Zhang Xingjian and the guards were caught up in a full-blown squabble.

Standing by the carriage, Shen Qingwu suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion wash over her.

She said nothing.

These past few days, she’d gradually sensed something was slightly off with her body, but the sensation was too faint to pin down—at first she’d suspected poison, but seeing everyone around her perfectly healthy, and having no symptoms herself, she hadn’t paid it much mind…

But today, watching Zhang Xingjian bickering with the guards—usually she found her husband’s playful side amusing, but today it only irritated her.

Still, Shen Qingwu would never deliberately say something hurtful.

So she said nothing at all.

The argument raged on nearby—

The personal guards: “You—you—you! You have no shame at all, when did we ever say we’d kill you? You don’t care about your own future, but we care about ours! You…”

Suddenly Zhang Xingjian switched back to his own normal voice.

He said, “Wutong, what’s wrong?”

The bickering guards froze: wasn’t the General just watching them argue with a perfectly calm face a moment ago?

At the same time, one or two of the guards looked momentarily dazed: that voice… sounded oddly familiar?

The carriage door swung open, a slender, pale wrist reaching out—all anyone saw was the veil billowing hazily as the snow-pale male fox spirit inside pulled their General straight into the carriage.

Their faces darkened.

Inside the carriage, Zhang Xingjian brushed his hand across Shen Qingwu’s forehead and felt it burning hot.

His heart gave a jolt: his wife was ill?

Shen Qingwu had never imagined that simply staying quiet would be enough to make him notice something was wrong so keenly. Nor had she expected that a single moment of distraction would be enough for him to pull her inside.

Shen Qingwu said, “I’m fine.”

Zhang Xingjian’s expression turned grave. “Tell me the truth. Why are you putting on a brave front with me?”

Shen Qingwu paused.

Through the veil she couldn’t make out his expression clearly, but the hand gripping her wrist had tightened without him realizing it—he’d stopped playing around entirely.

Shen Qingwu thought to herself: right, why was she being stubborn with her own husband?

She admitted honestly, “I think I might be sick, or maybe not. I’m not sure either…”

Zhang Xingjian arrived at the same thought she had. “Poisoned?”

She’d taken this mission to investigate a rebellion plot—could the conspirators have somehow slipped Shen Qingwu poison right under their noses, through some scheme too subtle for them to catch?

Shen Qingwu shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Zhang Xingjian made his decision at once. “We’re going to a physician.”

Outside, the guards were still arguing; inside, Zhang Xingjian gave his order. “The rest of you stay here. Chen Qingmu, drive the carriage—come with us to the town physician.”

The way he issued that order, so naturally, so familiar with command…

The guards’ noses practically twisted with fury. The man named Chen Qingmu, hearing his name called, answered before he even realized what he was agreeing to. Once he had, he wondered why on earth he should be taking orders from some man’s kept lover… Chen Qingmu exchanged a glance with his fellow soldiers.

Chen Qingmu thought: fine, I’ll go. I’ll keep an eye on this male fox spirit and make sure he keeps his distance from General Shen.

His brothers-in-arms happily dumped the burden onto him.

At dusk, the three of them entered town, slipping into a physician’s clinic just before it closed for the night.

Chen Qingmu, entering last, saw the veiled young man and their General standing close together in the main hall—from behind, the man tall and slender, the woman slim and rangy, their robe hems overlapping, and something about the way they stood together looked, faintly, remarkably well-matched…

Chen Qingmu hastily slapped himself across the face.

Zhang Xingjian had already helped Shen Qingwu sit down.

The physician took her pulse.

The physician said, perfectly composed, “Congratulations, congratulations. Madam is with child.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

Shen Qingwu: “…”

Neither of them made a sound. Both stayed silent.

The physician waited a moment, sensing the mood had turned rather strange. Normally, when a wife was found to be pregnant, shouldn’t there be joyful tears from the couple, and a generous red envelope for the physician who delivered the news?

Why were this young couple simply frozen in place?

