The second year of their marriage.

Summer.

A fight broke out between Shen Qingwu and Zhang Xingjian.

The source of it was more than a little childish—Zhang Xingjian, who suffered every summer, didn’t want to deal with official business the moment the season arrived. He kept trying to shirk his duties and coax Shen Qingwu into joining him instead, which made her furious. The two of them decided to settle the matter with a game of chess, but Shen Qingwu caught him secretly stealing chess pieces the moment she turned to take a sip of water, trying to cover his tracks.

Shen Qingwu was outraged: cheating like this had no dignity of a gentleman about it at all.

And yet he remained infuriatingly glib, spinning the most unreasonable excuses into things that sounded almost sensible, thoroughly practiced at playing the pitiful victim—”I only wanted you to stay and keep me company.”

Unable to out-argue him, she could only accuse him of having no sense of sportsmanship at chess.

Shen Qingwu said, “Who else plays chess the way you do—dawdling, always trying to cheat and cut corners, until a perfectly good game ends with fewer and fewer pieces on the board because of you. Everyone else…”

A flicker crossed Zhang Xingjian’s eyes.

He asked her, “Everyone else, who? How many people have you actually played chess with?”

Shen Qingwu fell silent at that.

Bo Rong was a name the two of them avoided between themselves. But after his death, Shen Qingwu’s grief and longing for him were real and unhidden.

A few days earlier, she had quietly gone to sweep his grave, and there she had run into the Empress.

The two women had ridden back together, and at the palace gate had crossed paths with Zhang Xingjian, who was on his way in. At the time he had said nothing about it, and afterward he never once asked Shen Qingwu about it either, but knowing him as she did, he surely understood exactly what had happened—he simply chose not to say anything.

But what was so wrong about mentioning Bo Rong?

The dead were gone, their light extinguished.

Was she not even allowed to miss her own teacher?

Zhang Xingjian said, “You may. Just don’t keep bringing him up in front of me.”

Shen Qingwu said, “There’s no one in this world as petty and small-minded as you.”

His face went white with anger on the spot.

The moment the words left her mouth, Shen Qingwu regretted them.

Normally he would have argued back, but suffering through the summer heat as he was, his energy was already low. Between the game and everything else, tempers had risen high enough that Zhang Xingjian was thoroughly, dizzyingly furious.

He slammed the door and stormed off.

Shen Qingwu didn’t think much of it.

She went out to attend to her own duties—drilling troops at the training grounds, inspecting the guard rotations in the palace, and then being summoned to speak with the Empress.

By the time Shen Qingwu returned to their residence, the moon hung high overhead; it was already deep into the night.

The chamber sat empty and silent, her husband nowhere to be found.

Shen Qingwu asked a maidservant, “Is Zhang Yuelu out attending to business, or is he in the study?”

The maidservant hesitated. “San Lang went out, but… San Lang should have gone back to the main estate.”

Shen Qingwu found this strange, but didn’t quite grasp the maidservant’s meaning, and simply gave a casual “Oh.”

She assumed something important had come up at the Zhang family estate, requiring Zhang Xingjian to go handle it in person.

But the maidservant stopped her, stammering, “San Lang took Chang Lin and the other guards with him. Most of the books in the study are gone too, and all the memorials on his desk have been cleared out.”

Shen Qingwu said, “His clothes are still here.”

The maidservant said, “San Lang won’t be lacking clothes, food, curios, or amusements at the main Zhang estate.”

This maidservant had been sent by the Second Young Mistress of the Zhang family after the wedding to help manage the household. She spoke earnestly, trying to guide the Third Young Mistress toward understanding.

Seeing Shen Qingwu still utterly confused, the maidservant finally spoke plainly: “San Lang left because you made him angry! Your husband has split the household, split the residence, split the bed from you—can’t you see what that means?”

Privately, the maidservant thought: At this rate, how are they ever going to have children!

The Second Young Mistress had specifically instructed her to help the newlyweds nurture their health and produce an heir as soon as possible. Seeing how sweet the two of them had been together, the maidservant had assumed conceiving a child would come easily enough. Yet here they were, a full year into the marriage, and General Shen’s belly showed no sign of anything at all. Only the day before, she had asked San Lang about it, and today he had already moved out…

At this rate, how would they ever have children?

Standing beneath the night mist in the corridor, lantern light falling over her, Shen Qingwu’s figure and face both took on a hazy, indistinct quality.

Slowly, she worked out the meaning. “He’s gone back to his family home… is that what you mean?”

The maidservant said, “…”

She said, “If that’s how you want to understand it, that’s fine too.”

