The assassins that night did nothing to disrupt the autumn sacrifice.

Shen Qingwu, alongside Zhang Xingjian, worked with the local officials to hunt down and round up the assassins, escorting them back to the capital’s prison that same night for interrogation.

Having missed the chance to watch the night’s folk festivities, Zhang Xingjian asked Shen Qingwu whether she wanted to stay behind instead. She shook her head.

She went with him to the prison—she worried that since the assassins had shouted about “killing the dog chancellor,” there might well be more of them lying in wait somewhere along the road, ready to try again.

She didn’t trust Zhang Xingjian’s own combat ability to protect him; she didn’t trust whatever death-soldiers might be lurking in the shadows either. She trusted only her own skill.

So Zhang Xingjian let her come along.

Only, once they arrived, Zhang Xingjian intended to go straight into the prison to assist the Ministry of Justice and Ministry of Personnel with the interrogation. Before entering, he hesitated a moment and suggested she return home and wait for him there instead.

Shen Qingwu refused, saying flatly, “Go interrogate your prisoners. I won’t go in, I’ll wait outside for you, and we’ll go home together.”

Zhang Xingjian paused for a moment, a soft warmth in his eyes, and nodded in agreement.

His skill at interrogation was formidable, as was his general competence at everything he did.

The methods he employed in his official work were things even Shen Qingwu didn’t fully understand. But he knew she disliked his more cunning, roundabout tactics, so he made a point of never displaying them in front of her.

And of course, she was well aware of this.

She disliked those tactics of his, and yet she was still willing to wait outside the prison for him… Zhang Xingjian thought, Shen Qingwu must really love me.

Walking in with a smile on his face left several colleagues waiting anxiously inside the prison momentarily stunned—someone had just tried to assassinate the chancellor, and here he was, still smiling?

Of course Zhang Xingjian could still smile.

He was, as ever, mild-mannered. “Let’s go in.”

What followed was fairly standard interrogation procedure. Only this time, Zhang Xingjian was present in person, conducting the questioning himself.

The officials from the Ministry of Justice, wary of offending him with anything too brutal, held themselves back somewhat, but Zhang Xingjian himself pulled up a stool and sat before the cell door, his manner refined, his bearing elegant, clearly untroubled by any of the bloodshed involved.

The interrogation took about an hour.

It would ordinarily have taken longer, but worried about keeping Shen Qingwu waiting too long, Zhang Xingjian sped things along.

Through the interrogation, they learned that the assassination attempt was connected to the Empress’s ascension to the throne. Certain parties, unwilling to accept her rule, had sent assassins. Since Zhang Xingjian and the Empress were of one mind, and she rarely left the palace, they had instead targeted him, hoping to provoke widespread chaos.

Zhang Xingjian smiled. “Here I am, racking my brain trying to prevent war, while you people are doing everything in your power to start one. If Her Majesty were truly to grow angry… do you really think she wouldn’t go to war?”

Li Linge was not a soft-hearted woman.

A soft-hearted person would never have made it this far.

The assassin struggled against his bonds. “She never should have taken the throne in the first place! If she becomes Emperor, who takes the throne after her? Will it ever return to the House of Li? Imperial power will be scattered off to some outsider’s family!”

Zhang Xingjian said calmly, “So it’s the House of Li who’s unhappy with Her Majesty.”

He had no interest in wasting further words on something already caged.

Not to mention that Li Linge was, to this day, still sunk deep in grief over Bo Rong’s death, unable to fully pull herself out of it. Even once she did recover, and began thinking about choosing consorts and producing an heir, that would be entirely her own business. Zhang Xingjian only needed to guard what he was responsible for guarding—he had no time to concern himself with the next ten thousand generations of the throne.

There really were an awful lot of people in this world who wanted to be Emperor.

Walking out of the prison, Zhang Xingjian found himself thinking how fortunate it was that neither he nor Wutong harbored any such ambition. So long as the realm stayed at peace, neither of them cared in the slightest who sat on the throne.