The physician repeated himself. “This lady is with child.”

Shen Qingwu remained silent.

Zhang Xingjian slowly came back to himself.

The hand resting on Shen Qingwu’s shoulder trembled faintly, and seated as she was, she felt the subtle shift in his breathing.

Lost in a fog of numb confusion, she heard Zhang Xingjian carefully asking the physician, “How could that be? Are you certain there’s no mistake? My wife has an old injury—physicians have always said before that she’d have difficulty conceiving…”

The physician said, “Oh, let me check again… smooth as pearls rolling, flowing freely back and forth. Still early days, but this is certainly a pregnancy pulse.

“An old injury, you say? Ah, I can indeed sense a trace of it, but you two must have been carefully nourishing her health these past few years, yes? It seems to have worked out rather well. This lady’s constitution is actually considerably sturdier than most women’s, though you should still take some care… conceiving again will surely be difficult for you two, so perhaps this will be your only child—best to be careful with this one…”

The physician rambled on.

Chen Qingmu, listening, felt his face nearly splitting apart as he glared at the veiled young man.

The General was pregnant?!

Had he genuinely been scheming to rise in status through a child? What right did he have—?! If Chancellor Zhang found out about this, he’d surely have the man killed!

Zhang Xingjian said, “Chen Qingmu, stay with the physician while he prepares the medicine, and write down everything he says needs attention.”

Chen Qingmu said, “Why should I—?! Doctor, we don’t want this chi—ah!”

Before he could finish his defiant protest, a sharp burst of finger-force struck straight at his chest.

Chen Qingmu staggered back two steps, his face twisted, and watched as that “kept lover” helped Shen Qingwu to her feet and led her toward a small side room behind the main hall. Chen Qingmu, unwilling to give up, tried to follow—only for the man to turn and glance back at him—

The veiled hat lifted in that instant, and Chen Qingmu saw the man’s face.

Chen Qingmu felt as though struck by lightning.

Beneath the veil, the young man’s features were breathtaking, fine-boned and elegant.

That was Chancellor Zhang.

At New Year’s, his father had brought him along to pay respects to the Chancellor, hoping to secure his favor—there was no way he could mistake Zhang Xingjian’s face.

Dazed, Chen Qingmu stopped resisting entirely, and went to obediently record everything the physician said.

Zhang Xingjian, meanwhile, went into the inner room with Shen Qingwu, to wait for the prepared medicine.

Zhang Xingjian lifted his veiled hat, revealing his face, and bent to look at Shen Qingwu, who sat frozen and silent.

Zhang Xingjian asked, “Are you all right?”

Shen Qingwu looked up at him.

She saw the worry in his eyes.

Slowly coming back to herself, Shen Qingwu thought: the one who should have been asking the physician about precautions wasn’t Chen Qingmu—it should have been Zhang Xingjian himself. But he’d been so worried about her state that he’d come straight in to check on her instead.

What was he worried about?

Was he worried that she didn’t want the child?

Was that the impression she’d given him?

Shen Qingwu fell silent for a long moment.

She suppressed the confusion and chaos churning in her heart.

She said, “So it’s really true, I’m pregnant? I’m happy.”

But her expression didn’t match happiness at all.

She looked, instead, like a pilgrim walking through the snow-covered mountains, gazing up at the endless swirling snow, unable to see the road ahead.

She was a woman quite different from most women in this world.

She’d been utterly absorbed in her own world, and later that world had come to include Zhang Xingjian, but she’d never planned on letting anyone else into it… A child, arriving so suddenly, was beyond anything she’d imagined.

Shen Qingwu felt she ought to put on an expression of joy, but… she didn’t want to put on an act in front of Zhang Xingjian.

Her clear eyes looked up at him, hazy and disoriented as swirling snow.

Zhang Xingjian gently wrapped an arm around her shoulder and asked, “Then let me ask a different question—Wutong, do you wish there was no child?”

This was a question Shen Qingwu could actually answer.

She said, “No.”

She frowned.

