Ning Fu was softly comforting the young maid Fuxin, who had burst into quiet sobs and was wiping her eyes with her sleeves.

“I spilled Second Young Master’s ink… He’ll surely punish me,” Fuxin said, trembling with fear.

The ink in question was extremely rare—a prized variety called Rujin (“Like Gold”), which Second Young Master had gone to great lengths to obtain. Just moments after he’d asked her to deliver it to his study, she had managed to spill it.

The Second Young Master wasn’t known for being as gentle as the eldest son, nor did he appear as amiable as the heir. Rumor had it that during his time in the military, he was notoriously strict with punishments.

If Ning Fu had known Fuxin had described Zong Si as “amiable,” she would’ve chuckled—clearly, the girl had been deceived by his handsome face. Zong Si was anything but easy to deal with.

Ning Fu was in a dilemma. She had no desire to grow too familiar with Prince Xuan’s household. But Fuxin seemed so young and kind-hearted, and though Ning Fu barely knew her, she couldn’t bear to see her punished.

“Where is Second Young Master now?” she asked after a pause.

Fuxin pointed toward a nearby bend. “Past that corner, there’s a pavilion. He’s there.”

“If he asks, just say I accidentally bumped into you,” Ning Fu instructed.

Fuxin was stunned. She hadn’t expected a young lady of the Duke of Ning’s household to help her like this. She quickly knelt and bowed. “Fourth Miss, I am deeply grateful.”

Zong Duo, standing off to the side, frowned slightly. Was he really so unreasonable?

He might be strict in the army, yes, but he didn’t punish household servants unjustly. Back in the pavilion, it wasn’t long before he saw Fourth Miss Ning approaching gracefully. She was wearing a snow-white embroidered dress. On anyone with a darker or blemished complexion, such a color might be unforgiving—but Ning Fu had inherited her mother’s flawless skin. Her attire made her look as pure as frost, and the pale pink plum blossom ornament on her forehead gave her a lively charm.

Zong Duo had never cared for heavy perfume or overly painted women. But Fourth Miss Ning, as she appeared now, was just right.

“Second Young Master,” she said sweetly, offering a proper salute. Even her bow seemed different from others: shy, delicate due to her slender limbs and tall figure, and exquisite as she rose.

Zong Duo didn’t usually favor delicate, girlish types. But Ning Fu, though she appeared fragile, was far from it—her archery skills were superior to many young men’s, something he deeply respected. That contrast between her soft manner and fierce talent added a unique appeal. To put it simply: if someone strikes you as a little breathtaking, then everything they do feels just right.

“Fourth Miss,” Zong Duo greeted, his face betraying none of his thoughts.

“I’ve come to offer my apologies,” Ning Fu said sweetly. “I accidentally bumped into your maid just now, causing her to spill your ink. I hope Second Young Master won’t punish her. I have some fine ink myself—I’ll have it sent over to you.”

“This isn’t worth worrying over, Fourth Miss,” Zong Duo replied calmly. “So long as no betrayal is involved, I rarely punish those who serve me.”

He didn’t wish to leave her with the impression that he was harsh or unforgiving. Whether or not he truly had any designs, Ning Fu was still the only woman who’d caught his attention.

They exchanged a few pleasantries, and Ning Fu belatedly realized he hadn’t asked how she knew Fuxin was one of his attendants. Since he hadn’t brought it up, she wisely chose not to elaborate.

“Second Young Master, I’d be grateful if you didn’t mention our meeting today to the heir,” Ning Fu added quietly. She feared Zong Si would suspect her of ulterior motives.

“Alright,” Zong Duo agreed—it was his personal matter, and he hadn’t intended to share it anyway.

In her previous life, Ning Fu had only interacted with Zong Duo formally as her elder cousin-in-law. She’d known he was cold-faced but warm-hearted, yet hadn’t expected him to be quite this easy to speak with.

Privately, she mused that her grandmother might’ve fared better choosing Zong Duo as a match—he was more approachable, less aloof, had no childhood sweetheart, and overall seemed like someone suited for a peaceful life. Still, she herself couldn’t bring herself to consider him, knowing he had once been betrothed to her cousin—emotionally, she wasn’t ready.

Ning Fu didn’t stay long, but the faint sweetness in the air lingered.

Zong Duo remained seated in the pavilion for quite a while before heading toward Zong Si’s quarters, Jinghua Residence.

Zong Si had already removed his clothes. From two inches above the chest to an inch below the shoulder ran a deep, brutal wound. Though bandaged, blood still seeped through.

Zong Duo frowned. “That’s no minor injury—why rush back?”

“I didn’t want to miss Ah Ning’s birthday,” Zong Si replied casually, as if he weren’t the one wounded.

Zong Duo said nothing. His third brother wasn’t the kind to indulge himself.

