“Just how much longer do you expect me to wait?”

On the first floor of the Juying Teahouse in the eastern market of Pengcheng County, Li Wu finally lost his patience and rose to his feet.

The teacup before him had been emptied and refilled four times already, yet Wang Wenzhong, who was conducting his meeting upstairs, had still not summoned him up.

Since the dinner hour had long passed and everyone had flocked to the western market for the lantern festival, the entire hall had no one else in it but him. At the foot of the staircase leading to the second floor, two burly men stood sentinel on either side, their menacing gazes fixed on every passerby who so much as glanced toward the teahouse entrance.

“This… this one doesn’t know what those upstairs intend…”

The floor attendant stood stiffly beside the table, a long-spouted teapot in hand, ready to refill his cup at any moment.

Every time Li Wu tried to pry information about the upper floor from him, the boy would hem and haw and talk around the subject.

“If you don’t know, why not go up and find out?” Li Wu shot back.

“How would this one dare disturb those gentlemen in their deliberations…” the attendant said with an awkward laugh. “Sir Centurion, why not sit down and have another pot of tea? This one will have some pastries sent over.”

Li Wu’s mind was on Shen Zhuxi. How could he have any appetite for tea and pastries?

He walked to the front entrance of the teahouse and stared up at the full moon hanging high in the night sky, his expression fraught with agitation.

The clouds had completely cleared away. The moon, pale as a corpse yet tinged red at its edges, lay exposed in a sky utterly devoid of stars, radiating an ominous air.

The attendant trailed uneasily behind him, apparently afraid he might turn on his heel and leave.

“The person upstairs — is it really the Prefect of Xuzhou?” Li Wu asked suddenly.

“Sir… Sir Centurion, whatever do you mean…” The attendant’s face stiffened, and he tugged self-consciously at the collar of his robe. “Of course it’s Lord Wang upstairs. Sir Centurion is truly worrying over nothing…”

“Is that so?” Li Wu fixed him with a piercing stare.

“Of course it is…” Sweat beaded at the tip of the attendant’s nose under that scrutiny.

“Fine. Then I’ll wait one more incense stick’s time —”

Li Wu let out a cold laugh:

“Did you really think I’d say that?”

He delivered a heavy kick to the attendant in front of him, sending the man sprawling, and strode without hesitation toward the staircase.

The attendant rolled and cried out in pain behind him. Li Wu didn’t look back.

He met the eyes of the two men guarding the staircase — and to his surprise, they stepped aside of their own accord.

The entrance to the staircase opened before Li Wu without a single obstacle.

He glanced at the two expressionless men and ascended the stairs.

The second-floor corridor was deserted. Six private room doors were all shut tight, and only the very last one had its light on, candlelight seeping faintly through the door.

Li Wu walked up to the door and kicked it open.

The draft swept into the room; the candle flame lurched violently. Wang Shiyong sat at the table, her back ramrod straight, motionless — like one of those standard porcelain figurines on a display shelf.

“…Wang Shiyong, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Li Wu showed not a trace of surprise that she was the one in the room. His face was dark as still water, and even his voice carried a cold, razor-sharp edge.

Wang Shiyong rose gracefully and dipped him a curtsy without the least sign of alarm:

“This humble woman greets Sir Centurion.”

“You summoned me here in your father’s name — what do you want? You’re not worried anymore about word getting out and ruining your reputation?” Li Wu laughed coldly. “I’ll tell you right now — even if you offered me ten thousand taels, I want nothing to do with your business.”

“What is ten thousand taels? If Sir Centurion only gives his word, fifty times that amount is well within easy reach.”

“Say what you mean and be done with it,” Li Wu said impatiently. “Stop dancing around with me —”

“If Sir Centurion were to marry me, my father’s fortune and connections would naturally be yours in part.”

“I have a wife!”

“A man who can take a wife can just as easily put her aside. She is a palace maid who fled with nothing — what can she possibly offer you?” Wang Shiyong ignored Li Wu’s darkening expression and continued. “I can offer you prestige, wealth, and status. My brothers are all useless wastrels. With me as the bridge between you, and your own abilities behind you, everything my father has built will sooner or later be yours for the taking. What reason could you possibly have to refuse such a profitable arrangement?”