Shen Qingwu grew angry at once. “Storming off just because we disagreed on something—how childish can he be! What does he want, for me to bow my head and apologize? He can dream on.”

Shen Qingwu spent that night alone, unable to sleep.

For the next three days, Shen Qingwu did not see Zhang Xingjian at all.

She found herself increasingly reluctant to return home.

One evening, Shen Qingwu stood watching the young men drill at the training grounds. Leaning against the fence, thoroughly bored, she found her thoughts drifting toward the vast open plains, the endless grasslands, the smell of blood and iron on some distant battlefield…

Yang Su had sent her a letter describing the current state of the Yizhou army, and reading it left her more than a little envious.

Commanding the imperial guard looked impressive enough on the surface, but it offered few opportunities to leave the capital. In some sense, Shen Qingwu felt trapped here in the city.

She didn’t regret her position, but she still longed for a life beyond the capital walls.

Leaning against the fence just then, though, her thoughts weren’t really on longing for anywhere else—they were on that letter from Yang Su. After reading it, she’d gone out for a while to handle some business, and when she came home, she found the letter had vanished.

Shen Qingwu turned the whole place upside down looking for it.

She wondered: Did Zhang Xingjian send someone to steal it?

Was he keeping tabs on her?

Hadn’t he stormed off and moved out? Would someone who’d walked out on her really turn around and spy on her, steal her letters? Was she overthinking this?

Should she go confront him about it?

But what if… she’d simply misremembered where she’d left it? If she went storming over to accuse him and turned out to be wrong, wouldn’t that look like she was caving in, admitting defeat?

Troubled by this domestic mess, Shen Qingwu drifted off into thought.

The sky had turned an ashen gray, and two off-duty guards passing by chatted idly: “Is it going to rain?”

“Looks like it.”

Shen Qingwu started and looked up at the sky—

Low, heavy clouds, a darkened sky—unmistakable signs of rain on the way.

Summer rain usually meant heavy downpours. And heavy downpours usually meant thunder.

Zhang Xingjian was afraid of thunder.

Shen Qingwu stared up at the sky, transfixed.

Her expression turned cold, her gaze sharp and icy, staring blankly at the heavens, leaving the officers passing by wondering just what the sky had done to offend this particular menace.

“General, training’s finished! Are you satisfied with how it went?” A captain hurried over to report to her.

Having finished observing the drills, Shen Qingwu turned to leave the training grounds, still torn: should she, because of the coming thunder, go check on Zhang Yuelu?

Should she confront him about whether he’d stolen her letter?

“Commander, Commander… General Shen!” An elderly man’s voice, growing louder and closer, called out from a carriage parked outside the training grounds.

Shen Qingwu stopped and turned her head.

She didn’t recognize the little old man hurrying toward her, but from the way he carried himself, he seemed to recognize her.

She stopped and waited.

The old man crept forward carefully, taking a long box from a servant, his face crinkling into a chrysanthemum of a smile: “Just a small token, nothing much. Would the General take a look?”

Shen Qingwu said, “I don’t accept gifts, and it won’t make me go easy on your family’s young man during training either. You may go.”

Since taking command of the imperial guard, the useless, do-nothing sons of noble families who padded out the ranks had each had their households scrambling to call in favors, hoping she’d show them some leniency.

Shen Qingwu showed leniency to not a single one of them.

The old man froze for a moment, and realizing Shen Qingwu had misunderstood, hastily said, “No, no, no, that’s not what this old man means at all. I’ve come seeking an audience with the General’s husband—I wish to see Chancellor Zhang…”

Shen Qingwu was taken aback.

This was the first time.

Someone wanting to see Zhang Xingjian, coming to her for it.

She blurted out, “Why not just submit a formal request and call at his door? Oh, and he’s been staying at the Zhang estate lately, don’t get that wrong…”

The old man gave a bitter smile. “General Shen, I’m not an official of the capital. My master is the prefect of Qingzhou. There’s a matter concerning Qingzhou, and my master, having once studied under the same teacher as Chancellor Zhang, wished to see him, so he sent me here to the capital…

“Once I arrived in the capital, I realized this place is crawling with high officials—any one of them could crush my master without a second thought. And the chancellor’s gate is nearly impossible to get through; I’ve submitted my request many times over and still haven’t been granted an audience. And I’ve heard, privately, that the chancellor has been handling his official business rather slowly this summer…”

Shen Qingwu let out a cold laugh. “That’s putting it mildly.”

The old man hardly dared to badmouth the chancellor of the realm.

