Zhang Nanping was invited by the married couple, Zhang Xingjian and Shen Qingwu, to visit their home as a guest.

Shen Qingwu said, “I didn’t invite him.”

Zhang Nanping stiffened.

Zhang Xingjian smiled good-naturedly. “I did.”

Zhang Nanping stiffened further.

Whatever else he was, he was still a man of letters, and standing before Shen Qingwu’s lawful husband, having spoken so recklessly in front of him, he couldn’t help feeling ashamed. But he’d already formed his prejudices against Zhang Xingjian, and so he had no choice but to steel his nerve and accept the invitation to the Zhang household.

The young men of the Imperial Guard watched in wonder: what magnanimity from the Chancellor! What courage from General Shen! It was just a pity they had no way to eavesdrop.

The next afternoon, Zhang Nanping arrived at the General’s residence.

The couple invited him for tea.

It was mainly Zhang Xingjian doing the hosting, with Shen Qingwu simply keeping him company.

Shen Qingwu truly was a remarkable person—facing both Zhang Nanping and Zhang Xingjian together, her expression never wavered. Zhang Xingjian was courteous and refined; Zhang Nanping put on a brave face while sitting as if on pins and needles; and she remained utterly unmoved throughout.

Shen Qingwu even found time to drift off, admiring the withered autumn plants in the courtyard.

Naturally, this was entirely to set Zhang Xingjian’s mind fully at ease.

She had no real interest in admiring the scenery—her distraction came more from having something on her mind.

Whenever she so much as glanced at Zhang Nanping, Zhang Xingjian was sure to notice—hadn’t he deliberately invited this “third party” into their home, and insisted she be present, precisely to test her?

And yet there was a great deal Shen Qingwu didn’t understand.

She couldn’t work out what exactly Zhang Xingjian was testing for.

Again and again she’d shown him her true feelings; he’d act as though he believed her completely, moved to tears each time, and ask no further questions. But then the very next time, the slightest stir from the outside world would leave him anxious and unsettled all over again.

And there was another thing—even though they were already married, his affliction on thunderous days, the pain that struck his heart, hadn’t eased in the slightest. It still forced her to rush home in a panic every time thunder rolled, just to look after him…

Why was that?

Was it that he didn’t trust her heart—or that he didn’t trust his own?

Shen Qingwu fell silent.

She wasn’t sure what was going on with him. She’d have to keep watching a little longer.

Just then, coming back to herself, Shen Qingwu caught Zhang Nanping stammering, “…I truly do feel that, when it comes to matters of the heart, the Chancellor has had things far too easy—getting whatever he wants without effort… The Chancellor never even cared for General Shen in the past, how could a person’s heart change so completely…”

Badmouthing a man to his very face.

Shen Qingwu marveled: Zhang Nanping’s nerve really was something.

Zhang Xingjian, for his part, let out a laugh.

He asked with a smile, “Hm, why does that all come out so haltingly?”

Zhang Nanping flushed scarlet. “…”

Shen Qingwu thought to herself: obviously, because the man still has some shame left.

Zhang Xingjian said with a smile, “Never mind, I won’t make things difficult for you. That someone admires my wife pleases me, honestly. I invited you here with no other purpose… Weren’t you preparing for the exams? How’s your studying coming along? Any difficulties?”

Zhang Nanping: “…”

Zhang Xingjian offered him advice. “I happen to be on good terms with next year’s chief examiner. You might consider paying him a visit—he certainly can’t tell you the exam questions, but if you do pass, he’ll become your patron examiner, and it never hurts to have made his acquaintance beforehand…”

Zhang Nanping flushed deep red. “Are you mocking me?”

Zhang Xingjian said, surprised, “I’m valuing your talent.”

Shen Qingwu watched a spider spinning its web on a tree in the courtyard, thoroughly absorbed.

Zhang Xingjian kept up his gracious manner, continuing to make idle conversation with Zhang Nanping—sometimes about amusing customs of the capital, sometimes about which bookshops attracted the most talented scholars, sometimes about which inns were cheapest, sometimes about which taverns were liveliest, and which the young, pretty girls favored most…

Zhang Nanping endured it, swallowing his own humiliation: I came to steal his wife’s heart, and he repays me with kindness.

