Chapter Twelve: Scattered Rain and Fierce Winds, A Summons from the Lady!

The moon hung like a hook, quietly veiled behind the clouds.

The Zhou residence was shrouded in darkness; save for the occasional barking of a dog or two, it was unusually tranquil.

Suddenly, the night wind picked up, blowing fiercely, rattling doors and windows with a loud clatter.

Raindrops fell, their sparse patter against the eaves betraying the strength of the wind and the lightness of the rain.

Han Fu awoke from his dreams, stared at the canopy above him for a moment, then rolled over to resume his slumber.

A solitary bed always felt a touch cold.

Thus passed Han Fu’s first night in the Zhou residence.

The next morning, he woke early, his movements soft as he dressed himself.

The sky was still dim, the pale light of dawn yet to appear, and Binger had not arrived to attend him.

Unwilling to wait, he stepped into the courtyard, breathing in the freshness washed by last night’s rain—cool and invigorating, it penetrated to his very soul.

After a moment, Han Fu spread his legs shoulder-width apart, slowly raised his hands.

Tai Chi, the opening posture.

This body had not lived well before; it was weak and frail. He would nurture it for a while, practicing only the gentle forms of Tai Chi.

The more demanding military boxing, combat techniques, and Brazilian jiu-jitsu were not to be considered for now.

Of course, he would still learn skills suited for the battlefield—better to be prepared.

Military boxing and martial arts were suited for individual combat, not group clashes.

Yesterday, Bai Li Mingda had reminded him that before the wedding, he could not leave the Zhou residence, so he would have to endure a few days of confinement.

Han Fu was not troubled by this.

It was a good opportunity to read more books and familiarize himself with the workings of the Zhou household.

After one set of Tai Chi, he was lightly sweating; he continued with two more, beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks.

Adjusting his breathing, he thought Binger would arrive soon and decided to rest for a while.

Yet instead of Binger, a child of five or six entered the courtyard.

Judging by his fine attire, he was likely Zhou Xin Yi’s eldest grandson, Zhou Qing—the son of Zhou Yuan Shan, the eldest son.

Wasn’t this child supposed to live in the eastern wing? Why was he here so early… Han Fu was puzzled, smiling as he appraised the approaching Zhou Qing.

When Zhou Qing drew near, he looked up and then—

“Bah, son-in-law!”

With a spit, he sullied Han Fu’s robe.

The autumn air was crisp, the cool breeze constant.

Such a morning, after a few sets of Tai Chi, gave Han Fu a sense of well-being.

Provided no one spat upon him.

His pleasant mood was ruined, but since the offender was merely a child—the eldest grandson of Zhou Xin Yi—Han Fu did not get angry.

He could not afford to; for now, he was living under another’s roof.

He smiled gently, reaching to pat Zhou Qing’s head, but the boy dodged.

The little fellow stiffened his neck, his expression as if to say: Come over, hit me if you dare.

Han Fu, experienced in two lifetimes, was not about to stoop to a child’s level.

He smiled again, took three copper coins from his pocket, and handed them before Zhou Qing’s eyes, speaking softly: “First time we meet, and you dare to spit on me—you’ve got courage. Here.”

These were the three coins Han Fu had brought from the Qin residence, his only possession.

Had he not moved into the Zhou household the day before, he might have been wandering the streets by now.

Though young, Zhou Qing knew the value of money.

His eyes widened in delight, and he snatched the coins, clutching them to his chest as if afraid Han Fu would take them back.

A noble’s grandson, so thrilled over three coins… Han Fu was not surprised; Zhou Qing knew nothing of their worth, only delighted in having money.

The five-year-old had just discovered that spitting at someone could earn a reward—a secret that opened a new world for him.

“Bah…” He spat again.

Han Fu had no more money. He shook his head: “Only the first time. There won’t be any more.”

Zhou Qing was rather disappointed.

“Master, I—ah! Young master, what are you doing here?” Binger entered with a washbasin, gasping in surprise as she quickly set it down and hurried to Zhou Qing.

Han Fu did not mention the spitting incident, simply smiling: “It’s early, and no one was watching him. Who knew he’d run here? Take him back.”

“Mm.” Binger nodded, gently taking Zhou Qing’s hand and speaking softly: “Young master, let’s return, or the eldest young master will be anxious and you’ll get punished.”

Zhou Qing, frightened, nodded repeatedly.

