Location: A Humble Noodle Shop in Zhejiang
The air in the small shop was thick with the warm, savory steam of boiling broth and the tang of vinegar. After days of travel rations, the smell was intoxicating. They found a small wooden table by the window, its surface worn smooth by countless elbows and bowls.
Lusi slid onto the bench with a grateful sigh, immediately flagging down the owner. "Laoban! Two bowls of your best noodles, extra beef in both, and a pot of tea, please!"
Feng sat opposite her, his movements slower, more deliberate. The simple, noisy warmth of the place was a world away from the silent, perfumed halls he knew. He watched as Lusi expertly wiped their chopsticks with her sleeve, humming a little tune.
Their bowls arrived, steaming and fragrant. Lusi immediately dug in, slurping a noodle with unapologetic delight. Feng, however, simply stared into the depths of his bowl, his appetite suddenly gone. The reality of his empty purse was a cold weight in his stomach.
"Hey," Lusi said around a mouthful of food, noticing his stillness. "Why aren't you eating? Not to your taste?"
Feng shook his head, offering a weak smile. "No, it smells wonderful. It's just... no need."
Her brow furrowed. "Why? Are you unwell?"
He let out a short, humorless laugh. "No. It's more... practical. When I got lost, my wallet also fell somewhere. I have nothing to pay with." The admission burned his pride. A prince, brought low by a missing coin purse.
Lusi stared at him for a second, then her face split into a wide, understanding grin. "Just that?!" she exclaimed, as if he'd told her it might rain later. "Aiya, don't worry about that! Just order something. I can pay for you."
She said it so easily, so free from calculation. In his world, every favor had a price, every gift a string attached. Her casual generosity was baffling.
"Why are you helping me?" The question was out before he could stop it, laced with a suspicion he hadn't meant to reveal.
Lusi paused, her chopsticks hovering over her bowl. She looked at him, her head tilted like a curious sparrow. "Oh, you make it all weird," she said, her nose scrunching. "Take it like this: today I am helping, someday you help me back. What do you say?" It was a philosophy, simple and fair. A world view built on trust and reciprocity, not power and debt.
Before he could respond, she turned and called out again, "Laube! One more bowl of noodles, please! Extra beef for this one too! He's hungry!" The owner gave a cheerful shout of acknowledgment from the kitchen.
Feng could only watch, utterly disarmed. He was a prince, a master of courtly intrigue, and he was being utterly schooled in basic human decency by a girl he'd just met.
As they ate, the initial awkwardness faded, replaced by a comfortable silence. Feng found himself studying her—the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled, the effortless confidence in her posture.
"You said you are also going to the capital," he ventured. "Do you have some work there?"
"Oh, no," she said, waving a chopstick. "I am going back home. I am from the capital." She took a sip of tea. "Well, your landlord might be very rude. Do one thing—when we reach the capital, pack your things and come to my home. My home is very big, and my father is also nice. He won't give you a hard time."
Feng couldn't help but smile at her audacity. She was inviting a virtual stranger to live in her house. "That is... incredibly kind. But I couldn't impose. Who is your father? Perhaps I know of him."
She shrugged, as if it were of little consequence. "You live in the capital, you might know him. He is quite famous. Have you heard of the ex-general and current Minister of Military, Zhao Ye? He is my father."
The world stopped.
Feng's chopsticks slipped from his fingers, clattering against the porcelain bowl. The noise was shockingly loud in the bustling shop.
"Shé ma?" The word was a breathless gasp. His mind, so carefully trained for politics and strategy, scrambled to reconcile the rumor with the reality before him.
Lusi blinked, surprised by his violent reaction. "You know him?"
"Know him?" Feng's voice was too loud. He forced it lower, into a disbelieving whisper. "Who doesn't know him? Are you saying you are the daughter of the national hero Zhao Ye?"
"Shé. Wo shi Zhao Lusi!" she said, as if announcing she was the daughter of the local baker. She seemed amused by his awe. "Well, I don't know about him being a hero. What I can say is, he is my best friend. Always makes me laugh like a little joker."
Feng's head was spinning. Zhao Ye's daughter. The pieces clicked into a terrifying, exhilarating place. The military power she represented. The political implications. And then, the old, cruel gossip he'd heard whispered in palace corridors.
He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a confidential murmur. "Well... do you know there are rumors about you? In the capital."
Her expression didn't change. "Of being ugly and mean? I know."
He stared. "Why are you smiling?"
"Because I find it funny."
"Funny?" He was completely lost.
"See?" she said, as if explaining to a child. "Oh, wait, what was your name again?"
"Luo Feng."
"Oh, okay. Feng'er." The familiar term, coming from her lips, sent another jolt through him. No one calls me that. How can she? "Let me tell you something, Feng'er. Whether someone is pretty or ugly, it depends on the person. Everyone has their own perspective. But the funny part is this: I barely stay in the capital. Most of the time, I move around the kingdom. So I can give you a guarantee that the people of the capital don't even know how I look. And about 'mean'?" She gave a dismissive little wave. "When I am home in the capital, I only go there for rest. So I only stay at home. I don't go out. Maybe some people find that mean."
Her logic was irrefutable, a perfect dismantling of the court's petty gossip. She lived so far outside their world that their opinions literally didn't touch her.
"Don't you feel bad?" he pressed, genuinely curious. "About the rumors?"
She looked at him, her gaze clear and steady. "Why take someone's words seriously when that person doesn't even matter in your life, let alone his words?" She leaned in, her voice softening into a confession. "Well, whatever. My father always calls me the most prettiest girl in the world... after my mom. That man always puts his wife before me."
Feng laughed, the tension finally breaking. "Then how is your mom?"
The light in her eyes softened, but didn't dim. "I don't know. Five days after my birth, she died. So there is no way I could remember her." She spoke without a trace of self-pity. "What I heard is that when I was born, my father was returning from a war. When he reached home... my mother was already gone."
"Oh," Feng said, the laughter dying on his lips. "I am sorry."
"Don't be sorry for me," she said gently. Then a mischievous glint returned to her eye. "But maybe be sorry for my father. That he got a daughter who talks about her late mother without feeling any sadness."
Feng was taken aback. "I am sorry to your father, then."
Lusi laughed, a light, melodic sound. "Aiya, let me give you an example. Do you know the Battle of Wanning River from two hundred years ago? You have read it, right?"
"Yeah, I have. And I know it."
"So, if you tell that story to someone, will you feel sad?"
"No."
"Even though thousands of people died, you won't feel sad because you don't know them. Same with me." She stated it as simple fact. "If I had known my mother, of course I would have felt sad. But I don't know her. I can't feel sad just by listening to stories about her. I can only admire her."
Her perspective was so profoundly different from anything he'd ever known. It wasn't cold; it was clear-eyed and honest, free from performed grief.
Feng found himself nodding, truly understanding for the first time. "What was your mom's name?"
"Her name was similar to mine. Ding Lisu." She said the name with pride. "She was a female general."
Ding Lisu.
The name hit Feng like a physical blow. The legendary warrior. The strategic genius. His mind raced, reconfiguring everything. Zhao Ye was not just a powerful minister. Lusi was not just his daughter. She was the heir to two military legends. The political weight of the person sitting across from him, casually finishing her noodles, was astronomical.
"Ding Lisu?!" he breathed, his voice full of awe. "I didn't know your father married Ding Lisu!"
Lusi looked surprised, then pleased by his recognition. "What I know is that my father and mother were both generals when they got married. Only after my birth did my father become the Minister of Military."
She finished the last of her broth and set the bowl down with a satisfied sigh, completely unaware that she had just utterly revolutionized his entire world.
---