The battle for the capital had descended into chaos, but after Bo Rong’s death, Li Linge quickly emerged as the victor.

The enemy forces surrendered one after another.

Some mopping-up remained to be done on the later battlefields.

Li Linge was utterly exhausted. She ought to have shown a bit more loyalty and devotion to the officials, put on a bit more of a performance, but she seemed to have lost all heart for it.

Seeing her speak in a daze, scarcely making sense, Shen Qingwu handed all authority over to Zhang Xingjian. “Chancellor Zhang will take care of this.”

As she turned, Shen Qingwu saw the tears trembling on Li Linge’s pale lashes.

Li Linge seemed to have been holding herself together the entire time.

Resisting everything, forcing herself to endure everything, willing to pay any price for her goal. But it seemed some prices had finally exceeded even her limits… her face showed no expression at all, yet the tears never stopped.

Bo Rong…

Shen Qingwu said nothing.

By now she understood that the Princess’s rise to power was bound to meet opposition. Bo Rong had made himself that opposition, taking on a role that would otherwise have fallen to someone else. In killing them, he had also cleared their path forward.

For Bo Rong, death should have been a release.

He had left the living to grieve, but that no longer concerned him. It was exactly as he had once told Shen Qingwu—I will pay the price for breaking my vow; you will see how it ends for me.

Shen Qingwu looked uneasily at Zhang Xingjian.

She felt a flicker of dread at the thought of that price for breaking a vow.

While she stood lost in thought, a guard beside her nudged her, and only then did she hear Li Linge, already seated in her palanquin, calling to her.

Li Linge said hoarsely, “General Shen, go to Yizhou and help General Yang bring the rebellious Longyou army back under control. The traitor is dead, and the law should not punish the masses—they had no choice in the matter… General Shen, go call them back.”

Shen Qingwu said, “Yes.”

And so Shen Qingwu went to Yizhou.

She said nothing to Zhang Xingjian. Chang Lin returned to Zhang Xingjian’s side, and Shen Qingwu, without even sparing him a glance, gathered her troops and left.

She knew she should return to Yizhou, and she knew Zhang Xingjian had to remain in the capital.

The capital was now a complete mess—after the young Emperor’s death, with the Princess wishing to ascend the throne, she badly needed Zhang Xingjian, as chancellor, to help win over hearts and pacify the officials. There were also the remaining Shen family loyalists to deal with, the fires in the palace, Bo Rong’s death, and the officials’ disputes over the Princess…

Zhang Xingjian could not spare a moment.

Shen Qingwu, too, would return to the environment that suited her best.

She thought that once she and Yang Su had brought the Longyou army under control and she returned again to the capital, the Princess would surely have already ascended the throne by then.

That was fine.

Only, it was a bit of a shame—

Zhang Yuelu had wagered that everything would be settled within a month, so he could marry her.

As things stood now, he would not manage to marry her within a month.

At the end of July, beneath a high, wide sky, Shen Qingwu and Yang Su regrouped their forces in Yizhou.

News about the Princess spread across the land, one report after another—”ascending the throne,” “the late Emperor’s decree”—leaving the besieged Longyou army in a state of bewildered panic.

The commander of the Longyou army also happened to share the surname Shen. Trapped in Yizhou, they had spent every day skirmishing back and forth with the Yizhou army, urged daily to surrender. Then, finally, that yellow-haired lass Shen Qingwu had arrived… The Longyou generals had sneered at first, unconvinced, but gradually their resolve began to waver.

If the Princess were to take the throne, what were they still holding out for?

But wasn’t the Princess a woman? How could a woman ascend the throne? How could the officials in the capital possibly agree to it?

Shen Qingwu and Yang Su spent day after day wearing down this army. They did not engage in open battle, only ground the enemy down. Several times the enemy tried to break out, only to be pushed back each time. Eventually their supplies would run short, and the Longyou army was already in their grasp—it was only a matter of time before they surrendered.

On this particular day, Shen Qingwu had just finished crossing blades with one of the enemy’s fiercest vanguard officers.

Striking while the iron was hot, she took her troops to confront the enemy once more, to proclaim again that those who surrendered would not be killed. Yang Su, smiling, told her to keep at it—today might just bring results.

