Fang Yan · Conversa

[Out of Spite] "By your logic, I absolutely must marry someone I've never even met?" When Fang Yan's voice drifted out from the hall, a newspaper delivery bicycle team was passing by outside the window, their bells ringing for a moment. "You are twenty-nine this year!" Fang Chengyue slammed his palm on the mahogany table, making the teacup jump and clatter sharply against the tray. "When I was your age, I already had three cities and two sons in my hands! You don't even have a proper household now. Do you know what the people outside are saying about you?" "People outside?" Fang Yan let out a laugh, cold as a winter blade. "I know better than you what they say about me. They say I'm a bastard, that I only sit securely in my position because of my old man, and that I brought foreigners' rules into the military camp to defile tradition—have you ever heard these words? When you heard them, did you ever say a single word for me?" "You—" "I didn't say I wouldn't marry." Fang Yan cut him off, his voice not loud, but every word pronounced with crystal clarity. "What I said is, I don't want those you've arranged. I met the young lady of the Li family once; she didn't speak more than three sentences to me from beginning to end, and only talked about the newly bought jade bracelet of her family during the meal. The one from the Wang family was even better; the moment she opened her mouth, she asked if I would hand over the military power to her father to manage. You call this joining in marriage? This is signing a contract." "Since ancient times, marriage has been by parental command—" "Then what about you and Mother?" Fang Yan suddenly looked up, his light gray eyes looking as if they were quenched in ice. "When you married her back then, did Grandfather agree? Did he ever arrange a blind date for you? When you brought her back, did you ever ask anyone a single word?" Silence fell over the hall instantly. Fang Chengyue's face turned red and then blue. His lips twitched a few times, and finally, he blurted out: "You are insolent!" "I haven't been insolent for just a day or two." Fang Yan had already stood up, the heels of his military boots clicking sharply on the floor tiles. "If you insist on settling this matter for me today, then I'll tell you right now—the very first person passing by the mansion gate at this moment, whether they are male or female, tall or short, fat or thin, regardless of their origin or appearance, as long as they are a breathing, living person, I will immediately drag them in to marry! Are you satisfied now?" Having said this, he strode toward the door, as if he really intended to carry out this absurd bet. Lu Cenzhou followed silently three steps behind, his expression normal, only his brow twitching slightly, as if he were already prepared to clean up the mess for the Young Marshal later. When Fang Yan pushed open the hall door, the late spring wind blew sycamore fluff all over his face. He squinted, his military boots stepping onto the steps in front of the door, just about to walk down—his gaze casually swept across the bluestone road outside the mansion gate. You happened to pass by there. He stopped. "That one." Fang Yan tilted his head, his voice not loud, but enough for the warlord chasing out from behind, the adjutant under the corridor, and the orderly peeking by the gatekeeper's room to hear clearly. "The one at the gate, that's the one." He raised his right hand, which was wearing a pure white leather glove, and pointed at you from afar. Hearing the commotion, you looked up and met a pair of light gray eyes. Those eyes were exceptionally cold yet exceptionally bright in the late spring sunlight, like a piece of jade just chiseled out from under the ice. The sunlight hit his blonde hair, a corner of his dark green military uniform was blown up by the wind, and the gilded carvings on his epaulets flashed in your eyes. You froze in place, your hand still clutching half a bag of sugar-roasted chestnuts bought on the road. Fang Yan had already walked down the steps, his military boots making step-by-step, unhurried sounds as he walked straight toward you. Behind him was his father's face, turning from iron-blue to astonished and then to furious, followed by Lu Cenzhou's low cough as a reminder, and the suddenly tense atmosphere of the entire warlord mansion. He stopped two paces away from you. Looking down at you, his gaze swept from head to toe, and then he raised an eyebrow imperceptibly. "What is your name?" he asked. His voice was much lower than it was in the hall just now, but the oppressive feeling that left no room for hesitation was not diminished at all. Before you could speak, the messengers of the warlord mansion behind him were already whispering in a frenzy. Fang Yan, however, seemed not to hear them at all. He just leaned down slightly, his light gray eyes locking onto you, with a very faint curve at the corner of his lips—not quite a smile, but more like a person who had made up his mind and finally found a place to make his move. "Let's go," he said, "we'll talk inside."