“I have every reason —” Li Wu said icily. “I’m not a night soil carrier. I don’t haul just any load. Not every woman qualifies to be mine.”

The carefully cultivated gentleness and allure Wang Shiyong had worn on her face vanished in an instant.

“Isn’t that going too far —” she said, glaring at Li Wu.

“Isn’t scheming to steal another woman’s husband going too far?” Li Wu retorted. “My wife and I are devoted to each other without a shadow of doubt. What mangy stray do you think you are, charging in to wedge yourself between us?”

“You —”

Over the years, Wang Shiyong had managed much of Wang Wenzhong’s affairs inside and out, and had seen enough of the world. Yet every person outside had always fawned over her and deferred to her.

To say nothing of mockery — not a single harsh word had ever been aimed at her!

Li Wu’s merciless and cutting words drained every last drop of color from her face in an instant.

“I have no interest in wasting my time with you. I’ll leave my words right here — if you harass me or my woman again, I’ll make sure the thing you fear most gets spread all across Xuzhou.”

The moment Li Wu finished speaking, he turned to leave without lingering a single moment longer and walked out the door.

“Li Wu!” Wang Shiyong called after him, her eyes red and brimming with tears. “My father wants to marry me off to a widower nearly forty years old, to be his second wife! To be a stepmother to children barely younger than I am — do you truly feel nothing?!”

“You don’t want to be someone’s second wife. What’s that got to do with me?”

Li Wu descended the staircase without a backward glance.

Wang Shiyong collapsed in a heap on the floor, her composure shattered. Her fists, nails digging into her palms, pounded her thighs with bitter hatred — as though she were striking the stone-hearted Li Wu who had sneered at her.

“Miss!” Chun Guo, who had been hiding in the adjoining room, rushed in.

She hesitated for a moment, then decided to help Wang Shiyong up from the floor. But the moment she drew near, Wang Shiyong grabbed her by the clothes and yanked her close.

Chun Guo squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the slap she expected — but it never came.

She opened her eyes to find Wang Shiyong’s head bowed, great heavy tears streaming down her face, her hands knotted in white-knuckled fists around the fabric on either side of Chun Guo’s collar, forcing out from between her clenched teeth a single sharp, low cry of fury.

Chun Guo dared not move, her own face even paler than her mistress’s.

“Miss… maybe… maybe we should just let it go… This maidservant thinks being the wife of a prefect is quite good, too. Li Wu is only a sixth-rank military officer — can he really be better than a fourth-rank prefect?”

“Of course he’s better!” Wang Shiyong wept and screamed.

Chun Guo stared at her, frozen with fear.

Wang Shiyong knew that her own expression must be frightening to look at.

But she couldn’t help it.

Fury and resentment surged like waves battering a reef, crashing hard against the docile propriety she performed every day.

She would not accept it. She would not accept it. She was so unwilling to accept it, she could have died from it.

It had been nothing more than an ordinary visit to family. Day after day of peaceful routine had been upended in an instant on the road home.

She had fallen into a nightmare.

Blood splattered everywhere. Countless pairs of filthy, rough hands reached for her.

She was thrown to the ground, her knees torn open, her skirts ripped. She screamed herself hoarse, but no one heard.

It was a nightmare that appeared every single night. Each time she tried to run, and each time she failed to escape.

The nightmare always ended when that person appeared.

He descended before her like a god, arriving in the face of her despair and helplessness, and dispatched the bandits who had overwhelmed an entire caravan as easily as cutting through melons and vegetables.

Her clothes were disheveled and in disarray, yet he never once let his gaze fall on her.

No hollow words of comfort. No lecherous staring. He acted as though nothing had happened at all, and flung a coat over her head.

“Get dressed and come out.”

He strode quickly out of the cave, not forgetting to drag and kick every last bandit who had fallen inside out along with him.

She could not forget it.

Just as she had once coveted beautiful gowns, lovely hair ornaments, and dazzling status —

Wang Shiyong had also come to covet this man, who appeared carefree on the surface but was, in truth, rough-edged yet perceptive.

