On the day Zhao Di’er completed her third month as security instructor at Little Lin Manor, she received a letter from home.
It was written in her father’s own hand—Zhao Tieshan, chief escort of the Zhao Family Escort Agency. The letter was brief and brusque: “I hear my daughter has found work as a guard for someone in the capital. You’ve made something of yourself. I’ll be there in three days to see what kind of immortal can command the Zhao family’s daughter. Also, bringing two cartloads of Jiangnan local goods—arrange a place to unload.”
Zhao Di’er stood in the courtyard, clutching the letter, her face alternating between pale and flushed, frozen there for a good incense stick’s worth of time.
“What’s wrong?” Lin Jingshen had just returned, carrying two bags of newly bought candied fruit—he’d recently figured out that Zhao Di’er had a sweet tooth. Seeing her expression, he leaned in to glance at the letter.
The moment he saw it, the candied fruit nearly slipped from his hands.
“Your father… is coming?”
“Yes.” Zhao Di’er squeezed the word out through her teeth.
“Wh-what for?”
“What do you think?” Zhao Di’er shot him a sideways glance. “Doesn’t it say in the letter? ‘To see what kind of immortal can command me.’”
Lin Jingshen swallowed hard.
This chief escort… could lift a three-hundred-pound stone lock with one hand, had single-handedly cleared out Black Wind Fortress with just a blade in his youth, and had never lost a shipment in thirty years of escorting—his nickname was “Iron Arm, Warden of Three Rivers.”
More importantly, the old man had made his stance clear: anyone who wanted to marry his daughter either had to beat him in martial arts or outwit him—otherwise, forget it.
“Th-then what do we do?” Lin Jingshen, rarely at a loss for words, stammered.
Zhao Di’er stared at him for a long moment, then suddenly smiled—a smile that made Lin Jingshen’s hair stand on end.
“What else can we do?” She folded the letter and tucked it into her robe. “My father values honesty above all. He said he wants to see, so you let him see. Whether he approves or not…” She patted him on the shoulder. “Fend for yourself, Second Young Master Lin.”
With that, she turned and walked away, her ponytail swinging.
Lin Jingshen stood there, holding the two bags of candied fruit, suddenly finding the sweets in his hand not so sweet anymore.
News spread quickly through Little Lin Manor.
“Miss Zhao’s father is coming?” Wei Fuyu was practicing with her staff. She stopped mid-motion, eyes lighting up. “The great Chief Escort Zhao? I heard that in his youth, he swept through Jiangnan undefeated with his iron spear! Could I spar with him?”
Lin Shuying was in the melon field recording the growth data of the second batch of square watermelons. Without looking up, she said: “Sister Wei, are you trying to get my second brother killed?”
“Huh?” Wei Fuyu was confused.
“Chief Escort Zhao is coming to evaluate a son-in-law, not to fight.” Lin Shuying closed her notebook. “If you beat him, where’s his dignity? If he beats you… my second brother has no chance.”
Wei Fuyu scratched her head: “That complicated?”
“Jianghu matters are always complicated.” Lin Shuying brushed the dirt off her hands. “But… it’s not hopeless.”
She beckoned A-Gua over and gave him a few quiet instructions. A-Gua’s eyes went from blank to bright, nodding repeatedly before darting off.
Lin Jingshen spent the next two days in torment.
Zhao Di’er, meanwhile, acted as if nothing were wrong—training, eating, occasionally giving him pointers on a few moves.
Though each session ended with comments like “Your stance is as shaky as tofu” or “That move’s softer than embroidery.”
“Look, Miss Zhao,” Lin Jingshen finally couldn’t hold it in on the morning of the third day, “your father arrives this afternoon—won’t you give me a clue? What does he like? What does he hate? So I can prepare?”
Zhao Di’er was wiping her saber. She looked up: “My father likes genuine people, hates smooth talkers. Likes those with backbone, hates those who run from trouble. Likes smart people, hates fools.”
Lin Jingshen counted on his fingers: “Genuine, has backbone, smart… I think I’ve got a bit of all of those?”
Zhao Di’er sheathed her blade, stood up, walked over to him, looked him up and down, then patted his chest: “Your martial skills might be lacking, but my father says the jianghu isn’t just about fists. But if you don’t even have the courage to face him…” She didn’t finish, but her eyes said it all.
Lin Jingshen took a deep breath: “Alright! I understand!”
— —
At the hour of Shen that afternoon, two fully loaded carriages stopped at the entrance of Little Lin Manor.
A sturdy man leaped down from the first carriage—in his fifties, with a square face, a full beard, not overly tall but solidly built, with thick knuckles and prominent veins in his hands.
Standing there, he looked like half an iron pagoda planted into the ground—an imposing presence.