She said, slowly, “Whatever heaven gives me, I want it all.”

Zhang Xingjian’s smile slowly emerged, and he let out a breath of relief.

He said, gently, “Then you’re just not used to the idea yet. We’ll adjust to it, slowly… would you like to try?”

He looked a little bashful. “This is my first time having a child too.”

That was a rather strange thing for him to say.

But Shen Qingwu felt herself gradually relaxing.

Zhang Xingjian sat down and pulled her into his arms. After a long moment of silence, Shen Qingwu grew fearful in hindsight: “I’ve been bounding around all day—did I hurt the baby?”

Zhang Xingjian comforted her. “Didn’t you hear the physician? He said your body is strong—Wutong, tell me honestly, these past few days, have you had any morning sickness, any nausea, any drowsiness, any discomfort at all?”

Shen Qingwu shook her head.

She’d only felt that something was a little off… but none of it had shown outwardly.

What Shen Qingwu was thinking was: “How could I possibly be pregnant?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Why would it be impossible at all? We’ve never once taken precautions.”

Shen Qingwu thought this over for a long moment, then suddenly looked up at him, her eyes bright and clear.

Zhang Xingjian sensed she was up to something.

His scalp prickled, and sure enough, he heard her ask, “Was it that night—the wild tryst?”

Zhang Xingjian fell silent.

Shen Qingwu raised an eyebrow, her eyes full of laughter, poking him. “Don’t play dead.”

Shen Qingwu watched the tips of his ears gradually turn red.

Having gained the upper hand, she forgot all about her earlier confusion over the pregnancy, breaking into a satisfied smile, wrapping her arms around his waist and nuzzling against him.

She teased him. “Seems like you were pretty worked up that night. Are you blushing now?”

Zhang Xingjian changed the subject. “Wutong, I never used to interfere with whatever you wanted to do, but things are far too dangerous right now… I’ll handle this rebellion case myself. Don’t go stirring up trouble.”

Shen Qingwu started to protest.

Zhang Xingjian reached out and covered her mouth with his hand.

He pleaded with her. “Just let me protect you, this once. All right?”

There was a plea in his eyes. “I want to protect you, just this once.”

Under the weight of his pleading, Shen Qingwu hesitated, then nodded.

And so Shen Qingwu became the precious, carefully guarded creature of their traveling party.

Zhang Xingjian stopped playing around with the young men of the Imperial Guard entirely; after returning with Chen Qingmu, he revealed his true identity to the young men, and announced that he would temporarily take command of the Imperial Guard’s operation for this mission, directing this difficult battle in Shen Qingwu’s place.

The men, though thoroughly shaken by the Chancellor’s sudden appearance, still protested—

“The Imperial Guard doesn’t answer to the Chancellor.”

“Shouldn’t the Chancellor not be leaving the capital in the first place?”

Shen Qingwu spoke up flatly from the side: “If any of you go back to the capital and gossip to your families about his leaving, I’ll kill you myself.”

The guards: “…”

Zhang Xingjian said with a smile, “I’ve already sent a letter by fast horse back to the capital. It’s on Her Majesty’s desk right now—she’ll issue an edict putting me in full charge of this matter, in General Shen’s stead. None of you need bear any responsibility; whatever happens, right or wrong, falls entirely on me alone. Does that put your minds at ease?”

The guards had nothing left to say.

Bored, Shen Qingwu watched as Zhang Xingjian laid out battle strategy and discussed countermeasures, deliberately keeping her at arm’s length from it all.

On the road to Qingzhou, he wouldn’t let her ride a horse anymore, and constantly checked what she wanted to eat, watching closely for any days when her energy seemed low.

Shen Qingwu felt she had no unusual symptoms at all.

She looked down at her still-flat belly, and at night, resting a hand against it, found herself half-doubting whether that physician had misdiagnosed her entirely…

Sometimes she even wanted to urge Zhang Xingjian to have a different physician check her again.