Zong Si added, unfazed, “If I appeared badly hurt, the Sixth Prince would grow suspicious.” Concealing the true severity of the wound was part of his method—Prince Xuan’s household was not free of Meng Ze’s spies. Word of his injury would inevitably reach him.

Zong Duo spoke carefully. “His Highness is deeply wary of Minister Song’s web of influence. Now that there’s a crack, he wants you to finish the job. Do you have evidence of bribery?”

Zong Si nodded. “I do. But it’s not the right time to act.”

Minister Song was a minister who had served two reigns. Many nobles were his former students, and their interests were closely tied. He was impeccably informed—and in the world of politics, intelligence was priceless. Such a man, if loyal, was a powerful asset.

But Minister Song belonged to the Fourth Prince.

To Meng Ze, this was an ideal moment to sever one of Prince Meng Che’s strongest limbs. If Zong Si could expose Minister Song’s corruption and publicly align Prince Xuan’s support, it would give Meng Ze greater leverage to win over neutral officials. But that would spell trouble for Prince Xuan’s household. It was too soon to choose sides so openly.

Zong Si had been “ambushed” en route to Langya while investigating Minister Song—taking that sword wound had been part of the game with Meng Ze.

Zong Duo understood now. He met Zong Si’s gaze; unspoken truths passed between them.

Zong Si’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Did you go to Yixiang Pavilion today for a case?”

He had caught the faint, sweet scent lingering on Zong Duo’s clothes—a scent that unmistakably belonged to a woman.

Zong Duo replied calmly, “It’s Ah Ning’s birthday today—I stayed within the estate the whole time.”

The scent was faintly familiar. Zong Si glanced at him but didn’t pursue the matter.

With Zong Ting present as well, the brothers had a rare reunion. After bidding farewell to the guests, they gathered in the sitting hall.

Zong Ting had been married for ten years, and his son was already seven. The boy had spent most of his childhood in military camps, growing sturdier than other children his age, yet remained mischievous and spirited—he didn’t even fear being disciplined with a stick.

Strangely enough, he was remarkably obedient around Zong Si, quietly calling out, “Third Uncle.”

Second Madam Zong was delighted to see her grandson. But when her gaze turned to Zong Duo, she sighed. “Third Son’s marriage involves the Prince’s household, so it must be delayed. But what about you? When do you plan to marry?”

Zong Duo usually brushed off such questions. But today he responded differently: “I’m afraid the one I’ve set my sights on might not meet your approval.”

Zong Si looked over at him.

Second Madam Zong smiled. “As long as her family background is clean, I’ll approve.”

As Zong Duo was neither the heir nor the eldest son of the Prince’s household, his marriage afforded him more freedom.

After a pause, Zong Duo said only, “Let’s wait and see.”

Second Madam Zong understood her son well. If he truly wished to propose, he’d have said so now. His hesitation suggested the girl might have a complicated identity—perhaps someone who had once been considered for his younger brother.

Still, Second Madam Zong wasn’t narrow-minded. Being considered once didn’t mean they’d fallen in love. After marriage, Zong Duo would have his own residence, and he’d rarely cross paths with his brother. A subtle guess bloomed in her heart—perhaps it was Fourth Miss Ning.

Princess Consort Xuan disliked Fourth Miss, favoring Xie Ruyi instead. But Second Madam Zong felt that Miss Ning was rather decent. During today’s birthday banquet, she caught a glimpse of her. Though Zong Ning had treated her coldly, the girl remained composed and courteous. She hadn’t tried to flatter Zong Ning, yet showed grace and restraint—a girl with discernment and generosity.

Her own son wasn’t unreasonable either. With someone like Ning Fu, they could very well make a good life together.

Of course, this was only speculation. But treating Fourth Miss with kindness? That was never the wrong choice.

After returning home, Ning Fu asked a servant to deliver some gilt ink to Zong Duo. When she saw Madam Ning, the joy in her mother’s eyes was hard to conceal.

“What’s making you so happy, Mother?” Ning Fu asked curiously.

“Your maternal grandmother sent a letter. She praised your talents and rewarded you with two storefronts,” Madam Ning replied with a smile.

Ning Fu’s eyes lit up. She was about to ask more about the shops when Madam Ning added mercilessly, “I’ll manage them for now. Once you’re married, they’ll be included in your dowry.”

On this point, Ning Fu knew better than to argue. Luckily, she wasn’t planning to rely on those shops anyway—her hopes lay in the success of the negotiation with Sister Fu.

Madam Ning adjusted her collar and asked, “Did everything go well at the prince’s estate today?”

Although Zong Ning had shown her hostility, it wasn’t anything serious, so Ning Fu nodded.

To avoid suspicion, Ning Fu had arranged to meet Fu Jiahui at a bookstore, pretending the meeting was accidental and brief.

Tianqing Pavilion was the largest bookshop in the capital. Its visitors included many young nobles and ladies. Ning Fu’s beauty attracted glances, but none found her presence out of place.