This was Zhao Tieshan.
Behind him, four young men in escort attire followed—alert and energetic, setting to work unloading the goods with practiced efficiency.
Whole crates of Jiangnan silk, tea leaves, cured ham, and two jars of “Daughter’s Red” wine with red paper pasted on them.
“Father!” Zhao Di’er went to meet him.
Zhao Tieshan grunted, but his gaze first swept over Little Lin Manor. He took in the orderly courtyard, the spirited servants, and the lush green melon fields in the distance—his expression softened slightly.
“So this is the estate you’ve been talking about?” His voice boomed, as if shaking the eaves.
“Yes.” Zhao Di’er was uncharacteristically obedient. “The mistress is the Second Miss Lin, Lin Shuying.”
Lin Shuying stepped forward at the right moment and bowed: “Chief Escort Zhao, you’ve traveled a long way—I apologize for not welcoming you properly.”
Zhao Tieshan looked her up and down and nodded: “Lin girl, I’ve heard about your melon-growing even in Jiangnan. Not bad—earning your keep with your own hands is better than those wastrels living off their ancestors.”
“You flatter me, Chief Escort.” Lin Shuying smiled and gestured to the side. “Please, come inside.”
The group entered the main hall.
Tea and refreshments were served, but Zhao Tieshan didn’t sit. He paced the hall with his hands behind his back, his gaze sharp as lightning, scanning every corner.
“The house is well kept,” he commented. “And the staff look sharp. I hear my daughter trained these household guards?”
“Yes,” Lin Shuying said. “Since Miss Zhao arrived, the estate’s security has improved tremendously.”
A trace of a smile finally appeared on Zhao Tieshan’s face: “That’s about the only thing my daughter’s good at.”
Just then, Lin Jingshen entered.
He was dressed in new clothes—a dark blue long robe, his hair neatly tied, trying hard to appear composed.
But the moment he met Zhao Tieshan’s appraising gaze, his palms began to sweat.
“Junior Lin Jingshen pays respects to Chief Escort Zhao.”
Zhao Tieshan turned and stared at him for a full ten breaths.
The hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
“So you’re Lin Jingshen?” Zhao Tieshan spoke.
“Yes.”
“I hear from Di’er that you’re skilled in lightness skills?”
“P-passable…”
“Let’s spar a few rounds.” Zhao Tieshan finished speaking and walked back outside.
Lin Jingshen: “Huh?”
Zhao Di’er gave him a shove: “What are you standing there for? My father says sparring—he’s testing you. If you win, there’s a reward. If you lose… you know what that means.”
Out in the training yard, Zhao Tieshan had already removed his outer robe, revealing a lean, powerful build. He rolled his wrists, and his joints cracked with light pops.
Almost everyone at Little Lin Manor had gathered.
Wei Fuyu squeezed to the front, eyes gleaming; A-Gua and A Li clung to the doorframe; even Auntie Liu, busy in the kitchen, came out with her spatula to watch.
Lin Shuying stood under the corridor, holding a cup of tea, calm and composed.
“Boy, weapons or bare hands?” Zhao Tieshan asked.
Lin Jingshen steeled himself: “Junior excels in lightness skills and swordsmanship, but… I wouldn’t dare draw a weapon before the Chief Escort. I’ll stick to unarmed.”
“You know your place.” Zhao Tieshan nodded. “Come!”
Before the word faded, he was already moving.
Despite his stocky build, he moved as fast as a hunting leopard.
His fist drove straight for Lin Jingshen’s face, the wind whistling, heavy with force.
Lin Jingshen dodged just in time, his footwork shifting to barely evade the blow.
But Zhao Tieshan’s second punch followed immediately, cutting off his escape route.
Lin Jingshen was forced to retreat again, his body floating like a shadow, slipping through the gap in the onslaught at the last possible moment.
“Excellent lightness skills!” someone among the watching escorts called out.
A glimmer of approval flickered in Zhao Tieshan’s eyes, but his attacks didn’t let up.
His fist technique was broad and sweeping, seemingly heavy but actually relentless, pressing forward step by step. Lin Jingshen could only rely on his agility to keep out of reach, occasionally throwing out a strike that was easily deflected.
Ten exchanges in, sweat began to bead on Lin Jingshen’s forehead.
He could tell—Zhao Tieshan wasn’t using his full strength; he was just testing his foundation.
After another twenty moves, Lin Jingshen’s breathing started to falter.
Zhao Tieshan suddenly changed tactics—a sweeping leg kick came at him like an iron whip.
Lin Jingshen leaped to avoid it, but Zhao Tieshan seemed to have anticipated the move. His other hand shot out like an eagle’s claw, grabbing for his ankle!
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