He poured out his troubles to Shen Qingwu, saying how hard it was to see the officials of the capital, how no one else would grant him an audience. He’d heard Chancellor Zhang was known to be approachable, yet even this approachable chancellor refused to see anyone… so he’d finally come to seek out Shen Qingwu instead.

Shen Qingwu understood at once.

She had never encountered anything quite like this before.

Everything in the capital was under Zhang Xingjian’s control; before their marriage, he had told her he would never let anything to do with him affect her. The man was formidably capable—only after a full year of marriage had someone finally tried to use her as a way in to see him.

Something stirred in Shen Qingwu’s mind.

She opened the long box.

Inside lay a sword.

She drew the blade from its sheath; the edge gleamed cold as snow, its surface like still autumn water sealed away from dust. Shen Qingwu flicked the blade lightly with a finger, listening to the tone it rang out.

It was, indeed, a fine sword.

But it was still just an ordinary fine sword.

However…

Looking up at the ashen sky, thinking of her stolen letter, and now with this old man staring at her so hopefully…

Shen Qingwu said, “I do want this sword very much. However, I don’t accept gifts.”

The old man’s face fell, but then he heard the female general add, evenly, “I can pass along a message to Zhang Yuelu for you. Whether he agrees to see you or not is beyond my control. But if he does agree, and the matter is settled, you’ll tell me the secret technique for forging this blade. I want to forge my own sword.”

Overjoyed, the old man thanked her profusely.

And so Shen Qingwu made her way to the old Zhang family estate.

The Zhang family knew how to read a situation.

Zhang Wenbi, the Second Young Mistress, upon hearing that Shen Qingwu had come calling, personally came to meet her at the gate of one of the courtyards.

Shen Qingwu assumed her elder sister-in-law meant to lecture her about something, and had braced herself for it, when Zhang Wenbi spoke evenly: “My third brother is willful—we spoiled him rotten as a child. If he’s caused the General any displeasure since the wedding, I hope the General can bear with him.

“That he abandoned you and came home on his own, I’ve already scolded him for it…”

Shen Qingwu said, “Why scold him for that? The fault here is mine. What did he do wrong?”

Zhang Wenbi paused—the fault is yours? Doesn’t General Shen never admit fault?

Shen Qingwu pressed her lips together.

She said, “All of you are too strict with Zhang Yuelu.”

Zhang Wenbi said, “He is a man, my younger brother, and your marriage…”

Shen Qingwu said, “Our marriage is our own business, and has nothing to do with anyone else. I know your family has been extremely careful about Zhang Yuelu’s marriage, afraid that—afraid of repeating what happened with Bo Rong, of ruining another person that way. But Zhang Yuelu is nothing like Bo Rong, and I am nothing like the Princess of those days.

“I hope, Elder Sister, that you won’t speak of it again.”

Zhang Wenbi watched her in silence.

She watched this general finish speaking her piece and stride off, head held high, to find Zhang Yuelu.

In truth, Shen Qingwu had entirely missed Zhang Wenbi’s actual meaning.

This was the sort of tactic those with a mind for indirection commonly used—restraining the other party by criticizing oneself first. When Zhang Wenbi said Zhang Xingjian mustn’t be allowed to act willfully, what she truly meant was to urge Shen Qingwu not to be so willful herself.

Unfortunately, Shen Qingwu hadn’t caught the meaning at all.

Unfortunately, she’d argued back halfway through instead.

Zhang Wenbi lowered her eyes and smiled to herself in silence.

To this day, she still felt that Shen Qingwu and Zhang Yuelu weren’t well matched; to this day, she still felt the Third Young Mistress shouldn’t be someone so oblivious to what others actually meant, so unwilling to think things through; to this day, she still felt…

But, never mind.

As long as Shen Qingwu loved Zhang Yuelu, as long as she could tolerate all this… Zhang Wenbi would keep trying, keep working to build a good relationship with her sister-in-law.

Though, admittedly, it was proving rather difficult.

Zhang Xingjian lay slumped listlessly over his desk, official business still piled up unfinished.

Peering in through the window, Shen Qingwu saw the young man inside looking much the same as he had back at their own quarters—

Listless, utterly without energy, as though he might be melted away by the heat at any moment.

She heard Zhang Xingjian murmur softly, “Chang Lin.”

Chang Lin appeared behind Shen Qingwu, standing beside her at the window to look in at his lord.

Under the pressure of Shen Qingwu’s gaze, Chang Lin gave a sullen grunt of acknowledgment.

Then Shen Qingwu heard Zhang Xingjian’s soft, muffled voice from inside: “Change the ice again.”

