Shen Qingwu had, of course, not gone mad.

Since returning to the eastern capital, she had found herself besieged with no small number of social obligations. Banquets from this household, invitations from that imperial son-in-law, invitation cards from various ministers, servants from the Shen family coming again and again… Everyone was quite curious about this Garrison-West General.

Shen Qingwu ignored every last one of them.

Bo Rong had told her that she represented the Yizhou army, and that for this trip to the eastern capital, it would be enough simply to give a clear account of the campaign — there was no need to concern herself with anything else. But watching Yang Su, who had accompanied her to the capital, run himself ragged attending one banquet after another all day long, she suspected Bo Rong’s words had perhaps been rather too diplomatically put.

It wasn’t that Bo Rong thought socializing unnecessary — only that he thought it unnecessary for her, specifically.

…Probably because he didn’t trust her wits for it.

In any case, Shen Qingwu did not go back to stay at the Shen family home, and continued lodging with her officers in the post-house arranged by the court. She came and went like a traveler passing through.

Unwilling to return to the Shen household, and with nothing else to occupy her, her thoughts turned to Zhang Xingjian.

By now, what did Zhang Xingjian even mean to her?

Shen Qingwu could not work it out.

When she slipped away from everyone’s notice, evading guards and servants, and hid herself quietly among the branches of an old cypress tree in the Zhang family’s ancient residence, her fingers found the cool jade pendant resting against her skin beneath her collar, and still she did not understand what she thought she was doing, sneaking off to hide at the Zhang household like this.

Whenever her thoughts grew tangled and hollow, she would rub the jade pendant, over and over.

Bo Rong had told her it helped calm her down.

Now, hiding in the old tree at the Zhang household, she found herself rubbing the pendant again, slowly turning her private worries over in her mind —

That broken-down “moon” was nothing at all.

And yet the restlessness in her heart seemed to need his utter mediocrity to dissolve it.

If she could prove that this moon was thoroughly unremarkable, thoroughly useless, then perhaps from then on she could drive away the shadow hanging over her heart, and let go of some of her fixation.

Because Bo Rong had told her she needed to learn to “let go.”

Shen Qingwu did not dwell on the thought any further, for just then, below her, a window creaked softly open.

The master of the Zhang household had woken.

The snow had stopped falling some days ago, and the weather had turned rather cold.

Shen Qingwu, hidden in the tree, heard nothing for a good while; she cautiously peered down and, to her surprise, saw a sight she had not expected —

Zhang Xingjian, wearing nothing but a cloak, his black hair half bound up with the rest spilling over one shoulder, leaned lazily against the window in the gentle breeze, eating, without a care in the world… a cheap flatbread of the sort one could buy on any street corner.

He was also flipping through a book, and crumbs from the bread fell onto its pages without him seeming to notice at all.

Perhaps he truly hadn’t noticed.

Shen Qingwu considered this, and decided her skills were surely sufficient to keep him from spotting her. She parted the leaves for a clearer view.

This young lord’s lowered lashes curled like swings, and he yawned, looking as though he might drift off to sleep at any moment. Slowly he forgot about the bread altogether, propping his chin on one hand and closing his eyes for a light doze.

Shen Qingwu let out a scornful huff and made to sit up straight, disdainful. Her movement was a touch too large, and startled a bird into flight. Before she could do anything to fix it, the bird flapped its wings and swooped down toward the young lord by the window below.

The bird’s sharp beak went for the bread and pecked Zhang Xingjian’s finger instead. He gave a start and opened his eyes, tilting his head up, his glassy, bead-bright eyes looking upward.

Shen Qingwu quickly pressed herself against the tree, hiding herself away.

Her heart pounding, she heard Zhang Xingjian below let out an utterly careless laugh. “You want it? It’s all yours, then. Though…”

From inside the room came a maidservant’s voice, disapproving. “Third Young Master, the Second Young Lady said there are to be no sweets today. If you feed the bird, you’ll have no breakfast for yourself.”

Up in the tree, Shen Qingwu thought: sweet bread? What an odd taste for him to have.