Binger turned to Han Fu: “Master, I’ll serve you after I take the young master back.”

“No need.” Han Fu shook his head, such a small matter did not warrant troubling Binger. He pointed to the basin: “I can do it myself. Go ahead.”

Returning Zhou Qing was important, lest the eastern wing panic at his absence. Binger said no more, leading Zhou Qing away.

Han Fu carried the basin inside and washed up, his mind still working.

Zhou Qing’s spitting did not truly sour his mood; instead, it revealed the Zhou household’s attitude.

Not all, but enough to glimpse their disposition.

Zhou Qing was only a child; he merely repeated what the adults said.

Others aside, the eldest son’s branch in the eastern wing clearly viewed him with disdain and contempt, likely speaking of him in front of Zhou Qing.

Thus, Zhou Qing had sneaked to the western wing so early to spit on him.

Upon reflection, it was not surprising—his arrival had disrupted the alliance between the Zhou and Qin families, and now he had entered as a son-in-law, stripped of dignity.

The attitudes of the rest of the Zhou family remained to be observed.

Ah… Bai Li Mingda was overly enthusiastic, but he was an anomaly—difficult to fathom.

After washing, Han Fu realized he had no clean clothes—his predecessor had nothing.

He could only wait quietly.

He did not wait long before Binger returned, carrying a tray of food. She spoke anxiously: “Master, I told you I’d help you wash, why did you…”

“It was a small matter, no trouble.” Han Fu smiled gently.

“But that’s the servant’s duty.” Binger sighed, “Master, please don’t do this again. If word gets out, people will say I disrespect you. After all, you…”

She stopped short, but Han Fu understood.

He was a son-in-law; only men without ability or pride became such, naturally looked down upon.

Yet even as a son-in-law, he was still the Zhou family’s guest, his status far above that of a servant.

If word spread, outsiders would think that even the servants of the grand Zhou household looked down on him—a reversal of propriety.

The wickedness of feudal society, the damned class system… Living here meant adapting, not seeking to change it.

Besides, since yesterday, Binger had not slighted him for his status.

On the contrary, she was quite warm.

The girl was simple-minded, sometimes slow to react, but she knew that she was Bai Li Ming Su’s personal maid, and Han Fu would soon be Bai Li Ming Su’s husband.

No matter the schemes between Zhou and Qin, Han Fu would be the closest person to her aside from Bai Li Ming Su.

“Alright.” Han Fu nodded; he would not trouble Binger further. “My clothes are dirty, please fetch a clean set for me.”

He did not specify how they had become dirty, nor did he need to.

“Mm.” Binger’s smile blossomed on her delicate face, pure and lovely.

She set down the tray: “Master, please enjoy your breakfast. Aunt Song will come soon to take your measurements for your wedding attire. Madame wishes to meet you this morning as well.”

With that, she turned to leave.

Madame?

Han Fu frowned slightly.

He cared little for the wedding attire—it was a necessary part of the ceremony.

But this Madame—the legitimate wife of Zhou Xin Yi—what was her attitude, and her purpose in meeting him?

Know yourself and your enemy… Han Fu thought it wise to learn something before meeting her, though not by direct inquiry, for he was still an outsider in the Zhou household.

Reflecting on this, Han Fu sat down.

Breakfast was simple yet hearty.

A bowl of thick porridge, a plate of pickled vegetables, and a dish of chicken.

Han Fu picked up his chopsticks, about to begin eating.

“Brother-in-law?” Bai Li Mingda’s round head peeked through the doorway, followed by his body.

“Haha…” He carried his own tray, sat at the table, his exaggerated smile nearly distorting his face. “Let’s eat together, food tastes better with company.”

Like a persistent haunt, yet arriving just at the right moment.

Han Fu smiled: “Alright.”

After a while, Han Fu subtly asked, “Once Aunt Song has measured me for my wedding clothes, I’ll go meet Madame. Will you join me?”

“Mother?” Bai Li Mingda froze, then shook his head vigorously. “I won’t go—she didn’t call for me. Brother-in-law, you go alone.”

That was the fear of being dominated, felt deeply… Seeing Bai Li Mingda’s reaction, Han Fu’s heart grew heavy.

This Madame was not someone to be trifled with.

Considering the attitude of the eldest son’s branch in the eastern wing, Han Fu resolved to proceed cautiously.