Shen Qingwu climbed in through the window.

She helped Chang Lin change out the ice, all the while drawing closer, without drawing attention, to the young man slumped over his desk.

She knelt down beside him, took up a fan, and began fanning him to help with the heat.

She looked down at him.

His black hair clung to his neck, his sleeves folded up a few times, his wrist bones bent at an angle, the brush in his hand hooked loosely around one finger. He lay motionless over the desk.

Not a bead of sweat on him.

And yet so utterly spiritless.

But… he really was beautiful to look at.

As she fanned him, she watched his fingers waver, and the brush slipped from between them, falling toward the floor. Quick-handed, Shen Qingwu snatched the wolf-hair brush out of the air and placed it back in his hand.

Zhang Xingjian said, “…”

He remained slumped over the desk.

He murmured, “Wutong?”

Shen Qingwu answered curtly, “No.”

Zhang Xingjian lifted his head from the desk and looked over at her.

His eyes were dark and glossy, rippling with a faint mist.

Still resting his head on the desk, he watched her, his eyes lovely, his complexion pale and fine, a small smile beginning to form: “You’re not my wife—then you must be Wutong’s spirit made flesh. Go on, tell me—you’re Wutong, so lovesick for me you’ve become a spirit and come to see me.”

There was a hint of self-satisfaction in his eyes.

Shen Qingwu insisted, “No!”

He raised an eyebrow.

Shen Qingwu said, “I’m here to pass along a message from someone else.”

She recounted the old man’s business, offhand, while he slowly sat up, leaning back against the wall behind him, listening until she finished.

Zhang Xingjian said, “Mm, understood. I’ll take care of it.”

The two of them faced each other.

Zhang Xingjian asked, “Aren’t you leaving?”

Shen Qingwu didn’t budge. “There’s one more thing I want to ask you. Did you…”

Her eyes suddenly narrowed.

A low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, and a flash of lightning split the sky beyond the window.

In an instant Shen Qingwu leaned forward, tossing the fan aside, both hands clapping over Zhang Xingjian’s ears. In the same moment, he startled and looked up at her.

A moment later, rain began pattering loudly against the eaves, drumming down—the fat drops had finally started to fall.

She said, “Don’t be afraid.”

Zhang Xingjian gazed at her.

He said quietly, “Is that why you came to find me—because of the thunder?”

Shen Qingwu said, “No, I came to pass along a message from that old man.”

But she kept her hands clamped tight over his ears.

Zhang Xingjian said, “I can’t hear what you’re saying.”

Shen Qingwu glared at him.

His eyes curved. “Let me guess what you’re saying—you’re saying, husband, I feel for you, I can’t bear to see you suffer, I know you’ve been missing me, I’ve come to keep you company.”

Shen Qingwu said, “No.”

He kept his eyes curved. “You’re saying—that’s exactly it.”

Shen Qingwu glared at him hard enough to breathe fire.

She demanded, “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? Did you steal Yang Su’s letter?”

With his ears covered, he genuinely couldn’t hear her words, but her eyes spoke plainly enough.

Zhang Xingjian rambled on, making it up as he went: “That was such a long sentence, I’m getting tired guessing—let me keep trying. You’re saying, my husband is truly wonderful, he understood exactly what I meant right away, I’m so happy.”

Shen Qingwu said, “I’m happy?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Oh dear, Wutong looks so happy she could jump for joy, her eyes are practically glowing, could she possibly be praising me right now… mm.”

His nonsense drove Shen Qingwu mad with irritation. Here she was, hands clamped over his ears to keep out even a hint of the thunder, and he was using that very mouth to spout complete nonsense. She wanted to shut him up, wanted to put an end to his shameless fabrications…

In a flash, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his.

At the same moment, Zhang Xingjian threw his arms open and wrapped them around her waist.

Kissed like this, he was pushed back against the wall, his nonsense silenced by her lips and tongue. She kept her hands clamped tight over his ears, while he refused to let go of her waist.

Robes and sleeves tangled together, waists pressed close.

A dip of the head, a tilt back.

Loose strands of hair brushing against cheeks.

Lightning flashed through the window lattice.

A stark white glow lit up both their faces.

He closed his eyes.

She, too, slowly let hers fall shut.

That letter from Yang Su had indeed been taken by Chang Lin, on Zhang Xingjian’s orders.

She never came looking for him.

He’d wanted an excuse to bring her to him.

The old man, too, had been arranged by him.

She was too stubborn to give in on her own, so he’d needed to find her a way down from the ledge.

But kissing him—that hadn’t been something he’d forced her into.

