The morning sun cast a soft golden hue over the tiled roofs of the Murong estate, bathing the courtyards in gentle warmth. After finishing a light breakfast of congee, pickled vegetables, and steamed buns, Zhao Ming wiped his hands with a warm towel offered by a waiting servant.

  Just as he stood to leave, another servant approached with a bow.

  "Young Master Zhao, Miss Lu is waiting for you in the main hall."

  Zhao Ming nodded, a little surprised that she was already up and ready. He straightened his robe and made his way through the courtyard walkways, passing under carved wooden beams and polished red columns as the crisp air of early spring carried the faint scent of plum blossoms.

  When he entered the main hall, his eyes fell on her instantly.

  Lu Qianyi stood near one of the lattice windows, her slender form framed by the soft sunlight. She wore a flowing lilac dress with fine embroidery—delicate swirls of silver thread traced peonies and butterflies along the sleeves and hem. The Murong family clearly did not skimp on hospitality. Her long hair was neatly tied with a pale ribbon, a few wisps brushing her cheeks. She looked both elegant and youthful, like a refined lady out of a painting.

  Zhao Ming paused for just a moment, admiring the view, before offering a polite smile. “Good morning, Miss Lu. I hope you slept well.”

  Lu Qianyi turned to him at the sound of his voice, and for a heartbeat, she forgot how to breathe. The light behind him framed his figure like a halo—his confident gait, the subtle strength in his eyes, and his calm, composed voice all seemed… different from yesterday. More grounded. More magnetic.

  Her heart skipped.

  “G-Good morning, Master Zhao,” she stammered, then mentally kicked herself. What is wrong with me? Why am I acting like a lovestruck girl from a romance tale? Did he… become more handsome overnight? She clutched her sleeves tightly. No, it’s not just his face… it’s the way he carries himself. Like a man you could rely on, even if the sky were falling.

  Zhao Ming caught the flush blooming across her cheeks but said nothing. His mind flickered back to last night’s system update—Charm Increase. He’d brushed it off at the time, but now, seeing Lu Qianyi stammer and blush with uncharacteristic shyness, he began to wonder just how real those stat effects were.

  So it really works… even someone like her is reacting. Interesting. He offered no reaction on the surface, simply keeping his usual calm expression.

  Lu Qianyi quickly coughed into her sleeve, trying to cover the warmth creeping up her cheeks. She lowered her gaze, willing her heartbeat to calm.

  “I… I’ve written the letter to my father,” she said at last, her voice more composed now. She drew a scroll from the wide sleeve of her lilac robe. “I hope it reaches him before the situation worsens in Luoyang.”

  Zhao Ming stepped forward and took the scroll with both hands, a sign of respect. “I’ll do what I can. We’ll visit the Murong Trading House shortly—they have secure channels, even during times like these.”

  She nodded, then hesitated for a moment. Her fingers brushed against the edge of the tea table. “Zhao Ming… I realize I’m imposing.”

  Zhao Ming raised an eyebrow. “Imposing?”

  “I’m a guest under Governor Kong’s care. Staying here overnight, writing a letter meant to warn my father to flee, asking you to help send it… it’s all quite improper.” Her voice wavered. “You’re a guest of the Murong family. We’re both outsiders here. Yet somehow, you carry yourself like you belong.”

  Zhao Ming smiled faintly, resting one hand on the back of a chair. “Do you believe a guest must always act cautiously? That because I was invited, I should merely nod and obey?”

  Her brows drew together slightly, uncertain of where he was leading.

  “I don’t see myself as just a guest anymore,” he continued, voice low and firm. “I may not bear the Murong name, but I’ve fought beside them. Worked with them. Bled for their interests. If there is trust between people, bloodlines matter less.”

  She looked at him, surprised by the certainty in his tone.

  “As for you, Miss Lu… if your host truly cared about your safety, would he have left you wandering the city so late without escort?” he asked, his gaze sharpening slightly. “Or allowed you to remain entangled in Louyang’s affairs when danger is clearly rising?”

  Lu Qianyi opened her mouth, but no words came out. His words struck deeper than she expected.

  “I know it’s not easy,” Zhao Ming added, gentler now. “You have your father to consider. You carry his name. But you’re not just someone else’s pawn, Qianyi.”

  That caught her attention. He hadn’t used “Miss Lu.”

  Just Qianyi.

  She swallowed and looked away, unsure how to respond. Her heart fluttered again, this time not just because of his charm—but because of his words.

  “I’ve heard the Murong Trading House has connections as far as Xuchang,” Zhao Ming continued, changing the subject slightly. “If your father must flee, he can take refuge in one of the Murong branch outposts there. I’ll speak to Steward Luo to make arrangements.”

