Amid the sea of scattered lantern-light, Zhang Xingjian stood among the crowd of strangers, watching the woman who held his heart perform.

Shen Qingwu, stone-faced, negotiated with the performers, who were thoroughly startled to hear she wanted to help with the act — hadn’t she just been calling them frauds?

Shen Qingwu said flatly, “I genuinely will help. You just have to agree to it.”

The other party said, surprised, “Why would we have to agree to anything?”

Shen Qingwu said, “To win Zhang Yuelu a smile — that’s an obligation none of you can refuse.”

She turned her face slightly, glancing back toward Zhang Xingjian in the crowd.

The performers all caught sight of that fair, striking face standing out above the modest crowd, and thought — hmph, so he’s got a good-looking face, is that all. And the moment that young man noticed their combined stares, he raised an eyebrow, eyes curving into a smile as he gave them a nod of greeting.

That single glance carried such radiant charm, starlight seeming to ripple through it, that the sturdy troupe matron and the young performing girls alike all flushed red at once.

The girls murmured, “What a handsome young man…”

Shen Qingwu immediately felt a swell of reflected pride.

Basking in the glow of being with such a man, she’d long since moved past her initial resentment and conflicted feelings, into something closer to pride and satisfaction.

Shen Qingwu bragged to them, “He’s mine.”

She staked her claim outright. “Mine alone.”

This would be the one thing in this world that belonged only to her.

Amid a sea of a thousand thousand people, at sixteen years old, she’d set her eyes on him at first sight. What was hers, she meant to have — and to keep, forever.

The girls stared blankly at this proud, striking young woman, feeling a stirring pang of disappointment in their hearts. But given how coldly and sharply Shen Qingwu’s gaze swept over everyone present, the performers — well-traveled folk who’d seen all corners of the realm — could tell at once this woman wasn’t someone to trifle with.

If they refused her, she might well kill them.

That look in her eyes… she was no one to cross.

The performers reluctantly agreed to Shen Qingwu’s terms. She could tell they weren’t entirely willing, but she didn’t care.

Stiffly composing herself, she gritted her teeth and walked with one of the performers into the center of the ring, surrounded on all sides by onlookers. She had no idea what they were about to perform; they’d only told her privately to just go along with it—

Go along with it how, exactly?

Shen Qingwu braced herself as though facing a formidable enemy.

She’d always been terrible at reading other people’s body language, their hints and signals. She hoped, this once, she wouldn’t get it wrong.

With that thought in mind, Shen Qingwu glanced toward the front of the crowd, where Zhang Xingjian stood.

He smiled at her.

Shen Qingwu felt somewhat steadied.

She began listening to what the performer had to say.

The performer, holding up a sword to show the crowd on all sides, called out, “Take a look at this blade — freshly sharpened, has killed more men than you can count, soaked in who knows how much blood! Today, we’ll show you all one of our finest tricks…”

He shot Shen Qingwu a meaningful look.

Shen Qingwu, blank-faced. “…”

She was still puzzling over what that look might mean when the man circled around behind her and, without warning, swung the sword at her back.

The crowd below gasped.

Before the shocked cries could even fully leave their throats, Shen Qingwu, standing tall, spun around in an instant, one hand thrusting out, the other reaching directly for the sword’s hilt. The performer, panicking, pushed the blade forward with more force—

Something heavy had been tied to her sleeve before she’d gone on stage; Shen Qingwu hadn’t noticed it at the time.

Now, with the blade aimed straight at her sleeve, her instinct was, of course, not to let herself get hurt.

Her body reacted before her mind even caught up — with her formidable skill, she pulled, pushed, and twisted the sword all in one motion, and the blade ended up in her own hand.

At the same instant, the sword gave a sharp “clang,” the blade pressing against her palm — and the moment it made contact, it retracted backward.

All that remained in Shen Qingwu’s hand was an empty hilt.

The blade itself had, through some hidden mechanism, sprung back and retracted into the handle the moment it triggered.

Shen Qingwu stood there holding the hilt. “…”

The performer’s face had gone pale. “…”

The crowd below stood with mouths open, no sound coming out at all — a dead, stunned silence.

Then, a young man’s laugh rang out, sharp and sudden.

