He Married a Treasure

The ninth day of the eighth month, an auspicious day.

The entire Fengtian City was brimming with festive cheer.

The Great Green House at the Marshal's Mansion was especially lively, with red lanterns hung high, colorful silk fluttering in the breeze, and a continuous banquet laid out from noon until night, the stream of guests nearly wearing down the doorstep.

Zhang Xueming wore a traditional bright red wedding robe, a large red flower pinned to his chest. His already handsome features, set off by this festive attire, looked even more striking and spirited.

Yet the expression on his face didn't quite match the clothes.

"Hey, can't you crack a smile?"

Feng Yong, holding a wine glass, sidled up to him and nudged him with his elbow.

"Today's your big day, who are you scowling at?"

Feng Yong was Feng Delin's son, who had grown up with Zhang Xueming; the two were thick as thieves.

"Can't smile."

Zhang Xueming downed a gulp of wine, feeling nothing but bitterness in his mouth.

"You know as well as I do, I'm being pushed into this."

"Alright, alright." Feng Yong patted his shoulder. "I've heard that Eldest Miss of the Yu Family is a renowned talented woman—well-read, sensible, and pretty to boot. What more could you ask for? Besides, for the armaments factory, it's worth it!"

Zhang Xueming shot him a sidelong glance and said nothing.

Worth it?

Of course it was.

But the thought of handing over his freedom for the rest of his life made his chest tight with frustration.

He pulled Feng Yong to a slightly secluded corner and lowered his voice.

"Yongzi, let me ask you—what do you think of our Feng Army's current equipment?"

Feng Yong paused, then replied, "Not bad, I guess. We've got guns and cannons, way better than those ragtag armies down south."

"Better my ass!"

Zhang Xueming cursed without restraint.

"Our cannons are all secondhand imports—crazy expensive, and we have to beg for shells. Our guns? A mishmash from every country! Logistics alone could drive a man insane. With this, you think we can fight our way Inside the Passes? Dream on!"

Feng Yong was a bit stunned by the outburst, scratching his head.

"You're getting married today, why so fiery?"

"I'm not fiery, I'm anxious."

Zhang Xueming gazed at the generals clinking glasses in the distance, his eyes deep.

"Yongzi, I'm going to tell you something. Don't breathe a word to anyone."

"Go on."

"Just running on the ground won't cut it. We need to get into the sky."

"Into the sky?" Feng Yong was even more confused. "What do you mean? You want to become an Immortal?"

"Immortal my ass!" Zhang Xueming looked at him with exasperation. "I'm talking about airplanes! The kind that fly in the sky and drop bombs!"

He gestured with his hands.

"Picture this: two armies facing off, our planes fly right over their heads, 'boom boom' dropping Iron Lumps down. What can the people below do but scatter like headless chickens? That's what you call a Dimensional Strike, get it?"

Feng Yong's mouth slowly fell open, his eyes filled with shock.

He didn't fully understand what a "Dimensional Strike" meant, but he grasped Zhang Xueming's description.

Just imagining that scene made his blood boil.

"I... I get it!" Feng Yong grabbed Zhang Xueming's arm excitedly. "Xueming, you... you want to build an... Air Force?"

"Shh!" Zhang Xueming made a silencing gesture. "This isn't even off the ground yet. It's just an idea."

He locked eyes with Feng Yong and spoke slowly, word by word.

"I want you to handle this."

"Me?" Feng Yong pointed at his own nose, utterly incredulous.

"That's right, you." Zhang Xueming's tone left no room for argument. "After the New Year, I'm sending you to Europe—to Germany, to France, to Britain! Go learn! Bring back everything—how they build planes, how they fly planes, how they wage war with planes!"

"When you come back, you'll be the Commander of our Feng Army's Aviation Corps!"

Feng Yong's heart pounded wildly.

He looked at Zhang Xueming, this brother he'd grown up with, and in that moment, the man before him seemed to radiate a power that commanded belief.

"Alright!" Feng Yong nodded heavily, raising his glass. "To your Air Force—bottoms up!"

They clinked glasses and drained them in one gulp.

The wedding ceremony was tedious and long, and by the time Zhang Xueming could finally return to the bridal chamber, the sky had gone completely dark.

He pushed open the door, and a faint, sweet fragrance wafted toward him.

The room was arrayed in a blaze of red, the Dragon and Phoenix wedding candles burning quietly, their flickering light casting shadows on the figure seated by the bed.

Yu Fengzhi, clad in a phoenix coronet and ceremonial robes, sat there silently with a red veil covering her head, her hands folded on her knees, like a piece of exquisite porcelain.

Zhang Xueming walked over and picked up the wedding scale from the table.

Just as he was about to lift the veil, the woman beneath it spoke first.

"Second Young Master."

Her enunciation was clear, her tone steady, with none of a new bride's shyness or nervousness.

"I know that this marriage was originally meant for the Eldest Young Master. I am merely a substitute."

Zhang Xueming's movements halted.

He hadn't expected her to be so direct.

"The Yu Family needs the Zhang Family's protection, and the Marshal needs the Yu Family's wealth to build the armaments factory. This is a transaction—I understand."

Yu Fengzhi's words continued, calm without a single ripple.

"So, Second Young Master need not feel troubled. From now on, whatever you wish to do, do it freely. Fengzhi will never become your burden. Whatever you ask of me, I will do."