Chapter 39 — A Proposal Without Flowers

CHAPTER 39

A Proposal Without Flowers

“Somewhere with fewer ears,” Ling Qingzhu said, with a glance at the surrounding stalls that made several curious men suddenly remember errands.

“Quiet costs money near this square,” Shi Feng said.

Her gaze went over the shouting medicine sellers, the stacked herb baskets and the cloth bag in his hand. Whatever she was about to say, she swallowed it.

“There’s a tea house across the street,” Ling Qingzhu said. “My treat.”

Shi Feng thought: a sensible way to start. The square watched them cross together, and the square was full of opinions.

“Fairy Ling is taking the cripple to tea!”

“Out of pity, surely.”

“…”

The attendant at the Cloud Mist Tea House recognised her before he even saw the spirit stones in her hand. His back bent so fast that Shi Feng wondered if the house taught a secret waist technique.

“Fairy Ling honours us! The east screen, open the east screen!” Luo Ping shouted, and three boys ran in three directions.

The screen closed behind them. Ling Qingzhu kept her veil on. This was a tea house, not her home. She shielded its lower edge with her hand when drinking, showing nobody her face. Her porcelain cup had painted clouds. Shi Feng’s had a crack beneath the handle.

He swapped them before Luo Ping finished pouring.

“Fairy Ling’s cup is damaged,” Shi Feng said calmly.

Luo Ping nearly dropped the pot. Both cups vanished and two new ones arrived. Through the gap in the screen, Shi Feng watched Luo Ping smack the boy who’d brought the cracked cup.

“A thousand pardons! The kiln sent us rubbish,” Luo Ping called through the screen.

“Then I hope you’ve stopped paying the kiln,” Shi Feng said, and the screen went very quiet.

Ling Qingzhu waited for it to stop shaking. Then she looked at Shi Feng, who took the chair facing the door. Up close, he was even better-looking. His ruined meridians were unfortunate, but there was nothing wrong with his face. At least she wouldn’t have to suffer every time she looked at her temporary husband.

“You took the seat facing the door,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Expecting trouble?”

“People usually ask what I want before they take me somewhere expensive,” Shi Feng said.

“Nobody dragged you here,” Ling Qingzhu said. “You walked in. On your own feet.”

“You offered to pay willingly,” Shi Feng said. “We’re off to a promising start.”

She lowered her eyes. A small red mark had appeared where her thumb pressed the cup, and she still hadn’t drunk. Shi Feng saw it, and her expression gave her away. He thought: the face that cost half the square their wits belongs to someone who hates what she’s about to say.

He waited. A good view didn’t mean he had to rescue its owner from silence.

“I need a husband,” Ling Qingzhu said.

Shi Feng glanced at the screen. It stayed shut, and no laughing young masters burst out to enjoy the joke.

“Then your carriage stopped at the wrong stall,” Shi Feng said, unmoved.

“A temporary one!” Ling Qingzhu’s voice didn’t waver, though her thumb pressed harder. “Real in public. A contract in private. You’d be paid, obviously.”

Outside, a vendor praised a miracle tonic that restored a man’s courage. Shi Feng briefly thought about asking whether the tea house allowed outside medicine.

“What does real in public mean?” Shi Feng asked.

“A registered marriage. Papers, witnesses, the whole thing,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Everyone has to believe it.”

“Everyone includes the man you’re refusing,” Shi Feng said. “Who is he?”

“Crown Prince Sima Yu,” Ling Qingzhu said. “His household is arranging the match. Nobody has asked whether I want it.”

“Sima Yu?” Luo Ping whispered from beyond the screen. “The crown prince? Impossible!”

On the other side of the screen, something hit a tray with a clang. Somebody had been listening, and now he was very sorry.

Shi Feng’s heart tightened. He turned his cup once and thought: some proposals make a man rich, and some make his funeral expensive. This one does both.

“You should have started with that,” Shi Feng said flatly.

“Would you have come if I had?” Ling Qingzhu asked.

“I would have ordered better tea,” Shi Feng said.

For a moment she almost smiled. Then her gaze slid to his wrist, where a pale line from the splint still showed.

“I know how things stand with you,” Ling Qingzhu said, softer. “Nothing improper. So relax.”

There it was, the diagnosis, handed over with a kindness that assumed it had settled his future. Shi Feng put both hands on the table.

“You know what people say about my situation,” Shi Feng said. “You don’t know my price.”

Men had stared at her eyes, her waist and the veil they wanted her to remove. This one was pricing the trouble of burying himself.

“Then name it,” Ling Qingzhu said, a shade colder. “I’m not short on stones.”

“First tell me what the job is,” Shi Feng said. “A porter wants to know whether he’s carrying rice or a sleeping tiger before he agrees to the stairs.”

“It blocks a match I never agreed to,” Ling Qingzhu said. “There is no betrothal contract yet. I need time to leave their arrangements behind. Your future stays yours.”

“That part was already mine,” Shi Feng said.

The thumb mark on the cup got deeper. She took a breath and went on, short and precise. His courtyard was one room and a kitchen. She would take the bed, and he would take the floor. He would go out with her on certain occasions, call himself her husband and never contradict their story. Everything else would be in writing.

Shi Feng listened without cutting in. Not bad, he thought. She’s proud, and she’s still trying to be fair. She came looking for a shield, but at least she noticed a shield might have opinions.

“Can I leave the house?” Shi Feng asked.

“Of course you can,” Ling Qingzhu said.

“Can I earn my own spirit stones?” Shi Feng asked.

“Earn all you like. I’d think less of you otherwise,” Ling Qingzhu said.

“Can I turn down an invitation?” Shi Feng asked.

“As long as we talk about it first,” Ling Qingzhu said, after the smallest pause.

One of his brows rose.

“Then that’s a request, not a guarantee,” Shi Feng said. “Write it honestly when the time comes.”

Ling Qingzhu glanced at the screen. The shadow of a pair of shoes had been sitting under it for far too long.

“We asked for privacy,” Ling Qingzhu said, without raising her voice at all. “Is the floor so interesting?”

“Run!” Luo Ping gasped outside.

The shoes vanished with a squeak.

Shi Feng reached for the dish of roasted seeds. Whatever came of this, he meant to get his money’s worth out of the place. The first seed was hollow, so he put the shell beside the plate and picked another.

Ling Qingzhu watched. She’d prepared for a refusal born of humiliation, for anger over his broken engagement, even for some shameless demand. She hadn’t prepared to negotiate a marriage while the husband checked the tea house’s seeds one at a time. Her expression changed, and she was stunned into silence for a breath.

“You’re not even surprised,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Does everyone propose to you over tea?”

“I was surprised,” Shi Feng said. “Then you named Sima Yu. Now I’m wondering why you think I’d survive being picked.”

“My household would have obligations to you too!” Ling Qingzhu said, too quickly.

He met her eyes. There was no mockery in his face now.

“You answered fast,” Shi Feng said. “Promises are easy when the danger belongs to someone else. Tell me what’s backing yours.”

Ling Qingzhu put down her untouched cup, and Shi Feng left the seeds alone.

“And tell me,” Shi Feng said, “why a marriage would stop a royal household that has never asked what you think.”

Shi Feng thought: at last, this conversation is worth my time.