Cang Mountain was well-known for an abundance of cocklebur plants. Cocklebur is a type of plant whose mature fruits cling to the bodies of people and animals.

Ling’ai had taken Yan Qing’s advice and dressed in long-sleeved clothing and long trousers. At first she would stop and pluck off the green little balls that kept sticking to her clothes, but as they multiplied and clung more and more thickly, she eventually gave up altogether.

A thin mist suffused Cang Mountain, and from the depths of the forest came the occasional cry of some unknown creature.

Every time Ling’ai heard these sounds she gave a shudder. She had never gone up a mountain alone before, and had only heard that there were many wild beasts in the hills — though these creatures generally would not come down to the mountain’s foot. To survive, they kept to the deep mountain interior.

Ling’ai used the wooden stick in her hand to push back the brambles in her path. Although she moved carefully, the backs of her hands were still unavoidably scored with fine, long scratches.

Not far away, Murong kept close behind her, her purpose to ensure Ling’ai’s safety — but the young mistress had said a few scrapes and bruises were acceptable.

So when she saw Ling’ai’s foot slip and send her sliding down a slope, Murong’s feet instinctively shifted, yet she did not go forward.

She trusted that Ling’ai was not the fragile type, and that she could handle this minor misfortune on her own.

Murong had judged correctly. Ling’ai let out only a startled cry, and after sliding to the base of the slope, immediately grabbed hold of a branch. Fortunately the slope was not very steep, and she clambered back up on all fours — though after that tumble and scramble, she looked every bit like a little mud monkey.

Just as Ling’ai was feeling thoroughly dejected, her eyes suddenly brightened. In the thicket ahead, a flash of red showed dimly. She ran over and pushed aside the brush, and that single dash of red opened into a whole field of it — ripe red berries hanging from the branches, as if waving a warm welcome to her.

Ling’ai plucked bunch after bunch of red berries into her basket until the basket was full, then began to hum a little tune contentedly.

Yan Qing had said that only the freshest berries made the best wine, so after gathering the fruit she rushed without delay to Zheng Yun’s residence.

She silently rehearsed the address Yan Qing had given her, made her way through a series of turns, and at last arrived in front of an unassuming standalone courtyard.

“This must be it.” Ling’ai let out a long breath, stepped forward, and knocked on the door knocker.

After a moment she heard footsteps inside, moving from far away and growing steadily clearer.

For no reason she could identify, Ling’ai’s heart began to pound rapidly as she heard those footsteps approach. In this moment she had an impulse to simply leave the berries at the door and flee — but thinking it was a small token of her sincerity, she straightened her spine and tried to look composed.

Zheng Yun’s home rarely had visitors, so when he heard the knock, he assumed it was a colleague from the Military Police. He hadn’t expected to open the door and find a small figure standing outside, her face streaked with grime.

Under his surprised gaze, Ling’ai wiped a leaf from her cheek and with a grin thrust the basket in her hand forward, flashing a row of small white teeth: “A gift for you — fresh red berries with the morning dew still on them.”

Zheng Yun: “……”

He must have opened the door wrong. What on earth was going on, this early in the morning?

Facing Ling’ai’s small, dirty face, Zheng Yun stepped back a pace. “Come in.”

“Ah? You’re inviting me inside as a guest?”

“You came to bring me something, didn’t you? I can hardly turn you away at the door.” Zheng Yun sighed. “Come in first and wash your face.”

Ling’ai stepped inside cheerfully. “Then I won’t stand on ceremony!”

The moment she was through the door she looked all around. The courtyard was not large — a main hall, two rows of side rooms, and nothing special in the center of the yard. On the south side of the side room someone had built a small flower bed, but the flowers in it were drooping and wilted, looking quite pitiful.

She noticed a weapon rack of sorts on the left side of the yard, hung with several long spears whose tips had been honed to a razor sharpness, while the handles showed heavy wear from years of use.

She had heard from Yan Qing that Zheng Yun was the best martial artist in the Military Police, a reputation earned through years of relentless daily practice.

“Did my sister-in-law tell you I liked red berries?” By now Zheng Yun had figured it out. Ling’ai couldn’t possibly have come to bring berries out of nowhere — she must have wanted to repay him, and so had sought out Yan Qing.