The moon hung high overhead, cold crows perched in the trees.

As Zhang Xingjian walked out through the prison gates, he found Shen Qingwu leaning against the wall, eyes closed, standing beside an old scholar tree.

Wind stirred, leaves fell; she stood with arms crossed, cold and composed, strands of hair brushing her face, her whole bearing austere and remote, as though she’d merged entirely with the cold night around her.

Watching her, Zhang Xingjian found himself thinking: Didn’t she say something earlier about leaving him?

He stopped in his tracks, making not the slightest sound, and yet Shen Qingwu opened her eyes at precisely that moment, turning her face to meet his gaze.

She walked toward him, coming to stand before him.

Zhang Xingjian said, astonished, “Was my footstep really that quiet, and you still heard it? Wutong, is your skill really that formidable now?”

Shen Qingwu said, “No. It was more of a feeling…”

When the wind blew past, she’d almost felt she could smell the scent of moonlight. What moonlight actually smelled like, though, she couldn’t quite say.

Only that it had been a kind of feeling.

Shen Qingwu looked him up and down.

Her sharp eyes caught two drops of blood staining his robe sleeve, standing out like flecks of cinnabar on snow, glaringly obvious.

Shen Qingwu seized his hand at once, rolling up his sleeve to check, but Zhang Xingjian turned his body aside to dodge her.

Zhang Xingjian coughed and laughed at the same time. “Broad daylight—well, night, anyway—don’t get carried away.”

Shen Qingwu felt along the bones of his hand and found no wound. But being this close to him, she could indeed smell the scent of blood on him.

Shen Qingwu said, “Are you hurt?”

Zhang Xingjian said, bewildered, “No.”

Shen Qingwu said, “There’s blood on you. Not someone else’s blood.”

Zhang Xingjian paused.

Even he had to think about it for a moment before vaguely recalling that, passing by the cell door, he’d felt his finger scrape against a wooden bar. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but apparently that tiny bit of blood had been enough for Shen Qingwu to catch.

Zhang Xingjian marveled to himself: my wife has the nose of a hound.

Seeing his eyes flicker, shifting with faint ripples of thought, Shen Qingwu guessed he wasn’t seriously hurt after all.

But just as she was about to let go of his hand, Zhang Xingjian’s body swayed, and he collapsed weakly against her.

Utterly caught off guard, Shen Qingwu had no choice but to keep holding his hand while wrapping her other arm around his shoulder as he leaned into her.

Zhang Xingjian said, faint and feeble, “I really am bleeding… Wutong, it hurts so much.”

Alarmed, Shen Qingwu asked, “Where are you bleeding? Let me see.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “I’m not sure, but it really hurts…”

With his refined, scholarly air and his fine, pale features, he leaned dramatically against her shoulder, whining about the pain, his misty eyes rising to meet hers… and the killing intent radiating off Shen Qingwu only intensified.

Zhang Xingjian said, “…”

Shen Qingwu said coldly, “Which of them managed to slip through the net? Give me a rough idea and I’ll kill every last one of them, avenge you myself.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “…”

A scrape from a wooden bar hardly called for “vengeance.”

He stammered, unable to answer.

Just as Shen Qingwu was about to shove him into the carriage and turn back to go confront the assassins herself, Zhang Xingjian stopped her: “Wutong, you can’t do that. They’re all evidence, and once someone’s in the Ministry of Justice’s custody, you can’t just go interfering. Come home with me instead.”

Zhang Xingjian, hand steadying himself as he made his way out, his complexion pale, said, “I really am in so much pain.”

Shen Qingwu said, “It’s fine. I’ll go find whoever got away. Once they’re dead, I’ll come home to you.”

Zhang Xingjian said, succinctly, “No.”

He reached out a hand toward her. “Come home with me.”

Shen Qingwu said, “…”

She narrowed her eyes, studying the refined young man leaning out of the carriage door.

As well as she knew him, he was no soft-hearted man.

For him to be this reluctant to let her go kill anyone could only mean one thing: something was off.