After all, they had been at this for over a month now.

After all, in the past half month, deserters had been trickling out of the enemy camp, and they had been catching them.

A fine drizzle fell from the sky.

Shen Qingwu stepped out of her tent, wiping blood from her hands. Her guard captain waited outside, ready to accompany her once more to the enemy camp.

At that moment, Shen Qingwu heard the hurried footsteps of a soldier running straight up to the tent.

The captain scolded him in a low voice: “What’s the matter, running like that? The general is about to go confront the Longyou army—don’t disturb her unless it’s important.”

The soldier who had come running gasped out, “Important, how is this not important! Zhang, Zhang, Zhang—”

Shen Qingwu whipped open the tent flap.

The young soldier, his face soaked with rain, stammered out his news, brimming with excitement: “Chancellor Zhang has come to inspect the troops! A minister all the way from the capital, actually come to see us!”

Before the soldier even finished speaking, Shen Qingwu had already seen him.

Holding an umbrella, Zhang Xingjian, with a small retinue, was being led by Yang Su on a tour of their humble camp. The fine rain drizzled on. Yang Su, hiding his own displeasure, accompanied the chancellor.

Yang Su still resented this man for once having him imprisoned, and he could not help a sardonic remark: “Chancellor Zhang is so busy with the affairs of state—the capital sees a new crisis every day—how did you find the time to travel all this way to look at us rough soldiers?”

Zhang Xingjian smiled faintly. “Naturally, I haven’t come to look at rough soldiers.”

Yang Su was momentarily at a loss for words.

Zhang Xingjian sighed. “Two horses died from the ride. Do you think you’re worth that much, General Yang?”

Yang Su’s neck flushed red with anger, nearly beside himself.

Shen Qingwu stood with her hand on the tent flap, watching Zhang Xingjian in silence. Seeing his faint smile, his unhurried manner, walking slowly beneath his umbrella in the rain—he was utterly unlike anyone else around him…

Strolling through the rain, the third young master of the Zhang family, robes fluttering, white as snow. Such elegance and charm belonged to him alone.

A light flickered in Zhang Xingjian’s eyes, and he tilted his wooden umbrella slightly upward. His warm gaze fell on Shen Qingwu, her armor now somewhat dirtied.

His eyes were bright and clear, betraying not a hint of weariness—only a slight blink, a luminous glow that let her see his joy.

Yang Su turned his head and caught sight of Shen Qingwu beside the tent, staring so hard her eyes had nearly gone straight—the moment she laid eyes on this man, she seemed unable to move.

Admittedly, the man was handsome enough on looks alone, but it still felt like Shen Qingwu was cheapening herself, embarrassing the entire Yizhou army!

Yang Su, his feelings a complicated mess, swallowed his bitterness and gave a loud, pointed cough.

“Shen Qingwu!” he called.

She looked at him at once. “Who are you calling?”

—How dare he address a superior officer by name directly, in front of so many soldiers?

Yang Su, seeing her cold expression and sharp gaze, felt even more sour inside, thinking: You’re probably only this fierce with us. In front of Zhang San Lang, I bet you’re not fierce at all.

Yang Su said coldly, “Shouldn’t you be setting out already?”

Shen Qingwu said flatly, “Mm.”

She walked out of the tent, heading toward Yang Su and Zhang Xingjian, a dozen or so personal guards hurrying to keep up behind her. There was a perfectly clear path nearby, yet she insisted on taking a detour this way.

Her eyes glanced toward Zhang Xingjian.

She struggled to hold back all her surging emotion, her joy, her longing for him.

And Zhang Xingjian seemed to read her look at once—he could always read her feelings in an instant.

Shen Qingwu said nothing at all as she passed Yang Su and Zhang Xingjian, but she heard Zhang Xingjian laugh softly: “Is General Shen off to show her might? Might I wait outside the Longyou camp for General Shen’s return?”

Yang Su said, “It’s too dangerous—”

Zhang Xingjian said, innocent: “Isn’t General Yang here to accompany me? Surely General Yang wouldn’t let me get hurt?”

