liu Chuyan, who had nearly won the emperor’s favor.

She glanced sidelong at Liu Chuyan, who merely frowned in confusion, quietly waiting for her to speak. She disliked her for that—how could just a simple expression be so enchanting? It was just as well Han Zhen hadn’t come; at least he wouldn’t have to be bewitched by her again. Whether he’d been waylaid by villains or gentlemen, it would suit her just fine if he never returned to embarrass her again.

Han Shujing sighed inwardly. Rong-shi was as petty as ever, making no effort to restrain herself even before outsiders; it truly damaged the reputation of the Marquis Wukang’s household. Even women from humble origins conducted themselves with more propriety than this legitimate, though second-born, daughter of a marquis. If she’d known things would turn out this way, she’d never have let her marry into their family as the eldest grandson’s wife. Yet as the lady of the house, she had to handle this—Han Shuwei and Liu Chuyan were both still unmarried. So she stepped forward, curtsied, and said, “If that is the case, then we must trouble you, Second Master Xue.”

“Mm.” Xue Ao grunted through his nose, turned his horse aside, and instructed his men to help the ladies into the carriage. All the while, he glared at Liu Chuyan, who looked bewildered and unaware. After what she’d done, she didn’t seem the least bit ashamed. Did she not realize that if not for him, she’d likely have been forced to atone for her crime with her life tomorrow?

Ah, she really didn’t know. He’d worried for nothing. Infuriating!

No, he had to make sure she knew—it was he who had suppressed those rumors for her. Xue Ao was not one to do good deeds and leave them without a name. Stroking his chin, he noticed new stubble pricking through and resolved to shave it later.

As Liu Chuyan moved, she could feel the burning gaze of anger on her back, as if it might bore a hole through her. She glanced back furtively and met Xue Ao’s fiery stare, his face taut, teeth clenched—did he mean to devour her?

When had she ever offended him?

Surely not. If it was about the Duke of Xinguo’s affair, Han Tan or Madam Xue should be the ones to be angry—especially Madam Xue, who would probably be delighted, for no one else would ever throw themselves into the fire as Liu Chuyan had. As for Han Tan, he had been gentle as the spring waters of Jiangnan, not at all like someone about to blame her.

Since none of those involved had come forward to reproach her, what strange business was Xue Ao making of it?

He was always rude, but today his behavior was even more baffling.

Liu Chuyan bit her lip and glared back at him—but just once. She was eager to return home to see her grandaunt and had no time to bicker with him. Lifting her skirt, she prepared to board.

Unrepentant. Xue Ao, watching her expression, gripped his whip tightly in anger and spurred his horse hard. His black-maned steed, sensing its master’s fury, reared and neighed sharply.

Liu Chuyan was just stepping into the carriage when the harsh sound startled her. Her foot slipped, and she almost fell. Song Ling was in front, Qing He behind, both holding her hands; they shrieked as she wobbled and toppled sideways.

“Can’t even step onto a carriage!” Xue Ao shouted angrily, already tossing aside his whip and leaping down. He caught her around the waist just before she hit the ground. His expression—part rebuke, part concern—had lost much of its earlier anger.

Liu Chuyan, already frightened, was brought to tears by his scolding before she could even thank him.

“You—” Xue Ao saw the tears brimming in her eyes and felt his words catch in his throat.

Han Shujing and Rong-shi had already boarded the front carriage. This one was for Liu Chuyan and Han Shuwei, but Han Shuwei had gone ahead. Only a few servants remained outside, whispering among themselves at the scene.

Xue Ao glared at them, his sharp look silencing everyone. Even Song Ling and Qing He dropped their gazes, not daring to look further.

“There now, don’t cry. It’s just a twisted ankle; you didn’t even fall,” Xue Ao said, awkward in his attempt to comfort her, but his tone had softened.

Yet, to Liu Chuyan in that moment, anything from his lips sounded unbearably harsh. She pinched his arm in anger as she straightened up.

For a man trained in martial arts like Xue Ao, her pinch was like an ant tickling an elephant—he barely felt it. But her childish gesture made him laugh. “All right, all right.”

“All right, nothing!” Liu Chuyan brushed off his hand irritably.

“Isn’t it?” At her words, Xue Ao’s jealousy and anger flared again. This woman was hopeless. When Han Tan rescued her, it was good; when he did, it was not?

“No, it’s not,” Liu Chuyan retorted, shaking off his hand without a hint of politeness.

Xue Ao would not let her go. He pulled her back by the waist, drawing close. “I haven’t treated you well?”

In broad daylight and at the palace gates, no less—though there weren’t many passersby, they were all guards. Liu Chuyan dared not provoke him further. She dropped her gaze and softened her voice, “It was my mistake, Second Master Xue. Please find it in your heart to forgive me. Otherwise, if others see, I’ll never clear my name.”