But once they started kissing, their breath grew ragged, and that certainly wasn’t something he alone could have accomplished.

Zhang Xingjian found himself wondering: would there come a day when he no longer feared the sound of thunder?

Would there come a day when he could finally get past that block in his heart?

In autumn, Shen Qingwu accompanied Zhang Xingjian out of the residence to attend an autumn sacrifice.

Zhang Xingjian was to preside over the ceremony.

The night before the sacrifice, Shen Qingwu walked with him through the bustling streets and alleys, watching the folk festivities of the common people.

Zhang Xingjian turned his head to look at her, smiling. “Why have you suddenly had time to keep me company lately?”

Shen Qingwu said, “The Empress has given me an assignment. I’ll be leaving the capital for a while. My official duties have been light lately, to prepare for it.”

The two of them rarely discussed each other’s work when together. As general and chancellor, they kept a certain necessary distance from each other’s official business—it put the Empress more at ease.

But as chancellor, Zhang Xingjian generally had some sense of what Shen Qingwu was occupied with each day. This matter of leaving the capital, though—of that, he knew nothing.

His mind went blank for a moment.

He paused. “Arranged personally by His Majesty?”

Shen Qingwu nodded.

Zhang Xingjian lowered his eyes.

Shen Qingwu, in high spirits, said, “I haven’t left the capital in ages. If I can actually get out and enjoy myself this time, I’m quite happy about it. Though… the Empress told me to ask whether you’d be willing. What does that even mean? Do I need to report everything I do to you? Does the chancellor really have that much power?”

Zhang Xingjian, however, understood exactly what Li Linge meant.

She wanted to make use of Shen Qingwu, but didn’t want to make an enemy of Zhang Xingjian over it. Ever since their earlier cooperation regarding Shen Qingwu’s fate, Li Linge had remained wary of him where matters concerning her were involved.

The lanterns burned bright around them.

Zhang Xingjian studied Shen Qingwu’s face.

Her expression was bright and animated, clearly excited at the prospect of escaping this cage of a city. And once given a taste of that freedom, Li Linge would surely find it useful and send Shen Qingwu out of the capital again and again, to handle matters that weren’t convenient to entrust to anyone else…

Once would lead to twice.

Shen Qingwu would keep leaving the capital, over and over.

But Zhang Xingjian could not leave—the chancellorship and this imperial city were, in effect, permanently locked together. There was almost no chance of him ever getting away.

In his younger years, he’d had a few chances to leave the capital—that alone had been rare good fortune.

Now… watching Shen Qingwu’s excitement, Zhang Xingjian smiled faintly. “Is that so. I don’t mind at all… How long will you be gone?”

As they talked, a commotion suddenly broke out in the street.

Someone was causing trouble; assassins burst out from among the crowd, sending people screaming in every direction, as the assassins bellowed, “Everyone not involved, clear out! Where’s Zhang Xingjian? The man we’re here to kill is that dog of a chancellor…”

Minor officials and common people alike scattered in chaos.

Shen Qingwu was stunned.

She threw up an arm at once, pulling Zhang Xingjian behind her, sensing danger. The assassins, guided by a trembling minor official pointing the way, came charging straight toward them…

Shen Qingwu instinctively reached for her waist, but she wasn’t carrying a blade.

She watched the assassins rushing at her and Zhang Xingjian.

She would never, of course, let them so much as touch a hair on her husband’s head.

Her expression grim, she said, “Go, quickly. I’ll hold them off…”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Perhaps there’s no rush…”

Shen Qingwu snapped, “What are you dawdling for? Is this really the time for tearful hesitation? Better to preserve what matters most…”

Before she could finish, the assassins swept right past the two of them, continuing their charge into a deep alley behind them.

The assassins had glanced briefly at this woman, and at the delicate, refined young man standing behind her.

They kept shouting, “Bring us the dog chancellor’s head!”

Shen Qingwu said, “…”

Behind her, Zhang Xingjian finished the sentence he’d started earlier: “What I meant was, they probably have no idea who Zhang Xingjian actually is.”

She spun around to look at him—you, you, you.

Zhang Xingjian said, all innocence, “It seems they’ve simply mistaken me for some pretty little kept man you’re supporting.”

Looking at his jade-pale face, his slender, elegant frame, even in the middle of a crisis, as she prepared to go after the assassins, Shen Qingwu couldn’t resist a jab: “…Aren’t you embarrassed?”

Zhang Xingjian’s eyes curved. “And aren’t you pleased with yourself? Other people would love to keep me—I wouldn’t even want them to.”