The banquet ended with darkness so thick that even with lanterns lit, the path ahead was difficult to see.

Supported by Lu Huating, the moment Qun Qing stepped into the snow, she realized she had drunk a few cups too many at the banquet. Walking on level ground felt like walking on waves.

Two lanterns swayed back and forth before her eyes—she guessed it must be Juan Su and the others coming out to greet them. Her head spun terribly. She wanted to hurry back to her room, but suddenly there came a crisp cracking sound, followed by clamorous shouting all around, everyone calling out “Be careful!”

She stood rooted to the spot and looked down—the hem of her skirt was soaking in water.

“Who placed a water vat at the doorway? Isn’t this deliberately trying to harm someone!”

“The water vat wasn’t at the doorway, it was in the corner! We just added hot water—there’s sobering soup warming inside. The servants were waiting here, but Madam walked at an angle and headed straight for the water vat. Besides, this water vat is very thick—it’s not something that can be easily kicked to pieces…”

Lu Huating caught sight of the shattered fragments and immediately pulled Qun Qing aside. Seeing she wasn’t injured, he drew her close: “His Majesty bestowed wine, and my lady drank too much. You all clean this up—we’re returning to our room first.”

Everyone acknowledged and quickly busied themselves.

Qun Qing had never expected to kick apart a water vat the moment she entered, and right under everyone’s watchful eyes. She rarely made such a fool of herself. Hot blood rushed to her cheeks, and not knowing how Lu Huating would mock her, she simply went limp and leaned against him, pretending to be drunk, letting him half-support, half-embrace her as he brought her back to the side chamber.

Incense burned in the room, its fragrance light and elegant.

The citrus scent on Lu Huating’s body came and went, intensely rich near her nose.

He remained silent the entire way, merely helping her onto the bed and covering her with a quilt.

Qun Qing thought to herself that when dealing with her supposedly unconscious self, he was actually gentler than she’d imagined.

The moment this thought crossed her mind, she felt Lu Huating standing by the bedside watching her for a while. Then he locked the door. She heard the sounds of silk robes and leather belt falling to the floor. He drew out his belt and, using a silk handkerchief as a barrier, deftly bound one of her wrists to the bedpost before leaving.

This person loved cleanliness and neatness—having attended the banquet today, he must have wanted to bathe first.

Qun Qing opened her eyes and silently moved her wrist. Lu Huating’s habits as a ruthless official showed through—he’d bound it extremely tight, probably fearing she might run off, resorting to such desperate measures.

Since it didn’t hurt, she didn’t bother untying it. Her other slender hand reached into the gap between bed and wall, pushed open the hidden compartment beneath the bed board, and retrieved a new wax pill to unwrap.

With Lu Huating conveniently absent, she maintained this position, lowering her gaze to read the message on the paper strip. She first read her mother’s message, then began reading the task from Nan Chu.

In Weiran’s letter, as expected, she also mentioned the matter of the Northern Rong attack. The Northern Rong offensive was actually aimed at weakening Da Chen’s strength in order to plot Nan Chu’s restoration. Princess Changping had originally intended to have Yang Fu steal military intelligence, but that had now come to nothing. Meanwhile, the task Fang Xie assigned to Qun Qing was to have her find an opportunity to bring Li Zhang to Yunzhou.

Qun Qing’s gaze lingered for a moment on Li Zhang’s name.

With Li Xuan’s confession made public, the Crown Prince’s faction no longer posed a threat. Why would they want her to bring Li Zhang to Yunzhou?

Yunzhou bordered Nan Chu, and the local aristocratic families had already been won over by Nan Chu. Although the Yunzhou Administrator Liu family had already been dealt with for mishandling disaster relief, the Liu faction hadn’t been completely eliminated and remained a threat. Perhaps the rebel faction was rising again, wanting to install a new emperor.

Right now Li Zhang was under her watchful eye. If she stalled for time, she could at least delay until the Northern Rong were repelled.

Suddenly she heard footsteps—Lu Huating had already finished bathing. Qun Qing immediately wanted to burn the paper strip, but forgot that one wrist was still tied to the bedpost—she couldn’t reach the candle on the table. Seeing Lu Huating walk up to the bed, Qun Qing had no choice but to lie back down and hide the paper strip under the bedding.