Standing at the very front of the crowd, Zhang Xingjian burst out laughing and clapping, thoroughly delighted by the little spectacle, his eyes crinkling with mirth, clapping more enthusiastically than anyone else there.

Led by his laughter, the crowd looked between the pale-faced performer and this astonishingly skilled young woman, and slowly began to find the humor in it themselves.

Good-natured laughter rippled through the crowd one after another, applause and whistles rising up, and at last the whole scene came alive with energy.

The crowd was delighted; Shen Qingwu was unceremoniously shoved off the stage by the performers.

Shen Qingwu stood there, at a loss, thoroughly bewildered.

She’d been pushed to the back, and the performers absolutely refused to let her go up again.

Zhang Xingjian arrived just in time to hear Shen Qingwu explaining herself to them. “I didn’t do it on purpose. Your sword came swinging at me from behind — you shouldn’t have stood behind me to swing at me without any warning.”

The performer said, “It’s a performance, we told you! What normal person would react like you did?! And that blood pouch we gave you — was that fake to you or something?”

Shen Qingwu said, “How was I supposed to know, if you didn’t tell me?”

She lifted her sleeve and looked at the bulging little pouch tied there. “I had no idea there was blood inside this thing.”

The performer said, “You could have asked!”

Shen Qingwu blinked.

She really wasn’t in the habit of asking questions.

So now Shen Qingwu asked them, “Is it human blood in there? Have you killed people? To make up for it — I could help you dispose of the bodies, but I hope you haven’t been killing any innocent civilians, otherwise…”

She suddenly glanced behind her, and the performers looked ready to cough up blood from sheer exasperation at this madwoman.

Zhang Xingjian came over and caught Shen Qingwu’s wrist, smiling brightly. “It was all in good fun. Besides, our Wutong here just brought you far more customers than you had before — how about we work together a little longer?”

The performers, thoroughly intimidated by this couple, refused no matter what he said.

Shen Qingwu said nothing.

But Zhang Xingjian, unbothered, kept his composed, scholarly manner. In spite of their clearly unwelcoming expressions, he pressed on, smiling, to finish laying out his proposal:

“Street performances like this — throughout history, plenty of people come to watch, but since the style rarely changes much from troupe to troupe, the number willing to actually pay for the privilege isn’t all that large. Seeing how you all travel far and wide for a living that doesn’t look particularly easy, why not try the opposite approach — use this very opportunity to teach the crowd exactly how your tricks work. It might just draw in even more people.”

The performers said, “Teach them how we trick them?!”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Slip of the tongue. I meant ‘perform.'”

Shen Qingwu stood off to the side, watching Zhang Xingjian talk circles around the whole troupe, leaving them thoroughly dazed.

She thought he was just stirring up nonsense — and yet the group actually seemed to be won over by it.

Shen Qingwu’s eyes flickered.

A top scholar sent by Great Zhou to negotiate with the Western Di before he’d even come of age — of course talking a small street troupe into something was no trouble for him at all.

Besides, the way he’d spun it — it almost sounded as if her earlier blunder on stage had actually done this struggling troupe a huge favor.

The other party hesitated. “But if we expose the trick — bah, I mean ‘the performance’! — our fellow performers will curse us out, we’ll be breaking the rules of the trade…”

Zhang Xingjian said, “If not for our Wutong here giving you a fresh idea, you’d still be stuck in the same old rut, with no way forward. Many of you must already be getting on in years, thinking about settling down, starting families? Without money, how could you manage that?

“Besides, you travel all over, never staying too long in one place. Once you’ve earned some money, you could branch out into other kinds of work…”

He rattled off a few casual suggestions about running a business.

He’d never run a business himself, of course, and the ideas were entirely off the cuff, riddled with holes that left the performers rather unimpressed.

And yet… the performers found themselves undeniably tempted all the same: this young man’s mind moved quickly, and if he genuinely helped them, there might really be more paths open to them than they’d realized—

Bored, Shen Qingwu watched Zhang Xingjian carry the entire conversation single-handedly.

Zhang Xingjian said, offhand, “Quick, thank our Wutong here for making you all rich.”

They all chorused, “Thank you, Wutong!”

