In the Great Zhou dynasty, it was custom every year to hold sacrifices to the sun, moon, and stars.

Such rites were properly meant to be presided over by the Emperor, but the Emperor of Great Zhou was still young and had not yet taken the reins of state, so these sacrifices had always been presided over by the Chancellor, Kong Ye.

The sacrifice to the sun god was led by Chancellor Kong, while the sacrifice to the moon was led by Zhang Xingjian. This was because certain fanciful tales circulating in the eastern capital had given Zhang Xingjian the nickname “the Moon.”

That nickname had perhaps come from some night when the moon failed to appear and the crowd grew despondent, only for the moon to emerge from behind the clouds the moment Zhang Xingjian arrived; or perhaps from some evening of moon-viewing by the lake, when singing girls and dancers among the common folk had glimpsed Zhang Xingjian alone, cutting a poetic and unrestrained figure, and mistaken him for the moon god descended into the water…

From that time on, whenever the moon was honored in sacrifice, everyone treated Zhang Xingjian as that “moon.”

The young general Yang Su told the story with great relish to Shen Qingwu, recounting these well-worn tales of the eastern capital. Still not satisfied, he asked her, “General, what do you think of these legends?”

Shen Qingwu found them utterly unremarkable. “Just a way of chasing fame, I’d say.”

Yang Su: “…”

The eunuch leading these officers and soldiers into the palace turned his head, unable to resist stealing another glance at this, Great Zhou’s first woman general — for before General Wu had arrived in the eastern capital, none of them had known that the Garrison-West General was a woman.

This woman general — who could say how she would stir up the murky waters of the eastern capital.

“Boom—”

The palace gates swung open. Standing beneath the vermilion steps, the assembled officers and soldiers raised their heads, looking toward the solemn music at the heart of it all.

Shen Qingwu lifted her gaze and saw, beneath the falling snow, atop the high altar built along the long staircase, sorcerers and musicians encircling it, the clear and distant chime of bianzhong bells ringing out, and a young man in sacrificial robes standing with his back to them, leading the civil and military officials in bowing to the bright moon.

The moon god as the primary object of worship, the myriad stars attending in secondary rites. The vast heavens, boundless and dim, their prayers rising up to the sky above.

All was silent, save for the sound of falling snow and the solemn ritual music. Snow drifted down in flurries, settling on the young man standing at the fore, its pure and unsullied whiteness merging seamlessly with his own bearing. The sight left Shen Qingwu and the other frontier officers entering the palace holding their breath, scarcely daring to move for fear of disturbing the heavens.

Zhang Xingjian turned around, and the officers beneath the vermilion steps saw his face for the first time.

Yang Su stared, dumbstruck, scratching his fair face and murmuring to himself, “So this is Zhang Yuelu.”

— For the General to call him a man merely “chasing fame” seemed rather unfair.

Shen Qingwu gazed fixedly at the Zhang family’s moon as he descended the high altar. Across the falling snow, some distant memories of hers began to stir back to life.

In her years at the frontier, how many times had she turned this over in her mind, growing more resentful, more gloomy, the longer she thought on it.

She had told herself she did not love this man — otherwise, why had she felt no heartbreak when she was forced to swear that oath all those years ago; otherwise, why had she felt no pang of pity when she plunged a blade into him.

Now, on this New Year’s Eve amid falling snow, seeing Zhang Xingjian again after three years apart, Shen Qingwu had to admit, in all fairness, that he had grown even more handsome.

This night, at this hour, Shen Qingwu found herself repeating after Yang Su, word for word: “So this is Zhang Yuelu.”

…Zhang Yuelu, what did that amount to. And yet she had still not decided how to face him.

Having finished presiding over the rites atop the high altar, Zhang Xingjian descended, his manner unhurried, his bearing gracious, with just a touch of careless elegance about him. He dabbed his hands with a handkerchief, and as a eunuch murmured something in his ear, his ink-black eyes stirred faintly, and he looked toward the foot of the vermilion steps.

A eunuch called out loudly, “The Garrison-West General has arrived—”

The assembled officials rose to their feet, looking over with curiosity.

Across the falling snow and the crowd, Shen Qingwu saw with perfect clarity that Zhang Xingjian’s eyes, which had at first been clear and bright as starlight amid the officials, went still as dead water the moment they fell upon her.

