Zhang Xingjian believed that the younger Shen Qingwu had been, the more adorable she was.

At fifteen, Zhang Xingjian sat reading in the book pavilion, going through the many files on court affairs his cousin had tossed his way.

He was preparing for the imperial examinations. If he succeeded, he would enter court service and help shoulder some of his cousin’s burdens.

It was a scorching summer day, and the young man, weary from the heat, was dozing off in the pavilion when the window was struck from outside—again and again, the sound of pebbles hitting the glass.

The knocking of stones against the window pulled the hot, tired youth out of his stupor. A girl’s clear voice rang out below—

“Zhang Yuelu! Zhang Yuelu! Zhang Yuelu!”

Zhang Xingjian heard the guard outside murmur a warning: “Little miss, please don’t shout so loud, the young master is studying…”

But Shen Qingwu couldn’t care less what anyone else thought. All she knew was that it had been nearly a month since she’d seen Zhang Xingjian.

She stood below with her hands on her hips, shouting:

“Zhang Yuelu, I have something to tell you! Whether you want to listen or not, you have no choice, you must…”

The window on the second floor of the pavilion was pushed open.

Green willows swayed gracefully, spring unfurling in the air.

Shen Qingwu, gazing upward, saw the boy—as fresh as a spring willow—leaning against the window frame, smiling down at her.

His brows and eyes carried the air of spring, his hair black as ink, his lips red. Even leaning against the window, his posture was elegant. He really had been raised well by the Zhang Family…

Radiant and fresh, like a narcissus flower under morning dew, he glanced down through the mist toward her.

Zhang Xingjian, seeming unaware of his own charm, leaned at the window watching the little girl below stare up at him, dazed. Laughter glinted in his eyes—lazy, and just a touch teasing. “What did you want to tell me?”

Shen Qingwu came back to herself.

“I’m going hunting outside the city with the Imperial Princess,” she said.

The guard standing beside her nearly fainted: such a trivial thing, and she’d come all this way to tell Zhang Xingjian? Deliberately interrupting the young master’s studies for this?

The wind stirred the strands of hair against the young girl’s cheek as she gazed up at the boy, intent.

Zhang Xingjian was taken aback for a moment.

“You came all this way just to tell me… are you asking what prey I’d like?” he asked.

Shen Qingwu blinked, stunned.

She was astonished. “Huh? You need prey? You won’t even be there—what would you want prey for? Prey that’s been carried back, prey that’s already dead, doesn’t taste good anymore. Or do you want animal hide for a cushion?”

Zhang Xingjian, still dazed, said, “Weren’t you going to bring me a gift?”

“I just came to tell you,” Shen Qingwu said.

“Nothing else. I’m going now.”

Zhang Xingjian watched her from the window as she finished speaking, then, light and carefree, hopped up onto the wall and began climbing a tree with practiced ease to leave. Partway up the wall, she suddenly turned back to look at the pavilion.

Their eyes met, and Shen Qingwu froze for a moment, an expression that looked almost like a smile—though not quite—rising on her usually expressionless face. She seemed at a loss, waved her hand, and hurried off in a fluster.

At twelve, Shen Qingwu had begun to grow taller, her features growing ever more delicate, taking on more and more the look of a young girl.

Zhang Xingjian watched her with a smile.

He understood the feelings she herself hadn’t put into words: she simply hadn’t seen him in so long, missed him, worried he might be bored, and had come purely to check on him.

Zhang Xingjian closed the window and went back to his reading.

He thought, soon, once he was a bit older, he’d have time to spend with Shen Qingwu.

Zhang Xingjian believed that the older Shen Qingwu grew, the less adorable she became.

At fifteen he entered court service, fumbling his way into the rhythms of official duty. His cousin placed him in the Censorate, and he gradually adjusted to the pace, all the while looking forward eagerly to the day he could spend time with Shen Qingwu again.

But Zhang Xingjian discovered that during those years he had studied so hard, those years he had so rarely kept her company, Shen Qingwu seemed to have learned she didn’t need him—learned to cut him out of her life.

Her life was so simple!

Didn’t she just practice martial arts every day, and read for a while?

Yet she didn’t play with him either, didn’t seek him out.

Squeezing time out of his official duties, Zhang Xingjian would occasionally seek her out, only to sharply sense that although she never said so, she actually found him a bit of a nuisance, in her way.

She resented him for blocking her path out the door, for delaying her practice time, for talking too much and insisting on dragging her into conversation…

When Zhang Xingjian realized this, he was rather stung—all his hard work had been for the sake of being with her, and once the hard work was done, he found she didn’t need him.

How could that be allowed to stand?

Zhang Xingjian grew up day by day, developing the concerns of a young man. He had his first wet dream, his first stirrings of attraction, but having surveyed all the young ladies of the capital, he still found his little fiancée the most interesting of all.

He liked interesting people.

He wanted to add more delight to his own dull existence.

So Zhang Xingjian kept trying to spend more time with Shen Qingwu.

Every day after court, he’d find some way to corner her. If she went to the training grounds, he’d tag along, stumbling through the motions to help feed her sparring moves.

