Shen Qingwu and Zhang Xingjian’s wedding leave lasted about half a month.

Two days before that half-month was up, Shen Qingwu ended their leisurely getaway and returned to the capital.

Not wanting their newlywed life constantly interrupted, Zhang Xingjian arranged for the two of them to first stay at the residence the Empress had granted Shen Qingwu, rather than returning right away to the old Zhang family estate.

Shen Qingwu had no objection.

What troubled Shen Qingwu, once they were back at their capital residence and she tried on her old clothes, was that no matter how she wore them, something felt off.

In the afternoon, with the sunlight slanting in, Zhang Xingjian reclined on a long couch, flipping through a book while playing a game of chess against himself, tucked away in a corner the sunlight couldn’t quite reach, half-distracted in his own private amusement, when Shen Qingwu came bursting out from behind the screen.

Shen Qingwu said, “Take a look at me.”

Zhang Xingjian looked up, glancing her over.

His gaze lingered on her for a moment before drifting away.

He raised an eyebrow, his eyes asking with amusement: And?

Shen Qingwu said, “What do you think?”

Zhang Xingjian said something she could understand: “Sharp and striking. Very good-looking.”

Shen Qingwu frowned.

She decided, “Then wait and see.”

She went back to the inner room and changed once more.

She changed clothes three or four times in a row, having him judge each one. There were two sets of martial robes and two feminine dresses; as she walked out, her long sleeves swaying, her waist slender and her figure tall, she truly did look lovely.

And Zhang Xingjian, being both clever and not a little susceptible to beauty, had already spotted the source of her trouble by her second outfit change—

The soft curve of her chest, which Shen Qingwu always bound tightly with cloth, seemed, set off by her form-fitting inner garments, to have grown noticeably fuller, rounder.

The shape, the curve of it… made Zhang Xingjian’s throat move involuntarily.

Yet he only remained half-seated there, watching her, smiling without a word.

Seeing the look on his face, Shen Qingwu concluded firmly, “I’ve gained weight, haven’t I?”

Zhang Xingjian covered his face with one hand, turning aside with a soft laugh.

His face flushed slightly.

He said, “You don’t need to flatter me so much.”

Privately, he thought with delight: This must be my doing.

Missing the faintly suggestive, self-satisfied undertone in his teasing, Shen Qingwu let her wide sleeves fall as she sat down beside him, looking down at her own figure.

She reflected on her recent laziness.

So Zhang Xingjian had been right all along—indulging herself day after day, neglecting her ambitions, barely training, barely picking up her blade, spending all her time tangled up with him in the bedroom instead—the price for that was, apparently, weight gain.

And she’d only been slacking off for half a month.

Trying on her old clothes tonight, the binding cloth across her chest felt uncomfortably tight, and she sensed something was wrong. Wearing the women’s dresses Zhang Xingjian had given her, she rarely found that her waist, too, was now snug against the fabric, with no room to spare.

Shen Qingwu had to face facts—she really had gained weight.

Deeply shaken, she sat on the couch, head bowed in thought, while Zhang Xingjian watched from behind, itching with restraint. He sat up and pressed close against her from behind, wrapping his arms around her, one hand drifting toward the soft bit of flesh at her chest.

Shen Qingwu came back to herself and turned her head to look at him.

He seemed a little nervous, yet clearly enthusiastic. “Let me have a look.”

Shen Qingwu let him weigh it in his hand, let him gently press.

Pressed against her, he gradually warmed, a mist of desire rising in his eyes. A lock of his hair fell loose, brushing against her long neck. Unable to help himself, Zhang Xingjian turned his head and pressed a kiss to her neck.

Utterly smitten, he lifted his head to look at her with hazy eyes.

Shen Qingwu let herself lean into his weight, tumbling with him onto the couch. She lay atop him as he held her, his face slowly flushing, his breath growing unsteady.

Just as Zhang Xingjian’s feelings were stirring, he heard Shen Qingwu ask beside his ear, “Have I really gotten fat?”

Dazed, distracted, he murmured, “Mm? Mm…”

His arms suddenly held nothing.

Zhang Xingjian sat frozen on the couch for a moment before slowly sitting up, seeing Shen Qingwu, her clothes slightly rumpled, sitting with her head bowed in thought, not sparing him the slightest attention.

He was quiet for a moment, and when she finally glanced back at him, he smiled. “You’ve filled out a little, that’s all.”

