Chapter 6: Mangosteen

Cen Yan got home before Qin Yan left.

She had just finished lunch, taken a short nap, and changed into a fresh outfit, ready to head out.

They met face-to-face. She nodded in greeting. "Young Marshal."

Then, "I'm heading out first. A few small things to take care of this afternoon."

Cen Yan said, "I came back on purpose. I heard about the newspaper office."

Qin Yan stopped in her tracks. "I didn't cause trouble. Didn't kill anyone. Just fired a shot by Miss Du's ear—the bullet grazed her earlobe and she bled quite a bit. She fainted from fright."

A gunshot near the ear could deafen someone—possibly. Not necessarily.

The shot she'd fired at the attendant had also been aimed true, avoiding anything vital, nothing that would cripple.

Qin Yan had a fair amount of confidence in her marksmanship.

"I didn't say you caused trouble." Cen Yan said. "Relax. I'm not here to pick a fight."

He gestured. "Let's talk upstairs."

Qin Yan handed her handbag to the maid and followed him up to the second floor.

The bed for the master bedroom still hadn't arrived, so the couple sat in the sitting room instead.

The maid brought tea and withdrew carefully.

Qin Yan picked up her cup and held it.

She remembered hearing that Du Zhuojun and Cen Yan were childhood sweethearts, that there was some history between them.

She also remembered what Ling Manyun had said—that a few days ago, Cen Yan had met Du Zhuojun secretly in the middle of the night.

And she remembered what Du Zhuojun had said just now: that Qin Yan had been chosen because she resembled Du Zhuojun a little, and that was why Cen Yan had agreed to the marriage.

Which of these things were true and which were false—Qin Yan couldn't care less.

She just wanted life to stay uncomplicated.

She was silent for a moment, then spoke.

"Miss Du brought her people to storm my newspaper office. If I let her come and go as she pleases, I'll lose all authority. Managing my staff will only get harder," Qin Yan said.

She went on, "My lead writers are people I cultivated myself. I stayed up late with them, pushed them through deadlines, figured out each one's voice, found respected scholars to vouch for them.

Now they've made a name for themselves. Plenty of papers will want to poach them. If I look like an easy mark, all that effort goes down the drain."

She paused. Cen Yan had lit a cigarette, and his expression seemed fine, so she asked, "Do I need to apologize to Miss Du?"

Cen Yan exhaled smoke. "Not killing her doesn't count as a major offense. No apology needed."

Qin Yan: "..."

"When I was young, I did something stupid. So she likes to use that little incident as a banner to wave around. Next time she provokes you, just kill her or cripple her outright. You don't need to answer to me. As for the Warlord, I'll clean it up for you."

He paused there, as if waiting for Qin Yan to ask something.

But Qin Yan dreaded hearing long, tangled tales of love and hate—she had zero desire to dig into the romance of a stranger.

If he wanted to teach her how to seize territory, manage subordinates, or make money, she'd listen with both ears.

She stayed quiet.

Cen Yan asked again, "Were you scared?"

"No."

"It's still early. What are you doing this afternoon?" he asked.

Before Qin Yan could answer, he added, "I leave for the garrison the day after tomorrow. This trip includes Sucheng. I might not be back for two or three months."

The hint was obvious.

Qin Yan understood his implications perfectly well.

She was speechless for a moment, then said, "The bed hasn't arrived."

"We don't have to do it on the bed."

"Or we could not do it at all," she said.

Cen Yan: "I don't like going without. I didn't rush back in the middle of the afternoon to hear you say that."

Qin Yan: "..."

Cen Yan: "Guest room or the sofa? Bathroom works too."

Qin Yan: "..."

He walked over to her, cigarette between his lips, and hooked a finger around the button of her qipao.

Smoke curled around them. He looked at her.

His desire was heavy, but he never forced her. Qin Yan had turned him down twice before, and both times he'd let it go.

His hand now wasn't heavy either—it was a question, a test.

And a tease.

Qin Yan took the cigarette from his lips, drew on it herself, and kissed him.

Through the crisp bite of tobacco, Cen Yan pulled her into his lap.

The sunlight outside was still bright, sparrows chattered in the branches, and the sofa legs seemed to groan under the weight, mingling with the birdsong.

Qin Yan lay dazed against the armrest, and Cen Yan—uncharacteristically—stopped to be gentle.

His lips brushed the thin sheen of sweat on her back. "You're so white."

A pearlescent white, luminous and smooth, easy on the eyes. With her ink-black hair falling loose, the contrast was striking.

When his hands gripped her waist, Cen Yan felt his eyes had been thoroughly spoiled. It was snow falling over endless yellow sand—utterly, devastatingly beautiful.

Too much pleasure.

Just looking at her was deeply satisfying.

He turned her face toward him and kissed her lips.

"Tired?" he asked.

Qin Yan hummed contentedly. "Mm."

"I'm not done yet."

Qin Yan: "..."

Later she told Cen Yan to go easy, not to break the sofa legs too.

"I really like this sofa. The furniture shop owner said it's imported from Nanyang. If I want a matching one, I'd have to wait half a year..."

Mid-ramble, Cen Yan kissed her, cutting her off.

By evening, Qin Yan was fast asleep in the guest room, while Cen Yan met with his trusted men on the third floor.

The next day, when Qin Yan arrived at the newspaper office, the four lead writers came to see her one by one.

"Miss Du slandered me. I never once thought of resigning."

"Miss Du sent snacks to my wife through a servant. There were two gold bars hidden in the box. My wife has a weak spot for easy money and accepted them. Under questioning, she told me the truth. Here are the gold bars—please return them to Miss Du for me."

"The salary you pay, Editor-in-Chief, is generous. I couldn't possibly leave unless you dismiss me."

"I've never even met Miss Du. She sent an attendant to approach me. So arrogant—why would I ever go to her?"

Qin Yan reassured each of them in turn.

A few words of gratitude here, a subtle warning there, then together they talked about the future.

And she promised raises.

After they left, Secretary Ling Manyun brought coffee into Qin Yan's office. "That's the effect of firing a gun yesterday."

Qin Yan turned her head and noticed the broken glass in the back window, still unreplaced. She nodded. "You were right. Sometimes a gun is more useful than a pen."

Ling Manyun noticed it too. "It's not cold out. Leave the bullet hole a few more days—let everyone downstairs get a look."

Then she asked, "Are we really giving raises?"

"Reward and punishment together," Qin Yan said. "The lead writers get raises. No one else."

The newspaper's revenue had always been strong—Qin Yan made good money. Now that outsiders were trying to poach her talent, past loyalty alone wouldn't keep them. Raises were only reasonable.

Cen Yan had also given her a hundred thousand silver dollars.

She spent the whole day busy in her office.

Near quitting time, Secretary Ling Manyun told her that Du Zhuojun hadn't been discharged—her father had been admitted to the hospital too.

"Director-General Du seems to have been beaten," the secretary said.

"I know. Cen Yan beat him," Qin Yan said.

After yesterday's events, Cen Yan had insisted on bathing with her and recounted everything that had happened at the military government, one thing at a time.

Qin Yan only asked, "Will the Warlord be angry?"

"No," Cen Yan said.

So concise, so certain—Qin Yan decided not to worry about it.

Whoever got beaten had nothing to do with her.

Another day passed, and Cen Yan left.

That was his usual way.

He never told Qin Yan in advance when he was leaving or coming home. She had gotten used to it.

While Cen Yan was away at the garrison, the Warlord's Wife summoned Qin Yan to the Warlord's Mansion.