A helping hand offered in the storm couldn’t have come from bad intentions.

However, fearing that the young lady might be unaccustomed to such a grand display, Manager Du quickly reassured her and bowed to the armored soldiers before him, saying, “Many thanks for your trouble.”

Zanying knew very little about the affairs of the older generation, but she trusted Uncle Du.

Hearing his words, she quietly released her clenched fists.

At that moment, large raindrops began to patter down, and her shoulders shivered slightly.

Yet, she realized that she wasn’t getting wet.

Looking up, Zanying saw that in addition to the soldiers holding torches, they had raised oilcloth over the bamboo sedan chair, creating a long canopy that stretched all the way to the mountain’s peak.

The sound of the rain drummed constantly above her, yet not a single drop fell on her.

Such a grand display was something Zanying had only ever seen when the emperor traveled.

The tung oil cloth, damp from the rain, emitted a faint and distinctive scent of pine.

The young lady sniffed and, wide-eyed, gazed at the heavy rain pouring down from the heavens.

The torches lining the mountain path burned brightly despite the downpour, their flames flickering fiercely, casting a light that even the thick, oppressive clouds couldn’t smother.

A strange sense of security suddenly bloomed in her heart.

Maybe she had been wrong before—perhaps the Grand Marshal wasn’t as frightening as she had imagined.

He had gone to great lengths to send people to fetch her, providing shelter from the rain and a steady ride.

Could this mean that he hadn’t transferred his hatred for the Yu family onto her?

In that case, when she arrived at the palace, she should go and thank him in person.

But she worried—it was already late, and disturbing such a high-ranking and powerful figure might upset him.

Yet not going to express her thanks would also be rude.

At fifteen years old, having just escaped the confines of her old life, everything and everyone she now faced was new.

Even the social etiquette she had learned in the past felt stripped of its pretense, revealing her youthful inexperience beneath.

As she silently wrestled with her thoughts, Lady Ren, still in disbelief, nudged Manager Du and whispered, “This kind of display—it really is Lady Wei, isn’t it?”

She hadn’t even finished saying “Lady Wei” before Manager Du quickly covered her mouth, his heart pounding as he whispered back, “For heaven’s sake, woman, that’s not a name you can just call out like that!”

Lady Ren pulled his hand away, glancing worriedly at the delicate figure ahead of them.

She lowered her voice further amidst the rain and said, “I just meant to say, today… it really is Sixteen.”

Manager Du fell silent for a moment, stroking his beard in contemplation before muttering, “Rumors can’t always be trusted.”

The soldiers carrying the sedan were as steady as iron, and Zanying felt no bumps along the way.

Before she knew it, they had reached the white marble terrace at the mountaintop.

Passing under the tall archway, they entered the palace.

The rain continued to fall, and the palace’s full splendor was hidden beneath the misty night.

Zanying leaned slightly forward, her fingers gripping the bamboo seat’s railing, catching glimpses of the palace’s deep, ornate double eaves and winding cloud corridors, slowly unfolding before her eyes.

The octagonal palace lantern, blurred by the rain, swayed gently under the eaves of the pavilion, creating a thick yet delicate misty beauty.

This was where her mother and Lady Wei once lived.

She reluctantly withdrew her gaze, thanked the soldiers carrying her sedan chair, and indicated that she could walk on her own.

But the four soldiers did not let go, as if their mission was not yet complete.

They carried the bamboo sedan through the East Hall, over a curved bridge, up the jade steps, and directly to the entrance of the main hall.

There was no need to worry about formalities; they had spared her the dilemma and brought her straight to the main entrance.

Zanying stepped out of the sedan in a daze, her embroidered shoes barely touching the solid cedarwood veranda.

Throughout the journey, not a single drop of water had touched her feet.

Looking up, she saw the ancient sea hibiscus-carved hall doors right in front of her.

They were open.

A screen depicting mountains and rivers stood at the entrance, with a warm, glowing light streaming out from within.

There was complete silence inside and out.

“Is this the young lady from the Tang family?”

Standing outside the sea hibiscus doors, besides the black-armored guards on duty, was a middle-aged man in a bamboo cloth scholar’s robe, breaking the silence with his voice.

The rain-soaked young lady before him was dressed in a white outfit as pure as snow, covered with a moon-colored Guanyin cloak.

Her snowy skin and black hair exuded an air of elegance, momentarily blurring the scholar’s gaze as if recalling a long-lost acquaintance.

