Chapter 40 — The Man Who Could Not Refuse

CHAPTER 40

The Man Who Could Not Refuse

“The consort sends gifts,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Silk for my aunts, medicine for an elder. Returning them insults the palace. Keeping them means remembering its kindness.”

“And the crown prince?” Shi Feng asked.

“He leaves the arrangements to his household,” Ling Qingzhu said. “He has never needed to chase anyone. His steward sends invitations. My relatives tell me how fortunate I am.”

“Then your relatives can accept,” Shi Feng said.

“One uncle's court appointment is waiting,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Our northern warehouse permit has been delayed twice. Another elder thinks becoming the crown prince's family will settle everything.”

Shi Feng stopped turning his cup. Nobody had threatened her with a sword. They had found enough other things to hold over her head.

“No decree or signed betrothal?” Shi Feng asked.

“Neither,” Ling Qingzhu said. “But the Grand Tutor's people have started congratulating my elders. Men who offered to help me refuse the palace have sons of their own.”

“Why can't your clan refuse together?” Shi Feng asked.

“The Sima clan has several early Golden Core experts,” Ling Qingzhu said. “The other great houses have one or two each. Even united, our elders would first argue about who takes the loss.”

“And the royal ancestor?” Shi Feng asked.

“He left after a powerful force beyond this region recruited him,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Nobody here knows his present realm, his position, or whether he still watches Great Liang. The uncertainty keeps people cautious.”

“Convenient for his descendants,” Shi Feng said.

“Less convenient in this case,” Ling Qingzhu said. “He forbade the royal house from taking a married woman. The rule is still in the kingdom register. A clerk cannot set it aside to please a steward.”

Shi Feng glanced at the screen. That was a better answer than hoping a prince would be embarrassed.

“A real marriage gives them a law they can't quietly forget,” Shi Feng said.

“And gives my own elders something to point to,” Ling Qingzhu said. “They can stop discussing bridal gifts without declaring themselves enemies of the palace.”

“For how long?” Shi Feng asked.

“I intend to enter a Great Sect,” Ling Qingzhu said. “Its disciples are outside the kingdom's marriage arrangements. Once a sect accepts me, a household invitation cannot call me home to be married off.”

“Those sects aren't frightened into obeying a missing ancestor?” Shi Feng asked.

“They avoid unnecessary trouble with the royal bloodline,” Ling Qingzhu said. “That doesn't make the Sima household their master. They choose and shelter their own disciples.”

“And if His Highness decides he'd rather have a widow?” Shi Feng asked.

Ling Qingzhu's fingers stopped against the cup.

“The rule protects the marriage,” Ling Qingzhu said after a moment. “It can't stop a knife. My household would have to protect you too.”

“Assassins don't usually introduce themselves,” Shi Feng said.

“Then put the protection in writing,” Ling Qingzhu said, lifting her chin. “I'm offering a bargain, not asking you to trust a pretty promise.”

He leaned back. Her plan could annoy a prince, and it would certainly buy her time. But neither result explained why she’d picked a man the whole capital believed couldn’t protect himself.

“You picked me because I can’t compete with him,” Shi Feng said.

“I picked you because you have no faction,” Ling Qingzhu said. “A powerful house would take one refusal as permission to arrange another. Another husband could give my clan to another faction. You’re the only man who wants nothing from me. Or so I thought.”

“And because you believe I can’t compete with him,” Shi Feng said again.

“…” Ling Qingzhu’s thumb went still against the cup.

She didn’t answer fast enough, and both of them heard it.

Shi Feng sighed in his heart, and his expression stayed flat. There were crueller reasons to pick him, and kinder ways to admit this one. But he preferred an honest ugly answer to a pretty one that cost him his neck.

He stood up.

“I’ll think about a deal,” Shi Feng said. “I won’t think about being your convenient idiot. Go find out what you’re asking me to risk.”

“Shi Feng! Sit down, I’m not finished!” Ling Qingzhu said, half rising herself.

“You’re finished deciding for both of us,” Shi Feng said. “When you’re ready to talk, send word.”

He left his cup untouched and walked out.

Ling Qingzhu stared at the empty chair. She had prepared for bitterness or eagerness. She had not prepared to be dismissed.

Luo Ping slid in with a fresh pot, saw the empty seat and froze.

“Fairy Ling, the young master… did he step out?” Luo Ping asked.

“Bring the bill,” Ling Qingzhu said, her eyes cold above the veil. “And don’t say one word.”

The tea house was stunned. By dinner, every attendant on the street knew.

“He walked out on her!”

“And she paid?”

“Impossible!”

“…”

At the western market, Shi Feng stopped outside the Hengyun permit office. Its board marked deep ravines where herbs that fed the marrow grew.

“How much for that ground?” Shi Feng asked.

“Forty spirit stones for ten days. Gathering costs extra,” Jia Wenlin said, glancing at his worn cuff.

“Your mountain understands business,” Shi Feng said.

A carriage stopped outside. Its servant presented a household pass. Jia Wenlin's voice softened, and no stones changed hands. The gathering slip covered every ground the common permit excluded.

Shi Feng remembered the seal, the boundaries and the clerk’s sudden new voice. He thought: so a household name opens what stones can’t. This was worth more than any purse.

He bought a cheap map at the next stall.

At home, Shi Feng practised the movements that tempered the unfinished stretches of his bones. The progress was real. So was the hunger that followed, and confidence couldn’t turn an empty pot into a spirit beast.

Rent, food, medicine, permits. On paper, by the lamp, his savings looked like a brave little army surrounded on every side. He could hunt, he could endure, and he could kill men who mistook him for easy prey. But he wouldn’t let Ling Qingzhu’s opinion of him become a term of the job.

A knock interrupted his counting. Bao Shun stood at the gate wearing the face of a man who’d just realised a beautiful woman and a fallen genius might both need his services.

“A message, young master! Bao Shun delivered it personally!” Bao Shun announced. “There’s usually a small service charge.”

“Charged to the sender or the receiver?” Shi Feng asked.

Bao Shun’s smile weakened. A promising business had just been inspected. “The sender was… generous, young master. It’s all been settled,” Bao Shun said.

“Then enjoy your evening,” Shi Feng said, and took the folded paper before the broker could find a charge for handing it over.

The handwriting was neat and calm. Ling Qingzhu would come to his courtyard tomorrow afternoon. She’d bring the tea herself. Below that, in smaller characters, she admitted that the dangers deserved clear terms.

Shi Feng thought: she’s learned to ask. That was a small surprise. He read the last line twice and set the message beside his map.

He supposed this counted as progress.

He wrote a reply before the lamp burned low. Six months or sect entry, whichever came first, freely extended if both agreed. The ten thousand spirit stones would be due on registration. He added one condition the tea house hadn't settled: the Ling household would answer the Wei inquiry through the proper city office and refuse private surrender demands.

He didn't need the Ling household to fight Wei retainers for him. He needed people to stop turning every gate and permit desk into another ambush site. A legitimate household seal could protect his quiet days better than another corpse.

When Bao Shun returned for the reply, Shi Feng sealed it before opening the gate.

“Give it to Ling Qingzhu herself,” Shi Feng said. “These are terms for her to choose.”