He added, “I like it very much.”

Shen Qingwu said, “I don’t.”

Zhang Xingjian fell silent at that.

He had never once offered an opinion on her body; even when things grew heated between them, since she was always the more forceful one, he rarely said much at all. Shen Qingwu had never once received any judgment from him about her figure—she had only ever fretted about it on her own.

Watching her quietly for a long while, Zhang Xingjian let out a soft sigh, realizing there would be no coaxing her into bed today.

Well, so be it.

He shouldn’t have been trying anything in broad daylight anyway.

Zhang Xingjian slowly straightened his robes, restoring himself to the same unhurried elegance he’d had before she burst in. Just as he finished settling himself, a dark shadow loomed over him.

Shen Qingwu had knelt down in front of him, so that the moment he looked up, he found himself staring straight into her eyes.

Startled for a second, Zhang Xingjian smiled. “You’re back again.”

She reached up to rest her hands on his shoulders, tilting her face to the side—a clear invitation for a kiss. Zhang Xingjian blinked, caught off guard, but went along with what she wanted. Whenever she wanted to kiss him, it always made him happy; he never resisted.

Yet just as his feelings began to rise once more, Shen Qingwu stopped.

Her hand caught his chin, holding him still so he couldn’t move.

Twice, three times over.

She would stir him up, then walk away.

Leaning against the wall, Zhang Xingjian closed his eyes, exasperated. “Shen Qingwu, don’t push it too far, or I’ll have to resort to other measures to deal with you…”

But Shen Qingwu was studying him instead. “You haven’t gained an ounce anywhere on your jaw.”

She went on to measure his waist, his broad shoulders, his slender back, murmuring, “Your build hasn’t changed a bit either.”

She even wondered aloud, “Have you gotten thinner, even?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “…”

He looked up at her.

Rarely seeing this kind of reaction from her, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Still thinking about you gaining weight, are you? I told you to train every day, and you refused, insisting on… well. This is the result.”

Shen Qingwu said, “I only slacked off for half a month.”

Zhang Xingjian spread his hands.

He said, “All right, forget about it, it’s not important…”

He eyed the skin at her collar with longing, his heart set on that soft bit of extra weight, still scheming to lure her back into bed. He wrapped his arms around her waist, trying by every roundabout means to draw her into his embrace, but Shen Qingwu wouldn’t budge an inch.

Shen Qingwu studied his fine features, his effortless grace, his frame completely unchanged even after their marriage.

She said, “I really should get back to training. I can’t keep going on like this.”

Zhang Xingjian answered absently.

Shen Qingwu asked, “Why are you so thin?”

He blinked, all innocence. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

Shen Qingwu said plainly, “If you tell me I’ve slacked off on my training and gained weight, fine, I can accept that. But you barely move all day, even less than I do—why haven’t you gained weight along with me?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “…”

His hand, still resting on her waist, went still.

He said, feigning calm, “What do you mean I barely move? Who says I don’t move around?”

Shen Qingwu scoffed.

To her, taking a couple of steps a day hardly counted as “moving around.”

Seeing his throat bob as though he had something to say, she cut him off first: “You barely move in bed either. It’s always me doing all the work.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “…”

He thought to himself: I have a good temperament—I go along with whatever you want, I try to make you happy, no matter how things happen between us. And somehow, in your mouth, that turns into me just lying back and reaping the rewards, not moving a muscle, leaving you shortchanged.

Slowly, Zhang Xingjian withdrew the arm around her waist and looked down to roll up his own sleeve.

He decided he would go back to his game of chess and simply ignore this terrible woman from now on.

But Shen Qingwu circled around to face him and pressed him further: “Why haven’t you gained weight?”

Something about her question made his heart skip. His eyes shifted, lashes curving faintly, like stars reflected on water.

He tilted his head to look at her, smiling sweetly: “Because you and I aren’t the same—

“You’re a foul-mouthed woman, and I’m a little celestial being. I feast on wind and dew every day, I don’t touch worldly food—of course I’m not the same as you.”

He used the teasing nickname “little celestial being” she’d once called him mockingly, turning it back on her now.

But Shen Qingwu raised an eyebrow. “Nonsense. I know perfectly well what you eat every day.”

Zhang Xingjian said with a smile, “Yes, you do. While I’m sipping my tea slowly, you’re gulping yours down like an ox drinking. I spend a whole afternoon over a cup of tea; you eat two whole plates of pastries… who wouldn’t gain weight, if not you?”