He quickly looked away, nodding slightly, and said gently, “The General is inside, waiting for you, Miss Fu.”

Zanying, who hadn’t seen a man outside her family for years, didn’t shy away.

She curtsied slightly and said thoughtfully, “Earlier today, I was unable to thank the Grand Marshal properly at the palace. By rights, I should come to express my gratitude in person. May I bathe and change my clothes first before meeting him?”

In her upbringing, one must bathe and present themselves properly before meeting an important person.

Meeting someone in such a travel-worn state felt far too impolite.

The scholar in the cloth robe smiled kindly, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes reflecting a gentle warmth. “It’s alright.”

Alright then, she thought, she would go with the flow as a guest.

Zanying handed her cloak to Chun Jin, lightly brushed her sleeves, clasped her hands together, and stepped into the hall.

As Manager Du was about to follow her, the scholar raised his sleeve to block him, smiling as he said, “Manager Du, it’s been many years. How have you been?”

Du Fangfeng was forced to stop outside the door.

Unable to see the people behind the screen, he felt uneasy, his mind in turmoil, and had no time for pleasantries.

He called the scholar by name and asked bluntly, “Xu Shi, is everything alright?”

As if understanding his concerns, the scholar named Xu Shi’s smile faded.

“It’s alright.”

Manager Du looked deep into his eyes, said nothing more, and waited quietly in the corridor with his hands tucked away.

Meanwhile, as Zanying entered the hall, she was met by a rush of warm air, which felt slightly strange.

She stopped behind the screen and said:

“Fu greets the Grand Marshal. I hope my late-night arrival does not offend you, sir.”

“Come in.” A cold, low voice commanded.

Zanying hesitated for a moment before stepping around the decorative screen of mountains and rivers.

She kept her gaze respectfully lowered, following proper etiquette, so the first thing she saw was the four large bronze cauldrons stationed in the four corners of the room.

The charcoal burning inside crackled softly.

It was the height of summer, yet someone was burning charcoal indoors.

Forgetting her manners, Zanying couldn’t help but lift her head in surprise, only to find herself staring directly into the eyes of the man seated in the center of the room.

In the room was a military folding bed, and on it sat a man with hair as dark as a pool of ink, tied back with a black hairpin. His sword-like eyebrows framed eyes that shone like stars.

His face was thin, his lips slightly pursed.

He looked too refined to be a warrior, yet his appearance was strikingly noble and otherworldly.

However, it was hard to say if it was the inky blackness of his hair or the extreme pallor of his skin that made his face appear ghostly pale, as if his eyelashes were dusted with frost.

Even stranger than these features was the long black fox fur cloak draped over his shoulders.

Wearing fur in the summer.

Zanying had only ever read about such eccentricities in books about wild and unrestrained scholars.

But the man before her was neither playful nor frivolous.

His sturdy black military boots were firmly planted on the ground, radiating a presence as steady and immovable as a mountain.

A single blink of his sharp eyes made Zanying think of a snow-filled ravine frozen beneath towering cliffs.

She stared in stunned silence, her mind going blank.

All the carefully rehearsed words of greeting and gratitude disappeared.

Her lips parted slightly, soft and red, while her eyes stayed fixed on him, wide and unblinking.

The room was stifling with the heat from the burning charcoal, but the man’s gaze remained cold and distant, his brow slightly raised, allowing her to look her fill.

After a long moment, a hint of warmth slowly emerged in his eyes, melting the frost on his lashes and forming a gleam of moisture at the corner of his stern gaze.

“Anu,” he sighed softly, as if he were speaking to himself, “you’ve grown.”

“Anu” was a term of endearment used in the Southern Dynasty, reserved only for elders addressing their beloved younger relatives.

In that instant, Zanying felt something tighten sharply in her chest.

In her two lifetimes, she had never heard anyone call her that.

Her parents never had the chance, the old woman of the Fu family never cared to, and as for the emperor and empress, they had no interest in such endearments.

All of her defenses, her unease, and her hesitation melted away in an instant, replaced by a deep, unfamiliar warmth.

She gazed at the man before her, who seemed to have stepped out of the pages of a book, wrapped in fox fur, uncertain whether he was close or distant.

She stammered, trying to speak, “You—” but the words wouldn’t come.

The man, sensing her struggle, pressed a hand to his brow and, with surprising patience, introduced himself. “I am Wei Yu,” he said, pausing briefly before adding, “Yu, as in ‘desire.'”