051 Fu Lin Is Not Fu Lin, Is He!

In ancient times, Kesi silk weaving was reserved solely for the emperor’s dragon robes. The entire process allowed for not the slightest error. This was not out of undue strictness, but because Kesi followed the rule of weaving the picture directly into the fabric, with a single image requiring thousands of threads. In the feudal era, only a select few artisans mastered this craft, making it a symbol of nobility. Yet, with the passing of that era, Kesi nearly vanished from the common world.

Fortunately, in recent years, as the nation developed, greater attention was paid to the inheritance of traditional skills, and Kesi was brought into the public eye, moving from obscurity onto the silver screen, becoming widely known. Still, this did little for the true continuation of the craft. Few could afford to use such techniques, and fewer still found opportunities to do so; with little profit to be made, few newcomers were drawn in.

But this was not the case in the Seven Sects. From a young age, Su Yunjin was taught needlework by her Sixth Grandmother, who guided her hand by hand. At that time, she did not understand the meaning of inheritance; she merely found that sitting before the loom spared her from memorizing tedious lessons. She would linger in her grandmother’s room for hours on end. Eventually, she learned embroidery, weaving, and finally, Kesi.

Because mistakes were unacceptable, her earliest works were far from pleasing; the designs were beautiful, but the finished products were crooked and awkward. Yet Sixth Grandmother, ever doting, only smiled, never minding the expensive threads wasted. Over time, her Kesi skills advanced rapidly—she could complete a garment in as little as half a year.

Behind every exquisite piece, however, was a string of failures. She had thought Sixth Grandmother must have long since thrown them away, but upon returning to the sect after graduating from university, she discovered her grandmother had kept them all. With a few alterations, these became handkerchiefs, foot cloths, and insect-repellent sachets for her grandparents. The one Su Yunjin wore was the earliest of her works, and also the one that drew the most laughter from her grandmother. The old woman seemed to remember every awkward, ugly, and unskilled attempt from Su Yunjin’s learning days.

Of course, the sachet did not just differ in appearance; it also contained herbs unique to the Seven Sects Mountain. It was one of a kind—anyone wishing to tamper with it would need considerable skill indeed.

Having explained to her grandparents about sending for the item, Su Yunjin waited for Zhang Zhichang to send someone for the token. Yet instead of a visitor, she received a call from her Third Grandfather. He told her that Elder Fu had come to the Seven Sects, and, knowing she needed the ancient chime stone, had brought it down and had his grandson deliver it.

This news was a relief to Su Yunjin. The ancient chime stone was an artifact of some age; she would have been heartbroken if it were damaged. It was, after all, a cultural relic. So, after Third Grandfather explained, Su Yunjin agreed cheerfully.

She knew of Elder Fu, Fu Xingguo—not only knew of him, but had also heard the story of how her grandparents once went to the Fu family to propose a marriage alliance, only to be gently rejected by Elder Fu. It was a bit embarrassing, but Su Yunjin was not one to dwell on such things. The sect’s genealogy recorded the Fu family’s role in rebuilding the Seven Sects, as well as the near-marriage alliance between their families. For this, she held the Fu family in great esteem.

Without the Fu family, there would be no present-day Seven Sects, and she would not have been adopted. Abandoned in the mountains by her parents, had it not been for her grandparents, she might never have seen another sunrise.

People say the world is unworthy, but Su Yunjin felt it was full of worth. She loved her grandparents, the mountains and waters of the sect, and the bustling world below she had glimpsed. Everything was so beautiful.

Still, she felt a touch of awkwardness about the Fu family. Even though the broken engagement had nothing to do with her, the thought of a marriageable young lady being offered and refused was embarrassing. But she understood the reason: at that time, the Fu family was dwindling; the young master had been married for four or five years without a child, and she was already two—naturally, they did not want to take her in as a child bride.

“Will the one coming from the Fu family be the young grandson?” Su Yunjin wondered, suddenly curious about the current young master who carried the family’s bloodline. For so many years, she had never met him, as if by unspoken agreement. Whenever she left the mountain, the Fu family’s young master would visit, and whenever she returned, he would stop coming. Similarly, when she visited the Fu family, he was always away at school or with the army.

Indeed, the only thing she knew about the young master was that he studied at National Defense University, excelled in his studies, and, coincidentally, shared a name with the firefighter who had once confessed his feelings for her—Fu Lin. Because of the school’s special nature, there were only childhood photos of him in the Fu family’s guest hall and Elder Fu’s tea room—none beyond the age of three.

“Fu Lin…”

Thinking of this name, Su Yunjin frowned, somewhat uneasy. She had been admired by others before, but someone like Fu Lin, who confessed so abruptly, always struck her as a bit of a scoundrel. It was no different from those men on the street who asked for a stranger’s WeChat.

“It can’t be such a coincidence,” she mused. “He’s at National Defense University, not in the fire brigade.” Shaking off the thought, she dismissed the unsettling possibility. If Fu Lin the student and Fu Lin the firefighter were the same, the embarrassment would be unbearable—both the rejected engagement and the confession would be too much.

Her restless imagination made her anxious, and by evening prayers, she was distracted and plagued by a splitting headache. Fortunately, her worries proved unfounded. In the end, it was Zhang Zhichang, not the young master of the Fu family, who brought her the chime stone.

Receiving the ancient instrument, Su Yunjin thanked him earnestly and casually inquired who had helped deliver it—partly out of curiosity, partly because she wanted to thank the person in person when she next visited the Fu family. One must not forget the messenger, after all.

“A tall, thin young man, looked to be in his twenties, quite handsome,” Zhang Zhichang replied.

“Do you have a contact for him?” Su Yunjin pressed, still unwilling to let go of her odd suspicion.

“No,” Zhang Zhichang answered, somewhat puzzled. “He said he was sent by your people from the mountain—you’d know.”

Su Yunjin, seeing his confusion, smiled. “Someone from the mountain sent him. I just thought it might be a friend I know.”

“Oh, then you can ask around,” Zhang Zhichang said, the realization dawning on him.

Su Yunjin asked nothing more. After thanking him again, she carefully stored away the chime stone. Next, it was time for rehearsal.