With Chancellor Kong absent, it fell to him to receive her.

The officials whispered among themselves, greatly astonished. “The Garrison-West General is a woman? How did none of us know… who was it that granted her the title of general?”

Beneath the corridor halls and the pavilion terrace, across the lamplight, Shen Qingwu watched Zhang Xingjian with eyes cold as ice.

His coolness held for no more than the space of two breaths; the next moment, his face bore a light, courteous smile, and in place of the young Emperor he came down from the platform to receive her, his warmth pitched with just the right measure:

“General Wu.”

Shen Qingwu walked forward, her expression perfectly composed.

Yang Su and the others hurried to follow.

At nineteen, Shen Qingwu had been forced by Bo Rong to learn at least a little of reading people’s expressions.

She could see it plainly — Zhang Xingjian had no wish to see her.

Bound by propriety, he put on a show of courteous civility.

In her heart she thought: you have no wish to see me — what has that to do with me.

The Yizhou army’s great victory this time had brought much comfort to the court. That the Garrison-West General should prove to be a woman was, admittedly, baffling to all, but today was, after all, the New Year’s Eve moon sacrifice, and no one was foolish enough to step forward and raise the question.

Shen Qingwu walked step by step toward the ranks of officials arrayed upon the high platform.

Amid the murmured discussions of the officials around her, one voice, trembling with shock, rose above the rest: “Qingwu?!”

It was her elder brother, Shen Zhuo. So startled was he that he could not even hold on to his wine cup, and he shot up from his seat. A guard beside him hastily pressed him back down, signaling that General Shen ought not act rashly.

Zhang Xingjian lowered his eyes and personally poured a cup of wine, snowflakes settling on his lashes and drifting into the clear, cold wine within the cup.

The Yizhou army had won this battle at great cost, and officers and soldiers alike had labored hard for it. By reason and by rite, this cup of wine was owed to Shen Qingwu.

As Shen Qingwu climbed the steps one by one, listening to the officials’ murmured voices asking “how could she be a woman,” her mind, not usually given to dwelling on things, drifted back over certain matters of the past —

Bo Rong had, of course, supported her becoming a woman general, but he had also told her that the world found it very hard to accept women serving at court, and that they would need to proceed slowly, by degrees.

And yet it had not been long at all before Shen Qingwu was granted the title of general.

At the time, Bo Rong had been quite taken aback, and had joked with her: “Could it be that our A’Wu comes from some illustrious background, and has someone protecting her at court?”

Shen Qingwu had not thought much of it that day, but now, seeing the bewilderment of the officials and Zhang Xingjian’s calm, unruffled ease, she understood clearly in her heart just who it was that had been protecting her, smoothing her path to becoming a general.

Her footsteps stopped before Zhang Xingjian.

Among the officials, the Shen family had already recognized this formidable woman general as none other than their own second daughter. The Shen family sat ill at ease, cold sweat soaking their backs; knowing Shen Qingwu as they did, they were certain she would ruin everything.

Why had she returned to the eastern capital? Had she come to take revenge on them?

Because they had refused to let her marry Zhang Xingjian? But… had she not sworn an oath?

With the Zhang and Shen families about to hold a wedding, what could Shen Qingwu possibly be thinking, returning to the eastern capital now?

Everyone’s thoughts ran in different directions. In the hush, Zhang Xingjian raised his eyes and looked at the woman general before him. Representing the court, he held out the cup of warm wine in his hand:

“General, you have labored hard. Please, drink this cup.”

The lamplight blazed bright, and yet felt desolate all the same.

He performed this required courtesy as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world, but Shen Qingwu looked at him evenly for a moment, then walked straight past him, brushing shoulders as she went.

After an eerie stretch of silence, Zhang Xingjian heard Shen Qingwu ask the trembling eunuch beside her, “Where do I sit?”

The eunuch summoned his courage. “You have not yet drunk that cup of wine.”

Shen Qingwu answered, “I was told it is usually the Chancellor who offers wine to a frontier general arriving from afar like myself. Is Zhang Yuelu the Chancellor?”

The question left the assembled officials exchanging glances.

Zhang Xingjian, his back to them, lowered his eyes and let out a soft laugh, setting down the wine cup. “Chancellor Kong is unwell,” he said mildly. “Since General Wu insists on such propriety, then let us wait for the Chancellor.”