And yet, Shen Qingwu could tell that Zhang Xingjian seemed to care about this matter a great deal. And she really had begun feeling unusually drowsy these past few days… so, since he wanted to handle things in her place, she let him.

Shen Qingwu didn’t have much attention left over to worry about Zhang Xingjian.

She was preoccupied with thinking about what this pregnancy meant for her—whether she was willing, whether she looked forward to it, whether she truly wanted it. If she wasn’t happy enough about it from the very start, would that be unfair to the child down the road?

She was thinking about whether someone like her—who’d never received a parent’s love as a child, who had walked her entire life down a different, increasingly solitary road than everyone else—deserved to have a child of her own, to become a mother.

She herself had been an unwanted child.

Could that unwanted fate stop here, and not pass down to the next generation?

On the last day of the twelfth month, in broad daylight, Shen Qingwu lay sleeping deeply at the posting station.

Zhang Xingjian and the guards had left the day before, splitting into two groups—one to gather troops and put down the rebel soldiers; Zhang Xingjian leading the other, heading to the local government office to negotiate with regional gentry and clan elders using the Chancellor’s own written authority, hoping to keep them in check.

The Zhang family’s reputation carried enough weight, and Zhang Xingjian was, after all, the Chancellor—there would always be some willing to meet with him. While these men negotiated with Zhang Xingjian, the troops behind the scenes would dismantle their forces, crushing this rebellion in the shortest time possible.

The Female Emperor’s orders were to keep this rebellion from becoming widely known, if at all possible.

She didn’t want the whole realm gossiping over word of a rebellion; she wanted it quietly, swiftly suppressed.

Zhang Xingjian had instructed Shen Qingwu not to act rashly, and simply wait for their good news.

Before he left, Zhang Xingjian said gently, “I will certainly come back, to see in the new year with you. Take care of yourself, and don’t let your emotions get too worked up.”

Shen Qingwu had never been the type prone to wild swings of emotion to begin with.

She simply wasn’t used to it—having Zhang Xingjian put himself in danger went against every one of her principles. Not being at his side, unable to protect him personally, left her uneasy no matter how many times he insisted his martial skill wasn’t so weak after all.

But for Zhang Xingjian’s peace of mind, Shen Qingwu had agreed to wait obediently for his return, and not to go running off on her own.

Yet in the afternoon, Shen Qingwu suddenly woke from her sleep.

The room lay dim in the afternoon light; Shen Qingwu sat up in the bed curtains for a while, still feeling an inexplicable unease she couldn’t quite place.

She left the bed curtains, threw on a robe, and opened the window, studying the sky for a long moment.

The clouds hung low and thick, and beneath the grey overcast sky, hardly anyone stirred in or around the posting station.

Standing at the window for a moment, Shen Qingwu judged, from experience, that it was about to snow.

There might be thunder.

Something jolted in Shen Qingwu’s heart.

The thought had barely surfaced before she found herself already dressed in her martial robes, grasping an umbrella, closing the door behind her, and leaving the station.

Shen Qingwu meant to go find Zhang Xingjian.

He’d said he’d be negotiating with those scholars and men of letters, trying to persuade them. It sounded like there was no real danger involved… and if it truly posed no danger, then surely it wasn’t dangerous for Shen Qingwu to simply wander over and bring him home.

Shen Qingwu found herself an excuse: I’m just worried about the thunder, worried he’ll be frightened by it. I am, after all, such a devoted, virtuous wife.

They were negotiating at the local government office.

Shen Qingwu arrived at just the right moment.

Officials blocked the gate of the office; Shen Qingwu swung her umbrella a few times, a flick of hand and foot, striking their acupoints, and slipped inside the office with ease.

Shen Qingwu stepped over the unconscious officials sprawled on the ground, feeling entirely at ease: how simple.

Standing beneath the eaves, Shen Qingwu narrowed her eyes, gauging direction—before she’d even finished thinking it through, there was no need to look further—

A group of men filed out through a moon gate up ahead, scattering into loose clusters of two and three.

At the center of the group, walking at the front, was Zhang Xingjian himself.

