This chaise longue was where Yan Qing spent her leisure hours. On clear days, she would open the window to birdsong and the fragrance of flowers beyond — whether reading or napping, it was a place of effortless comfort.

Shi Ting followed her to the side of the chaise. Though it was not particularly wide, the length was just right, and it was cushioned with a thick layer of goose-down padding — very comfortable.

Shi Ting took off his overcoat, hung it on the nearby coat rack, and walked over to sit down on the chaise. It was not a tall piece of furniture, yet even seated, he was still somewhat taller than her.

“Why don’t you… keep me company while I sleep?”

Yan Qing’s face went red. “Don’t push your luck, or I’ll take the chaise away too.”

Shi Ting laughed, took her hand, and brought it gently to his lips. “It’s not as if this would be the first time we’ve shared a sleeping space — what is there to be shy about?”

Recalling that time they had shared the same bed in the poplar grove, Yan Qing felt the warmth in her cheeks deepen. She gave him a firm push, pulled a small blanket over from the side, and draped it unceremoniously over his head. “Shi Ting, say one more word and I’ll throw you out.”

He lay there and pulled the blanket down from his face, revealing features that could bewilder the whole world — and looked just slightly deserving of a good swat. “Sooner or later we’ll be sharing the same bed anyway — why not get in a little practice now…”

Yan Qing quickly reached out and clapped her hand over his mouth, glaring at him with exasperation. “Say another word of nonsense and I will actually get angry.”

Seeing that she had genuinely flushed with irritation, Shi Ting decided not to push his luck any further. This time he did not speak — instead, he extended the tip of his tongue and gave the center of her palm a soft, light nudge.

His tongue was warm and faintly moist, and where it had touched the center of her palm, a tingling, electric sensation radiated outward.

Yan Qing was quite certain that for someone of Shi Ting’s caliber, even playful flirtation was something he could manage effortlessly.

“Go to sleep.” As if she had received an electric shock, Yan Qing yanked her hand back — but he caught it before she could withdraw it, shifted onto his side, and pulled her hand to rest against his chest.

“If you won’t lend me yourself, then a hand will have to do.” He pressed her hand against his face like a child, closed his eyes with every sign of contentment, and settled in.

Yan Qing could see the dark shadows beneath his eyes — testimony enough to the night of running about he had endured. She felt a tenderness too swift to contain — how could she bring herself to pull her hand away?

He was truly exhausted. It was not long before he had drifted off.

He slept deeply. Yan Qing watched him with careful attention, tracing the features of his sleeping face with quiet study — the more she looked, the more perfect they seemed; the more she looked, the more she liked what she saw.

People say that beauty lies in the eye of the beholder, but he was extraordinarily handsome to begin with — in the eyes of this particular beholder, something already exceptional could only become more so, until it was as fine as anything could be.

She could not help but reach up and gently sweep away a strand of hair that had fallen across his brow. He seemed to sense it — the hand cradling hers tightened slightly. Lying there so docilely, he was oddly reminiscent of a lion that had, for the moment, set aside all ferocity.

She watched him so intently that, without realizing it, drowsiness stole over her as well. And so she leaned forward and settled beside him, resting her head against his chest, and closed her eyes.

The autumn sky was clear and bright. Though a chill had begun to creep into the air, the sun shone in abundance, pouring warm and golden through the glass windows.

On the square table, two small teacups rested side by side — like two people leaning quietly against each other.

Yan Qing did not know how long she slept. When she opened her eyes, sunlight still fell sharp and bright, and she blinked against it. She found herself looking up at the ceiling of the parlor.

She was supposed to have been in her wheelchair — yet at some point she had been moved to the chaise.

She looked to either side. Shi Ting was not there.

“Shi Ting.” Yan Qing sat up, rubbing her eyes, calling his name softly.

“Miss, you’re awake.” Murong came in through the door, carrying a copper basin in her hands.

“Where’s Shi Ting?”

“Director Shi is in the washroom, freshening up.”

Yan Qing glanced at the wall clock. It was already three in the afternoon — she had slept for a full three hours.

A moment later, Shi Ting came in, having washed his face. There was no trace of weariness left on those handsome features; his eyes were bright and clear, his whole bearing sharp and refreshed.

“Shall we go for a walk?” Shi Ting came over, took the towel from Yan Qing’s hand, and dabbed at the few drops of water still clinging to her temples.

“That sounds lovely. Where to?”

“Wherever the road takes us.”

Murong brought out Yan Qing’s powder-white wool coat and a small white velvet hat. Once she was wrapped up and ready, Shi Ting pushed her chair out of the courtyard.

They did not take a car. Instead, they simply strolled aimlessly along the streets.

The roadsides were crowded with small vendors and peddlers, and by far the most common wares were apples and hawthorn berries.

Bei Di was prime apple-growing country. Apple trees were hardy in the cold, and the fruit itself kept well — ordinary families could store apples all the way through to the following spring, sometimes even longer. Beyond eating them fresh, apples could also be preserved in tins, though tinned goods were expensive and generally reserved as gifts for special visits.

“Tanghulu! Fresh-made tanghulu!” A vendor’s cry cut through the air, catching Yan Qing’s eye.

An elderly man in his sixties had set up a brazier on the side of the road, with a pot balanced above it and hot sugar syrup bubbling inside. Skewered hawthorn berries were dipped through the syrup in one swift roll, then dusted with sesame seeds, and tanghulu was born.

Several small children had gathered around the brazier, mouths watering.

“Would you like some?” Shi Ting asked.