Zhang Xingjian piled on further pressure. “When I was your age, I loved nothing more than gallivanting about.”

Shen Qingwu glanced at him.

At Zhang Nanping’s age, he’d probably been locked in a life-or-death struggle with Kong Ye at court.

Zhang Nanping tried needling him deliberately. “Did the Chancellor, in his youth, enjoy visiting the pleasure houses too? Drinking with the girls there?”

Zhang Xingjian understood exactly what he meant.

Zhang Xingjian’s eyes curved. “Of course I did. What young man worth his salt doesn’t sow a few wild oats?”

Something flickered in Shen Qingwu’s eyes.

In his youth, aside from his studies, where else could he possibly have gone? Those teasing rumors of “the moon” that circulated through the streets had only ever been tools for securing his position.

The more this conversation went on, the more Shen Qingwu found herself thinking Zhang Xingjian… pitiable.

She stood up abruptly, her voice flat. “That’s enough.”

Both men turned to look at her.

Zhang Nanping felt a thrill of excitement: had she finally seen through her husband’s hypocrisy?

Zhang Xingjian watched her intently: what remarkable answer would his uniquely strange little Wutong offer up now?

Shen Qingwu looked at Zhang Xingjian, her voice cold. “Stop pretending to be pitiful.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

Shen Qingwu said, flat and distant, “I know exactly what you’re thinking.”

Zhang Xingjian showed no trace of guilt, only smiled and raised his sleeve to drink his tea, masking his embarrassment at being seen through by his own wife.

Zhang Nanping, meanwhile, looked on in complete confusion: what exactly had just happened?

Especially when Shen Qingwu turned to him and said, “This Zhang Yuelu of ours says whatever suits whoever he’s talking to. Don’t take a single word of his seriously, or he’ll sell you out and you’ll still be counting the money for him afterward.”

Zhang Xingjian coughed. “Wutong…”

Shen Qingwu kept right on talking to Zhang Nanping. “But what he said about studying more and visiting the examiner—that’s worth listening to. Even if he has some ulterior motive, if the advice benefits you, there’s no harm in taking it.

“Zhang Yuelu schemes plenty, but he has no wish to actually harm anyone. As long as you don’t overstep, his little maneuvers will stay right where they are now and go no further. You and I did travel the same road for a while, and you helped us a great deal in wiping out those bandits—once you’re settled in the capital, I can still look out for you a little.”

Shen Qingwu said, “Go study. Sit for your exam.”

Zhang Nanping stared at her, stunned.

Her brisk decisiveness drew him in.

But that very coldness also made him realize: Shen Qingwu would never leave Zhang Xingjian. She might not have meant anything more by her words, but Zhang Nanping wasn’t a fool—he could hear what lay beneath them…

Every single thing Shen Qingwu said seemed to defend nothing about Zhang Xingjian.

And yet every single thing she said stood entirely on Zhang Xingjian’s side.

So what exactly was there left for Zhang Nanping to fight for?

Zhang Nanping said quietly, “Second Miss Shen, might I speak with you privately for a moment?”

Shen Qingwu said, “No need. Whatever you meant to say, you’ve already said. Whatever I meant to say, I’ve already said too. Once you finish this cup of tea, it’s time for you to leave.”

Zhang Nanping had nothing left to say.

He drank his tea.

The fragrance of tea drifted between them. Shen Qingwu, her back to Zhang Xingjian, watched Zhang Nanping steadily.

She watched him sit there, utterly crestfallen, and even hard-hearted as she was, she only let out a quiet breath. Her curiosity about Zhang Nanping had run its course, but she’d remember him all the same—that someone, too, had once liked Shen Qingwu.

Zhang Nanping rose to his feet in a daze, his eyes reddening, his lips moving faintly.

He had a chestful of things he wanted to say, but he knew there was no longer any need to say them.

He cupped his hands in a parting bow and turned to leave. Perhaps his spirits were too low, or perhaps he was simply careless by nature—as he turned, his sleeve swept out and caught the table. The teapot on it tipped, spilling sideways—straight toward Zhang Nanping.

Scalding water poured out—

Before Zhang Xingjian could even react, Shen Qingwu, moving like a phantom, was already at her rival’s side.

In one swift motion, she knocked the teapot back onto the table with one hand while yanking Zhang Nanping’s wrist with the other, pulling him aside and sparing him the scalding tea.