The scholars walked alongside him, chatting away, exceedingly courteous. The handful of soldiers accompanying Zhang Xingjian had been pushed to the edge of the group of scholars, and stood yawning lazily.

The scholars spoke to Zhang Xingjian with great deference: “Chancellor Zhang, if we withdraw now, will Her Majesty truly hold nothing against us?”

“Chancellor Zhang, please put in a good word for our family with the Female Emperor—we were only forced onto this pirate ship, we never wanted to rebel in the first place.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled, agreeing to each of them in turn.

Watching him emerge safely, Shen Qingwu let out a faint breath of relief.

She raised her arm, about to call out to him, but her eyes suddenly narrowed—

A streak of white lightning split across the sky.

A muffled crack of thunder rumbled out at the same moment.

The thunder and lightning lit Zhang Xingjian’s face pale as fresh snow, momentarily drained of all color. Unconsciously, Zhang Xingjian looked up, gazing at the thunder overhead.

And in that same instant, another flash of white light gleamed—

A dagger suddenly slid out from one of the scholars’ sleeves. That scholar had been standing directly behind Zhang Xingjian, waiting a long time for exactly this chance. The cold blade struck out, his face twisted with the effort of the blow, putting everything he had into eliminating Zhang Xingjian, once and for all!

A jolt of shock exploded through Shen Qingwu’s mind.

In that fraction of a second, she watched, helpless, as the dagger drove toward Zhang Xingjian; the two soldiers noticed the danger too late, half a beat too slow to reach him in time.

Shen Qingwu tried to shout a warning, but there wasn’t even time for that.

All she managed was: “Zhang Yuelu—”

She could only watch as the blade drove forward, straight toward him…

Beneath the muffled thunder, Zhang Xingjian gazed up at the sky, his robes billowing. As he listened to the thunder, a sudden, searing pain seized his entire body in that instant, sharpening his senses to absolute clarity.

Just as the scholar’s dagger came for him, just as everyone around him remained frozen, unresponsive—Zhang Xingjian suddenly turned aside, twisted his wrist outward, and caught the blade flat against his palm.

The blade’s bright gleam lit his fine features.

The scholar trembled. “Die—”

Zhang Xingjian turned his head, looking across the corridor and stone path toward Shen Qingwu. Blood dripped steadily from the hand gripping the scholar’s blade, soaking through his robe—but he had, in fact, reacted in time; he hadn’t been struck anywhere vital, wasn’t in mortal danger.

The ice-cold blood in Shen Qingwu’s veins surged hot again.

Her eyes turned grim and cold.

She hurled her umbrella straight at the man, striking the would-be assassin, and closed the distance herself in the same instant, bringing her palm down in a single strike.

Looking back on it afterward, Shen Qingwu thought that moment had been, without question, the most frightened she had ever been in her entire life.

The rebellion was resolved on New Year’s Eve.

The other soldiers rejoined them, everyone overjoyed with relief, seeing only Zhang Xingjian’s hand wrapped thickly in bandages, and General Shen’s inexplicable appearance. They had no idea how Zhang Xingjian had been injured, only that the mission had, on the whole, been accomplished.

The remaining scattered forces posed little threat now.

They could enjoy a proper New Year’s Eve, and go hunting down the rest of the conspirators come morning.

Shen Qingwu and Zhang Xingjian celebrated New Year’s Eve in Qingzhou together with the soldiers; Shen Qingwu refused to join the scholars for the celebration. The scholars, embarrassed, insisted they’d known nothing of the plot, but faced with Shen Qingwu’s stony expression, they had no choice but to take their leave.

Neither Shen Qingwu nor Zhang Xingjian brought up the afternoon’s assassination attempt.

That night, they welcomed in the new year together, then fell asleep in each other’s arms.

In the middle of the night, Shen Qingwu heard thunder and woke with a start.

She found the space beside her empty—Zhang Xingjian wasn’t in the bed.

She threw on a robe and left the bed curtains, stepping out of the inner chamber, shivering at the sudden chill.

