Let’s get married.

Chapter 047: Let’s Get Married

Zhu Xishi was so furious she was nearly out of breath, but she knew full well that no matter how loudly she shouted now, her voice would never rise above the storm-like clamor engulfing them. Was enduring in silence truly her only option? Yet when they left, Fang Rulai had seemed so confident, inviting her to witness a spectacle. She was certain this wasn’t the kind of drama where they’d simply be berated and swallow the insults.

With these thoughts swirling, Zhu Xishi tilted her head to look at Fang Rulai beside her: Is this the grand show you promised me?

Of course not. Fang Rulai’s gaze pierced through the throng, fixing on a figure in a wide-brimmed hat. That person hadn’t crowded forward like the others, nor even faced their way, but Fang Rulai’s keen senses told her that the instigator behind the crowd’s agitation stood precisely there.

“Hey, what are you thinking? Hurry up and deal with this situation,” Zhu Xishi glared fiercely at Fang Rulai, lowering her voice in warning.

Amid the surrounding outcry, even Fang Rulai, standing closest, could barely make out Zhu Xishi’s words. Yet she noticed instantly that as her voice died away, the hatted figure turned their head precisely in their direction. As if he could hear, or more so, as if he was standing there waiting for Fang Rulai’s response—a response he no doubt hoped she would fail to deliver.

How would she answer, cornered at her own door?

Should she mimic the officials’ usual ambiguous replies: “This is a private matter. I have the right not to respond”? In ordinary times, such a cautious, reserved answer might suffice. But in a face-to-face confrontation, it would only pour oil on the flames—“Mind your own business!”—and the first to be “resolved” would be the speaker herself.

Or should she, in utter helplessness and solemnity, lament, “Amitabha, I accompanied her on a friend’s request and cohabited under one roof only out of necessity. Though I knew it might lead to misunderstanding, I saw no better way to return the young Lord Ke’s soul to Ping City as soon as possible”? However noble the sentiment, it would only invite contempt—“If you’re so capable, tell me how to complete the task without risking your reputation”—making her appear as though she were shirking responsibility.

If she sought nothing else, she’d choose the first: proudly shout, “I’ll do as I please—what business is it of yours?” then turn and leave. Let them gossip all they like—what did it matter to her?

If she were endlessly patient, she’d choose the second: gently and reasonably seek forgiveness, paving her way into the Zhao residence to pursue her goal of connecting with the Salt Guild. These people were just pawns, after all; to take them seriously was to lose.

Unfortunately, she was neither. She was determined to win the Salt Guild’s favor, yet unwilling to let herself be maneuvered even a little. If the hatted figure imagined this ploy would keep her outside the gates, he was gravely mistaken.

“Amitabha,” Fang Rulai intoned, her clear, resonant voice cutting through the boiling clamor like a heavy boulder dropped into a raging sea.

Often, when two forces clash head-on, victory is determined not by the size of one’s following but by the strength of one’s presence. Such presence is not merely the ease of a clear conscience but an aura that radiates, “I don’t take you seriously at all.”

To put it simply: make as much noise as you want; to me, you’re just a bunch of unruly children.

The crowd abruptly fell silent.

All eyes turned, reflecting Fang Rulai’s calm detachment, as if she were a Buddha gazing serenely at the mortal world.

“It is said this humble monk journeyed with this lady. Who spread the tale? Who saw it?” Fang Rulai asked, her tone so even it was as if she were not an involved party.

All along, Bansummer and Mu Zhi Jin had taken shifts keeping watch, ensuring no one could catch them unawares. Fang Rulai was certain: apart from those who saw her and Zhu Xishi together at the city gates of Ping, no one else could have come within a hundred paces of their carriage.

To make a fuss over this? The mastermind behind it was doomed to disappointment.

As expected, the crowd choked up. One pointed at another, “Wasn’t it you who said that?”

“No, I heard it from him.”

“And you?”

“Him.”

Fingers circled round, pointing from one to the next, until at last they returned to the very first accuser.

Zhu Xishi’s laughter rang out, “Ha! So after all your shouting, it’s nothing but baseless rumor and wild speculation! This is hilarious—”

“But what about you spending the night under the same roof as that monk?” The hatted figure’s voice rang out from behind the crowd, abruptly cutting Zhu Xishi off. “There are plenty who saw you both enter the same house yesterday evening and not leave until this morning.”

“So what? Seeing us enter the same house means we shared a room? Produce your witness and let’s confront each other face to face,” Zhu Xishi retorted, having learned that the best way to win a war of words was to press for specifics.