This man is far too smooth-tongued, and thoroughly obnoxious! Yang Su thought.

But of course, Shen Qingwu ate it right up.

Yang Su watched the corner of Shen Qingwu’s mouth twitch, unable to help itself.

She did not smile.

But it was somehow even more infuriating than if she had—

Disgusting lovebirds!

Shen Qingwu’s heart was burning with impatience.

She patiently negotiated with the Longyou army, surrounding them, trying to talk them into surrender.

Shen Qingwu said, “Tell them the Princess has already ascended the throne. Tell them to stop resisting.”

Her guard drew a sharp breath. “What? Has the Princess really ascended the throne?”

Shen Qingwu said, “Just tell them that. Scare them a little.”

Enough time had passed that Li Linge’s ascension was no longer some far-off fantasy. As a means of persuading them to surrender, whether it was true or not scarcely mattered.

Perhaps she was simply impatient to go home and her methods had turned a little harsher than usual; perhaps the enemy, besieged for so long, had reached the end of their strength—

It only took an hour before a subordinate came to report, wide-eyed: “General, are they raising a white flag?”

Shen Qingwu narrowed her eyes, blinking rain from her lashes, staring toward the enemy camp.

A young soldier, cradling a battle flag, came stumbling forward hesitantly, stammering: “Is it true—’surrender and live’? Our general says, if you guarantee we won’t be killed, we’ll surrender!”

Their general also happened to share the surname Shen, though of course he was nothing like Shen Qingwu.

Astride her horse, she gazed at the enemy camp, watching that general hiding in the rear cautiously send men to ask question after question. Her spine straightened, and for a moment her mind wandered.

She seemed to see, in these men who also bore the name Shen, the same arrogance, the same pride they had once carried…

In the end, none of them had measured up to her.

Shen Qingwu’s feelings were, for a moment, complicated and adrift.

She said, “Send word to Yang Su, tell him to come help count the surrendered troops.”

She turned her horse and rode swiftly away through the rain. Behind her, the bewildered guards mounted up in unison and followed.

Shen Qingwu rode hard, without any particular destination. But not far outside the camp, her eyes caught a cluster of dark figures, and among them, a single point of white—Yang Su’s soldiers, standing in the rain, accompanying Zhang Xingjian as they waited.

Zhang Xingjian stood beneath his umbrella; the soldiers wore straw rain capes, waiting for Yang Su to relay new orders.

Their rain-soaked faces gleamed with excitement—finally, they could take in the surrendered troops! The mission was about to be completed!

Yang Su, his back to Shen Qingwu, was giving instructions: “Be careful in a moment—make sure they aren’t faking their surrender. Keep your blades and bows ready…”

The rain fell in a light, drifting mist.

It wasn’t heavy enough to keep Shen Qingwu from seeing Zhang Xingjian clearly.

As the soldiers talked, Zhang Xingjian caught sight of Shen Qingwu. Through the curtain of rain, he offered her a quiet smile.

She gazed at his face.

Amid the wind and rain, strange, vivid fragments of the past surfaced in her mind. She did not dwell on them, but was suddenly overwhelmed by an intense longing—

Having finally won this mission, having finally forced the Shen clan to bow their heads, and now, after riding a long stretch on horseback, seeing Zhang Xingjian waiting quietly in the rain, a fierce longing rose in Shen Qingwu’s heart, demanding release.

Turbulent emotion, nostalgia, and confusion tangled together.

Shen Qingwu leapt down from her horse.

She called out loudly to Zhang Xingjian, not far away: “Zhang Yuelu—”

His lashes trembled once, his bright, silvery-fish eyes blinking as he fixed his gaze on her.

The soldiers all turned to look at once.

Shen Qingwu, overcome, her mind filled entirely with him, had a thousand words crowding to her lips, but as always she was clumsy with speech, unable to put her overflowing feelings into words.

Shen Qingwu shouted:

“Will you marry me?!”

She had meant to say “take me as your wife,” but her mind was so full of the thought of “marrying him” that in her fumbling, what came out instead made Zhang Xingjian’s beautiful eyes go wide, silenced the whole scene for an instant, and then set every soldier there roaring with laughter.