Zhang Xingjian’s voice was warm and easy. “What of it?”

The maidservant sounded troubled. “There’s only spicy soup left, and Young Master cannot eat spicy food.”

Zhang Xingjian said, quite casually, “I can manage anything.”

But listening from the tree, Shen Qingwu, though the maidservant had said Zhang Xingjian couldn’t handle spicy food, could not catch the faintest sound of discomfort from him. She couldn’t resist stealing another look — but through the window she could only make out the occasional shadow of his white robes.

Either the claim that he couldn’t eat spicy food was false, or this man’s tolerance for enduring things had reached some supreme level.

Zhang Xingjian sat down, his sleeve slipping back to reveal a stretch of wrist, his collar loosely open. Through the scattered light and leaves, Shen Qingwu watched his unrestrained, elegant manner, like a handful of clean, clear snow… and found herself staring, transfixed.

She heard the maidservant cough. “Third Young Master, the Second Young Lady asked that you not look quite so… at ease.”

That easy, unguarded elegance seemed to invite anyone to draw near, and yet his outstanding bearing made him impossible to actually approach. A young lord like this held far too strong an appeal for the women of this world.

Up in the tree, Shen Qingwu did not understand the Second Young Lady of the Zhang family’s concerns; she only frowned, surprised that Zhang Wenbi would concern herself so much with Zhang Xingjian’s every word and gesture.

Somewhat a pity, she thought.

Zhang Xingjian let go of that faintly languid air and returned to his composed, upright bearing. He had long understood that to get what one wanted, one had to pay the corresponding price. And this particular price, he was well used to by now — it meant nothing to him either way.

After the maidservant had spent the whole morning attending to him and finally left, Zhang Xingjian let out a soft sigh, propping his forehead on one hand, murmuring to himself, “Finally gone.”

Up in the tree, Shen Qingwu couldn’t help the corner of her mouth twitching upward.

Unable to hold back her curiosity, she leaned down for a better look — and sure enough, the moment the maidservant left, he slumped against the window like a man without a single bone in his body, gazing blankly at the scenery in the courtyard, lost in thought.

Naturally, he was extraordinarily good to look at.

…But was he really going to stare into space for an entire morning?

Just as Shen Qingwu was puzzling over this, Zhang Xingjian moved to sit at the low table by the window and began to paint.

Shen Qingwu let out a breath, her interest mildly piqued, curious to see his work. She’d heard that truly accomplished sons of great families were skilled in both letters and arms, excellent at both poetry and painting. She had never met a young lord quite like that, but surely Zhang Xingjian would be exactly that sort.

But watching from the tree, she saw him paint a little, drift off a little, eat a little, fool around a little… Shen Qingwu’s patience had been tempered over years in the army and was far greater now than in her youth, but under the sheer tedium of watching Zhang Xingjian, she actually fell asleep in the tree for half an hour.

She woke because she heard movement. Zhang Xingjian’s formidable chief guard, Chang Lin, had returned, and she needed to conceal her presence carefully.

Chang Lin reported several matters to Zhang Xingjian.

Zhang Xingjian responded with a few perfunctory “mm”s.

As Chang Lin turned to leave, Zhang Xingjian tried to keep him there. “It’s my day off today, and there’s nothing else to do. Stay and play a game of chess with me.”

Chang Lin’s face turned serious. “Young Master, that won’t do. There is already gossip flying about at court, and now with the Garrison-West General back at court as well, you need to deal with that too. In my humble opinion, even if she cannot be brought over to our side, she must not be allowed to be pulled in by Chancellor Kong either…”

Chang Lin spoke earnestly. “Third Young Master, you ought to go see Shen Qingwu.”

Eavesdropping in the tree, Shen Qingwu was rather pleased, and decided she liked this Chang Lin: as long as Zhang Xingjian needed something from her, she’d have a way to torment him.

Zhang Xingjian immediately feigned illness. “My head aches. Don’t mention Shen Qingwu — just play chess with me.”

Shen Qingwu: “…”

Shen Qingwu left the Zhang household in indignation, telling herself she would never spy on Zhang Xingjian again.