Zhang Xingjian coughed. “…Call her ‘Second Young Lady Shen.'”

How could just anyone go calling her “Wutong”?

Amid her thorough boredom, Shen Qingwu finally burst out laughing—

By the time Shen Qingwu and Zhang Xingjian walked out of the crowd surrounding them, the troupe had already shifted their approach, beginning to teach the onlookers the secrets behind their tricks, drawing wave after wave of cheers and an ever-growing crowd.

Shen Qingwu glanced back.

Their faces were flushed with excitement, thoroughly thrilled.

Shen Qingwu and Zhang Xingjian found a spot not far off, sitting beneath a towering old tree, watching that lively scene of ordinary life unfold from a distance.

Shen Qingwu said to Zhang Xingjian, “You really do know how to talk.”

Zhang Xingjian’s eyes curved. “I just couldn’t stand watching them keep you cornered like that.”

Shen Qingwu paused, surprised, looking at him.

She said, taken aback, “Were you… getting revenge for me?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Hardly revenge. I just wanted to watch them thank you.”

Shen Qingwu hugged her knees, leaning against the tree.

She looked up at the sky, obscured by the leaves overhead, unable to see the bright moon.

Shen Qingwu said, “You don’t usually bother with things like this… how ordinary people, common folk, live their lives — you never involve yourself.”

Zhang Xingjian nodded. “I’m rather cold-blooded, I suppose.”

But Shen Qingwu insisted, “No — that’s called being ‘fair.’ Someone like you shouldn’t be casually meddling in other people’s lives to begin with.”

Zhang Xingjian’s eyes curved.

He didn’t care about anyone’s praise or criticism, one way or the other.

But that Shen Qingwu could understand this about him — that made him rather happy.

Zhang Xingjian asked Shen Qingwu, “Talking to people tonight — was it any easier than before?”

Shen Qingwu paused.

Slowly, understanding dawned on her. “You… so you weren’t after a gift at all — you just wanted to see me interact with people?”

Zhang Xingjian blinked: what gift?

Shen Qingwu slowly worked out the meaning on her own.

Chin resting on her knees, she watched quietly as the young man beside her sat with his own knees drawn up.

Shen Qingwu said, “Being able to talk to them, and not have it end in some misunderstanding — I was pretty happy about that.”

Zhang Xingjian looked at her: your reaction doesn’t look particularly happy.

Shen Qingwu said, “But I still find it exhausting. If you hadn’t stepped in at the end…”

Guilt flickered across Zhang Xingjian’s face, and he leaned toward her. “I’m sorry, that was all my fault…”

Shen Qingwu’s eyes curved.

She and Zhang Xingjian really were an odd pair.

She never apologized to anyone; Zhang Xingjian apologized at the drop of a hat. As if she alone had backbone, and he was made entirely of soft bones.

And yet this Zhang Yuelu, so quick to bend, so quick to yield — it was somehow endearing.

Shen Qingwu said, honestly, “I can talk to people. I just don’t enjoy it. I can try to step into someone else’s world, but I’ve already lost any taste for it.

“I only like you.”

Zhang Xingjian’s heart gave a sudden thud.

He knew perfectly well Shen Qingwu hadn’t meant it the way he wished she had.

But he still couldn’t help the flicker of hope that rose in him at her offhand “I like you,” his face warming, his heart burning. He shifted his position slightly, the fingers tucked in his sleeve trembling faintly.

Shen Qingwu sat there with careless ease, gazing at Zhang Xingjian with lazy contentment.

She said calmly, “None of them compare to you.

“None of them are as tolerant as you, as gentle in temperament as you. In your world, I can run wild wherever I please, and you don’t mind — you let me carry on however I like.

“With you, there’s nothing forbidden, no expectations to meet. I don’t have to read your expression carefully, because it doesn’t matter if I get it wrong. I don’t have to pretend I’m not some uncultured commoner, because even if I am, you don’t mind at all. When I bring you my coarse habits, my crude things, your reaction is interest, curiosity — not discomfort, not disgust, not some reminder to mind my station.

“Being with you feels remarkably comfortable.

“How could there possibly be a noble young master in this world with so little pretension as you?”

Shen Qingwu gave a small laugh. “Judging purely by appearances, who would ever guess your true temperament was like this?”