The hatted person chuckled, “Oh? So you want to demand ‘who witnessed it’ again? Well, as it happens, the very person who saw it is right here. Lu Old Eight!”

At the summons, a burly, dark-faced man stepped forward, taking his place at the front of the crowd.

“Tell everyone exactly what you saw last night,” the hatted man instructed.

“Last afternoon, the Zhao family’s outer house called us in to trim the gardens, saying a distinguished guest from Shengjing was coming and everything had to be perfect. Tempted by the generous pay, we worked into the night without even stopping to eat. Just as dusk fell, the smell of braised pork drifted out. After a day’s hunger, we forgot all about the steward’s orders not to peek and snuck a look. And what did we see? Would’ve been better if I hadn’t!” Lu Old Eight pounded his thigh with indignation. “It was her—a widow, carrying a bowl of braised pork, heading straight into the monk’s room. She didn’t come out even after we’d finished our work near midnight. Immoral! Scandalous!”

His face twisted in disgust, Lu Old Eight’s words left Zhu Xishi gnashing her teeth, unable to find a shred of rebuttal. She knew that, in truth, last night had unfolded just as they described, and the spies had indeed begun their work from the morning. Now she bitterly regretted her earlier insistence on “confronting specifics.” They had specifics now—how was she to explain?

Seeing Zhu Xishi fall silent, the crowd grew bolder.

“Didn’t you want a witness? Here he is—so explain yourself! Defend yourself!”

“Hah, looks like you’re out of excuses, aren’t you? Caught red-handed—what can you say now? Shameless—”

“Amitabha,” Fang Rulai spoke sharply, cutting off the insult before it could land. “Good sir, please mind your words. Zhu benefactress is not refusing to explain—she is waiting for another to speak. Please, everyone, be patient—”

“Then bring that person out at once!” barked the hatted figure, silencing Fang Rulai. “Or is it that the two of you have nothing left to say, and are simply stalling for time?”

Zhu Xishi’s nerves frayed, and she darted a glance at Fang Rulai: Someone else will explain? Who? Other than Fang Rulai, there had been no one else in that room last night. How could Fang Rulai twist the undeniable facts into something unrelated to her reputation? And if not Fang Rulai, then who?

“I will!” A voice, languid and flirtatious, rang out from beyond the crowd. “Let me explain.”

For some reason, Zhu Xishi’s heart skipped a beat. That voice?

All eyes turned toward a black carriage, from which emerged a man in plain black robes—yet every glance and gesture dripped with allure.

Mu Zhi Jin.

A murmur spread through the crowd. “Who is he? Doesn’t he look like Madam Mu from the Hundred Flowers House?”

“Could it be the son who was sent to Shengjing as a child, became a top scholar, but was banished to the Chu Courtesan House when his identity was uncovered?”

“That’s right! I remember now—it’s him! But why is he back in Ping City? When did he return? And what’s his connection to this widow?”

While the crowd whispered, Fang Rulai also pondered Mu Zhi Jin’s sudden return to his seductive manners. She had sent Bansummer ahead to summon him for help, but she hadn’t expected him to appear like this. Since leaving Shengjing and dispatching their pursuers, Mu Zhi Jin had shown only the cold, masculine side of himself before her and Zhu Xishi—so much so, she’d nearly forgotten his past as a courtesan.

Yet today, the charm returned. Why? This Mu Zhi Jin, who disdained all things feminine yet cast aside such prejudice without hesitation to protect her and Zhu Xishi when danger loomed, the so-called “sissy” Zhu Xishi mocked but whom she saw as a principled man of action—what secrets lay behind the seductive front he now showed the world?

Mu Zhi Jin swayed forward, every step dripping with affectation beneath the scrutiny of the crowd.

“Xishi, forgive me for being late.”

His voice was honeyed, his gaze tender.

The crowd shivered with delight before their eyes lit up with excitement—there was drama here.

Zhu Xishi rubbed at the goosebumps on her arms, expressionless and uneasy.

“Xishi, my mother has agreed to let you redeem my freedom. You’ll no longer need to spend your nights praying before the master for my sake.”

Had they said she spent the night in the monk’s room? Quite right! But it was to pray, hoping to be with me.

“Xishi, from today, you’ll no longer need to sneak red-braised pork to me under the guise of feeding the master.”

Had she brought braised pork into the monk’s room? Also right! But it was because I was in there, meeting her in secret.

“Xishi, from today, I’ll not let you suffer the slings and arrows of gossip, nor bear silent heartache for my sake.”

She couldn’t defend herself because she wanted to protect her beloved.

“Xishi, thank you. Let’s get married!”

Special thanks to dear Manman for your heartfelt encouragement! May your business trip be filled with romance!