  She met his eyes again, her voice quieter now. “You’ve already done so much…”

  Zhao Ming shook his head. “If I had done enough, your father wouldn’t be in danger, and you wouldn’t be caught in the middle of all this.”

  Lu Qianyi was silent for a moment.

  Then she smiled—not the elegant, practiced smile of a noblewoman, but a softer, more sincere one.

  “Thank you, Zhao Ming,” she said, voice warm. “Truly.”

  Zhao Ming gave a slight nod, then gestured toward the door. “Come. Let’s make sure your letter flies swiftly.”

  Together, they stepped out of the main hall into the sunlit courtyard, the morning light catching the lilac threads of her robe as the wind stirred ever so slightly—like a signal of changing tides.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  The carriage from the Murong estate rolled steadily through the cobbled streets of Beihai, its lacquered wood gleaming under the morning sun. Through the small curtained windows, Zhao Ming and Lu Qianyi could see the city already alive with activity. Merchants shouted over the prices of dried herbs and silks, children chased one another between stalls, and fishermen carried their early catches wrapped in reed baskets toward the market. The scent of steamed buns, roasted chestnuts, and sea breeze mingled in the air.

  Inside the carriage, the atmosphere was more reserved. Lu Qianyi sat with composed grace, her eyes occasionally drifting to the passing streets, though her thoughts were elsewhere. Zhao Ming remained silent, his arms crossed, his mind already working through potential plans and alliances. The events of the past few days had left little time to breathe.

  Upon arrival at the grand Murong Trading House, the coachman halted the horses and hopped down. Zhao Ming stepped out first, his boots thudding against the stone. He turned and extended his hand toward Lu Qianyi.

  "Watch your step, Miss Lu," he said with a half-smile.

  Lu Qianyi hesitated a heartbeat before placing her gloved hand in his. “Thank you,” she said softly, and once her feet met the ground, she let go quickly, brushing an imaginary wrinkle from her lilac dress—a refined ensemble embroidered with subtle silver plum blossoms, clearly tailored by Murong hands.

  The Murong Trading House bustled with activity as fresh deliveries streamed in from the gates. Caravans rolled into the courtyard—oxen and horses neighing, wagons creaking beneath sacks of grain and crates of dried goods. Laborers shouted and sweated as they unloaded supplies under the guidance of clerks jotting down inventories on bamboo slips. The scent of hemp rope, dry grain, and aged wood filled the spring air.

  They entered the main hall of the trading house, where servants and scribes moved briskly through the stone corridors. Zhao Ming approached one of the clerks stationed near the central desk.

  “Where’s Shopkeeper Wu?” he asked.

  The clerk bowed slightly. “Shopkeeper Wu is in the side hall, receiving the new grain shipment that just arrived. He is with Master Murong De.”

  “Thank you,” Zhao Ming replied and turned to Lu Qianyi. “Come, we’ll find them there.”

  As they made their way down the corridor to the side hall, the sounds of trade grew louder—discussions of weights, values, and distribution plans filled the air. When they entered, they found Shopkeeper Wu in the middle of a conversation with a tall man wearing traveling leathers and a weather-worn cloak: Murong De, his presence commanding but casual, a sword strapped to his back and a curved grin on his face.

  “Ah, Zhao Ming!” Shopkeeper Wu called out, raising a hand in greeting.

  Murong De turned and smirked. “Back already? I thought you’d still be sleeping after all that hard work keeping the estate safe.”

  Zhao Ming clasped his hands and gave a respectful nod. “Shopkeeper Wu. Uncle De. You returned just in time.”

  Murong De raised an eyebrow as he glanced past Zhao Ming and saw the young lady standing beside him. Dressed in a lilac silk robe embroidered with cloud motifs and white plum blossoms, Lu Qianyi held herself with dignified grace, yet a subtle unease lingered in her gaze.

  “And who might this flower beside you be?” Murong De teased, folding his arms. “Don’t tell me that while I was hauling grain through wind and mud, our young hero’s been charming noble ladies in Beihai?”

  Zhao Ming’s brow twitched. “Uncle De, this is Miss Lu Qianyi—daughter of Grand Tutor Lu Zhi.”

  Both Murong De and Shopkeeper Wu straightened at the name, their playful demeanor shifting into respectful seriousness.

  “Grand Tutor Lu’s daughter?” Shopkeeper Wu echoed.

  Lu Qianyi gave a small, courteous bow. “Greetings. I apologize for intruding. I… need help sending a letter to my father in Luoyang. It’s important—and must be done discreetly.”

  Shopkeeper Wu stepped forward with calm assurance and received the folded letter she presented. “Understood. I’ll arrange for a trusted courier to deliver this through our northern channels. It will leave tonight, under the guise of merchant correspondence.”

  “Thank you,” Lu Qianyi said with sincerity, bowing slightly once more.