She looked over, cold-eyed:

A young man in loosely draped robes sat by the window, drinking alone beneath it.

The window stood half-open; he seemed entirely unbothered by the cold, simply sitting there. Outside, everything had turned white—it had snowed. Snowflakes settled on his brow, on the wrist holding his wine cup, drifting down softly, making him look like some immortal descended from the heavens.

But what a strange immortal this was!

Shen Qingwu noticed an incense burner set on the table before Zhang Xingjian, three sticks of incense burning within it.

Wisps of fragrant smoke drifted out the window, into the night sky; before the burner sat several plates of fruit, white cakes, and pastries.

Shen Qingwu: “…”

Shen Qingwu cleared her throat.

Zhang Xingjian paused mid-drink and turned to look at her. He seemed surprised she’d woken, but only smiled faintly, eyes curving.

Zhang Xingjian said, “What are you doing up? It’s cold out here, go back to sleep.”

He said, lazily, “Could it be that you can’t sleep without your husband? My, I didn’t realize I was so important. Should I come tuck you in?”

He was speaking playfully again, but Shen Qingwu ignored the joke, walking straight over to him instead.

She stood beside him, by the window, and looked out at the snow.

At that very moment, she could still hear the rumble of thunder overhead.

But looking down at Zhang Xingjian, sitting there at leisure, drinking, his brow was calm, showing no trace of pallor…

Shen Qingwu said, “It’s snowing.”

He nodded.

Shen Qingwu said, “You’re not afraid of the thunder anymore?”

Zhang Xingjian smiled, and nodded again.

He urged her, “See, my old affliction is cured. You don’t need to come running to me every time it thunders anymore. You’re pregnant, go back to sleep… I’d like to keep drinking a while longer.”

Shen Qingwu stood there for a long moment without speaking, and finally said, “Third Brother, I’m not going to sleep. I want you to hold me, coax me, kiss me, love me.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

The wine cup in his hand nearly slipped and fell.

He propped his chin, staring in bewildered astonishment at Shen Qingwu’s utterly expressionless display of affection—if this could even be called affection, rather than a threat.

His upturned eyes met her lowered, dark ones.

Shen Qingwu leaned down and took the wine cup from his bandaged hand. “Third Brother, want to play chess?”

She said nothing about how he shouldn’t be drinking with an injury like that.

Zhang Xingjian said, “Uh.”

Chess, in the middle of the night?

Shen Qingwu said, “Since you can’t sleep, and I slept far too much during the day and have no drowsiness left in me either, why don’t the two of us, husband and wife, play a game.”

Zhang Xingjian couldn’t guess what she was getting at.

He said nothing.

Shen Qingwu said, “Though, a plain game of chess is a bit dull. Why don’t we add some stakes.”

Zhang Xingjian thought: so that’s what this is about.

He asked with a smile, “What stakes?”

Shen Qingwu said, “A simple wager—I ask, you answer, and you have to answer honestly. I’m always honest myself, of course, and I hope you’ll be honest too.”

Something flickered in Zhang Xingjian’s eyes.

He’d already seen straight through what she was after.

To him, a chess match was a fifty-fifty affair at best. Not one to care much about winning or losing in private, playing against a Shen Qingwu who was fiercely competitive—the outcome was obvious from the start. In fact, Shen Qingwu had essentially told him outright from the very beginning—

I have a question I want to ask you.

Are you willing to answer it or not.

Zhang Xingjian was willing.

He agreed to his wife’s game.

Neither of them closed the window; listening to the winter thunder, facing the falling snow, beneath a single long candle in the pitch-black depths of night, they rearranged whatever sat on the table—incense burner, fruit plates and all—and quietly began their game.

The match lasted a full two hours before Zhang Xingjian conceded defeat.

The moment he conceded, Shen Qingwu’s brow visibly relaxed.

Zhang Xingjian propped his chin, watching her with a faint smile.

Shen Qingwu cleared her throat and straightened up in her seat.