Shen Qingwu fixed her gaze on him.

Zhang Xingjian gave a couple of light coughs, lowering his lovely lashes. “I really am in pain. Can we please head home first?”

Shen Qingwu said, “Where, exactly, does it hurt?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “…I don’t know.”

Shen Qingwu, watching his reaction without a hint of expression, said, “Zhang Yuelu. I adore you very much.”

Zhang Xingjian paused.

His eyes darted away; he glanced at her once, then politely averted his gaze. “Broad—well, in public like this, I really shouldn’t be hearing such things.”

Bullshit, Shen Qingwu thought. Keep up the act, then.

She continued, “It breaks my heart that you’re hurt. But you’re right, the most urgent matter right now isn’t going after anyone—it’s your injury. I think that’s more important than heading home. Right now, what matters most is that I examine your body thoroughly. We should treat every wound, cure every ailment, don’t you think?”

Zhang Xingjian sensed trouble at once.

He shut the carriage door and tried to retreat back inside.

Several cups came flying out from inside the carriage, hurled at whoever stood outside the door. The force behind them was sharp and fast, meant to keep anyone from climbing in.

Shen Qingwu leapt onto the carriage step, dodging the flying cups.

Amid the shattering of blue porcelain on the ground, Zhang Xingjian’s slightly rushed voice came from inside the carriage: “Chang Lin!”

From somewhere among the old scholar trees, a dagger came flying out with pointed intent, aimed straight at the person trying to climb aboard.

Shen Qingwu deflected it with ease.

Before forcing the carriage door open and climbing inside, she glanced back and exchanged a look with Chang Lin, still perched in the tree.

Chang Lin watched her with a look of pure helplessness: he could hardly actually attack Shen Qingwu for real, and yet his lord kept calling on him anyway. If he so much as scratched her, his lord would surely fly into a rage. But if he didn’t act at all, his lord would question just whose death-soldier he actually was.

Ever since his lord had gotten married… no, since his lord had taken a wife, this business of being a death-soldier had only grown harder and harder to manage.

Inside the carriage, Zhang Xingjian dodged left and right, but was ultimately pinned beneath Shen Qingwu regardless.

The driver, seated up front, kept his eyes fixed studiously ahead, pretending not to notice the carriage rocking with several distinct jolts.

Zhang Xingjian’s expression was on the verge of changing entirely.

His robes had gone disheveled, sleeves rolled up, her hand resting at his waist, having already undone the sash there. His shoulder garments had loosened too, the inner layer beneath now visible, and further down… glimpses of snow-pale skin flickered into view.

Zhang Xingjian caught her hand. “Stop. Stop right there. If you keep going, I’m going to get angry.”

Shen Qingwu said, “Aren’t I just examining your injury? Husband, where exactly are you hurt? Let me see.”

Another round of struggling ensued inside.

Outside, the driver, forced to grit his teeth, finally spoke up: “San Lang, my lady—should the carriage move on?”

His lord said nothing.

But the Third Young Mistress’s voice, languid and hoarse, answered: “Drive on.”

The driver thought to himself: what a formidable Third Young Mistress.

And so the carriage rolled forward, wheels rumbling along.

Shen Qingwu leaned in close to her husband’s ear, now faintly flushed, and murmured, “Husband, do you know a certain kind of game people play?”

Zhang Xingjian’s eyes flickered. “I don’t.”

But Shen Qingwu guessed he did.

She said, unhurried, “Some people’s most intimate pleasures happen in a moving carriage.”

Zhang Xingjian’s expression didn’t change, only his lowered lashes trembled slightly, and the arm she held went briefly rigid. She noticed his fingers twitch, as though he wanted to quietly pull away from her, but given the gap in their skill, her husband very sensibly didn’t move an inch.

As though afraid of provoking her further.

Shen Qingwu held back a laugh.

She kept teasing him. “San Lang, do you want to, or don’t you?”

Hooking a finger into his sash, her cool fingertips slipped along his waist, tapping lightly against the delicate, porcelain-fine skin there. She had barely done anything yet when Zhang Xingjian tilted sideways against the carriage wall, his hairpin knocking dully against the back of his head.