He suspected Shen Qingwu found him rather a bother.

But he pressed on shamelessly.

Because… Shen Qingwu had one very good quality—she rarely spoke up.

Even when annoyed, she didn’t say so.

…Perhaps toward others she would voice her annoyance, but toward him, she never did.

Zhang Xingjian consoled himself: perhaps this was the benefit of being childhood sweethearts—his little Wutong was sparing his feelings, which meant she still cared about him somewhere in her heart.

She still showed him some warmth, some human feeling.

He thought that perhaps she’d simply become obsessed with martial arts to the point of being a bit dense about everything else, and that once she grew a little older and developed the tender feelings of a young woman in love, she’d come to appreciate him.

Looking across the whole capital, where else would she find a young man as handsome as him, who let her do as she pleased?

Besides, he was her fiancé—why couldn’t she seem to grasp that?

So Zhang Xingjian began quietly working his way into the circle around Shen Qingwu, questioning her maidservants about her daily routines.

At fifteen, the handsome young man, all smiles and charm, had the maidservants falling over themselves to comply.

And so, the first time Shen Qingwu’s monthly courses came, she barely knew it herself before Zhang Xingjian already did.

She woke from a nap to find Zhang Xingjian—who seemed to be forever hovering around her these days—sitting by her bed, fussing over her, holding out a bitter medicinal broth for her to drink.

Joy shone between his brows, and though his movements as he fed her the medicine were clumsy, his patience was boundless.

He was far more shy about it than she was, stumbling over his words: “Wutong, I heard that once a girl’s courses arrive, it means she’s grown up, and she’ll start growing much faster… this is a good thing.”

Shen Qingwu had heard her wet nurse say the same.

She hugged her blanket and blinked at Zhang Xingjian, not understanding what he had to be shy about.

She wasn’t embarrassed at all.

When Zhang Xingjian brought the medicine to her lips, Shen Qingwu turned her head away and clamped her mouth shut in disgust: she wasn’t drinking that.

Zhang Xingjian froze.

He coaxed patiently. “I had this specially prepared, to nourish your blood and energy…”

“I’m not lacking blood or energy, I’m perfectly fine, why would I need medicine?” Shen Qingwu said.

“You… doesn’t anywhere feel uncomfortable?” Zhang Xingjian asked, stunned.

Shen Qingwu shook her head.

She just felt a bit out of sorts, kept catching the smell of blood on herself, and had been forbidden from practicing martial arts these few days, forbidden from jumping too high or running too fast.

Other than that, she didn’t feel unwell at all.

Zhang Xingjian’s hand, still holding the spoon, stiffened slightly.

He wouldn’t give up. “Doesn’t your stomach hurt?”

Shen Qingwu shook her head.

“Aren’t you cold?” Zhang Xingjian asked.

She shook her head again.

Zhang Xingjian murmured, “Don’t you feel tired, don’t you feel unwell anywhere?”

Shen Qingwu gave him a fierce look. “What are you getting at? You barge into my room without knocking first thing in the morning, sit by my bed rambling on for ages, just to curse me with bad luck?”

Zhang Xingjian stared at her blankly, crestfallen.

All the knowledge he’d crammed about women’s monthly courses, all the questions he’d swallowed his embarrassment to ask his sisters about the details to watch for… none of it applied to Shen Qingwu at all.

He wasn’t ready to give up.

He smiled. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Shen Qingwu pulled the blanket over her head to sleep, her muffled voice coming from beneath it: “Don’t you go acting up.”

Zhang Xingjian wasn’t satisfied.

Gritting his teeth, he reached out to pull back her blanket. Shen Qingwu had always been quite tolerant of him, but him coming to yank her blanket off and disturb her sleep—that crossed a line.

“Pervert! Scoundrel! I’m telling Brother Rong!” Shen Qingwu shouted.

Zhang Xingjian ignored her.

Nor was Shen Qingwu one to simply let him have his way.

The fifteen-year-old young man finally managed to pull back her blanket, but was rewarded with several solid punches to the arm and chest from Shen Qingwu, leaving him with a dull ache.

In the end, she pinned him down on the bedding, straddling his stomach with her knees, her hair falling loose and messy as her fists swung. “You’re just asking to be hit again.”

Zhang Xingjian bravely reached up and caught her fists.

He said, dejected, “Your hands aren’t the least bit cold, and you’re still hitting this hard… there’s really nothing wrong with you at all.”

Shen Qingwu paused.

She was furious. “I told you, there’s nothing wrong with me, and you still don’t believe me.”

He opened his arms and pulled her into a hug, the faint mint-like scent from his body drifting to her; Shen Qingwu’s head spun as she found herself wrapped in his embrace.

“When will you grow up?” Zhang Xingjian said, sounding upset.

—When will you have the tender feelings of a young woman in love?

Shen Qingwu’s lashes fluttered.

She lay in the young man’s slender, cool embrace and stopped hitting him. She looked up at his gloomy expression, and something stirred in her heart.