His teasing actually made Shen Qingwu stop and genuinely reconsider whether she’d been eating too much.

Her portions really were more than double his.

She used to burn it all off training hard; lately, she hadn’t been burning much of anything…

Shen Qingwu said, “So you’re saying your diet is simply better than mine? That eating like a cat is the real reason you’re so thin?”

Eating like a cat…

Zhang Xingjian’s expression stiffened for a moment, inwardly even more annoyed.

He smiled. “That’s right.”

He even grew inspired, spreading out a sheet of rice paper on the small table beside him and picking up his brush to write out a diet plan: “Come now, let me tell you how I maintain myself every day, what I eat, what I don’t eat. Follow my regimen, and you can slim right back down to however you like…”

He was making it all up on the spot, spouting complete nonsense.

But he had such a silver tongue, and could spin the most absurd claims so smoothly, that they still managed to leave people bewildered and half-convinced.

Shen Qingwu genuinely began to believe she had simply never paid enough attention to his diet before. She leaned in close, listening to his explanation, nodding along again and again.

Zhang Xingjian said, “Every day, my last meal is always flower petals. Lately it’s been magnolia blossoms—after eating them, my mouth is left with a lingering fragrance…”

Shen Qingwu said, “Huh?”

She started to come back to her senses, growing wary. “You’re making that up.”

He pursed his lips. “I’m being serious.”

Shen Qingwu said, “You’re talking complete nonsense.”

Zhang Xingjian said, wounded, “Ah, I suppose you’ve simply never cared enough about me to notice my habit of dining on flowers and drinking dew…”

Shen Qingwu said, “…”

That evening at dinner, Shen Qingwu primly cut back on her portions.

Zhang Xingjian watched her.

After a long moment of hesitation, she turned to a maidservant and said, “I want freshly picked magnolia blossoms…”

The maidservant blinked.

Shen Qingwu added, “The kind your lord eats every day.”

The maidservant looked utterly lost.

Zhang Xingjian spat out his tea and burst into laughter.

His usual laughter was always light and restrained, but this time he laughed so hard he spat out his tea, his brows dancing with mirth, unable to straighten up.

Shen Qingwu said, “…”

Zhang Xingjian, holding back his laughter, said, “Wutong, you… you actually believed me…”

Shen Qingwu’s face darkened. “So you really were lying to me.”

Zhang Xingjian couldn’t stop laughing. “Didn’t you tell me this afternoon that you already knew I was lying to you? You knew, and you still believed it?”

His eyes rippled with warmth, brimming with tenderness. “You trust my every word that much?”

Shen Qingwu, embarrassed and furious in equal measure, said, “Zhang Yuelu, you really are a scoundrel! Is there a single true word that ever comes out of your mouth?”

She rolled up her sleeves and advanced on him with murder in her eyes.

Seeing this wasn’t going to end well, Zhang Xingjian got up to flee. But how could he possibly stand a chance against General Shen’s combat skill?

The maidservant, seeing San Lang had just risen, watched him get pressed right back down into his chair by the Third Young Mistress. Not sure exactly where the Third Young Mistress had struck, she heard San Lang laughing and gasping at once, his breath ragged:

“Wutong, have mercy…”

The maidservant flushed red instantly and hurried off with the food trays.

The Third Young Mistress had never been one for convention, and San Lang’s temperament was gentle enough, but if the Second Young Mistress of the Zhang family ever learned they had been peeking in on the newlyweds’ private games, there would surely be consequences.

And so the servants scattered without a trace, and after a few brief moments of token resistance in the room, the sounds within gradually softened into something as smooth and flowing as water.

The endlessly scheming Zhang Xingjian got exactly what he wanted in the end, sharing Shen Qingwu’s bed that night after all.

Summer arrived.

The air grew stifling and hot, cicadas buzzing incessantly.

Zhang Xingjian grew listless, curling up at home all day, unwilling to step outside.

Since her early, indulgent days of marriage, Shen Qingwu had firmly resolved not to spend all her time lost in her husband’s charms. She threw herself back into her busy official duties, coming and going in a rush every day, rarely staying home.

The summer heat couldn’t stop her from going out, couldn’t stop her determination to drill and discipline the imperial guard.

But Zhang Xingjian was different.

Shen Qingwu discovered that he was afraid of the heat.

