Chapter Fifty-Eight: A Nighttime Conversation at the Mountain Villa (Part One)

Let us begin with Cheng Boxi, who had accepted the task of questioning Lady Yang. He sent someone to summon her to his room.

Green Willow Manor had already arranged for sturdy women to watch over Lady Yang, who was brought in and then left alone with him for the time being.

“Please, have a seat,” Cheng Boxi invited.

“Thank you,” Lady Yang replied, settling gracefully onto the chair.

Her face was untouched by powder, adorned with neither jewelry nor ornaments. She wore a coarse linen dress borrowed from the manor’s serving women, yet even in such plain attire, she possessed an allure that words could barely capture.

With the beauty so close, Cheng Boxi was suddenly parched, his mouth dry and tongue tied. He hurriedly poured himself a cup of tea, drinking deeply.

“She is mine! She is mine!” he chanted silently to himself.

Just earlier, at the division of spoils, Lady Yang had been valued at five hundred strings of cash and had fallen to Cheng Boxi’s share! He understood the intent of his brothers well; he could not let down their kind gesture.

Lady Yang, amused by his silence and awkward demeanor, took the initiative. “Thank you for rescuing me from the bandits’ lair.”

“Uh, you weren’t mistreated there, I hope?”

“No, not really,” Lady Yang answered with a gentle smile. Of course, a beautiful woman always had certain advantages. No true mistreatment—only the kind that women, in their hearts, secretly enjoy.

“But there was little freedom on the mountain, and nothing of interest. All I ever saw, day in and day out, were mountains.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Cheng Boxi murmured. Then he asked, “And your family?”

Family?

A distant look clouded Lady Yang’s eyes, as if memories of her home flickered before her. At last, she lowered her gaze and said softly, “I no longer have a home.”

She was originally from the south. Her family had once been harmonious and happy, and she had received some education, possessing a bit of learning. But after her parents’ passing, her two elder brothers left to join the army and never returned. Their property was swallowed up, and she was eventually sold by her uncle to an old official from the capital who was on official business in the south.

“To be fair, he treated me well,” Lady Yang said, recalling the elderly official. Though an old husband with a young wife, she would accompany him as he read by lamplight, cherished in his study.

His first wife was long gone, and his son already grown. The old man lived out his days with her, and they were content, in their way.

But fate is fickle. Passing through Xindu Mountain, they fell prey to bandits. The old official likely died of shock.

“Did your late husband ever speak of anything in particular?” Cheng Boxi probed.

“No,” Lady Yang replied. “I merely kept him company as he read.”

“Was there anything unusual among his possessions?” Cheng Boxi pressed, unwilling to give up.

“No, nothing at all,” Lady Yang insisted, denying it repeatedly.

The two continued their idle conversation while the lamps were lit. By lamplight, the beauty before him seemed even more enchanting, especially as they sat alone, man and woman, in the quiet room.

Lady Yang’s beauty could not rival Tang Tian’s, yet she had her own strengths. Tang Tian’s loveliness was dazzling, almost overwhelming, like the noonday sun in midsummer. In contrast, Lady Yang was like the crisp morning breeze of autumn—refreshing and infinitely feminine, holding a deeper allure for men.

Unconsciously, Cheng Boxi’s breathing grew heavy, his eyes reddened, and he swallowed again and again. Young and vigorous, he had fought a battle that very morning; his passions were easily roused.

Lady Yang, amused by his change, thought to tease him. Her slender wrist brushed lightly over his hand.

It was as if a spark had landed in a barrel of gunpowder—Cheng Boxi pulled her toward him with sudden force.

...

After chatting for a while with Yang Chengxian, Feng Xiaobao left to seek out Tang Tian.

Cheng Boxi’s feelings on seeing Lady Yang were not unlike Feng Xiaobao’s when he saw Tang Tian. Yet, while Cheng Boxi was melted by Lady Yang’s gentle charm, Feng Xiaobao was captivated by Tang Tian’s physique.

Her figure was truly astonishing! Even Zhang Yuqi, who was tall and shapely herself—over one meter sixty—was shorter than her, and could not compare.

Tang Tian was staying in a guest room, complete with all amenities, while her cousin lodged next door and did not share her quarters.

“Is there something you need?” Tang Tian asked, calm and poised.

“I thought to show you around the manor,” said Feng Xiaobao.

“Very well.”

So Feng Xiaobao and Tang Tian began a nighttime tour of the manor, which had its own unique charm under cover of darkness.

Unlike when he accompanied other women, Tang Tian was dressed in riding attire, equipped with a curved sword and a short dagger, while Feng Xiaobao carried no weapons at all.

She cut a dashing figure, but to be courting a woman so armed... was he wooing an Israeli soldier? (Israeli women soldiers are never parted from their weapons, even when strolling about—though perhaps with unloaded guns.)

Luckily, Feng Xiaobao, with his experience in the modern world, was unfazed; men of this era tended to keep their distance from Tang Tian. After all, in the midst of conversation, if she were displeased, her sword and dagger were always within arm’s reach!

Noticing Feng Xiaobao’s lingering gaze over her attire, Tang Tian smiled slightly and explained, “It’s a Tang family rule—one must always have weapons by one’s side. For archers, the bow must be kept close. My cousin is looking after my bow for now; otherwise, I’d have brought it along too.”

“What do you think of it?” Tang Tian glanced at him, seeking his opinion.

Her style was unconventional—such dress was typical among nomadic women, not Han women, who would never go about town armed.

Yet she could not change it, even if she wished. Family rules were strict, and even though she was favored at home, she was not spared. Any breach would mean days of confinement and plain meals. Even if some argued it made her hard to marry, the rules remained unchanged.

“You’re like an Israeli soldier,” Feng Xiaobao blurted.

“What?” Tang Tian hadn’t caught his words.

“I mean, everything that exists does so for a reason,” Feng Xiaobao added earnestly. “Is it because your family’s stables often face danger?”

“That’s right. We used to fight often—ten years ago, the fighting was fierce. Later, it lessened; my family dealt with the threats and shifted our business westward, turning to trade caravans instead.”

“So your ancestors made these rules to preserve their descendants’ lives!” Feng Xiaobao declared. “We must understand, accept, and seek the future.”

“You accept it?” Tang Tian’s eyes lit up.

“Of course I do,” Feng Xiaobao replied with a smile. “Because I’m not afraid of your sword or dagger!”

“Come on!” He struck a martial pose, mimicking Wong Fei-hung.

The stance was graceful and rare; Tang Tian’s eyes sparkled like stars in the night, but she stubbornly refused to spar with him, for fear she might accidentally injure him and scare him away.

Feng Xiaobao did not press the matter. After all, he was here to court her; to break into a fight on a date would be absurd.

They chatted along the way and finally rested at a small pavilion on the hillside. There, Feng Xiaobao briefly explained his collaboration with the Princess of Qianjin. “We’re making soap here...”

Tang Tian took a small packet of soap from her purse and asked, “Is it this?”

“Yes!”

“It’s very useful. I always carry it with me. We use it to wash clothes and all sorts of things. I never imagined it was your product!” Tang Tian exclaimed. “But it’s terribly expensive where we are!”

“In the future, you needn’t worry about the price. If you use it, it’s free. As for your family...” Feng Xiaobao added quickly, “Your family can be our exclusive distributor in your region!”

“That’s wonderful!”