“Distinguished guest.” The voice of the Perch Phoenix Pavilion’s proprietor suddenly rang out beyond the door. “Young Master Li upstairs has sent over some wine, freshly opened from the cellar.”

Zhou Heshuo came back to himself and glanced at the sky outside the window. “No need. I’m about to head back — settle the tab from upstairs as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

The guard picked her up. Zhou Heshuo walked over to her and said with a light laugh, “Be good, and don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me — otherwise… you might easily lose your head.”

Huayue looked at him in fear and hurriedly nodded.

Reassured, Zhou Heshuo had someone escort her back to the General’s residence.

The light rain had stopped. Sunlight shone on the pooled water on the windowsill, refracting a dazzling light. Huayue collapsed back onto her familiar bed, and the moment the tension in her mind released, she was overcome with drowsiness.

A pair of black boots stepped through the door with a faint sound. Huayue heard it and, with effort, lifted her head, dimly making out a figure standing by the bed.

“Weren’t you quite unwilling to have anything to do with me?” That person leaned over to look her over, his tone odd. “Why did you lie for me then?”

Huayue recognized the voice, but her mind was a muddled mess and she couldn’t quite react. She hugged the pillow and stayed dazed for a good while before mumbling, “Didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Didn’t help you.”

The soft, pitiful look from before had vanished completely — Steward Yin had returned to her own domain, the corners of her mouth pursed once more, her expression cool and indifferent, her tone utterly flat. “This servant needed to save her own life.”

The person by the bed clicked his tongue. “If you really wanted to save your life, wouldn’t selling me out have been better? You’d have gotten a fat reward too. And if you were found out, you’d have died so thoroughly there wouldn’t be a bone left.”

“…” She buried her head in the pillow and said nothing more, waves of dizziness washing over her again and again, pulling her down like a whirlpool.

In her hazy state, Huayue heard a sigh, then felt a chill on her forehead.

“Who taught you that foul temper?” Li Jingyun sat down at the edge of the bed, pulling her over onto his lap, his eyes full of disdain. “Hasn’t the steward’s quarters managed to smooth out that prickly nature of yours yet?”

The person in his arms, presumably feverish and confused, half-opened her eyes to look at him, a mist over them, the corner of her mouth pursing stubbornly, letting out the faintest huff through her nose.

Still had the nerve to huff at him? Li Jingyun let out a helpless laugh, wrung out a cold cloth and laid it on her, reaching out to poke her flushed cheek. “Soft as anything with outsiders, but with me you’ve got to act up. Told you not to change the dressing, and now look, you’re suffering. Serves you right.”

Her moist eyes glanced at him sideways, and half-asleep, half-awake, Huayue murmured, “I don’t believe you.”

“What?” Li Jingyun didn’t understand, leaning down closer to her.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Don’t believe what about me?”

“Just don’t believe you…” Muttering vaguely, she frowned, even her breath alarmingly hot.

She’d gone delirious with fever. Li Jingyun shook his head, deciding it wasn’t worth arguing with her, and told Badou to go boil some medicine first.

The person in his arms felt like a hot sweet potato fresh from the oven. Li Jingyun glanced around, thinking to get a pillow to prop her up, and when he moved the pillow, something was revealed underneath.

A familiar square of yellowed paper — the thing wrapped inside had already gone hard. He picked it up and looked — well, well, it was just a used patch of medicinal ointment, folded up neatly and precisely for some reason, and tucked under the pillow.

This was the one he’d brought her that day.

He stared at it for a good while, then suddenly laughed. He put both the ointment and the pillow back, then went to fetch a fresh patch of ointment.

Her garment loosened, some of the unhealed wounds on her back showed a ring of red. Huayue whimpered in discomfort and tried to struggle. Li Jingyun, quick to react, held her down, saying irritably, “Do you still want this back of yours or not?”

“Want it…” The person in his arms pouted, her voice suddenly taking on a tearful edge.

Li Jingyun paused, softening his tone. “I’m not scolding you for no reason — look at yourself, who else in this courtyard besides me could possibly help you?”

“Wangfu…”

“That’s a dog?”

Her mouth turned down, and Huayue grabbed the hem of his robe, letting out an aggrieved sob.

“…Fine.” Li Jingyun wiped his face, deciding to be the bigger person. “Let’s count it as a person, then.”

“…”

His fingers, coated in cool ointment, spread it along the edges of the swollen wound as he asked casually, “How did you come to say the pendant went missing the day you saw Han Shuang?”

“Actually, it would have been fine if you’d told the truth. I have ways to smooth it over.”

He thought about it, then pursed his lips. “But since you helped me out, I’ll remember this favor.”

The person in his arms stayed quiet. He glanced at her and said, somewhat uneasily, “If you have any requests, you can make them too.”

“But nothing excessive — you can’t ask me to take back my last request.”

“…”

“What, still not satisfied with that?” Seeing she still hadn’t responded, he stopped what he was doing and, displeased, tilted her chin up. “The worst thing a servant can do is push their luck too—”

The last word caught in his throat and was swallowed back down.

Li Jingyun’s eyes flickered.

The person before him had her eyes shut tight, breathing steady, like a rowdy little puppy finally settled into an obedient sleep, her thick lashes utterly still, the upward curve of her eyes looking docile and endearing.

He let her go, stood stunned for a moment, then let out a low, inexplicable laugh.