“Don’t you like them?”

Facing Ling’ai’s somewhat anxious expression, Zheng Yun said: “Red berries in this season are just right for making wine. Thank you.”

She broke into a wide smile, her eyes bending into crescents like new moons. “I’m glad you like them.”

Zheng Yun took the basket of red berries. “I’ll go wash these now — they won’t keep fresh for long.”

“Let me help.” Ling’ai volunteered eagerly.

“You had better wash yourself first.” Zheng Yun shook his head and carried the basket to the kitchen.

Ling’ai ran her hand over her face, raised her eyebrows, and headed toward the well.

There was a water vat by the well, filled to the brim. She scooped out some water with a gourd ladle and poured it into a basin, then crouched down and began to wash her face.

Zheng Yun stood in the kitchen, the window looking out directly toward the well.

He watched as the girl, covered in cocklebur, cupped water in her hands and carefully cleaned the grime from her face. Her clothing was torn in several places, and her hands bore numerous slash marks.

Cang Mountain was full of wild beasts, and she had gone up the mountain alone to pick berries — he couldn’t decide whether she was particularly fearless or particularly foolish.

Zheng Yun shook his head and submerged the berries in a basin of water.

“Ouch.” Ling’ai touched a wound on her hand and hissed through her teeth at the sting. The sound was soft, but it still reached Zheng Yun’s sharp ears.

He set down what he was holding, went to his room, and came back with some wound medicine.

When he came out into the yard, Ling’ai was looking at him with a face still dripping with water.

“Why haven’t you dried your face?”

“I didn’t dare touch your towel — I was afraid you’d find it off-putting.”

“I’m not squeamish.” Zheng Yun took a towel and handed it to her. “As long as you don’t mind me.”

“Of course not, not at all.” Ling’ai hurriedly took it, as if afraid he might not believe her, and immediately began rubbing her face with it.

“When you’ve dried off, come sit over here.”

The few furnishings in the yard were a small wooden table and two chairs, and Zheng Yun had already settled into one of them.

“I — I should be heading back.” Ling’ai felt the atmosphere had grown somewhat awkward. After all, they were a man and a woman alone together — if she lingered any longer, would Zheng Yun think she was too forward?

“Tend to your wounds first.” Zheng Yun placed the wound medicine in front of her.

Ling’ai said thank you and reached for the medicine bottle. The wounds on her hand did ache somewhat.

But when it came to applying medicine to her right hand, her left hand fumbled with the powder and couldn’t seem to sprinkle it onto the wound properly. She tried several times without success.

Just as she was growing frustrated, a pair of slender hands reached over, took the medicine bottle from her, and then closed around her right wrist.

Ling’ai’s small face instantly turned the color of a cherry, and she stared blankly at Zheng Yun as he applied the medicine.

Because his head was lowered, all she could see was the back of his head. His hair was neatly trimmed. A faint, indescribable scent clung to him — not strange at all, and very pleasant.

“Done.” Zheng Yun released her hand and placed the medicine bottle in her palm. “Take this bottle with you. Apply it morning and evening, once each time. It won’t leave a scar.”

Ling’ai gripped the small medicine bottle, her heart thudding like a drum.

“Let’s go.” Zheng Yun stepped past her toward the door. “I’ll call you a rickshaw.”

“By the way, your shoes are at Yan Qing’s place — she says she’ll return them when she gets a chance.”

“Mm.”

“For what happened last time — thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And… are we friends?” Ling’ai had been staring at the ground as she spoke, and didn’t notice that Zheng Yun ahead of her had suddenly stopped. When she realized, it was too late, and she walked straight into him. Carried by momentum, Ling’ai let out a cry as she tipped backward.

Just as she thought she was about to collide warmly with the earth, a hand shot out swiftly and seized her wrist.

Zheng Yun pulled her, and she barely managed to steady herself. Looking at Zheng Yun’s expression, she suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to dig a tunnel and disappear into it forever.

“Watch where you’re going.” Zheng Yun turned and stepped out through the gate.

Ling’ai rubbed her head ruefully, red-faced, and followed after him.