He let out a soft gasp.

The carriage picked up speed.

He leaned against the wall with his eyes shut, utterly still.

Shen Qingwu’s fingers, hooked into his sash, went stiff.

She found herself wondering—had the driver outside heard that gasp of his?

By the time she came back to herself, she found Zhang Xingjian looking up at her with a smile.

He said softly, “Wutong doesn’t dare?”

Shen Qingwu raised an eyebrow.

Since when had he developed this kind of appetite?

Utterly unbothered, she leaned in further, reaching to loosen his robes, lowering her head to kiss his shoulder. His body went rigid, and he clapped a hand over her lips.

Shen Qingwu looked up.

Zhang Xingjian said through gritted teeth, “Are you actually serious about this?”

Shen Qingwu pulled his hand away and said, “Of course I’m serious. I’m no hypocrite pretending otherwise—unlike you.”

Zhang Xingjian caught the hand she’d rested on his waist and refused to let go.

The two of them struggled against each other.

He finally gave in.

Helplessly, he said, “I didn’t think things would turn out like this.”

Shen Qingwu said, “Oh? So you didn’t want to do anything with me in the carriage—then why were you leading me on?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “I only said I was in pain. I didn’t mean anything else by it.”

Shen Qingwu said, “Then what did you mean?”

Zhang Xingjian looked up at her.

His dark eyes carried a faint air of grievance.

He said softly, “I simply wanted you to feel sorry for me, to worry over me, to love me and coax me, to say a few kind words to me, to pay a little more attention to me.”

He glanced down at her grasping hands, thoroughly put out. “Not to pin me down and do something this—intense.”

Shen Qingwu said, “…”

She came back to her senses.

Astonished, she said, “You were just pretending to be pitiful, this whole time?”

He said nothing.

He silently held up one finger, waving it in front of her face for her to see. Shen Qingwu squinted for a long moment—fortunately, her eyesight was excellent—and in the dim, swaying light of the carriage, she just barely made out the tiny scratch on his fingertip.

If her eyesight had been even a little worse, she wouldn’t have seen the wound at all.

Shen Qingwu murmured to herself, “I really am impressive.”

—My eyes are so sharp I can even spot something like that.

Zhang Xingjian glared at her.

Watching Shen Qingwu relax her grip on his sash, he saw her suddenly burst out laughing, collapsing against his shoulder, unable to stop giggling into it.

She lifted her face and couldn’t resist pecking a couple of kisses onto his cheek.

Shen Qingwu laughed softly. “You’re really adorable.”

Zhang Xingjian kept a blank expression.

He thought to himself: you are not adorable at all.

Yet as the carriage rolled on through the dark night, the two of them huddled together inside, Shen Qingwu leaning against his neck and shoulder, arms wrapped around his waist, still giggling.

Zhang Xingjian’s mood gradually softened, gentling by degrees.

He always found a boundless patience for her: never mind, as long as Wutong is happy. She hadn’t had an easy time of it before—unable to laugh, unable to cry freely. Since marrying him, at least her smiles had grown less rigid, come more easily, more often.

Zhang Xingjian reached out and drew her into his arms.

He said softly, “Wutong, come sit in my lap.”

She agreed at once.

The fierce, unyielding Shen Qingwu, in this moment, was simply Zhang Xingjian’s wife, a side of her personality no one outside these walls ever saw. She settled into his lap, tilting her head up to look at him, kissing his neck again and again, watching the pulse beat beneath his skin, content to watch it for a long while.

Zhang Xingjian said, smiling, aggrieved, “Other husbands who play the pitiful victim probably don’t get results quite this—thoroughly off course.”

Shen Qingwu said, “What other husband would burst into tears and act all weak and hurt over a tiny scratch on his finger? If I hadn’t pointed it out, you wouldn’t even have noticed your own finger was cut.”

She stroked his cheek, both tender and delighted.