“Fourth Miss, this way please,” the shopkeeper greeted her respectfully.

“I’m waiting for Sister Fu.”

“She’s already here,” the shopkeeper said.

Ning Fu hadn’t expected that Tianqing Pavilion would also be part of the Fu family’s business empire. Inside, the shop held hidden wonders. Beyond the bookcases were several passageways that twisted and turned before opening into a quiet, refined chamber.

“Sister Fu, you never cease to amaze me,” Ning Fu said with a smile upon meeting her.

But Fu Jiahui simply replied, “This isn’t actually my territory—I’m just managing it for someone else. Did you bring the formulas?”

Ning Fu handed her the papers. “Women love beauty. Powder and rouge sell well—there’s no reason beauty-enhancing remedies wouldn’t too. The real challenge is establishing a reputation.”

After all, anything applied to the face is something people hesitate to experiment with.

Fu Jiahui listened quietly, waiting for her to go on.-

Ning Fu considered for a moment before saying, “If Princess Consort Xuan vouches for the remedy’s effectiveness, it would clear the way—noblewomen across the capital would surely be eager to buy it.” After all, the consort held considerable influence in the city; many emulated her tastes in food, fashion, and lifestyle.

Fu Jiahui was stunned. “You’re far too bold—even daring to involve the princess consort? Setting aside everything else, why would she publicly endorse a product?”

But Ning Fu had already thought it through. Princess Consort Xuan disliked her and wouldn’t willingly promote a remedy that came from her, especially for fear of linking Prince Xuan’s household to the Duke Ning’s. However, if the remedy came from someone dear to her, she would be proud to show it off. Elders all have similar tendencies—they love it when the younger generation shows them affection, and they love sharing that feeling with others.

Since Zong Ning held a grudge, Ning Fu decided her only path was through Xie Ruyi.

“We could shape the remedy into pills, give it a striking name, and find a way for Sister Xie to gift them to the consort,” Ning Fu explained. “Once the consort shares them with her friends, we spread the word that the pills were purchased from you.”

Even the name of the product mattered—just like how “radish” and “wencong” (a refined alternate name for the same vegetable) conjure completely different impressions.

Fu Jiahui replied, “This only works if your formulas truly deliver results.”

“If they didn’t work, I wouldn’t be trying to open a shop,” Ning Fu said. Moreover, she’d chosen the princess consort because she had already used one of the remedies before—with great success.

“Let me test the formulas first. If they’re sound, we’ll do it your way,” Fu Jiahui agreed.

Ning Fu nodded and left the hidden passage, spending a little more time browsing Tianqing Pavilion. Accompanying her was her personal maid, Dong Zhu.

Ning Fu needed capable help, and Dong Zhu was exceptionally detail-oriented. So Ning Fu didn’t intend to keep this plan from her. After initial surprise, Dong Zhu quickly regained composure—whatever her mistress intended, she would assist quietly and loyally.

Three days later, Ning Fu received a letter—Fu Jiahui invited her once again to Tianqing Pavilion.

Ning Fu arrived discreetly. This time, Fu Jiahui was there waiting in person.

“Sister Fu,” Ning Fu greeted cheerfully as she approached.

But Fu Jiahui didn’t return her smile. Her expression was tinged with something unreadable—after all, this was Ning Zheng’s younger sister. She warned softly, “Whatever you’re asked in a moment, just answer truthfully.”

Ning Fu’s smile faded. Perhaps it was the mood, but this time, the hidden passage felt colder than before. Even before entering the chamber, she caught the faint scent of sandalwood lingering in the air. Step by step, her heart sank lower. And when she saw Zong Si inside, a tidal wave of shock surged through her—but she quickly regained her composure.

So Qingtian Pavilion belonged to Zong Si. Everything suddenly made sense.

Ning Fu began piecing together the puzzle: how had the Fu family grown so powerful? Simply assisting with military provisions couldn’t possibly guarantee such protection from Prince Xuan’s household. There was only one answer—the Fu family was merely the public front. The true owner of their business empire was Zong Si.

A cold sweat broke out along her back, and she suddenly felt like crying. An even more terrifying possibility surfaced: if the Fu family acted as Zong Si’s proxy, could her brother’s death have something to do with him?

The Fu family’s reach was immense. What Zong Si needed was absolute loyalty. Sister Fu had loved her brother and once said that after marriage, she would no longer be involved in the Fu business. But Zong Si couldn’t afford to lose someone as capable and trusted as Sister Fu. And if Ning Zheng posed a threat to exposing their secrets, he wouldn’t be allowed to stay.

In her previous life, Ning Fu remembered—her brother had indeed investigated the Fu family in secret.

“Sit,” Zong Si said, casting her a glance. His voice was calm, distant—like spring snow clinging to the mountains.