A man who idled away half a morning playing with a bird, so bored; a man who couldn’t finish a single painting in a whole morning, so half-hearted about it; a man who played chess so carelessly he lost completely, drifting off seventeen or eighteen times without a shred of concern…

Zhang Xingjian outside of court, Zhang Xingjian without his ruthless efficiency, was nothing at all like that unreachable moon hanging in the sky.

She would not feel bitter over someone like that.

…And yet the next day, Shen Qingwu went to spy on him again all the same.

She refused to admit to her own curiosity and interest.

She told herself it was probably just boredom, probably just wanting to see through to this man’s true nature, so she could find something to replace him with in her mind.

In this world, Zhang Xingjian was surely thoroughly mediocre — she was bound to find someone better.

What Shen Qingwu did not know was that Zhang Xingjian’s own courtyard had arrangements unique to him.

She had only slipped in quietly for two days, and already Zhang Xingjian had noticed signs that the fallen leaves in the courtyard and the weeds on the roof had been disturbed.

But he gave no outward sign of it.

He would see to it that whoever it was came to regret it, and paid the price.

The next time Shen Qingwu saw Zhang Xingjian in public was five days later, at a banquet held by Ande, Princess Imperial.

Ande, Princess Imperial, was the young Emperor’s elder sister, twenty-nine years of age and still unmarried. Rumor had it she secretly kept several handsome male companions in her residence. Truth and gossip mixed together, and outsiders could hardly say which was which.

With the Emperor still young, the greater part of court affairs was settled through discussion between Ande, Princess Imperial, and several of the ministers. When a princess of such standing sent an invitation, it was not something Shen Qingwu could easily decline.

Because Ande, Princess Imperial, was herself a woman, Yang Su had quietly learned that Shen Qingwu’s appointment as a woman general had also required Ande’s approval.

Whatever small goodwill this immensely powerful princess had shown her — something the princess herself likely gave no further thought to — Shen Qingwu kept it in mind.

At the princess’s banquet, most of the eastern capital’s nobility had turned out in attendance.

Shen Qingwu and Yang Su made their way out from the cluster of military officers, walking along the pavilions and past the lake toward the more crowded area ahead. Yang Su chattered on cheerfully about the splendor and wealth of the eastern capital; after a while, he realized Shen Qingwu had stopped responding.

Yang Su looked up and saw, coming from the other side of the lakeside pavilion, a pair walking hand in hand, like a match made by immortals.

The young lord was gentle and refined, exceptional in bearing; the young lady was delicate and graceful, slight and fragile.

The two of them together made for a truly striking sight. Sensing some subtle shift in the atmosphere, the pair looked up and saw Shen Qingwu standing on this side.

Shen Qingwu stood expressionless among the stone embankments over the lake, the winter wind stirring her military robes, a few loose strands of hair brushing against her lips.

She caught the murmured discussion of those around her —

“Third Young Master of the Zhang family and Fifth Young Lady of the Shen family — a match made in heaven, truly well suited.”

“I only wonder why the two of them still haven’t married. The Shen family’s young lady isn’t getting any younger — could it be the Zhang family is unwilling?”

“Oh — the one across from them… isn’t that the Garrison-West General?”

“I heard that, years ago, the Garrison-West General once took a fancy to Zhang Yuelu at some banquet. They say afterward it was blamed on drunken nonsense, but it must have been awkward all the same.”

The crowd whispered among themselves, clearly hoping for some excitement.

Shen Qingwu looked at the two of them, her gaze settling on Shen Qingye.

She lowered her eyes, masking the sudden surge of resentment that rose in her.

Zhang Xingjian remained composed, if falsely so, but Shen Qingye’s eyes flickered, glistening, and she couldn’t help stepping eagerly forward.

Shen Qingye said softly, “Sister…”

Behind curtains and across the terraced pavilions, another pair had also watched the scene on the lake unfold with perfect clarity, their eyes lighting up.

This pair was none other than the seventeen-year-old young Emperor, Li Mingshu, and his own elder sister, ten years his senior, who had raised him with her own hands — Ande, Princess Imperial, Li Linge.