Lu Huating’s hair was still dripping water. After all, he was concerned that binding her too long might be uncomfortable, so he’d actually come out earlier than usual. Qun Qing’s heart pounded like a drum as she felt his moisture-laden fingers untie the binding.

When covering her with the quilt, he seemed in no hurry.

Qun Qing’s eyelashes trembled slightly. Lu Huating gazed at her face, seeming to discover something, and lifted the quilt.

Qun Qing suddenly sat up. This action actually startled Lu Huating into taking a step back. Then Qun Qing handed him the paper strip: “Do you want to look?”

Lu Huating lowered his lashes to glance at the paper strip.

She really must be drunk—even handing him a message from Nan Chu.

Lu Huating pulled her hand over, drew the candle close with his left hand, and held her hand to help her light it.

The bright flame burned between them, reflected in the hesitation in Qun Qing’s eyes. This was originally an opportunity to reveal secrets—she had permitted it, but he didn’t look. He only joked: “Liu Niang, if I ask, will you answer everything?”

Unexpectedly, Qun Qing responded with an “Mm.”

Lu Huating paused for a moment, then said: “The person who wrote the letter—you know them well?”

“Weiran wrote it.” Qun Qing said, “Weiran was my first friend. When I was small, my Father and mother wouldn’t let me associate with children my age. Every time, Weiran was turned away at the door—even her letters couldn’t get through. Later, she would pass by my family’s courtyard wall and throw a piece of rough paper into our back yard, soaked in alkaline water so the words would only appear after treatment. That’s how we became friends.”

“These few geese below are secret codes my mother and I agreed upon. Nan Chu constantly sends my mother’s messages to coerce me into tasks.” Seeing the fire had burned to the lower part, Qun Qing said, “Hold it up to the west window light at the hour of shen, and you can see the characters on the east wall.”

Hearing Zhu Ying’s name, Lu Huating’s pupils contracted slightly. Then he extinguished the flame by waving it, blowing on it: “Since it’s a message from your mother, burning it would be too much of a pity. Keeping it can serve as a memento.”

“You won’t verify it?”

“What is there to verify?” Lu Huating tucked the geese design between the pages of a book and returned it to her. “Just a few characters—what information could they convey?”

Qun Qing said: “That’s right. Judging by the form, she’s asking if I’m well.”

She hesitated for a moment, looking toward Lu Huating, because he was gazing at her unblinkingly. This person’s appearance was already breathtakingly handsome—damp hair curling slightly at his temples against pale cheeks, and when watching someone with such focus, possessed a kind of heart-stirring beauty.

“Didn’t you want me to attend to you earlier? Does my lady still want it now?” He seemed unwilling to discuss any other matter, only wanting to ask her this question.

Qun Qing was silent for a moment, then nodded.

He knelt down and actually helped her remove her shoes and socks. The instant his fingers touched her ankle, she clenched her fingers tight, forcing herself to relax.

When Lu Huating raised his head again, he suddenly discovered Qun Qing’s pale face had flushed completely red. After a moment of mutual gaze, Lu Huating touched her face with his finger: “Why does today’s plum wine flush your face so much?”

Qun Qing acknowledged this, though she was curious how else he might attend to her.

Then he filled the basin with water and wiped her face and hands. The water temperature was just right, cool and refreshing, very comfortable. Some doubt arose in Qun Qing’s heart, and she tilted her head back unobtrusively to ask: “Where did you learn to care for others during military campaigns?”

Lu Huating smiled: “My lady, I haven’t treated anyone like this for a very long time. Those I’ve attended to were all ghosts in the netherworld.”

The smile in Qun Qing’s eyes froze. She suddenly remembered—this person only cleaned the faces of corpses before collecting them. She grabbed his hand at once to stop him from dipping it in water again.

But the fingers in her hand had distinct joints, seemingly storing uncontrollable power within their beauty.

Lu Huating’s hand was ice-cold. The next instant, he truly clasped her fingers in return: “Knowing you can’t drink, why did you have more?”

After hesitating for a long while, Qun Qing spoke: “I was moved by Princess Changping’s matter.”

For the first time, Lu Huating saw vulnerability and uncertainty flash in her eyes, like a pool of water gleaming briefly, yet with such an earnestly smiling expression that he felt in the candlelight they were almost intimately close. “I’m afraid we’ll be like the Princess Imperial and the Prince Consort.”