The soldiers laughed so hard they doubled over, some looking at Shen Qingwu, some at Zhang Xingjian.

Amid the uproar, Zhang Xingjian raised his brows in astonishment, and before Shen Qingwu could retreat in embarrassment, his eyes curved into a smile, and he said softly:

“All right.”

Good-natured laughter spread across the hills and fields. Everyone stared at Zhang Xingjian in astonishment, while Shen Qingwu gazed at him, her eyes burning.

Slowly, a look of relief and ease broke over her face.

Her eyes curved into a smile as she walked toward him—

In the eighth month, the throne changed hands. Li Linge became the new Emperor and changed the reign name to “Jirong.”

The strange, unfamiliar reign name caused far less of a stir throughout the realm than a woman ascending the throne. Everyone discussed how this went against ancestral precedent; common people chatted about it over tea and meals, though it was the pedantic scholars who argued themselves red in the face over it more than anyone.

But the new Emperor made no sweeping changes to the officials’ positions across the realm. Perhaps changes would come, but they would come gradually. For now, at least, people found that aside from a few new taxes that had disappeared, life seemed to have grown peaceful again.

The new Emperor had her own philosophy of governance, her own contests of will to wage with the officials, but with no war, no strife, the common people found it hard to see, for the moment, what difference a female emperor would actually make.

Shen Qingye walked through the mountain forest, turning these thoughts over slowly in her mind.

She had just come down from the mountain in the Longyou region, returning from the seclusion of the town where she had lived before her parents’ deaths, far from the turmoil of the capital. Her days were neither good nor bad.

She wrote calligraphy, painted a little, and sold her work to get by. Her beauty often drew unwanted attention and harassment, but after surviving the assassination attempt in the capital, she no longer feared such things.

Carrying her unsold paintings and calligraphy back up to her wooden cottage in the mountains, Shen Qingye found herself wondering whether the new Emperor’s ascension would have any effect on her elder sister. She hoped that the Shen family’s downfall would not touch her sister…

It was at this very moment, as she rounded a mountain cliff, that a gust of wind scattered the paper scrolls in her arms, sending them flying from her embrace.

They represented her livelihood, and Shen Qingye could not help chasing after the scrolls of calligraphy and painting as they danced through the air like butterflies.

“Ah—” Shen Qingye cried out.

Suddenly she went still.

From behind the cliff, once the scattering scrolls had settled, a young man in black, wearing a straw rain hat, walked slowly forward, his face gradually coming into focus.

Shen Qingye stared, transfixed, memories she thought long dead rushing back. Confused and dazed, she watched, past the snow-white paper, as the man removed his rain hat.

It was Qiu Jun.

Qiu Jun bent silently, gathering up the scattered scrolls one by one from the ground.

He raised his head and looked at this delicate, gentle woman, her eyes glimmering with a hazy mist.

He said, “Traveling four hundred days with an assassin… what did you think would come after?”

Shen Qingye looked at him and said nothing.

He said, “He will come looking for you again—if you wish to continue this journey, what price are you willing to pay?”

In September, the sea and sky stretched wide, and the sweet scent of osmanthus filled the air.

In October, the month of harvest, the new Emperor declared a general amnesty across the realm.

After reorganizing the Yizhou and Longyou armies, both forces received new commanders; officers were promoted or demoted, each according to their due. Yang Su returned to Yizhou, but Shen Qingwu did not go back with him.

The new Emperor granted Shen Qingwu a new residence and promoted her to Commander of the Palace Guard Command, placing her in charge of a hundred thousand imperial guards.

Most of the guard corps consisted of unruly noble young men, and this female general, upon taking office, proved utterly incorruptible and severe in style, much to their constant complaint. And this same female general was betrothed to the Zhang family—perhaps the marriage would take place by year’s end.

Judging by merit and service, Shen Qingwu had helped bring Li Linge to where she now stood; her rank and status made her a match for the Zhang family in every respect. With Zhang Xingjian serving as chancellor at court and Shen Qingwu leading the palace guard, by all reason the new Emperor should have been wary of this marriage—should have feared the two of them growing too powerful, overshadowing the throne itself.