Zhang Xingjian watched her quietly.

He complained, half in jest, half in earnest. “I told you from the start I had an easy temperament. You never believed me.”

Shen Qingwu said, “Sorry about that.”

Zhang Xingjian laughed and scolded her lightly. “You’ve gotten remarkably quick with your apologies these days.”

Shen Qingwu said, “Once and twice, and a third’s bound to follow. Isn’t that exactly the outcome you engineered?”

Zhang Xingjian froze.

He hadn’t expected her to catch onto his little scheme, and he glanced at her somewhat guiltily.

Shen Qingwu let him look, entirely unbothered.

Seeing that she wasn’t upset about it, Zhang Xingjian relaxed.

He smiled and leaned in closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, letting her lean against him.

Zhang Xingjian said, sheepish and quiet, “I do have this bad habit of scheming at pretty much every moment… please don’t hold it against me.”

Shen Qingwu shook her head — she didn’t mind at all.

This little Zhang family scoundrel, always up to something, no matter the moment — how amusing, how full of challenge.

Shen Qingwu asked, “What was it you didn’t finish saying earlier?”

She reminded him: “You mentioned your birthday, my birthday. I thought you wanted a gift, but it seems now that’s not what you meant. So what did you mean?”

Zhang Xingjian coughed once.

He looked up at the sky, glanced around at the flowing crowd, at the lantern-light flickering faintly, at the leaves stirring and drifting down overhead.

It wasn’t exactly the ideal atmosphere for this kind of conversation.

But it didn’t matter.

He was, by nature, rather easygoing about such things, and spoke with real enthusiasm: “I was hoping to invite Wutong to celebrate my birthday together with me. Since you can’t remember your own, wouldn’t it be nice to share the same day as mine?”

Shen Qingwu was quiet for a moment.

She said, “I don’t celebrate birthdays.”

There was resistance in her heart.

Whatever hope she felt, an equal measure of fear rose alongside it. With every added bit of happiness, she found herself caught in a lingering uncertainty.

Zhang Xingjian had called her brave; only after she’d let herself be with him did Shen Qingwu come to recognize her own cowardice.

She was afraid of gaining something only to lose it again.

Better never to have it at all, never to hope for it in the first place.

And yet, ever since she’d let herself be with him, she had to keep reminding herself, over and over — it was he who’d pushed her into wanting this, he who’d said he loved her; she ought to accept it freely, without holding back.

Zhang Xingjian understood that odd, stubborn streak of hers well enough.

He coaxed her gently. “Of course, I was thinking about it wrong. Everyone’s birthday is precious in its own right — why should it be shared with someone else’s, just to make do?”

Shen Qingwu glared at him.

That wasn’t what she’d meant at all.

He was deliberately twisting her words.

She didn’t believe for a second that Zhang Xingjian couldn’t read her intentions — he was just pretending not to.

This pretending-not-to-understand young man played dumb shamelessly: “If your birthday were on the same day as mine, we’d end up losing a whole day of celebrating between the two of us — hardly worth it. Better, with over three hundred days in a year, for you to pick a day you like from all the rest… and celebrate that as your birthday.”

Shen Qingwu went still.

Zhang Xingjian, still musing aloud, went on: “I really do envy you — being able to just pick any day you like, whichever suits you, and call it your birthday. It’s different for me, I don’t get to choose so freely. I don’t even care much for having my birthday fall in the fifth month; I’d much rather celebrate it during snowfall…”

He kept talking, on and on.

Shen Qingwu found her thoughts running wild at his words.

She’d never wanted a birthday to begin with, but hearing him talk this way, she found herself growing interested despite herself.

That’s right — three hundred days in a year, and she had the whole three hundred to choose from…

Shen Qingwu asked, “So which day should I pick?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Which day of the year do you like best?”

Shen Qingwu said, “Every day I spend with you — I like all of them.”

Zhang Xingjian froze.

The flickering light in his eyes stilled, calm as a lake rippling gently, starlight settling into its depths. He lifted his gaze, eyes like a sea of stars, a soft spring breeze drifting past.

A look like that was enough to make anyone’s heart race.

Before Shen Qingwu could react, he’d already leaned in and pressed a light kiss to her lips.