“Yes.” Yan Qing suddenly found herself craving that familiar sweet-and-sour taste.

Shi Ting stepped forward and selected a skewer — the color brilliant, the hawthorn berries perfectly round — paid for it, and placed it in Yan Qing’s hands.

She was just about to take a bite when she noticed the children watching her with wide, dark eyes, so full of longing.

“You go ahead and eat yours — I’ll buy for them.” Shi Ting read her thoughts at once, and turned back to buy several more skewers from the vendor. He handed one to each of the children, who thanked him cheerfully and ran off, holding their tanghulu aloft with delight.

Watching this man whose face remained so cool and composed yet whose heart ran so warm, Yan Qing bit into her tanghulu. The sweetness was something she could not quite put into words.

“Oh, by the way — Third Sister is about to have her baby. What should we give her as a gift?” Yan Qing asked, nibbling her tanghulu as they went.

Shi Ting, who had been pushing her forward at a leisurely pace, suddenly stopped. She heard his laughter drift down from above her.

Yan Qing tilted her head back, genuinely puzzled. “What are you laughing at? Did I say something wrong, or is there some special custom in Shun Cheng for welcoming a new baby?”

“You just said ‘we.'” The amusement at the corners of Shi Ting’s eyes deepened.

Yan Qing caught it all at once. A sudden shyness came over her and she turned her face away. That “we” had slipped out so naturally — she had clearly placed herself and him in the same family without thinking.

While Yan Qing’s face burned with warmth, Shi Ting’s voice came, calm and unhurried: “Since it is a gift for our future nephew or niece, you should be the one to decide.”

He placed deliberate emphasis on the word “our.”

Yan Qing immediately lifted the tanghulu in her hand and aimed it precisely at his mouth, pressing it between his lips. “Eat your tanghulu.”

The two of them had just rounded a corner when a black motorcar rolled slowly out from a side road and came to a stop, blocking the only way forward.

Shi Ting’s expression remained unchanged; he made no move to step back.

Shortly afterward, someone climbed out of the front passenger seat, walked around to the rear of the vehicle, and opened the back door.

Long Yunxiao stepped out with measured, unhurried strides and came directly toward them.

“Director Shi, Miss Yan — we meet again.”

Yan Qing had not expected to see Long Yunxiao again so soon. Judging by the way he had positioned himself, it was clearly no coincidence — he had followed them here on purpose.

Unlike the last time, Long Yunxiao had not sent his subordinates ahead. He had come himself.

“Miss Yan, I apologize for the intrusion once more. This time, however, I have no intention of asking Miss Yan to come alone. I would like to invite both Director Shi and Miss Yan to my humble residence.”

It seemed that after being warned by Shi Ting, Long Yunxiao had reined himself in. He understood that to reach Yan Qing, he would first need to get past Shi Ting.

“Has Mr. Long come to a decision?” Yan Qing lifted her chin.

“To be frank, I am still waging a war within myself.” Long Yunxiao made no attempt to hide his thoughts. “But Miss Yan said something I have not been able to forget — that a body is the last voice a deceased person has in this world. Perhaps Bànxuě truly does have something she wishes to say through hers.”

“In truth, Mr. Long need not force himself. Perhaps you are right, and Miss Shu would not wish to be cut open after death.”

Long Yunxiao looked over at her with complex eyes, then turned to Shi Ting. “Director Shi, I apologize for the abruptness of my approach to Miss Yan the last time. I now ask both you and Miss Yan to help me with this matter. I want to find out how Bànxuě died.”

“A person files a report; we investigate — that is simply the duty of the Military Police Directorate.” Yan Qing’s tone was entirely professional.

“This is a private request. I hope that only Director Shi and Miss Yan will handle this case. Bànxuě was not fond of commotion in life, nor of being judged by others’ eyes. So I do not wish to disturb more people than necessary.”

“Very well.” Shi Ting agreed. “Yan Qing and I will accompany you.”

“Thank you, Director Shi.” Long Yunxiao turned and strode away.

They arrived once again before the Western-style building bearing the plaque that read “Long Manor.” The last glow of the setting sun lay spread across the earth.

Yan Qing had just returned to the Military Police Directorate to collect her autopsy equipment, and Long Yunxiao had already sent people to wait for them outside the main gate.

Shi Ting took an interest in the paintings lining both sides of the corridor.

“When you look at these paintings, do you feel a sense of not knowing quite what to make of them?” Yan Qing asked.

Shi Ting nodded. “I can’t make sense of this kind of art.”

“These are abstract paintings — most people find them difficult to understand.”

“Abstract?”

Shi Ting glanced over at her. “You really do know a great many things — which book did you read that in?”

Yan Qing had long since grown accustomed to his teasing. She knew he had always harbored doubts about her identity — but he would never guess that she had crossed over from another world entirely, because such a thing truly sounded beyond all reason.

The black-clad man led them down to the basement, then withdrew.

Shi Ting pushed open the door to find Long Yunxiao seated on the sofa, an ashtray beside him stacked with four or five spent cigarette ends.

Men who moved in these circles — especially someone of Long Yunxiao’s reach and influence — were generally inseparable from gambling, women, and smoking. But the Long Yunxiao Shi Ting had heard of seemed to have no connection to women.

What puzzled Shi Ting was this: he had never heard of Long Yunxiao having any close female companion. Was this Shu Banxue truly his lover?

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Translator’s note: Yesterday the first spring rain fell. The author has already packed up and is heading up the mountain to plant crops — please don’t press for updates!

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