“And being so close with my brother improves your reputation?”

“Anyone with sense knows my reasons. Don’t slander me!” Rebuffed one too many times, Liu Chuyan glared at him, her temper rising higher than his. “Anyone with a shred of propriety and understanding wouldn’t blame me for this or gossip behind my back.”

“You—” Xue Ao was exasperated. He was angry, yes, but in those circumstances, Liu Chuyan had truly had no choice. If he’d been there, it wouldn’t have happened at all. In the end, it was his fault—he hadn’t protected her properly. With that thought, he suddenly slapped himself.

“Second Master Xue, you—” Liu Chuyan was stunned by the crisp sound of the slap. Had he lost his wits today?

“Zisheng.”

As the two tangled, someone approached.

Startled, Liu Chuyan pushed Xue Ao away and, refusing help, climbed into the carriage herself, ignoring all decorum.

Caught off guard, Xue Ao staggered back a couple steps before steadying himself. Recognizing the newcomer, he sighed, “Fu Yun, it’s you.”

Hearing it was Zhou Fuyun, Liu Chuyan settled herself and lifted a corner of the curtain to look. The man was about twenty-seven or twenty-eight, broad-shouldered and slim-waisted, robust and athletic, a longsword at his hip—a striking figure. His face was tanned, and his manner exuded honesty and sincerity. His eyes, clear and direct, lent him a quiet, stubborn dignity, even if not conventionally handsome.

Xue Ao, catching Liu Chuyan’s curious glance, pulled Zhou Fuyun aside to speak in a low voice. “You’re on duty today?”

“I heard about Miss Liu’s situation,” Zhou Fuyun replied, not answering directly, his gaze drifting to Han Shujing’s carriage.

He must have been watching all along, Xue Ao thought, giving him a friendly punch and turning away in frustration. “Brother, I’ve really lost this time.”

“I know. Prince Xin told me everything.”

“He told you?” Xue Ao turned sharply, staring at Zhou Fuyun in disbelief. But Zhou Fuyun was too honest to lie. Xue Ao’s knuckles cracked with irritation—he’d have to deal with that little troublemaker later, going around and spreading his secrets everywhere.

Zhou Fuyun grinned sheepishly. “Brother, you’re not young anymore. Prince Xin was afraid you’d be angry with him, so he sent me to talk to you. He said he did all he could. As for Miss Liu, even if you’d been there, you might not have been able to protect her. Fortunately—”

“Fortunately, what…” Xue Ao scuffed the ground, chest tight. “She’s driving me mad.”

“But isn’t she perfectly fine?” Zhou Fuyun’s honest eyes gleamed as he smiled.

“Hmph—” Xue Ao snorted, following his gaze. Then, with a sly grin, “Brother, when are you going to propose to the Han family?”

“Nothing’s settled yet,” Zhou Fuyun said, embarrassed, lowering his head and rubbing his nose.

Xue Ao’s stern expression finally eased, and he laughed. “Don’t think I don’t know. You’re not even supposed to be on duty today; what are you doing here?”

“Zhu Laosan is sick, so I’m covering for him,” Zhou Fuyun explained, flustered.

“Fuyun, you can’t lie—I know you too well. Look at you, sweating all over. What are you so nervous for?” Xue Ao teased, wiping Zhou Fuyun’s forehead with two fingers.

Zhou Fuyun, flustered, wiped his brow too, but it was dry—no sweat at all. Realizing he’d been tricked, he glared at Xue Ao in frustration.

Bantering with his friend eased much of Xue Ao’s resentment. He nudged Zhou Fuyun’s arm. “Look, Miss Han is watching you.”

Zhou Fuyun’s heart skipped a beat. He lowered his hand and saw Han Shujing’s carriage curtain flutter. His mouth moved as if to speak, and he thought, I’ve lost face in front of her again.

“Big silly brother,” Xue Ao laughed, clapping him on the shoulder before mounting his horse. “Let me know when you’re proposing—I’ll go with you.”

“As if I’d want that,” Zhou Fuyun muttered, knowing Xue Ao’s upright appearance hid a mischievous streak. He dared not say it aloud, though, and just stared at Han Shujing’s softly swaying curtain. The beauty was so near, yet out of sight. At least he’d managed a glimpse earlier; otherwise, the separation of a curtain would have been unbearable.

“Second Master Xue, are we leaving?”

Just as he was counting his luck, Heaven rewarded him again—Han Shujing lifted the curtain, revealing her charming face and called out to Xue Ao.

Author’s Note: Two men who ought to be kindred spirits, but thanks to the hero’s mischievousness, the honest one must suffer for now. But fortunes change—one day Lord Zhou will watch him and laugh triumphantly, hands on hips!