Only after the kiss did he glance around, checking whether anyone nearby had noticed.

Fortunately, they were seated beneath the great tree, far enough from the crowd that no one had wandered over to look.

Zhang Xingjian let out a quiet breath of relief—

Zhang Xingjian turned his face away, smiling with careful composure. “In broad public view, no less — don’t go tempting me.”

Shen Qingwu looked at the red creeping up his ears. “I wasn’t tempting you. I’m nothing like you.”

Zhang Xingjian laughed. “Right, you’re the pure and noble one, and I’m the shameless one.”

His eyes curved. “It’s me, ruled by passion and desire, unable to wait — ready to lose myself the moment no one’s watching.”

Shen Qingwu loved watching him laugh like that.

Shen Qingwu leaned in, meaning to kiss him, only to have him raise a hand to block her.

He laughed, pleading. “Have mercy on me. If you keep this up, I really won’t be able to hold back.”

Shen Qingwu, thoroughly entertained, asked, “Hold back how, exactly?”

Zhang Xingjian shot her a warning glare.

Shen Qingwu, thoroughly intrigued now, leaned in close to his ear and whispered, teasing, “Want to run wild with me, out in the open?”

He understood at once.

The tips of his ears flushed instantly red.

He glared at her.

Afraid she might actually try something, Zhang Xingjian said, stiff and resolute, “No.”

Shen Qingwu gave an “Oh,” leaning back against the tree trunk.

She’d abandoned that dutiful, knees-hugged posture entirely.

Her retreat was slow and deliberate — one leg bent, fingers loosely curled, her upper body leaning back lazily against the tree, eyes half-lidded as she watched Zhang Xingjian. General Shen, sitting like that, carried herself with such a careless, roguish swagger that she looked every bit the part of some good-for-nothing troublemaker about to make off with a pretty young man against his will.

Zhang Xingjian said, gravely — unclear whether he meant to warn her or reassure himself — “Don’t you dare try anything.”

Shen Qingwu raised an eyebrow. “Try what? I’m sitting here perfectly still, haven’t moved a single finger. What are you so afraid of?”

Zhang Xingjian smiled, lowering his eyes.

Shen Qingwu’s heart gave a few quick beats.

She said nothing.

Of course, she had no intention of forcing him into anything.

She’d come to understand him well enough by now — a man like him, so naturally curious about everything, would come around on his own, sooner or later.

She could play the hunter, or she could simply wait it out, letting the prey come stumbling to her of its own accord.

Zhang Xingjian steered them away from this dangerous topic, refusing to let her continue down that road.

He scolded her lightly. “Enough of that. Come on, tell me quickly — which day are you thinking of choosing as your birthday?”

Shen Qingwu said, “I don’t know.”

Zhang Xingjian sat with careful dignity, his face still flushed, though smiling. “Aside from… the days you feel fond of me — is there truly no other day you’re fond of?”

Shen Qingwu said, plainly, “No.”

Zhang Xingjian, both pleased by her unintentional declaration and determined to maintain his composure, said, “Well, you can’t very well celebrate your birthday every single day of the year.”

Shen Qingwu nodded.

Zhang Xingjian said, “Then… pick a day you can actually remember? One that means something significant to you?”

She glanced at him.

Zhang Xingjian caught that glance sharply.

But Shen Qingwu said, “There isn’t one.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “There is. You just don’t want to say.”

He frowned. “Why won’t you tell me? Why keep something on your mind and hide it from me? Wutong, that’s no way for a married couple to treat each other…”

Shen Qingwu reminded him, “You and I aren’t married.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “That’s beside the point.”

He coaxed her, smiling. “Tell me. I don’t like you keeping secrets from me. I don’t like you hiding things from me — it makes me anxious, makes me afraid, makes me worry you don’t want me anymore, makes me imagine all sorts of things…”

He was remarkably good at wearing her down.

Shen Qingwu found him thoroughly exasperating.

At last, slowly, reluctantly, Shen Qingwu spoke. “There is one day I remember. But I doubt you’ll like it.”

Zhang Xingjian went quiet for a moment.

Zhang Xingjian said gently, “As long as it isn’t the day you and Bo Rong first met, that you want to keep as some kind of memorial and use as your birthday, I won’t be upset.”