But for whatever reason, the new Emperor strongly supported the marriage between Shen Qingwu and Zhang Xingjian.

Perhaps it was a form of “compensation,” or “atonement.”

No one spoke of it.

The Zhang family had nothing to say on the matter—their own San Lang seemed ready to move into General Shen’s household entirely, and to keep him at home, they were willing to grit their teeth and agree to whatever conditions were set.

The Zhang family could not afford to lose another young master.

One rainy night in October, Shen Qingwu returned to her residence to find Zhang Xingjian had already been waiting a long while.

As she removed her blade in her quarters, she felt a slight pang of guilt. She was trying to think how best to appease him—as chancellor, he had time every day to come find her for company, but she, having only just taken up her post as Commander, was so overwhelmed with official duties that her head spun.

She didn’t understand how he managed to have so much free time.

But under the weight of his wistful gaze, guilt built in her day after day. And that man was infuriating—he never once complained, only gazed at her with that wistful look, which made Shen Qingwu all the more willing to indulge him in anything.

As she was pondering how to coax him today, there came two knocks at the door, and someone strolled in without waiting for a reply.

Zhang Xingjian said with a smile, “Wutong, why did it take you so long to come out? I’ve been waiting ages.”

Shen Qingwu turned. “…You barge into my room more rudely by the day.”

The young man who used to always knock and patiently wait for her reply was nowhere to be found.

Zhang Xingjian felt a flicker of guilt, but spoke with perfect confidence: “You and I are about to be married—why bother with such formalities?”

In truth he had a plan of his own, quietly trying to close the distance between them, to make Shen Qingwu grow closer to him. Naturally, there was no need for her to know any of that.

In any case, Zhang Xingjian could turn his charm on and off as he pleased.

If she never came looking for him, well, what was the harm in his coming to look for her every day instead? The capital was so vast, and yet so small… when he wanted to see her, there was no need for him to pine and worry over it.

Zhang Xingjian asked her with a smile, “Do you have time to go out and have some fun with me?”

Shen Qingwu said nothing.

She looked at the window.

Rain pattered down in a steady rhythm.

She couldn’t quite believe it. “Now?”

Go out in the rain, at night?

Zhang Xingjian leaned half against the folding screen, watching her change clothes with a curve to his eyes. “Why not?”

Shen Qingwu said, “What if you catch a chill from the rain? I don’t mind it myself, but can you handle it?”

Zhang Xingjian deliberately put on a stern face. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

So she let it go.

Shen Qingwu snorted.

Once she had changed into everyday clothes, she picked up an umbrella and went out with him.

She knew Zhang Xingjian had a refined hobby of admiring the rain and flowers; though she didn’t share his taste, she was happy to accompany him, to make him happy. Before they left, Shen Qingwu assumed that tonight he probably wanted to go somewhere to watch the rain again.

Instead, the two of them got into a carriage.

Once inside, Zhang Xingjian took out a strip of white cloth, intending to blindfold her.

Shen Qingwu eyed him warily.

He feigned indignation. “Would I ever harm you?”

Shen Qingwu said, “That’s not so certain.”

He insisted on blindfolding her; she insisted on refusing. She disliked the feeling of losing control, disliked total darkness—as a child she had been locked in a dark room, and ever since, she had feared cramped, enclosed spaces (like carriages) and utter blackness (like a blindfold).

Zhang Xingjian frowned. “You promised me the other day that you’d take today off and spend the whole day with me. I cleared all my official business and came to find you, only to sit here uselessly all day…”

Shen Qingwu said at once, “Blindfold me, then.”

Zhang Xingjian suppressed a laugh.

Blindfolded, Shen Qingwu sat in complete darkness. Just as confusion began to rise in her, a hand reached out and took hold of hers.

His fingers were long and slender, well-proportioned, elegant as carved jade. He held her gently, and Shen Qingwu’s heart settled at once.

She had grown up. She had mastery of martial arts. She was no longer that girl from her childhood—

The carriage came to a stop, and the hand holding hers withdrew. Shen Qingwu reached out at once to find it again, and sharply sensed the carriage door opening, cold air rushing in.

She turned her face to the side.