“But you’re not Changping, and I’m not Ling Yunyi.” Lu Huating watched her for a while, his expression almost bewitching. “In this world, all people are ordinary folk, but only you and I are lonely wandering ghosts. Shouldn’t my lady keep me company?”

The logic seemed irrefutable.

Lu Huating gently lifted her chin. Just as he sealed her lips, they heard sounds outside the door and glanced in that direction.

Juan Su pulled Ruo Chan aside: “Why are you knocking on the door so late!”

Ruo Chan, holding sobering soup, peered through the door crack: “I heard elder sister was drunk, so I made sobering soup…”

The two voices grew softer and softer until inaudible—Ruo Chan must have been pulled away by Juan Su.

Qun Qing had long since washed her face and made the bed, burrowing into the bed curtains. Outside, snow fell with rustling sounds. A moment later she poked her head out, watching Lu Huating who was spreading out bedding on the floor, her blue-black hair falling down: “Come up and sleep.”

Lu Huating, carrying the scent of incense, slipped into the narrow space within the curtains.

Qun Qing shifted toward the wall: “You can come up, but you can’t touch me.”

From Lu Huating’s expression, Qun Qing judged she had made an extremely difficult demand.

She heard a tearing sound as he yanked down the belt hanging on the rack and dropped it in her lap: “Might as well tie me up.”

Seeing he truly extended both hands, Qun Qing picked up the belt and wound it tightly around his wrists, taking revenge for earlier.

“Tie it tighter.” Lu Huating let her do as she pleased, watching her face. “If I break free, that’s another matter.”

Qun Qing had grown somewhat tired from the binding. Curiosity stirred in her heart as she looked at him: “Is it really that difficult?”

In the dim confined space, the depths of his eyes also carried hints of red as he gazed at her: “Will my lady take pity on me?”

Before the words finished, his expression had already frozen, because with a gentle tug from Qun Qing, the restraints on his hands had scattered loose.

…

The wall felt somewhat cold, because her body was too burning hot. His hair tangled with hers, his fingers meticulously unfastening the ties of her upper garment. An embroidered silver-threaded lily on both shoulders fell gracefully. Fear suddenly flashed through Qun Qing’s heart—her hands moved faster than conscious thought, grabbing his hands tightly.

The back of Lu Huating’s hand had already touched that raised scar.

It was the sword wound left from when she blocked a blade for Princess Bao’an at Qingjing Temple.

When Qun Qing had first seen her own body in the mirror, her heart had felt nothing. In times of national upheaval, recovering her life counted as good fortune. She would never marry anyway, so it was of no consequence.

Yet at this moment she suddenly recalled how the sword wound looked after healing—a red scar across the young woman’s pale chest, ugly and frightening. This wound was concealed beneath her clothing, even more hidden and private than her body itself, something she was unwilling to show anyone. Cold sweat even seeped from her palms.

After a moment of silence, Lu Huating said: “Then you undress me. I’m not as nervous as my lady.”

Then came rustling sounds of clothing as he leaned loosely against the wall, using his gaze to beckon her over.

Qun Qing reached out to unfasten his inner garment. Lu Huating truly didn’t move, watching her and letting her do as she pleased. Qun Qing undressed him rather roughly, both hands gripping the collar and pulling downward until she saw that on his jade-white, taut abdomen there were also crisscrossing scars.

Qun Qing raised her eyes to look at him.

These eyes had long, upturned lashes, like a butterfly spreading its wings.

Lu Huating touched her lower lip with his finger, tracing the shape of her lips.

Normally she rarely smiled, her lips slightly pressed together in that plain, reserved manner—impervious to knife strikes, impermeable to water—yet finally yielding a soft hue because of his touch.

His movements grew somewhat hurried from restraint. Qun Qing suddenly opened her mouth, the fingertip lightly exploring into softness. His fingertip abruptly stilled, his eyes instantly saturated with dense darkness.

He pressed her down onto the bed.

This wasn’t the most painful time, yet she truly felt somewhat dizzy. Like the colorful glass-like dreams she’d had as a child during fevers, seeing swaying light and shadows like butterflies settling on the canopy top and sides.

Her arms wound around his back. She had never entwined so tightly with another person—like tangled vines, colliding icebergs, with scarcely a moment’s respite.