Not sure whether to laugh or sigh, she said, her tone flat and even:

“I have a wicked husband.

“When the world is genuinely falling apart around him, he doesn’t so much as blink. But when he’s really in pain, he can still smile and joke with me. He only ever acts spoiled and causes trouble over things that don’t matter at all.”

Zhang Xingjian’s eyes curved.

He shot back, “Too bad it didn’t work.”

Too bad his wooden-headed, ever-more-perceptive wife had somehow figured him out more and more, despite still being thick as a plank in every other respect… leaving no room for his usual schemes to work on her.

The two of them murmured to each other inside the carriage, exchanging quiet words.

Outside, the driver strained his ears, only to notice the carriage had gone entirely silent.

Baffled, and struck as though by lightning, the driver thought: surely San Lang’s stamina isn’t really this weak, is it?

Not even a quarter hour had passed before it was already over?

Inside, the married couple joked with each other, in thoroughly good spirits.

Shen Qingwu asked Zhang Xingjian, “About the assassins—are you really all right?”

Zhang Xingjian said gently, “Don’t worry. I’m really not as weak as you think.”

Shen Qingwu sighed. “Of course I know that.”

But then, her tone turned flat again. “I understand, in my head, how capable you are. But whenever something happens, I still find myself thinking you’re helpless, that you need me to protect you. And once it’s over, I think I was just overreacting.

“My attachment to you runs far too deep.”

Zhang Xingjian bowed his head, laughing softly. “I like that about you, though.”

Shen Qingwu said, “You wouldn’t like it. There are some dark thoughts I have about you sometimes, that I keep holding back.”

Interest flashed across Zhang Xingjian’s eyes, and Shen Qingwu immediately reached out and covered his lovely eyes with her hand.

She said, “I know you’re endlessly curious, but I don’t want to hurt you. Don’t ask about this one.”

Something stirred in Zhang Xingjian’s mind.

Aloud, he said, smiling, “Fine, then let me ask something I am allowed to ask—when are you leaving me?”

Shen Qingwu, confused, said, “I’m not leaving you… oh, you mean when I’m leaving the capital.”

Zhang Xingjian nodded silently.

After the autumn sacrifice, Shen Qingwu was to leave the capital on the fifteenth of the ninth month.

With her bold, free-spirited nature and her longing for the world beyond the capital, she was in excellent spirits, even smiling to herself in her dreams at the thought of finally escaping this cage.

Her joy wasn’t the kind that showed in wild, unrestrained laughter, but how could Zhang Xingjian, watching her so closely every single day, fail to notice it?

So he simply focused on her happiness, asking where she was going, when she’d return.

Shen Qingwu said, “I can’t tell you where. This is a private assignment from the Empress. As for when I’ll be back… well, obviously, once the assignment is complete.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Surely you won’t be gone until next year?”

In good spirits, Shen Qingwu said, “Who knows?”

Zhang Xingjian smiled.

He said nothing further, only helped her pack her belongings.

To Shen Qingwu, this whole experience felt strange.

In years past, whenever she left somewhere, it had always been quick work. Whether heading to camp or leaving it, a small bundle on her back—a few blades, a few changes of clothes—had always solved everything.

But now, going out on a trip had become remarkably complicated.

Zhang Xingjian prepared clothing suited to different occasions for her: simple hair ornaments for when she wore feminine dress, hair ties and hairpins for binding her hair when dressed as a man. Most of the clothing was in dark, muted tones, though he included two brighter pieces as well.

There were also several letters, a few tokens of identity, several boxes of medicine bottles, and even a few jade pendants…

Zhang Xingjian said gently, “Out on the road, you’re bound to face some hardship—clothes get dirty fast, and washing up isn’t always convenient, so I packed more darker-toned clothing… but if you ever need to disguise yourself, or want to relax a little, I’ve also packed a set of brighter women’s clothing for you.