Shen Qingwu thought to herself: still bringing up Bo Rong, even now.

She fell silent for a moment, considering.

Slowly, reluctantly, Shen Qingwu named a date. “The eleventh of October.”

Zhang Xingjian blinked.

Zhang Xingjian, puzzled, said, “What’s special about that date… why would you remember it?”

Shen Qingwu asked, “You don’t remember?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Should I?”

She looked at him for a long moment.

Shen Qingwu said, “It’s the day you had me stab you with a dagger, the day you forced me to leave the Shen family.”

Rain had poured that day, autumn desolate all around.

For the rest of her life, she doubted she would ever forget that day—

—

While Zhang Xingjian and Shen Qingwu sat wordless with each other, another pair of young lovers, elsewhere, were being swallowed by a silence just as heavy.

That night, there was no wind, no rain.

No moon hung in the sky — a night made for killing.

Shen Qingye woke in an abandoned wooden hut at the foot of a remote mountain, far outside the Eastern Capital. Throwing on a robe, she stepped outside and saw the tall, lean figure of a young man with his back to her.

Sharpening his blade.

Dressed entirely in black.

Shen Qingye said softly, “…You’re really going back to ‘Autumn Moon Night’?”

Qiu Jun gave a flat “Mn” in response.

He said, “Our contract’s fulfilled. You’re safe now.”

Shen Qingye gathered her courage. “Would you be willing to… with me…”

Qiu Jun said, “I’m an assassin.”

Four words, and the air between them turned cold and stiff.

Shen Qingye’s thin, delicate frame stood by the doorway, like a sliver of pale moonlight. Dark hair against her cheek, fine brows, red lips — she was so beautiful, and so frail.

Qiu Jun glanced back at her once, then looked away.

“Autumn Moon Night” was an assassin’s guild that had already pledged itself to the princess; with contracts for killing coming in, how could a golden-tier assassin like him simply step back?

Besides… Qiu Jun had thoughts of his own.

He couldn’t let Shen Qingye follow him with no name, no proper status; he didn’t want to wrong her that way.

Even though… nothing improper had ever passed between the two of them. Nothing at all.

But before there could be anything at all… he needed to earn the right to it first.

If he helped the princess succeed, if he won merit for himself — would the princess be willing to grant Shen Qingye an identity separate from the Shen family, to make her truly safe?

A well-bred young lady of good family, traveling four hundred days alongside an assassin.

He’d already wronged her enough.

Qiu Jun had so much he wanted to say — wanted to ask her to wait for him, wanted to ask, “If I can come back, would you give me a chance?”

But…

Let fate decide.

He walked into the darkness, dreamlike and hazy.

Shen Qingye slowly sat down, leaning against the door frame, wiping the mist from her eyes. She told herself it wasn’t tears — only dew.

The world was so quiet, and once again, she was entirely alone.

Her father, her mother, her sister, Qiu Jun… all of them nothing more than passing travelers through her life.

But she wasn’t so afraid anymore.

After four hundred days traveling alongside an assassin, Shen Qingye decided she would walk the rest of the road herself—

Back south, toward Yizhou.

—

In the cold, clear night, Zhang Xingjian sat beneath the tree, stunned into stillness.

He let his arm slip from around her shoulders, some instinct in him urging him to pull back in that instant.

Shen Qingwu leaned forward, catching his wrist, gripping his shoulder.

Shen Qingwu stared fixedly at his face, gone suddenly pale. “You’re not allowed to be sad.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

Shen Qingwu said, “Not allowed to cry.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

Shen Qingwu said, “Not allowed to make a scene.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

Shen Qingwu said, earnestly, “Not allowed to hide under the blankets sobbing, going on about how ‘Shen Qingwu hates me’ or ‘Shen Qingwu doesn’t care about me at all.'”

Zhang Xingjian’s thoughts were a tangled mess, his eyes darting away — if she hadn’t been gripping him in place, he probably would have already walked off.

He managed, with effort, “How could I possibly do such a thing?”

Shen Qingwu said, “You wouldn’t. I was just warning you for nothing, then.”

Zhang Xingjian shot her a resentful look in return. “…”