Chapter Thirteen: Aunt Song's Advice and Ping’er’s Praise

Aunt Song was an optimistic woman, her brows and eyes always curved in a smile. At the moment, she was measuring Han Fu, from the width of his shoulders down to his waist, leaving nothing unchecked.

Optimists love to talk, and Aunt Song was no exception.

“I used to wonder, what sort of remarkable young man would be fortunate enough to win Miss Baili’s hand in marriage.”

“Now that I’ve met you, you truly are that remarkable man. I didn’t see yesterday’s contest myself, but I heard you outshone all with your poetry—what a sensation you caused.”

Han Fu rather enjoyed chatting with people like her; it allowed him to forget his worries for a while. He smiled and replied, “But I am merely a live-in son-in-law.”

“And what of it?” Aunt Song dismissed his humility with a wave. “We’re all people with difficult lives. To enter the Zhou household and marry Miss Baili, that’s your own ability. Besides, you’re here not by happenstance, but by the emperor’s decree. That’s a great honor—one you should be proud of.”

Proud? For what—plagiarizing a few poems? As for the emperor’s intentions, Han Fu could guess at them.

He didn’t argue, only smiled and said, “You’re right, entering the Zhou family is indeed my good fortune.”

“Brother-in-law, don’t belittle yourself!” Baili Mingda, unable to stay quiet—unlike the demure Ping’er—interjected, “I’ve never looked down on you. For Ming Su to marry you, that is her blessing.”

“There you have it.” Aunt Song’s smile grew even brighter. “With a brother-in-law like Young Master Baili, your blessings are many indeed.”

More like a ticking time bomb by my side, Han Fu thought, though he smiled. Baili Mingda claimed to be skilled in divination and physiognomy; Han Fu remained unconvinced but wary.

“All done,” Aunt Song announced, putting away her measuring tape and clapping her hands. “Your wedding attire will be ready by tomorrow. You’ll try it on then, and if it doesn’t fit, there’ll still be time to alter it.”

“Thank you, Aunt Song.”

She waved off his gratitude, smiling. “No need to thank me, young master, this is my duty. However…”

Aunt Song gazed at Han Fu with meaningful eyes. “You’ve suffered enough in the past, not eating or dressing well. Now you’re marrying the most beautiful woman around, so take it from someone with experience—you’d best start training your waist.”

Was she implying some issue with his health? Or was she worried he’d overindulge, unable to keep up with Baili Mingsu’s beauty?

Optimists have one flaw—they meddle and speak too freely.

Han Fu noticed Baili Mingda’s thoughtful gaze.

As for Ping’er, the illiterate little maid, she seemed utterly perplexed by Aunt Song’s words.

If not for her innocence, this would have been a truly mortifying scene.

Honestly, Han Fu thought Aunt Song was worrying herself sick over nothing.

For a man with grand ambitions, romance was of little concern; the cause of rebellion was always at the forefront of his mind.

As the saying goes... with no woman in one’s heart, one’s mind is clear for great endeavors.

A beauty of eighteen, soft as cream, yet at the waist hangs a sword to cut down fools. Though heads may not roll, she leaves men drained to the marrow in secret.

How could Han Fu let himself be undone by such trivialities?

Aunt Song left, carrying her basket of tools, walking briskly with a spring in her step.

Utterly speechless, Han Fu shook his head, turning to Ping’er. “Is Aunt Song always so scatterbrained in her speech?”

“Huh?” Ping’er, confused but earnest, shook her head. “When measuring for the master, madam, or the young ladies and gentlemen, Aunt Song is always very restrained and hardly says a word.”

So, it was because he was a live-in son-in-law from a humble background that she felt at ease.

Han Fu couldn’t help but smile; he liked interacting with people in this manner.

Baili Mingda, looking serious and out of place, said, “Brother-in-law, I think Aunt Song is right. You’re about to marry Mingsu, and you’ll have Ping’er as a dowry maid, with more women to come. Training your waist is indeed wise. To be honest, medicine and divination often go hand in hand. I know a bit about medicine, so I can prepare some tonics for you…”

Whatever is he going on about? Han Fu couldn’t bear it any longer. “Madam is waiting for me. Ping’er, lead the way.”