  “I’ll arrange for a carriage and escort to take you safely back to Governor Kong’s estate,” Shopkeeper Wu added.

  Lu Qianyi looked at Zhao Ming. “Thank you—for everything. Truly.” She nodded, then turned to follow a maid who came to lead her out.

  As the doors shut behind her, Murong De let out a long whistle and elbowed Zhao Ming with a sly grin. “Lu Zhi’s daughter, eh? A rare beauty. But I thought you were courting my niece, and now you’re making noble ladies blush?”

  Zhao Ming sighed, rubbing his temple. “Uncle, please. Miss Lu is merely a guest of the governor, caught in the same political storm as the rest of us. I offered help out of respect—and perhaps… future strategic cooperation.”

  Murong De chuckled. “Strategic cooperation. Sure. That’s what I used to call it too.”

  Zhao Ming gave him a deadpan look. “Besides, you do know I’m courting Xue’er.”

  Murong De smirked and clapped him on the back. “Of course, of course. I’m just glad to see you can still make a lady’s heart flutter, even when Xue’er isn’t around to keep you in line. Now come—there’s grain to weigh and caravans to check. You want to build power? This is where it starts.”

  Once Shopkeeper Wu returned from arranging the carriage and guards for Lu Qianyi, Zhao Ming lowered his voice and glanced at Murong De and the shopkeeper with a serious look.

  “Uncle De, Shopkeeper Wu,” he said, “there’s something we need to discuss—privately.”

  Murong De arched an eyebrow, but the glint in his eye showed interest. “Back hall, then. Let’s hear what’s weighing on your mind.”

  The three made their way past the bustling side hall, down a quieter corridor to a back hall that served as a meeting room for internal matters. It was a simple chamber—thick wooden walls lined with scroll racks and ledgers, a low table at the center, and oil lamps casting flickering light on their faces.

  As they sat, Zhao Ming began, his voice calm but firm.

  “With what happened these past weeks, especially the recent noble’s raid on the refugee settlement, I’ve realized something. We can’t keep depending on others for protection. Not even Governor Kong.”

  Murong De leaned back, arms crossed. “Hah. You’re not wrong. That old scholar loves to talk of righteousness and loyalty, but when swords are drawn, he hides behind verses and Confucian principles. Not that I don’t respect his words—but words won’t stop arrows.”

  Shopkeeper Wu gave a cautious nod. “Still, he’s the governor of Beihai. His position carries weight. We must tread carefully.”

  Zhao Ming looked between them. “Exactly why I’m bringing this to both of you first. I want us to start building a private force—not an open army, but a trained unit under our control. Small, mobile, trustworthy. Something that allows us to move freely, defend our people, and prepare for what’s coming.”

  Murong De’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “A private force… You planning to outfit them with those repeating crossbows you’ve been working on?”

  Zhao Ming smiled faintly. “That’s part of it. The design’s nearly complete. Once we standardize production, we’ll have an advantage no other militia in this region can match.”

  Shopkeeper Wu scratched his chin. “And who do you have in mind to lead such a force?”

  “Xu Liang,” Zhao Ming replied. “The one leading the refugees on the eastern hill. He’s proven himself—twice. Calm under pressure, disciplined, and the people trust him.”

  Murong De grinned. “I figured you’d say that. I like him. Not the type to chase glory or run his mouth—just does what needs doing. We could use more men like him.”

  Zhao Ming nodded. “With him leading and the new crossbows in their hands, even a small group can fend off larger raiders. That’ll give us leverage—and security.”

  Shopkeeper Wu glanced toward the door, thoughtful. “I agree, but if word spreads too soon, Kong Rong might see this as a challenge to his authority. Especially if we move in secret.”

  Zhao Ming’s gaze sharpened. “Which is why I think we should tell him—just enough to avoid suspicion. We’ll present it as a defensive unit to protect our caravans and the refugee settlement. Something under Murong Trading Hall’s banner.”

  Murong De gave a sly smile. “A mercantile defense force, eh? Clever. Fits our trade routes, gives us excuse to arm up, and doesn’t stir his scholar sensibilities too much.”

  Shopkeeper Wu gave a slow nod. “Very well. I’ll prepare the logistics. We’ll need to source additional materials for the crossbows and select men from among the new arrivals.”

  Zhao Ming looked at them both. “Thank you. I know it’s a risk, but we can’t wait for the storm to reach our doorstep before we act.”

  Murong De gave a hearty chuckle and clapped him on the shoulder. “Boy, you’ve got the Murong fire in your belly. We’ll make this happen—quietly.”

  As the three continued to discuss logistics and personnel, the air in the room shifted from caution to quiet determination. Outside, the clang of unloading cargo and the rising sun of a new day signaled that change was already underway.