“You wouldn’t tell me where you’re going, so naturally I can’t ask too much, but here are a few letters written to some friends of mine—if you run into any trouble, you can call on them. These tokens are all from Zhang family enterprises; if you’re ever in a bind, you can go to them for help… And these medicines are simple ones—mosquito repellent, ointments, things to take internally.”

Zhang Xingjian looked at her. “I know you don’t like carrying too much clutter around, so I’ve kept it as simple as I could. Go ahead and check it over.”

Shen Qingwu didn’t bother checking anything. She threw herself into his arms instead.

She’d caught onto something.

Shen Qingwu said, “Are you feeling a little… reluctant to let me go?”

Zhang Xingjian smiled. “Not at all. I’m just doing this the way I normally would—I’m quite capable, after all, and I handle even the smallest details well. You know how competent I am.”

Shen Qingwu made a small sound of agreement.

Seeing his eyes clear and smiling, just as they always were, she felt reassured.

Shen Qingwu said, “Actually, I’ve thought about it too—it would be nice if I could take you along on the trip with me.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled. “How could that possibly happen? Don’t waste your time thinking about something so pointless.”

How could a chancellor ever leave the capital?

Shen Qingwu slyly picked up one of the jade pendants. “What’s this?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “A jade pendant.”

Shen Qingwu said, “…Obviously I know it’s a jade pendant. Is this my birthday gift? Since I’m leaving, are you giving it to me early?”

A flicker of delight rose in her eyes as she turned the pendant over again and again in her hands.

On the front was carved the character “Wu”; on the back, a scene of moonlight shining down on a sycamore tree. It closely resembled the pendant she’d once broken by accident, but Zhang Xingjian’s carving skill had grown even more refined since then.

Shen Qingwu knew he’d carved a great many jade pieces since their wedding, yet he’d never once given her any of them.

Now, finally, he had.

Shen Qingwu was overjoyed—ever since she’d broken that first pendant and made up with him afterward, she’d secretly hoped he would give her another one someday.

Zhang Xingjian nodded.

Shen Qingwu pulled a few more jade pendants out of the bundle, puzzled. “Why give me so many?”

Zhang Xingjian smiled.

He looped the red cord of the pendant she’d first found and fastened it around her neck—not at her waist, but hanging at her throat, tucked into the front of her robe.

Since their marriage, Shen Qingwu had finally stopped wearing the jade pendant Bo Rong had once given her around her neck. Her throat had finally been left bare, free to wear something else instead.

Zhang Xingjian admired the sight of the pendant against her neck.

He had never before found the red cord at her throat so pleasing to look at.

Zhang Xingjian said with a smile, “Worn around the neck like this, if it ever really came down to blades, it could block a blow.”

Shen Qingwu paused.

Zhang Xingjian looped another pendant from between her fingers and fastened it at her waist. “This one can also block a blade. I chose Lantian jade for all of them—the material is excellent. It should be more than enough to protect you from a blade’s edge.”

Shen Qingwu said, “But if it gets shattered by a blade…”

Zhang Xingjian said calmly, “Then you switch to another one.”

He gestured toward the rest of the pendants still in the bundle.

Shen Qingwu stared at him blankly.

Slowly, she leaned forward.

The two of them sat together on the couch, she facing him, seated in his lap, and now she slowly wound her arms around his neck.

She heard Zhang Xingjian speak softly: “Wutong, I don’t care about lifeless objects like these. If a jade pendant breaks, it breaks—I won’t grieve over it. Wherever you go, just come home safe. I’ll always be waiting for you.”

Shen Qingwu said, “No one has ever waited for me before.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “I’m your husband. Recite this to yourself a hundred times a day—if your own husband won’t wait for you, who else would?”

She agreed, blinking away the faint warmth misting her eyes, offering him what she believed was her most brilliant smile.

Zhang Xingjian studied her for a long moment.

Suddenly he hooked a finger under her chin, his expression somewhere between a smile and something more serious:

“I have only one request of you.”

Shen Qingwu said, “Mm?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Don’t come back to me having stirred up some scandalous romance.”

Shen Qingwu said, “You have nothing to worry about.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “I’m worried anyway.”