“Oh, yes, please follow me, young master.” Ping’er hurried to guide him.

“Wait, brother-in-law…” Baili Mingda called after him, but trailed off, looking somewhat aggrieved.

“Will you come with me?” Han Fu asked, turning back.

“No,” Baili Mingda shook his head vigorously, face full of dread.

How formidable must this madam be? Han Fu wondered, hoping Baili Mingda would let something slip. “Is there something you want to say?”

Baili Mingda furrowed his brow, as if recalling something important. “There’s something I meant to tell you yesterday.”

Han Fu was surprised; they had only just met—what could it be?

Baili Mingda stepped forward, gripping Han Fu’s hands earnestly. “If by chance you rise to wealth and honor, do not forget me.”

Completely off-topic—what was all that about?

Not hearing what he had hoped for, Han Fu felt disappointed, yet also a bit exhilarated.

Since their first meeting yesterday, Baili Mingda had been attentive. Though he hadn’t explicitly said what he’d seen in Han Fu, his eagerness suggested Han Fu’s future would be bright.

After all, Baili Mingda, though raised by his uncle, had inherited a genuine noble title.

For someone of hereditary nobility to treat him so warmly, Han Fu’s prospects must be promising.

Yes, Baili Mingda was also a Marquis, and after Han Fu’s marriage, he could establish his own marquisate.

Of course, this was inherited from his father.

There were over twenty Marquises in the Xu Dynasty, with even more lesser titles below. Yet since Emperor Xiaokang ascended the throne, titles had become extremely difficult to obtain.

Xiaokang intentionally suppressed the old nobility, refusing to create new titles; this was understandable.

Han Fu nodded absentmindedly and followed Ping’er away.

They weren’t well acquainted yet, and as Ping’er knew nothing of physiognomy, she didn’t fawn over him like Baili Mingda. Their journey was silent.

Crossing through an archway and leaving the small courtyard, they turned east.

The madam’s maiden family bore the surname Wang, and she could be called Lady Wang of Zhou, though no one in the household dared do so.

Lady Wang was a devout Buddhist, spending her days reciting scriptures in the Buddha Garden.

There was only one path to the Buddha Garden.

Passing through the main courtyard where Zhou Xinyi resided and crossing another archway, they would arrive.

The Buddha Garden covered a large area, though it was far from luxurious, being merely a cluster of old houses renovated.

To the east was the Arhat Pavilion, to the west the Bodhisattva Hall, while the central hall enshrined the Buddha.

Along the way, they encountered a few servants, all of whom greeted Ping’er, but none acknowledged Han Fu. Instead, they eyed him curiously.

Han Fu didn’t mind; as a newcomer, it was natural for the servants to react this way.

At that moment, he was pondering how to coax some useful information about the madam from Ping’er.

But as he was about to speak, he changed his mind.

“Ping’er, I heard Young Master Baili boasts of his skills in divination and physiognomy. How talented is he, truly?”

Time was short, and since he couldn’t think of a subtle way to probe, he might as well learn more about Baili Mingda first.

Ping’er was not a shy girl—her shyness was tinged with cheerfulness.

Yet she was still uneasy around Han Fu, and the reason was no mystery: Baili Mingda and his loose tongue, always saying she was to be a chambermaid, that the young miss would send Han Fu to her room when inconvenient, that she should start calling him husband ahead of time…

Such talk, to a budding fifteen-year-old girl, was utterly mortifying.

So now, being alone with Han Fu, Ping’er was awkward but forced herself to endure.

When Han Fu spoke, as a maid she dared not ignore him.

And since he was asking about Baili Mingda’s divination, the girl recalled various incidents and covered her mouth with a giggle.

“Oh, Young Master Baili,” she said with a grin, “his fortune-telling is really quite something.”

Hearing this, Han Fu silently thought, as expected—Baili Mingda must have seen something in him.