He turned to look at her.

She lifted her gaze to meet his.

Their eyes met, and fire seemed to leap through every limb, and yet his pupils were black as a bottomless cliffside pool, cold and pale as ice over dead water.

Without a word, Shen Qingwu took her seat.

Yang Su and the others marveled inwardly, filled with admiration for their general. They bowed their heads solemnly and followed Shen Qingwu to their seats. Unaware of the inner workings of the eastern capital’s court, they followed her lead in vague confusion, and as one, none of them offered Zhang Xingjian the customary bow.

Little did they know that in the court today, Zhang Xingjian’s standing was second only to the Chancellor’s.

Among the officials, it was so quiet one could have heard a pin drop.

The Shen family trembled like sieves.

Even though Zhang Xingjian had always shown himself to be even-tempered and graceful in bearing, would Shen Qingwu’s blatant disregard for him bring some great calamity down upon the Shen family?

Zhang Xingjian smiled faintly and did not look at her again. Though at that moment he found himself recalling the Shen Qingwu of that year in the deep alley who had plunged a blade into him — her face had been as pale as her eyes had been dark.

She was still that “different” Shen Qingwu — and yet, what business was that of his.

The night banquet proceeded as usual.

The young Emperor was invited to take his seat, but after only a short while, he grew bored and cried out for his elder sister, then made a fuss and left. The officials, at a loss for words, could only force out awkward laughter.

Fortunately, nothing else strange occurred after that.

The banquet lasted deep into the night; past midnight, the officials, yawning, each made their way home.

Palace lanterns wound like a river through the snowy grounds. Zhang Xingjian, a cloak draped over his shoulders, walked slowly through the snow. Not too near, not too far — some twenty paces ahead of him were Shen Qingwu and the others.

Shen Zhuo and the rest of the Shen family caught up with Shen Qingwu. “Qingwu, stop right there! What is the meaning of this… mmph.”

Their furious pulling and grabbing was blocked by Yang Su and the others with their blades.

Shen Zhuo froze, raising his eyes, and after taking in these unfamiliar military officers, saw that Shen Qingwu remained perfectly calm.

Her father, deeply embarrassed, lowered his voice. “Where have you been these past years, that you’ve become a general? Don’t you know our dynasty does not allow women to hold office… you’ll be drowned in spittle by the gossips!”

Her father moved to drag her along. “Resign your post at once! Tomorrow I will report to the court myself that I failed to discipline my daughter properly.”

Shen Qingwu did not so much as lift her eyes, as stubborn and unyielding as ever, unchanged in ten years.

Her father’s face darkened with anger.

Shen Zhuo looked at this sister he had not seen in years, his gaze complicated.

People came and went around them, and her father had no wish for others to witness the Shen family’s disgrace. From the corner of his eye, he also noticed Zhang Xingjian drawing steadily nearer. Tonight’s banquet had seen a sharp confrontation between Shen Qingwu and Zhang Xingjian — there was no telling how such a thing would be talked about and blown out of proportion by tomorrow.

Her father urged her, “You really shouldn’t have been so discourteous to Third Young Master Zhang just now, ignoring him like that…”

Shen Qingwu asked, puzzled, “Didn’t I swear an oath never to pay him any attention again? Wasn’t I simply keeping to that oath?”

Her father forced himself to take a deep breath. “…As for what happened back then, I only learned afterward what your mother had done. Now that you’ve come home, I will speak to them and see that they never mistreat you again.”

Shen Qingwu said, “I have a condition.”

Her gaze settled on Zhang Xingjian, visible through the drifting snow.

Seeing this, her father grew troubled. “Hm? If you still harbor old feelings for him, that’s not impossible to discuss…”

Shen Qingwu said, “If Zhang Xingjian kneels on the ground and begs me, I will resign my post.”

Zhang Xingjian, who had by now drawn close, raised his head, his gaze warm as he looked over. But that warmth was only on the surface; deep in his eyes there was no real feeling behind that mild clarity at all.

The Shen family could hardly allow Zhang Xingjian to kneel before Shen Qingwu, and they struggled to find words.

Shen Qingwu turned and walked away without a backward glance, and Yang Su and the others, burning with curiosity, hurried after their general.

Those left behind exchanged glances: after all these years apart, Shen Qingwu had, at last, gone mad.