She sat across the table from him, leaning slightly forward, a long lock of hair playfully trailing against her neck, curling there.

She asked, quite seriously: “Zhang Yuelu, I want to ask you—do you carry some hidden affliction of the heart?”

Zhang Xingjian laughed softly.

He could admit it now.

He nodded.

Shen Qingwu said, “What is this affliction of yours? In other words, all this time—what exactly have you been afraid of?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “You.”

Shen Qingwu didn’t understand.

Zhang Xingjian said, “Afraid you’d leave me.”

Shen Qingwu said, “I already swore an oath. Don’t you believe my oath?”

Zhang Xingjian smiled. “I do.”

He said softly, “It’s precisely because I believe it so completely that I’m afraid.”

Shen Qingwu grew even more confused.

Zhang Xingjian raised his long, slender finger, pointing outward. “What’s that?”

Shen Qingwu turned, following his hand, out toward the falling snow beyond the window.

The entire building lay steeped in drifting snow, the whole world hazy with mist. At first Shen Qingwu thought he meant for her to admire the snow, but as she followed his pointing hand, following the still-rumbling thunder, her gaze gradually lifted higher.

She looked toward the dim grey heavens, toward that boundless, endless sky.

She heard Zhang Xingjian say, word by word: “I’ve been waiting, all this time, for heaven’s thunder to fall.”

Something jolted through Shen Qingwu’s eyes.

The oath of a sixteen-year-old Shen Qingwu rang out between them now, across the long span of time:

“From this night forward, Shen Qingwu and Zhang Xingjian have not the slightest connection between them. Shen Qingwu will never marry Zhang Xingjian. I can say these words here, and I can repeat them anywhere, again and again, without ever taking them back.

“If I am ever unfortunate enough to marry Zhang Xingjian, then may heaven strike me down with thunder, may I die a wretched death, may I fall into hell for eternity, never to find release.”

At this hour, on this night, Shen Qingwu gazed at Zhang Xingjian.

Zhang Xingjian smiled. “Wutong, this afternoon, at the Qingzhou government office—that bolt of heaven’s thunder, finally fell.”

Zhang Xingjian was not a man who believed in gods and spirits.

But Shen Qingwu’s stubborn devotion to her own feelings had forced him to believe in her oath, to fear her oath.

She had broken her own oath, to be with him.

From that moment on, alongside the overwhelming joy in Zhang Xingjian’s heart had come an equally overwhelming fear.

He feared that bolt of lightning—feared it would truly fall.

Snowflakes settled on Zhang Xingjian’s lashes.

In the cold night, Shen Qingwu watched him.

She heard Zhang Xingjian say, softly, “Wutong, from the moment you agreed to me, from the moment you swore you’d break your own oath, from the moment we married, this has always been the affliction in my heart.

“Day and night, I’ve been waiting for that bolt of lightning to fall.

“I’ve always feared that every moment of this happiness was time I’d stolen, that all of it was some illusion I could never truly hold onto, something I’d wanted but was never meant to have. I know exactly how fierce your oath was—when you asked me whether I truly believed heaven would strike you down, I began believing it from that very moment…

“I told myself, in my heart, that I would hold on regardless—that I would have Shen Qingwu, that I would force you to be with me, even against your will. I told heaven: let the lightning strike me first. I’m the one who forced Shen Qingwu to break her oath, not you.

“After Bo Rong died… after my elder brother’s death, I grew even more afraid the oath would come true.

“Wutong, after we married, haven’t we always avoided talking about Bo Rong? On one hand, I truly did envy him, envy all those years he spent by your side… those years should have been mine, but I was the one who gave them up, who pushed them away myself. On the other hand, my brother’s death left me terrified the oath would come true.

“I heard about my brother’s own oath, from Second Sister. I could never quite handle people as fiercely earnest as the two of you. I told myself, let the lightning strike me first—but would heaven actually grant my wish? If it insisted, instead, that you should be the one to bear the punishment for breaking your oath, what was I supposed to do?”