Spring had broken through the clouds, shining on the rain-soaked flowers and grass in the courtyard, making them shimmer. Two sparrows perched on a branch, smoothing their feathers as they peered in through the window.

Someone in a dark blue-black crane robe leaned seated on the bed, the cloud-and-thunder pattern on the hem of his robe spread across the bed frame, like the dark, crowded ring at the training grounds.

But on this “ring” there was no sword or blade — instead, a young woman lay sprawled with her garment half-slipped, hair like dark clouds, covered in scars.

The sparrows couldn’t understand, and chirped a few notes.

As if roused from his thoughts by the birdsong, Li Jingyun pressed his lips together, the sleeve of his crane robe gathering as he gently laid his hand atop her head.

“Well done, little Wangfu,” he said softly.

The little Wangfu sleeping soundly in his arms didn’t hear his praise.

Three days later, Yin Huayue’s injuries finally healed well enough that she could get out of bed and begin doing ordinary chores again. But the first task she received turned out to be rather thorny.

The sun was bright over the East Courtyard, and with a pot of good tea set out at the stone table, one could pass a leisurely afternoon. Li Jingyun squinted at the clear sky, lazily yawning, his eyes hazy with dark color.

Huayue edged a step closer to him, hands folded, holding her breath and steadying her nerves.

He didn’t turn around.

Huayue pressed her lips together and took another step, her skirt swaying, her embroidered shoes tapping softly against the bluestone.

Li Jingyun still seemed oblivious.

Puffing her cheeks, Huayue took a deep breath, about to speak up directly—

“I’m not going.” The man with his back to her spoke up suddenly, giving her an answer without even waiting to hear the question.

A breath caught in her throat, and Huayue coughed uncontrollably, staring at him in disbelief.

Li Jingyun finally turned around, twirling the jade fan in his hand, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “Looking like that, and you still call yourself the steadiest maid in the General’s residence?”

“Young master.” Huayue truly couldn’t understand. “This servant hasn’t even said what it’s about — how could you already say no?”

“The capital’s cleared up, the hunting grounds out east must be open by now.” Li Jingyun said lazily. “Every year they have me go ‘open the mountain.’ This year I’m sick of it, don’t feel like going.”

“But Madam said many people are going this year — those you get along well with, and even distinguished guests from the palace.”

He gave a snorting laugh, tapping the table edge with the fan’s rib, his eyes sweeping her way with a hint of knowing mockery. “Why don’t you just say Han Shuang’s going?”

“…” Huayue shut her mouth, glancing aside guiltily.

He turned his face to look at her and said with feeling, “An ungrateful dog, indeed. Wound barely healed, and already so eager to sell out your master for favor. Such a waste of how much I’ve doted on you.”

Her ears grew inexplicably warm. Huayue stepped back, frowning. “Young master, Madam means well for you.”

“Right, in your mouth Madam is never at fault — it’s always me being ungrateful, not knowing a good thing when I see it.” Li Jingyun half-closed his eyes, looking a bit listless.

Before, Huayue would have taken this as simply the young master’s temper flaring up, rebellious as ever, and would have just had him bound and dealt with. But these past few days… she lowered her eyes, genuinely a little reluctant to be so harsh.

After a moment’s thought, Huayue reached out to pour him tea. “I hear the hunting grounds out east are very large — they have everything.”

He switched hands to prop up his cheek, the back of his head facing her. “Nothing new there.”

“Then, how is the young master’s horsemanship?” she asked with a smile.

Li Jingyun scoffed. “Why do you think I’m sick of it? So many people, and not one who can match me.”

Huayue looked surprised. “The young master really is that skilled.”

“Hmph.”

After a moment’s thought, Huayue said quietly, “Even if you don’t go in for the hunt, there’s a hot spring by the hunting grounds — the young master could go enjoy the scenery and relax.”

“Not going.”

“Then, the tavern halfway up the mountain? I hear they have extremely delicious wild game.”

“Not going.” Li Jingyun grew impatient. “Stop with all this, whatever it is — I said I’m not going, and a gentleman’s word is worth a thousand pieces of gold.”

Her eyes softening, Huayue sniffed. “This servant has never been to a hunting ground.”

“…”

Li Jingyun paused, not turning around.

She smiled again, a light rising in her eyes. “I hear you might even catch a white deer while hunting, and there are foxes and pheasants, wild boars and wolves — this servant has never seen any of them.”

She looked at his back, her tone carrying a hint of coaxing. “Could the young master take this servant along to see them?”

His spine stiffened, and Li Jingyun said, a little annoyed, “There are plenty of things you haven’t seen, does that mean I have to—”

Before he could finish, someone tugged at his sleeve.

The person behind him was very close now; he could hear the sound of her hands clasping together, warm breath drifting over from behind, her tone gentle beyond belief:

“Please.”

The clever little Wangfu had learned the method of begging he’d taught her, and now wielded it with practiced ease.

Li Jingyun turned his head, rolling his eyes without much grace. “I taught you that to make you learn to yield gracefully, not to use as some miracle cure.”

Huayue gave an ingratiating smile, her clasped paws bowing at him once more.

Li Jingyun figured that raising a dog shouldn’t involve too much indulgence, or the dog raised would only push its luck further — one should use both kindness and authority, and after giving one taste of sweetness, absolutely not give in to her request the next time.

He thought it through quite clearly, but somehow, by the time he came back to his senses, the carriage was already on its way to the eastern outskirts.