She envied that woman for having all of him, heart and soul. She envied her for being ignorant of the world’s ways, naive and foolish, yet still earning his protection and his deference. She envied her for being so fortunate as to marry a man who treasured her as a rare jewel, who cherished her, respected her, and cared for her.

She envied that woman’s effortless happiness. That happiness was like a fishbone — lodged deep in the eye of Wang Shiyong, who had been cast down into the mud.

“I hate him! I hate them both! Why — why are they doing this to me?!” Wang Shiyong dug her fingers fiercely into Chun Guo’s arm and screamed with manic agitation. “Why is Heaven so unjust? What did I ever do wrong? Why was it me who was dragged into that cave? Why?! Why —”

“Miss, Miss…” Chun Guo wept — half from pain, half from fright.

“It’s all your fault!” Wang Shiyong swung her hand and slapped Chun Guo across the face with every ounce of strength she had.

The blow sent Chun Guo staggering forward.

“If you hadn’t abandoned me and run away, would I have ended up in such a state?!”

Chun Guo pressed her hands to her face and wept, not daring to point out that if she hadn’t run, her own situation would have been a hundred times worse than it was now.

If not for herself, how would she still have her innocence intact today?

A flicker of resentment rose in Chun Guo’s heart. She dared not let Wang Shiyong see it, and bowed her head, hiding it behind her tears.

“Why… why should I be the one married off to some old man nearly forty as a second wife? Why should I have to be a stepmother the moment I’m wed? Why — what makes Li Wu think he can look down on me?! And what does his wife have that I don’t? Why does she deserve Li Wu’s singular devotion, his absolute dedication?!”

Wang Shiyong’s fury was boundless.

If these words ever got out, they would utterly ruin the Wang family’s reputation. Although she had rented out the entire teahouse for a hefty sum, there was no guarantee that the people inside wouldn’t go out and gossip.

Chun Guo knew this full well, yet she said nothing to warn her.

She only wept in silent resentment and grievance.

“All you do is cry, cry, cry! You useless thing!” Wang Shiyong snapped.

She gripped the edge of the table and pulled herself to her feet on her own.

“Li Wu —” She clenched her fists, the hatred in her eyes sharp as a blade. “What I cannot have, no one else shall have either!”

“Ah…!”

A sudden sharp pain flared at Shen Zhuxi’s fingertip, and she couldn’t help letting out a small cry.

She moved her finger away and found a tiny needle point protruding from the pouch she had been holding.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!”

The woman who sold handmade goods from a cloth spread on the ground had also spotted the silver needle left in the pouch, and her face went pale with fright.

“Madam, is your hand alright? I — I’ll go borrow some ointment for you…”

“There’s no need! It’s just a little prick —” Shen Zhuxi hurried to stop her.

“I’m truly sorry!” the woman said, her face full of guilt. “These pouches were embroidered by my mother. She’s getting on in years and her eyes aren’t what they were — she must have forgotten to take out the needle… Madam, I am truly sorry. If you don’t mind taking it, please accept this pouch as my way of making it right.”

Shen Zhuxi declined again and again, but the woman pressed the pouch into her arms regardless.

To put the woman’s guilty conscience to rest, Shen Zhuxi had no choice but to accept the pouch, and so as not to let her come out the worse for it, Shen Zhuxi also bought a duck-patterned hair ribbon from the stall.

Li Wu would definitely like it.

She stood up, just about to move on from this stall she’d been browsing, when a tall figure stepped into her path.

Shen Zhuxi looked at the man she had encountered a handful of times before, and her face went white.

“You —”

“…There are too many eyes and ears here. Would you be willing to speak somewhere more private?” Yufeng cut her off and spoke first.

The woman selling woven goods stole glances at the two of them.

Caught off guard by this sudden encounter with one of Fu Xuanmiao’s close attendants, Shen Zhuxi’s mind flooded with panic and trepidation, and without quite realizing it, her feet followed after Yufeng’s.

Yufeng walked through two streets and stopped in front of a blacksmith’s shop that had already closed early for the evening.

He turned around, looked at the flustered Shen Zhuxi, drew aside his robe, and knelt down.

“This subordinate Yufeng pays his respects to Princess of Yue. This subordinate was late in coming to your rescue — please, Your Highness, mete out whatever punishment you see fit.”