He could lead her toward ecstasy, yet also made her fearful and trembling.

She couldn’t tell if she feared him, or if she had always, having rarely obtained pleasure, feared joy itself.

Lu Huating gazed at her expression, hair at his temples damp with sweat.

He looked down and saw her hair tangled with his long hair, still feeling it insufficient. When exerting force, he gently pressed his wrist against her lips.

Qun Qing looked at him and bit down in one motion, canine teeth sinking into the scarred area on the inside of his wrist. Lu Huating smiled, containing the pain within his breathing.

Outside the window, snowflakes drifted down rustlingly.

Three years ago, when Chang’an City fell, it had also been such a snowy day.

Secret guard intelligence arrived—Li Huan had been attacked at night and lost his fish tally. At dawn, when Lu Huating led men to Qingjing Temple, rumors of Li Huan massacring the city had already spread throughout the palace.

The dim sunlight illuminated the congealed bloodstains in the temple. Lu Huating silently swept his gaze over the bodies lying scattered before him.

“Magistrate, aside from Princess Bao’an who hid in the coffin, none have breath remaining.” Juan Su reported.

The rescued Yang Fu could only sob, insisting that the one who killed people last night was Li Huan. When Li Huan arrived afterward, out of compassion for Princess Bao’an, he actually claimed this crime on the spot and endured a beating from the furious Emperor Chenming.

The humiliating slaughter of surrendered royalty and commoners was a grave crime. With this transgression, it was enough to ruin Li Huan’s reputation and erase all his military achievements.

In the silence, Lu Huating requested orders: “This subject requests to prepare coffins for these thirty-two bodies at Qingjing Temple.”

Everyone knew Lu Huating had once been a Buddhist disciple, often collecting corpses to accumulate merit. Emperor Chenming nodded in agreement and hurriedly departed with his entourage. As he left, Shouxi looked back at him, that half-smiling expression seeming to say: The witnesses except Princess Bao’an are all thoroughly dead—can you still pry testimony from corpses’ mouths?

Lu Huating paid no heed, washing the faces of the neatly arranged corpses in the courtyard and marking them with vermillion dots.

As he moved, his robe was suddenly tugged. He looked down and saw a young woman in palace attire—her finger seemed to have moved slightly.

Her face was pale as paper, a penetrating sword wound through her chest, great swaths of blood spreading like blooming peonies across her dress, until the original color of the garment could scarcely be seen.

Lu Huating immediately crouched down, fingers pressing against the pulse at her neck, seeking a thread of life in the vast sea. He suddenly said: “Fetch clean water, and summon a physician.”

If someone could live, then they would be a witness to the Qingjing Temple incident, perhaps able to prove Prince Yan’s innocence.

After a long moment, no one moved. Li Huan’s subordinates looked at each other, thinking he’d suffered a shock: “Magistrate, they’re all dead. These are corpses—they can’t be saved.”

At that time he was merely an advisor in Li Huan’s service, and no one took his words seriously. Only Juan Su, seeing his expression was unusual, hurried off.

Lu Huating had no mind to argue with them. Amid gasps of shock, he drew his dagger, heated it over candleflame, and without blinking cut open his own right wrist.

Warm blood, drop by drop, flowed into the young woman’s withered lips, tingeing them incomparably vivid.

The physician carrying a medicine chest followed close behind, several silver needles piercing the acupuncture points on her arm: “This person was already at the gates of death. Fortunately this bit of warm blood called back her spirit. I can only use needles to sustain her life. If she doesn’t revive by tomorrow, then nothing more can be done.”

Only then did Lu Huating step aside. Blood dripped from his wide sleeve, blooming into red plum blossoms on the ground. He paid it no mind, merely observing for a few glances.

Advisors all possessed the art of reading people. This young woman had hairpins in her dark hair, embroidered shoes on her feet. She had originally worn a goose-yellow palace gown, the skirt decorated with an embroidered jade rabbit and moon, just like Yang Fu—carrying a delicate, pampered air. Yet having received this sword strike, why was there no fear on her face?

The north wind blew salt-grain-like snowflakes onto her thick black lashes.

Lu Huating closed the door to the inner chamber: “Watch over her. Tomorrow at this time, I’ll come to question her.”

…

In truth, that was their first meeting.