Even as the great wind rose and thousands of troops galloped past beneath the teahouse, Jiang Zhiyi’s hand resting on the windowsill remained stiff and motionless, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on the empty street center.

Onlookers at the roadside burst into commotion, huddling together and pointing as they discussed something.

Jing Zhe quickly pulled the dazed Jiang Zhiyi inside and stepped forward to close the windows.

The chattering voices were shut out, and the private room fell silent.

Jiang Zhiyi’s face alternated between pale and flushed as she stared at the closed window before her. After a long moment, she finally came to her senses and slowly turned her head: “What… what did he just say?”

Jing Zhe coughed lightly: “Young General Shen asked if you would still like your tea, and when you didn’t respond, he left…”

“Before that,” Jiang Zhiyi clutched her handkerchief and steadied herself against the windowsill.

“He seemed… seemed not to recognize you…”

“He doesn’t—he doesn’t recog—” Jiang Zhiyi laughed from extreme anger, “Has the war blinded his eyes?!”

“It must be that you’ve grown even more stunningly beautiful over these years, captivating all who see you, which is why Young General Shen couldn’t recognize you at first!”

“Are you suggesting that this Princess wasn’t beautiful before?”

“Then perhaps he did recognize you…” Jing Zhe persisted stubbornly, “But he didn’t dare drink your tea, so he pretended not to know you to drive you away with anger?”

“Are you suggesting I’m stupid and was publicly made a fool of by him?”

Jing Zhe was speechless.

Jiang Zhiyi’s chest heaved as she regulated her breathing, then returned to her seat.

Jing Zhe hurried over to pour tea and noticed the book *The Tale of Yi Yi* on the small table. She suddenly realized: “The story says you need the male protagonist’s sword to break the curse, and the male protagonist is written as Young General Shen. Did you deliberately invite him upstairs earlier to see his sword?”

“What else about him would be worth a second glance?”

Jiang Zhiyi took a sip of tea to cool her temper. After sitting for a while, no matter how much she thought about it, she still couldn’t understand.

In the past, that man would have snapped back at her first sentence and lost his patience by the second, coming upstairs. But seeing Shen Yuance’s composed and unaffected demeanor earlier, she couldn’t tell if he truly didn’t recognize her or if the war had changed his temperament.

Jiang Zhiyi beckoned to one side: “Mirror.”

Jing Zhe took out the small bronze mirror she carried and held it before her.

Jiang Zhiyi turned her face left and right, examining herself thoroughly, then opened her arms and looked down at herself.

She had been beautiful since childhood, consistently and unwavering in her beauty—how could someone with functioning eyes fail to recognize her?

Jing Zhe: “Young General Shen has now gone to the palace for an audience with the Emperor. What shall we do?”

“Is he the only person in all of Chang’an with a sword? Does this Princess have no choice but to rely on him?” Jiang Zhiyi picked up the storybook and slapped it aside. “Doesn’t this book claim that whatever it writes comes true? Go to the Three Pleasures Bookstore now and tell them to change the male protagonist!”

In the afternoon, a silver-topped carriage with jade-inlaid carvings and pearl curtains stopped at the entrance of the military camp outside the capital.

Inside the carriage, Jiang Zhiyi supported her body, numbed from the jolting ride, swallowing her anger with a gloomy face.

She didn’t know what misfortune she had invited this morning. After leaving the teahouse, she had encountered another setback at the Three Pleasures Bookstore.

The shopkeeper claimed he had never seen this *Tale of Yi Yi*, speculating that the book might not have been cataloged yet and was mistakenly placed in the box sent to the Marquis’s mansion. He promised to trace its origin diligently and send the sequel or the author to the mansion as soon as they were found.

By the time they found it, she might be beyond saving, so she had made another trip to the Taiqing Taoist Temple to consult Master Zhang about the remedy.

Master Zhang’s explanation coincided with the Taoist in the story: if one needed to select a lethal weapon, a blood-bathed precious sword would naturally be the best choice, and the more recent and plentiful the bloodbath, the better the effect.

Speaking of “recent” bloodbaths, who could be more “recent” than Shen Yuance, who had just returned from the battlefield?

Leaving the temple, Jiang Zhiyi sat in her carriage and calmed herself for half an hour, repeating “small forbearance prevents greater chaos” eight hundred times in her heart before setting off for this place—

Except for the commanders, border troops were not permitted to linger in the city. She heard that after leaving the palace, Shen Yuance hadn’t had time to return to his mansion but had gone to the suburban camp to settle the Xuance Army troops who had returned with him.