The sudden turn of events left everyone stunned.

Zhang Nanping’s heart pounded as he looked at this Second Miss Shen who had, once again, saved him.

And then, behind him, came a “clatter,” followed by a hiss of pain.

Shen Qingwu and Zhang Nanping both spun around to see Zhang Xingjian’s hand scalded by the hot tea from the pot.

Zhang Nanping: “…”

Fighting through the pain, the Chancellor turned his gaze toward Shen Qingwu.

His hand dripped wet, his sleeve soaked through, his eyes glistening dark and clear as though brimming with tears—though there were none, it only made him look all the more refined and pitiable… Brows drawn with pain, he looked toward her, and Zhang Nanping noticed that Shen Qingwu’s grip on his own wrist had loosened.

Zhang Xingjian breathed out a single word: “Ouch.”

Shen Qingwu’s face was expressionless.

Zhang Nanping’s face twitched violently.

It suddenly occurred to him that Zhang Xingjian had claimed to have only just come of age—looking at him now, one could almost believe it.

Seeing Shen Qingwu let go of him, Zhang Nanping immediately rushed to Zhang Xingjian’s side instead, wrapping an arm around his shoulder with great concern. “You got scalded by the hot tea? How did that even happen?”

Zhang Xingjian said softly, “There are others present…”

Shen Qingwu turned to look at Zhang Nanping.

Zhang Nanping said, “General Shen, you—”

A burst of inner energy struck him and sent him staggering back two steps; Zhang Nanping found, to his shock, that he couldn’t speak at all.

At first he assumed it was Shen Qingwu, and stared in wide-eyed astonishment.

But looking closer, he saw Zhang Xingjian, leaning against Shen Qingwu’s arm, giving him the faintest hint of a smile.

Zhang Xingjian winked at him. The smug, condescending look between men shone through his eyes with perfect clarity. That look said: what could you possibly have that measures up to me? You lose to me in every way.

Zhang Nanping: …he knows martial arts?!

His throat sealed by that burst of inner energy, Zhang Nanping couldn’t utter a word. Furious, he cursed inwardly at himself for misjudging the man—he’d known full well how this man had once deceived Shen Qingwu, and yet he’d still nearly been won over by his gentle words…

Zhang Nanping, seething, cupped his hands in a stiff bow and took his leave.

Not long after, back in their bedroom.

Shen Qingwu watched as Zhang Xingjian slowly, deliberately applied medicine to the blister on the back of his hand.

She leaned against the wall, watching.

Golden bed-curtains shimmered like drifting clouds of silk.

In the soft light, robe half-open, Zhang Xingjian fumbled clumsily, his movements awkward, and turned to her for help. “Wutong, help me.”

Shen Qingwu said, “…You brought this entirely on yourself.”

Zhang Xingjian coughed.

He said gently, “Wutong, I was helping you assess this man—he’s lacking in wit, and he’s practiced at playing weak and pitiful to win your sympathy. All he really wants is to use you as his bodyguard, to have you protect him. You mustn’t let a man like that fool you.

“He’s not fit for you.”

Zhang Xingjian sighed. “He’s not even a match for me. Aside from being younger than me, he doesn’t surpass me in a single way.”

Shen Qingwu said, “What if I happen to like younger men?”

Zhang Xingjian smiled. “When I told him I’d only just come of age, he never once doubted it.”

The implication being: if you like a younger man, I can be that too.

Zhang Yuelu, ready to be shaped however she pleased, adaptable to anything, had no role he couldn’t play.

Shen Qingwu couldn’t help but laugh.

True enough.

Zhang Nanping’s attempt at playing the weak, pitiable one had been amateurish.

He couldn’t hold a candle to her own ruthlessness—scalding his own hand outright.

Shen Qingwu said, “There’s nothing you can’t play? What about that wild tryst I wanted? Have you given me that yet?”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

Shen Qingwu lowered her head, rubbing her husband’s faintly reddened chin, and said, “Naturally, I’m not fit to match anyone else—only you, a match made in heaven. Isn’t that right?”

Zhang Xingjian’s eyes shifted, full of feeling.

He let the earlier comment about the wild tryst slide past, smiling warmly, feigning shyness. “That’s what you said. Not what I said.”