With a dozen girls suddenly arriving, Jinfeng’s home couldn’t accommodate them, and the textile factory had no dormitories yet. He and Guan Xiaorou had no choice but to take Qing Mulian and her group to Xie Guang’s old house.
“This is the courtyard your brother rented here. You’ll stay here for now,” Jinfeng said, handing the keys to Qing Mulian.
“It’s too small. There are over a dozen of us,” Qing Mulian muttered, curling her lip in disdain.
Born with a silver spoon, she was used to luxury and grand estates, so this ramshackle mud-brick courtyard was beneath her.
Even though Zhong Wu had tidied it up, it was still better than most homes in Xihe Bay.
“Miss, you think you’re ready for the battlefield?” Jinfeng glanced at her. “Do you know what it’s like? Dozens of soldiers cram into one tent, sleeping on the ground. You’d be lucky to get a bed.
When fighting breaks out, bodies pile up, the stench is unbearable. During prolonged battles, soldiers collapse in any corner to sleep, some with blood still on their faces.
If you’re not mentally prepared, forget the battlefield. Stay home and play house with your maids.”
“You…” Qing Mulian’s face flushed with anger, but she had no retort.
“Alright, settle in. Wander around or rest as you like, but don’t wear armour in the village. It’s too conspicuous,” Jinfeng instructed. “Also, you don’t need to cook. It’s a waste of time. Eat at the soldiers’ or textile factory’s canteen. It’ll help you get used to mess hall food, so you won’t struggle on the battlefield.”
Dakang’s army meals were mostly bland stews, often lacking oil or even basic salt.
The food was unappetising, a sticky mess that looked revolting.
After eating it for over a month, Jinfeng still felt haunted by the memory.
“Fine,” Qing Mulian nodded.
“Then pay for your meals first,” Jinfeng said, rubbing his fingers together, ignoring whether she understood.
Qing Mulian stared, shocked that he’d ask for money.
“What’s with the look? Meals aren’t free,” Jinfeng urged impatiently. “Hurry up.”
“Here,” Qing Mulian pulled two fifty-tael silver ingots from her saddlebag. “Enough?”
“Enough,” Jinfeng took them without hesitation. “Oh, and each of you prepare a thirty-jin pack. Meet at my place tomorrow at the hour of Yin.”
“What for?” Qing Mulian asked.
“Ten-li cross-country run with weight, one of the soldiers’ daily drills,” Jinfeng said. “Your first test. If you can’t handle it, go home.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll manage,” Qing Mulian replied, her companions nodding defiantly.
“Good luck then,” Jinfeng said, waving to Guan Xiaorou. “Xiaorou, let’s go home.”
“You go ahead, dear. I’ll help Miss Mulian settle in,” Guan Xiaorou said, shaking her head with a smile.
“Alright,” Jinfeng shrugged, strolling out of the courtyard.
With a dozen female soldiers, Qing Mulian wouldn’t need to unpack herself.
Still smarting from Jinfeng’s lecture, she pulled Guan Xiaorou aside for information as soon as he left.
“Miss Xiaorou, is Mr. Jin always so sharp-tongued?”
“No, my husband’s usually kind. He’s probably grumpy from being woken from his nap,” Guan Xiaorou said, defending him. “You’ll see, he’s easy to get along with.”
“Sister Xiaorou, how did you meet Mr. Jin?” Qing Mulian asked, pulling her to sit, her curiosity piqued.
Though impulsive, years in high society had honed her ability to read people.
From Guan Xiaorou’s brief reply, Qing Mulian sensed her loyalty to Jinfeng.
Direct questions wouldn’t yield much, so she shifted to a friendlier approach.
Guan Xiaorou, simple and pure-hearted, didn’t suspect Qing Mulian’s probing. Thinking she just wanted to chat, she smiled and said, “We met in a bridal escort team.”
“Bridal escort?” Qing Mulian looked surprised. “Sister Xiaorou, you’re so beautiful. Why join an escort?”
“Well…” Qing Mulian’s tactic worked.
Unaware she was being probed, Guan Xiaorou soon recounted how she met Jinfeng and shared various family anecdotes.
Through her, Qing Mulian gained a side view of Jinfeng.
In Guan Xiaorou’s eyes, Jinfeng was the best, and she spoke no ill of him.
Qing Mulian noticed this, so after sending Guan Xiaorou off, she dispatched a few sharp-witted soldiers to gather information about Xihe Bay.
Their findings surprised her.
Everyone in the village, young and old, praised Jinfeng even more than Guan Xiaorou did.
Before arriving, Qing Mulian thought Jinfeng was a reclusive genius discovered by Qinghuai.
But in Xihe Bay, she found him aggravating, lacking any refinement.
He’d come with Qinghuai’s letter, yet still asked her for meal money.
Yet, to the villagers, Jinfeng was generous, offering good wages at the factory and construction site, even taking in children with no labour skills just to feed them.
“No wonder Brother Qinghuai holds Mr. Jin in such high regard. He’s intriguing,” Qing Mulian mused, rubbing her chin, eyes glinting with curiosity.
The next morning, just before dawn, Qing Mulian led her soldiers to Jinfeng’s courtyard, each carrying a large pack.
“Didn’t I say the hour of Yin?” Jinfeng yawned, emerging from the house. “Why so early? No patience at all.”
Qing Mulian, having realised she couldn’t outtalk him, stayed silent, standing rigidly in the courtyard.
Since their meeting, Jinfeng aimed to temper her spirit. Ignoring them, he took a willow twig from Guan Xiaorou and began brushing his teeth.
He’d worked late in the smelting workshop and was woken early, not noticing that Qing Mulian and her soldiers had ditched their armour for fitted black training clothes.
After washing his face, Jinfeng finally perked up. Glancing at Qing Mulian, a hint of admiration flickered in his eyes.