At the camp entrance, the soldier on duty saw the imperial token that Jing Zhe presented and hurriedly let them in to report their arrival.

Jing Zhe returned to the carriage and helped Jiang Zhiyi put on her waist-length light gauze veiled hat: “The solution requires your handling. Please bear with the inconvenience of going down there, and when you meet Young General Shen, do try to contain your anger.”

She would endure it—just this once in her life. After overcoming this ordeal, she would never voluntarily approach Shen Yuance’s door again in this lifetime.

Jiang Zhiyi took a deep breath and stepped out of the carriage.

The area was surrounded by mountains on three sides and water on one, with the air permeated by a cold, earthy smell. As soon as she left the carriage, Jiang Zhiyi couldn’t help but cover her nose with her handkerchief. She placed one foot on the step, then hesitated.

“Princess,” Jing Zhe reminded her softly, “small forbearance prevents greater chaos.”

Jiang Zhiyi held her foot in mid-air, staring at her gleaming white shoes, then at the muddy ground her toe was about to touch. She withdrew her foot and gritted her teeth: “What can be endured and what cannot?”

Jing Zhe looked back and signaled to the escort guard.

The guard understood immediately and unloaded a roll of snow-white fleece carpet from the backup carriage behind them, unfurling it with a flourish.

The carpet rolled out, extending from the carriage into the camp.

“…” Inside the camp, the busy soldiers’ eyes followed the rolling carpet, freezing in place like wooden chickens.

Looking up, they saw a young woman on the carriage wearing an outer cloak of white fox fur with gauze facing, and beneath it a dazzling jacket and skirt. The hem of her skirt was lifted high by a pair of pearl-embroidered upturned shoes. She looked down with satisfaction at this “celestial cloud path,” lifted her toe, and walked step by step into the camp. As she walked, her veiled hat’s light gauze fluttered in the wind, and the numerous ornaments adorning her body jingled melodiously.

The camp’s tall and sturdy deputy commander was so startled he almost tripped over a stake. After a moment’s pause, he hurried forward: “This subordinate Mu Xinhong pays respects to the Princess!”

Jiang Zhiyi stood in the middle of the camp, looking with surprise at the tents being erected.

A few wooden poles and a piece of cloth could be someone’s dwelling?

Although the Shen family wasn’t an ancient aristocratic clan, since Shen the Envoy had risen to prominence through military achievements, they had joined the ranks of the Great Ye Dynasty’s new nobility. Shen Yuance had indulged in luxury since childhood, yet now he could live in such crude and makeshift quarters? Had he truly transformed into a different person?

Jing Zhe stepped forward to engage with the deputy commander: “The Princess is grateful for Young General Shen’s kindness in saving the cat this morning and has brought gifts to express her thanks. Is Young General Shen in the camp?”

“The Young General…” Deputy Commander Mu looked around. “He seems to have gone out to inspect the terrain.”

“Oh, then this Princess has come at an inopportune time.” Jiang Zhiyi’s voice was cool and indifferent, but her lips curved into a smile beneath her veiled hat.

His absence was even better, as she was only looking for the sword.

Given the relationship between Shen Yuance and herself, if he knew what she wanted, it would be fortunate enough if he didn’t deliberately oppose her, let alone fulfill her wishes. She hadn’t planned to borrow the sword openly today anyway and had been wondering how to get Shen Yuance out of the way before taking action. Now she had saved a step.

Heaven was indeed on her side.

Seeing that the weapons displayed outside weren’t very valuable, Jiang Zhiyi discreetly glanced around and set her sights on the large tent standing prominently in the center of the camp.

Jing Zhe understood Jiang Zhiyi’s intention: “Do you have a place where we can rest?”

“This… As you can see, the tents in the camp aren’t set up yet…”

“Isn’t that tent already set up?” Jing Zhe pointed behind him.

“That’s our Young General’s tent, I’m afraid it wouldn’t be appropriate…”

“In this cold, even if your Young General were here, he would invite our Princess inside to warm up. Your hesitation here could make the Princess catch a cold—can you bear that responsibility?”

“But this…”

With a light “tap,” Mu Xinhong shuddered and paused, rubbing his lower back where the pebble had struck him. He slowly turned his head.