Blindfolded, her face pale and cold as frost, a stray lock of hair fluttering alongside the wind-blown white cloth, she carried an air of striking, refined elegance.

In place of Zhang Xingjian’s jade-smooth wrist, a withered, bony hand reached out and took hold of Shen Qingwu’s.

She froze.

An aged, hoarse voice spoke: “Second Young Mistress, little Qingwu… you’ve come home late again. Careful the Madam doesn’t find out, or they’ll beat you.”

Shen Qingwu was stunned.

Her mind went blank as she listened to this voice, one that had grown utterly unfamiliar to her, unable to understand what was happening.

The hand tugged at her, trying to pull her from the carriage.

Shen Qingwu remained rooted in place.

The voice grew even older, even hoarser, tinged now with a choking sob: “Are you frightened again? Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid, no one’s watching, no one will find out. Be good, little Qingwu, Nanny’s hidden some treats for you.”

The corner of Shen Qingwu’s mouth twitched.

The withered hand pulled at her, trying hard to draw her from the carriage.

Slowly, Shen Qingwu moved.

She stepped down from the carriage.

The white cloth fluttered as she was led forward in silence, guided onward by this hand.

Then another voice spoke—an unfamiliar, somewhat elderly woman’s voice: “Qingwu wants to go out, does she? Go on, then. I’ll have your brother take you along. Play whatever you like, come back whenever you like. But not too late—tomorrow you still have to practice martial arts with your brother.”

They walked a stretch further.

Shen Qingwu stood silent in the darkness.

Shen Zhuo’s hand replaced the old woman’s, taking hold of her wrist and leading her onward.

His voice sounded beside her ear: “Qingwu, that young master from the Zhang family—it was you who saved him, wasn’t it? We found the handkerchief you left behind, and that young master admitted it himself. The Shen and Zhang families will be joined in marriage; you saved San Lang’s life, and he should pledge himself to you in return.”

Pledge himself to her.

Shen Qingwu’s grip on Shen Zhuo’s hand tightened.

Slowly, she began to understand what all this was.

The first old woman had been her childhood nanny; the woman after her had been Madam Shen, who had hated her to death; and now Shen Zhuo—this was her brother, brought out from the dungeon.

What did this mean?

Shen Zhuo led her onward through the darkness.

Fine rain drifted down, the world silent and still, footsteps overlapping one another, and in this vast, empty expanse of the mortal world, Shen Qingwu felt for a moment that she was entirely alone, and then, intermittently, sensed the presence of many people, many breaths around her.

Her hearing was sharp.

She heard many voices—

“So this is the Shen family’s second daughter? So handsome, so valiant—what kind of man could possibly be worthy of her?”

“I heard she’s betrothed to that Moon-Deer of the Zhang family. If you ask me, that Moon-Deer isn’t worthy of her.”

“It’s just that old business about saving his life, that’s all.”

“Zhang Xingjian doesn’t deserve Shen Qingwu.”

Shen Qingwu’s hand, resting on Shen Zhuo’s, began to tremble.

Several times she nearly reached up to tear off the blindfold, but she had promised Zhang Xingjian she would not, and so she forced herself to keep walking.

Until one voice rose above the others, sounding close beside her ear.

Zhang Wenbi’s voice, stiff and somewhat cold, said: “So you’re the Shen family’s second daughter. You and my brother are a match made by heaven, destined for each other from birth. What virtue does our Zhang family possess to deserve marrying a remarkable woman like you? I am delighted for my brother, and I beg your indulgence on behalf of our family.”

Shen Qingwu suddenly tore off the white blindfold.

A dense haze of lantern smoke and mist filled her eyes.

The first thing she saw was Zhang Wenbi, leaning against a wall before her.

Then she looked up and realized she was standing in a long alley.

At the far end of the alley, she saw Zhang Xingjian, holding an umbrella.

That young man, refined as jade, elegant as a painting, stood quietly watching her through the misty rain of the autumn night.

Shen Qingwu turned back, looking down the long path behind her—

Behind her stood Shen Zhuo, Madam Shen, and her old nanny, her face streaked with tears.

Each of them wore a different expression, watching her.