Once summer came, he would burrow at home and refuse to step even one foot outside if he could help it. Aside from the court sessions held once every five days, Zhang Xingjian was unwilling to cross the threshold at all.

Official documents piled up like a mountain on his desk.

Before heading out each day, Shen Qingwu would see him slumped over his desk, his slender hand resting motionless on its edge, not moving at all.

She couldn’t understand why he was so bothered by the heat—his body ran naturally warm, he didn’t train and so didn’t sweat much, and he had ice to eat besides, yet he still looked utterly listless.

Officials came calling at their door every day without fail, and every single one was turned away.

Because Chancellor Zhang simply had no interest, no desire to take on more official business.

The chancellor was, in effect, the Emperor’s right hand; the less he handled, the heavier the burden fell on the Empress. And Li Linge, of course, had no wish to be bothered with every trivial matter herself—she wanted the officials sent to Zhang Xingjian instead.

Zhang Xingjian politely declined.

Which left the Empress to bear the extra burden herself.

Watching him like this, Shen Qingwu found it strange, and rather endearing.

If he kept this up, the Empress would surely lose her patience with him sooner or later.

Shen Qingwu thought: Well, so be it. If my husband doesn’t feel like working and wants to lie around all day, I don’t mind earning enough to support him.

The infuriating part, though, was that Zhang Xingjian, in wasting his own time, wanted company while doing it.

And he had set his sights on Shen Qingwu.

With the sun so brutal outside, why did she insist on going out every day instead of staying home to lounge around and play with him?

Shen Qingwu tried using his own past words about “diligence” to talk him around.

But Zhang Xingjian had his own logic ready: “I’ve given my heart and soul in service to Great Zhou. Surely I’m allowed the occasional rest.”

Shen Qingwu said, “Then go rest by yourself. Why drag me into it?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “I just think the young men of the imperial guard are so pitiful—I worry they’ll succumb to heatstroke, and then their families will come demanding an explanation from us… that wouldn’t do at all. Better to prevent trouble before it happens—you shouldn’t be piling on extra drills every single day.”

Shen Qingwu said, “By that logic, you shouldn’t eat or drink water either—everyone dies eventually anyway.”

Zhang Xingjian was momentarily speechless.

Then he burst out laughing at her retort.

His laughter lit up his whole face, and he pinned her against the wall, refusing to let go, leaving Shen Qingwu utterly baffled.

She had no idea which of her words had amused him so much.

Privately, she grumbled: If you’re so bothered by the heat, why do you keep pressing yourself up against me? That makes no sense.

Still, Zhang Xingjian racked his brain endlessly, determined to get Shen Qingwu to join him in escaping the summer heat.

To that end, he wasn’t above resorting to seduction.

To keep her from going out, he cornered her beneath the corridor eaves. Elegant as carved jade, dressed in thin, flowing summer robes, with a pond of rippling water and endless lotus leaves behind him, the sunlight almost too bright to look at.

He wrapped his arms around her, murmuring softly by her ear, all of it, one way or another, urging her to stay home with him.

Shen Qingwu struggled valiantly against his allure.

Inwardly, she cursed him, certain he knew exactly what she found irresistible about him and had dressed himself up like this on purpose to tempt her.

But beauty was fleeting and illusory—she would not be swayed!

Beneath the grape trellis, green vines curling and winding, the two of them leaned against each other under the moon-gate archway.

The cicadas droned on, incessant.

Two hands rested against the stone bricks, fingers tapping lightly.

Shen Qingwu broke out in sweat, her face burning hot.

She couldn’t tell if it was truly the brutal sun, or his breath brushing against her face.

Tilting her head back, Shen Qingwu said coolly, “Do you really think I’m the type to be led astray by a pretty face?”

Zhang Xingjian’s long lashes trembled.

He looked down at her and said, with perfect sincerity, “You are.”

His hand toyed with the sash of her robe, keeping her from reaching for the long blade at her waist. He caught her hand, guiding it to move however he wished.

He smiled softly, almost coquettish. “Do you love me, or don’t you?”

Shen Qingwu, stubborn and unyielding to the last: “Have you no shame at all?”

A long moment passed.

Her tightly closed eyes trembled, lashes catching a shimmer of light like ripples on water.

Eyes still closed, Shen Qingwu finally conceded defeat: “Fine. I am.”

—She was, after all, exactly the type to be led astray by a pretty face.