“This—” Mu Xinhong tentatively stared at the gap in the tent door, “It seems I cannot bear that responsibility?”

Jiang Zhiyi: “?”

Does this need to “seem” so?

Hasn’t your general taught you that a Princess is of first rank, even outranking him by three grades?

The air was quiet for a moment before Mu Xinhong hurriedly turned back, bowing with a gesture of invitation: “I cannot bear it, cannot bear it… Please follow this subordinate, Princess.”

He was indeed Shen Yuance’s soldier, appearing somewhat dim-witted.

Jiang Zhiyi gave him a puzzled look before stepping onto the carpet and moving forward. When Mu Xinhong lifted the tent flap for her, she stood at the entrance and surveyed the interior.

The hexagonal tent was divided in half by a fabric curtain. The inner half was not visible, presumably where the sleeping area was located. The outer half contained a desk, a sand table, a rack of weapons, and…

Spotting a separate black wood sword stand beside the weapon rack, Jiang Zhiyi’s gaze sharpened. She glanced at Jing Zhe.

Jing Zhe immediately frowned at Mu Xinhong: “Why is it so cold even inside the tent? Doesn’t your Young General’s tent have a charcoal fire?”

“The Young General…” Mu Xinhong glanced at the curtain inside, “is not afraid of the cold.”

“Our Princess is sensitive to cold. Surely you have hot tea ready?”

“This subordinate will send someone to fetch it at once.” Mu Xinhong went to the entrance to instruct a soldier, then returned to the tent, standing firmly in place.

Jiang Zhiyi stared at him through her veiled hat.

Though not very bright, he was loyal. She wondered what unsavory things Shen Yuance had told his subordinates about her that made them guard against her like a thief.

Did they think she, who possessed mountains of gold and silver, would steal their pile of scrap metal?

Jiang Zhiyi pondered patiently, then beckoned to Jing Zhe and walked inside.

Jing Zhe followed her to the curtain, leaned in close to listen for a moment, then nodded.

Mu Xinhong stared at the curtain, breaking out in a cold sweat, and wiped his damp forehead.

Jiang Zhiyi turned around and sat down on the rose chair brought by her escort, her fingers tapping lightly on the armrest: “When will your Young General return?”

Mu Xinhong: “In reply to the Princess, he may not return for some time. Perhaps I should send someone to—”

Jiang Zhiyi raised her palm to stop him: “The Young General is busy with official duties. No one is to disturb him.”

“This subordinate thanks the Princess on behalf of the Young General for your consideration.”

“My relationship with your Young General…” Jiang Zhiyi laughed silently, her fingers tapping more briskly on the armrest, “No need to stand on ceremony.”

The soldier sent to fetch tea quickly returned, approaching Jiang Zhiyi and bowing as he offered the teacup.

Jing Zhe reached out to take it, but just as she touched the rim—

“Oh!” The teacup shook, tea splashed, and Jiang Zhiyi grabbed her skirt and stood up abruptly.

“How careless you are!” Jing Zhe stepped forward to shield Jiang Zhiyi’s “wet” clothes, looked back at her “miserable state,” and hurriedly called to her guard outside the tent, “Quickly bring a change of clothes for the Princess from the carriage!”

The tea-serving soldier stood dumbfounded, looking at Mu Xinhong with a face full of terror.

“The Princess needs to change clothes. Why are you still standing here? Have you lost your eyes?” Jing Zhe pointed at the two men.

Mu Xinhong awkwardly rubbed his pants: “Uh, that, perhaps the Princess should…”

“Withdraw immediately!”

“This…” Mu Xinhong secretly glanced at the motionless curtain, “Then… this subordinate shall withdraw?”

Even for withdrawing, he had to ask air for permission? Could the air grow hands to hold him back?

Just as Jiang Zhiyi was about to say something, Mu Xinhong nimbly pulled away the small soldier and retreated, gently closing the tent flap.

Only the whistling wind coming through the tent gaps remained. Jiang Zhiyi lifted her veiled hat and winked at Jing Zhe.

“The Princess is truly resourceful,” Jing Zhe whispered.

“That goes without saying!”

Jiang Zhiyi beckoned Jing Zhe to the black wood sword stand and carefully examined the sword, about three feet long and three inches wide.

“Such a large sword, can he even lift it…” Jiang Zhiyi muttered dubiously, but as soon as she leaned closer, she jerked back, staggering two steps backward.