A mist rose in Zhang Xingjian’s eyes.

He smiled faintly.

Three years of marriage.

However much happiness he’d known, he’d known just as much unease.

However much he loved her, he’d felt just as much dread.

And then, suddenly, one day, the thunderbolt he’d always feared had finally fallen—

“Wutong, the truth is, I’d long since prepared myself for the possibility that we’d never have children, and made my peace with it. I always felt that having no descendants would be my punishment. It was my fault, back then, for ignoring you, for letting you go to war, for letting the seeds of that old injury take root in your body. After we got together, I tried my best to help you recover, but I never knew whether it was actually working…

“That you were able to conceive at all is the greatest comfort I could have asked for: it feels as though I’ve repaid you, at least in part. What I took from you, I’ve finally given back. I damaged your body, but I’ve finally managed to heal it again. I no longer owe you anything.”

Shen Qingwu said, “I never felt you owed me anything. That was all my own obsession. You don’t need to…”

Zhang Xingjian shook his head.

Zhang Xingjian said, “You don’t understand. The more you love someone, the more you suffer over your past mistakes toward them.”

Shen Qingwu lowered her head.

She reached out and touched her still-flat belly.

Slowly, she felt a flicker of joy stirring within her: this child had been given a different kind of meaning, then—a way of repaying some old debt, some past unfairness. Was that it?

She had long since stopped blaming Zhang Xingjian for any of it.

But Zhang Xingjian had gone on blaming himself.

And now, hearing him say all this…

Zhang Xingjian continued, “That thunderclap this afternoon startled me awake—the sound of it sent a sudden, searing pain through my whole body, but at the very same moment, it was precisely that pain that alerted me to the fact that someone meant to assassinate me. I’d always feared the falling of heaven’s thunder, but this time, that very thunderbolt ended up saving my life.

“It felt as if it were telling me—this isn’t punishment after all.

“Wutong, I think… heaven has stopped punishing me. It’s forgiven me. It’s accepted that we broke our oaths.”

Shen Qingwu slowly turned her head, looking toward the incense burner, the fruit, the pastries set on the table nearby.

At last, she understood. “So that’s why you’re up at this hour instead of sleeping—making offerings to heaven, thanking the old man up there?”

Zhang Xingjian laughed and nodded.

Shen Qingwu blurted out, “You’re insane!”

Zhang Xingjian only smiled and said nothing, letting her scold him as she pleased.

But how could Shen Qingwu bring herself to keep scolding him?

She gazed at this man’s snow-pale face.

He had poured every ounce of his heart and mind into keeping her, cherishing her.

Shen Qingwu’s eyes gradually reddened.

His eyes, too, had gone red, though he only smiled at her, watching.

He murmured to himself, “Wutong, I’m never going to be afraid of thunder again.”

Winter thunder rumbled on, snow drifted across the boundless sky.

Zhang Xingjian said, “Wutong, come here, let me hold you.”

Shen Qingwu slowly leaned into him.

She settled into his cold embrace, letting him open his robe and pull her close, wrapping her tightly in his arms.

Shen Qingwu tilted her face up within his embrace.

A snowflake drifted down, landing between her brows; Zhang Xingjian lowered his head and gently brushed it away with his finger. But his hand didn’t withdraw, lingering instead, tracing softly along her brow.

Zhang Xingjian smiled.

“There’s a poem—if the roles of man and woman were switched, it would suit exactly how I feel right now.”

Shen Qingwu said, “If you’re going to recite some flowery poem, I might not understand a word of it.”

He only smiled, saying nothing.

But after a moment, Shen Qingwu urged him on: “What poem?”

His finger resting between her brows, his eyes fixed on her, Zhang Xingjian recited slowly, in his own words rather than the poem itself, a wish that the frost and snow of the world would spare the parasol tree, letting it flourish and endure for a thousand years to come, cherished and unharmed.

Shen Qingwu had never heard this poem before.

But somehow, inexplicably, she understood it all the same.

In her heart, she thought: I love you too.