Huang Rong’s face went pale as she quickly suppressed the chaotic thoughts swirling in her mind. Taking a deep breath, she coolly said, “The happiest moment I ever had with Brother Jing was when he came to Peach Blossom Island to propose, defeating Ouyang Ke and passing my father’s test. That was when I was at my happiest.”
Song Qingshu was momentarily dumbfounded. “That works too?”
A sly smile flickered in Huang Rong’s eyes. “Why not? It completely answers your question.”
Only then did Song Qingshu recall that the woman before him had once been a notorious temptress who had troubled countless men. With a sulky expression, he said, “Alright, I’ll let that one pass.”
“Now it’s my turn to ask a question, isn’t it?”
Seeing how easily he had handled her earlier query, Huang Rong felt no reservations—especially since this little game had truly piqued her interest.
“Go ahead,” Song Qingshu replied with the brazen confidence of someone who fears nothing—as shameless as a dead pig not fearing boiling water. His thick skin, honed by years of exposure to all manner of lewd jokes, left him with no reason to be intimidated by her questions.
“Among all the charming women by your side, who do you love the most?”
To Song Qingshu’s surprise, Huang Rong did not continue with the usual provocative line of questioning but instead asked in a refreshingly sincere manner.
“Love the most?” Song Qingshu’s eyes clouded with perplexity as names began to surface in his mind—Zhou Zhiruo, Xia Qingqing, Bing Xue’er, Ah Jiu, Dongfang Muxue… He loved each of them dearly. Yet, unfortunately, even he couldn’t decide which one held the top spot.‘It seems I really have what it takes to be a stud!’
Forcing a bitter smile, Song Qingshu quickly pushed aside his wandering thoughts and grinned at Huang Rong, “I love you the most.”
“Smooth-talking and never serious…” Huang Rong couldn’t help but let slip her words. Though she knew Song Qingshu’s confession was nothing but a tease, having a man declare his love so openly still made her heart race.
“Is that really all you’ve got for my confession? It’s so heartbreaking,” Song Qingshu said, putting on an exaggerated look of wounded sensitivity.
Huang Rong burst into a chuckle. “Oh, you’ve got me there—consider that one question excused, alright?”
“Now it’s my turn to ask you,” Song Qingshu said with a cheeky grin.
“Go ahead,” Huang Rong replied with a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. After their lighthearted banter, the initial formality and worry between them had long since faded.
“Rong’er,” Song Qingshu began, “do you really think that staying by Hero Guo’s side, defending Xiangyang, gives you hope of ever retiring in triumph?”
To Huang Rong’s surprise, Song Qingshu wasn’t aiming to embarrass her this time.
“Of course there’s hope,” she replied. “After all, hasn’t Mongolia just withdrawn its forces? As long as we can thwart the Jin people’s wolfish ambition…”
At first, Huang Rong smiled. But as she continued, that smile slowly faded. The Southern Song court was mired in corruption and darkness, its generals utterly inept, while the northern nomadic states thrived, their ranks filled with fierce warriors. Especially Mongolia—ordinary people might mistakenly believe that Mongolia and Song had become allies. Yet someone like me can see clearly that Mongolia is merely retreating to advance; when they regroup for their next onslaught, victory will be theirs for the taking.
After mulling it over, Huang Rong saw no way out for Xiangyang—no hope at all. In the past, she had instinctively avoided such grim thoughts. As long as her family could be together, every day was a blessing. But now that Song Qingshu had raised the issue, she could no longer escape it.
Seeing her fall silent, Song Qingshu sighed. “Rong’er, you’ve taken on far too much for Xiangyang. With your martial prowess and your status, even in these turbulent times you could have lived a happy life. Why wade into such murky waters?”
Huang Rong gave a sorrowful smile. “A wife follows her husband. Brother Jing is devoted to the country and its people, so naturally, as his wife, I must support him wholeheartedly.”
Song Qingshu let out a low sigh. “Hero Guo fights for the country and its people, but has he ever truly cared for his family? Perhaps in the eyes of the world he is a towering hero—a great swordsman. But in my heart, he is not a good husband. To see his wife transform from the carefree, mischievous girl she once was into a woman constantly burdened by worry and calculation is truly a waste of her gifts.”
Song Qingshu had more to say, but he left his thoughts unspoken. In the original tale, Guo Jing had left Huang Rong—at the moment of childbirth—fleeing like a stray dog from the Mongols, never once appearing as he was consumed by his own preoccupation with Xiangyang. Had it not been for Yang Guo, who heroically set aside past grudges to lend a hand, Huang Rong and her daughter might have long met their doom.
Now that Huang Rong had not yet conceived a second child, those events had naturally never come to pass.
Recalling the original’s enchanting maidservant, Song Qingshu suddenly wore a peculiar expression. Had he, by seizing her love with a sword, claimed Huang Rong for himself, who knows if Guo Xiang would ever have existed?
“Shut up! You’re not allowed to speak ill of Brother Jing!”
While Song Qingshu still wandered in his own thoughts, Huang Rong abruptly stood up, her expression as cold as frost. “A gentleman does not badmouth others behind their backs. I never expected you to be that kind of person—I suppose I misjudged you.”
“Wasn’t I just standing up for you?” Song Qingshu protested. But seeing the deepening dismay on her face, he quickly raised his hand and forced a rueful smile. “Alright, alright, Rong’er—you’re right. I misspoke. My behavior was indeed rather base.”
Seeing him admit his mistake so candidly, Huang Rong’s expression softened. After resuming her seat, she said, “Young Master Song, I can pretend I didn’t hear what you just said, but if it happens again, I won’t consider you my friend.”
At that, Song Qingshu’s eyes lit up, and in his excitement he grabbed her hands. “So, Rong’er, you truly consider me a friend?”
Huang Rong’s cheeks flushed, and she awkwardly withdrew her hands. “Of course I do—otherwise, why would I be here, chatting with you by candlelight?”
‘It would be even better if last night’s events had never happened,’ she silently added in her heart.
“Hahaha, that’s good, that’s good,” Song Qingshu said, suddenly realizing his behavior had been too forward. He quickly apologized, “Sorry, I got too excited.”
Huang Rong gave him an exasperated glare. “Now it’s my turn to ask you.”
“Ask away, Rong’er,” Song Qingshu chuckled.
After a brief hesitation, Huang Rong asked, “This time, you risked so much to save Brother Jing. Do you have any ulterior motives toward me?”
The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Such matters were best left unspoken—understood without words—but for some inexplicable reason, in that moment her reason had flown far away, and the question had slipped out.
“Yes!” Song Qingshu replied succinctly, his firm tone leaving no room for doubt. His piercing gaze made Huang Rong feel flustered, and she quickly changed the subject. “Now it’s your turn to ask.”
“Rong’er, how often do you and your husband… get intimate?” Song Qingshu asked with a mysterious smile playing on his lips.
Huang Rong inwardly spat. This man was utterly shameless—barely a moment had passed before he revealed his true nature by asking such a question. Yet soon, a wave of distress washed over her. If she told the truth—Brother Jing, constantly busy with the defense of Xiangyang, might scarcely have time for intimacy even once a year—wouldn’t that not only embarrass her husband but also give Song Qingshu an opening to exploit?
But if she fabricated a lie, claiming that they were intimate every day…
Instinctively, Huang Rong glanced at Song Qingshu. For some inexplicable reason, she was unwilling to admit in front of him that she was so frequently “enjoyed” by another man—even if that man was her husband.
Taking a deep breath and biting her lower lip, she declared, “I refuse to answer that question. I choose dare.”
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