Shen Qingwu turned again, looking toward Zhang Xingjian at the far end of the alley—

She suddenly realized that she had walked down this very alley seven years ago.

She suddenly realized that tonight, this rainy autumn night, mirrored the very day, seven years before, when she and Zhang Xingjian had parted in heartbreak, when she had been cast aside and left grieving.

Standing at the end of the alley, Zhang Xingjian was separated from her by layer upon layer of people.

Once, he had let go of her hand, step by step, letting others tear them apart.

Today, he had brought back the people of her past, walked her once more through old memories, and one by one, turned every source of her hatred, her fear, her grief, her anger, into something transformed.

The eleventh of October would forever hold a different meaning for her.

She would mark it as her birthday.

She would remember this day for the rest of her life—

At the end of the alley, Zhang Xingjian watched her tenderly.

His gaze seemed to say: Come. Take me. Have me.

Erase every regret, dissolve every injustice. Come and have me—I am willing, wholeheartedly, resolutely willing to follow you—

Shen Qingwu’s vision blurred, little by little.

She flung the white cloth away and turned to walk off.

Behind her, Zhang Xingjian seemed to panic.

He threw down his umbrella and ran after her: “Wutong…”

Shen Qingwu walked quickly.

Tears fell without stopping.

Through her blurred vision, familiar and unfamiliar faces flickered past her. There was Shen Zhuo, guilt and exhaustion on his face; Madam Shen, cold-faced yet forced to play her part; her old nanny, not daring to meet her eyes; and the guards from years past, and the bewildered onlookers…

Shen Qingwu’s tears kept falling.

As she walked swiftly on, she looked at the alley—

Sixteen-year-old Shen Qingwu, digging that young man out from beneath the fallen leaves amid the red maples and the sycamore trees; sixteen-year-old Shen Qingwu, leaping freely through the streets and alleys, full of joy and anticipation, sneaking off again and again to see Zhang Xingjian; sixteen-year-old Shen Qingwu, leaning against a wall, declaring: He’s mine. I will never let him go.

Through her blurred vision, twenty-three-year-old Shen Qingwu found herself face to face with her sixteen-year-old self.

Her eyes rimmed red, she looked at that stubborn, unyielding girl—

No one could understand her fierce refusal to accept losing Zhang Xingjian.

No one could understand her relentless devotion to him—

Twenty-three-year-old Shen Qingwu passed by her sixteen-year-old self.

That autumn, sixteen-year-old Shen Qingwu had joined the army.

Another autumn, Shen Qingwu had stood alone in camp, gazing at the moon.

Yet another autumn, Shen Qingwu had stared blankly at the moon.

Autumn after autumn passed, and the lush, flourishing sycamore tree stood beneath the bright moonlight—

Shen Qingwu wept without pause.

In her heart, she spoke to that sixteen-year-old self: Don’t be afraid. Keep walking forward.

One day, you will have him.

You will never regret it.

Of everything this world has to offer, he is the gift you want most—

Zhang Xingjian caught up to Shen Qingwu and seized her wrist.

He said urgently, “Wutong!”

He said, “I only wanted to give you a surprise. If you don’t like it…”

She did not dislike it.

Shen Qingwu turned and threw herself into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck—

She buried her face against his throat.

In this whole world, she loved him most, wanted him most, and never once regretted him—

Shen Qingwu said, “Is this my birthday present?”

Zhang Xingjian nodded gently.

Afraid she couldn’t see him, he spoke, a little embarrassed: “I never meant to make you cry…”

His voice was full of chagrin.

Shen Qingwu lifted her tear-reddened eyes.

She smiled at him.

Such a smile might look fierce to anyone else, but to him, it meant her tenderness, her affection.

She said, “Let’s keep celebrating my birthday, then—what’s next, are you taking me to watch the rain?”

He smiled. “Next, we watch the lanterns.”

Shen Qingwu asked, “Watch what?”

Zhang Xingjian teased, “Watch the night when even the imperial guards lift the curfew, when the long night never quite gives way to dawn—”

That meant a whole night spent admiring the lantern lights.

Shen Qingwu smiled.

Then let them admire the lanterns all night long.

—The End—