“What’s wrong, Princess?”

“It stinks! What is that smell?”

Jing Zhe leaned in to sniff: “Sword… sword smell?”

“?”

“It might be,” Jing Zhe inhaled deeply again, not entirely certain, “some sort of blood smell?”

Jiang Zhiyi’s nose was still wrinkled, but her eyes brightened.

Blood smell—that was exactly right.

Master Zhang had said that to determine how much blood a sword had bathed in, besides counting how many people it had killed, one should also check if its blood groove was long, deep, and wide.

Now with the tent flap closed and the thick curtain blocking half the daylight from coming in, it was hard to see clearly.

Jiang Zhiyi nodded to Jing Zhe, indicating she should draw the sword from its scabbard, while she walked to the curtain, preparing to pull aside this obstructing fabric.

Jing Zhe hesitantly pointed at the scabbard, mouthing to Jiang Zhiyi: It will make noise.

Having come this far, Jiang Zhiyi had lost her patience. She pointed at her own throat, signaling for Jing Zhe to follow her lead: “Cough, cough, cough…”

Jing Zhe was stunned.

Wasn’t this a bit too much like “covering one’s ears while stealing a bell”?

Jiang Zhiyi gave her an urging look, one hand covering her mouth as she coughed, the other forcefully pulling open the curtain.

With a swoosh, daylight flooded in, instantly brightening the room.

Beyond the curtain, a tall young man stood bare-chested and slightly damp, holding a bloodstained towel by a basin stand. He tilted his head and looked over questioningly.

Their eyes met, and Jiang Zhiyi choked: “Cough, cough, cough, cough, cough…”

“You… cough, cough… why are you here?!”

Yuance looked at her calmly, tossed aside the towel, and turned to pick up a roll of fine cloth for bandaging: “That’s a question I should be asking the Princess, isn’t it?”

Jing Zhe hurried over in panic, raising her arm to shield Jiang Zhiyi’s eyes.

Jiang Zhiyi belatedly blinked at the clearly defined muscles of his bare torso, quickly turning away: “Why aren’t you wearing clothes?!”

“My tent, why can’t I be without clothes?”

“Are you deaf? Didn’t you hear this Princess had arrived?”

Yuance raised an eyebrow: “I heard. Didn’t the Princess say? Our relationship, no need to stand on ceremony.”

“…Not to this extent of informality.” Jiang Zhiyi gritted her teeth, enunciating each word.

“Then perhaps next time the Princess could give notice before pulling aside the curtain?”

Facing the tent door, Jiang Zhiyi clenched her fists, blood rushing to her head as she kept replaying the moment when she had pulled open that stupid curtain.

“You, get properly dressed immediately, or don’t blame this Princess for reporting your indecent conduct to the court!”

No response came from behind, only the rustling sound of fabric against fabric.

He must have been frightened by her and was now obediently dressing.

Jiang Zhiyi slowly exhaled, gradually loosening her hand at her side, but immediately tightened it again and cleared her throat: “You’ve… heard everything just now.”

“‘When the tea-bearer comes, go spill the tea’—is the Princess asking about this sentence?” A snort of laughter escaped from behind.

“…”

“Or perhaps—’ The Princess is truly resourceful’ ‘That goes without saying’—these two sentences?”

“……”

I asked if you heard, just answer yes or no. Who asked you to answer like this?

“The Princess has been bustling about in this tent for so long. Why not speak directly? If there’s something you fancy and I can give it, this subject would certainly not be stingy.”

Jiang Zhiyi was slightly startled, touching her somewhat hot ears.

This Shen Yuance, whose arrogance used to be so fierce, why was he now referring to himself as “this subject” before her?

The rustling sound from behind ceased, replaced by the noise of someone taking a seat.

Jiang Zhiyi came to her senses, straightened her posture, adjusted the edge of her cloak collar, and turned around with dignity: “This Princess fancies your…”

…Why aren’t you dressed yet?!

Jiang Zhiyi’s feet barely touched the ground before she spun around again, turning her back once more.

Behind her, Yuance sat impassively on the edge of the bed with his legs spread, using one hand to wrap the fine cloth around his shoulder. He looked down at himself: “Me?”

“?”

“This—” The person behind pondered for a moment, seemingly giving it serious consideration, “This subject fears he cannot give himself to the Princess.”