She couldn’t bear to see him frown, reached out to smooth his brow, and playfully tugged at his long lashes.

“Did something go wrong at court, and you came to me to unwind?” Shen Qingwu asked, sounding as though she understood.

Zhang Xingjian looked at her feigned understanding with gloom, but could only nod.

He didn’t dare say too much—he was afraid that, careless as she was, she’d blab about it to anyone, even tell his cousin. If his cousin discovered how eagerly he doted on his little Wutong, he’d surely scold him again for lacking propriety and try to keep the two of them apart.

Shen Qingwu sighed. “Being an official must be so exhausting.”

Zhang Xingjian immediately turned coquettish. “If you come keep me company, I won’t be tired anymore.”

“I still have to practice,” Shen Qingwu refused.

“Just how far do you plan to train? I think you’re already amazing. You train so hard—what’s it even for? Why not spend more time with me instead?” Zhang Xingjian said.

Shen Qingwu thought about it.

Seeing her fall silent, Zhang Xingjian could only wrap his arms around her and slowly sit up.

Shen Qingwu looked at him. “Are you upset?”

Zhang Xingjian, holding onto a thread of hope, said, “Wutong, you remember we’re betrothed, right?”

She nodded.

Zhang Xingjian smiled faintly. “Do you remember, when you were little, you said that when you grew up you wanted to always be with me, wanted to fall in love with me, marry me, be with me forever?”

Shen Qingwu’s eyes flickered. “Um…”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

What did “um” mean?

Was she starting to regret the careless words of a child?

A chill settled in his chest as he stared at her wavering eyes.

Zhang Xingjian kept smiling: surely Shen Qingwu was just being thick-headed, and once she was a few years older it would be fine.

Still, a sense of urgency had taken root in him now. He began quietly scheming to spend more time with Shen Qingwu, to get her used to his company again.

As for Shen Qingwu—the words she’d said as a child, about wanting to always be with Zhang Xingjian, wanting to fall in love with him, had indeed been nothing more than the careless talk of a child.

At twelve, she had begun to have her own concerns, and gradually stopped enjoying playing with Zhang Xingjian as much.

She found practicing martial arts far more interesting.

Her skills improved day by day, and the people around her found her harder and harder to restrain—that feeling was intoxicating to her. This was the thing Shen Qingwu discovered she was best at, far surpassing her dull grasp of everything else, and she fell in love with that sense of total control.

For her, martial arts was something where, as long as she persisted, she would be rewarded.

Unlike everything else.

She had her own vanity, her own pride, her own need to hear praise… she loved training.

And as Shen Qingwu grew older day by day, she began to wonder: what was the point of such high-level skill, when there was nowhere to use it?

As a child she hadn’t thought about it, but as she grew, she began to realize that the world seemed to have no need for women skilled in martial arts. With skills this formidable, was she only ever going to play around with them at home?

Zhang Xingjian could enter court and become an official, while she could only show off in the back courtyard—yet she felt her own martial skill was no less impressive than his scholarship.

Why should that be?

Shen Qingwu mulled all this over.

So when Zhang Xingjian kept coming around to play, it was just annoying.

He got in the way of her training, got in the way of her becoming accomplished.

If he weren’t her best friend, she’d have turned on him long ago.

Zhang Xingjian felt that the older Shen Qingwu grew, the harder she was to please.

When she was little, a piece of candy was enough to win her over. Now that she was older, it took ten pieces of candy just to get her to come along.

She was always displeased that he interfered with her training.

She’d wander the streets, playing the chivalrous heroine, occasionally rescuing someone, basking in a bit of praise—thoroughly pleased with herself. When Zhang Xingjian walked with her through the streets, she’d insist he not block her path, not block her view.

She had no need for anything, really.

She was such a free and unfettered person.

Zhang Rong had raised her with such devotion, thinking of everything good for her, helping her untangle any difficulty. As a small child, Shen Qingwu had worried she might be abandoned, dreaming of herself homeless on the streets—but growing up in the Zhang household day by day, such worries had gradually faded.

She was certain Zhang Rong would never abandon her, certain he was fond of her, tolerant of her, that she could do as she pleased.

With no real need or expectation from others, Shen Qingwu regarded Zhang Xingjian as entirely dispensable.

Zhang Xingjian grew increasingly unhappy with his cousin—not that he thought his cousin shouldn’t be good to Shen Qingwu, but… his cousin had already done everything for her, so what was left for him to do?

Shen Qingwu had absolutely no need for Zhang Xingjian now!

His cousin had clearly arranged their betrothal—but did he actually intend to let the two of them marry? Zhang Xingjian simply couldn’t tell.

At fifteen, Shen Qingwu wandered home from outside, idly kicking at the fallen leaves underfoot.

She told Zhang Rong she wanted to leave the capital and become a wandering hero of the martial world.

Shen Qingwu argued earnestly: “I’ve thought it through. There’s no place in the capital for a woman with strong martial skills. But out in the martial world, I can carve out my own territory. I want to become a bandit chief…”

Zhang Rong scolded her: “Absolutely not, you becoming a bandit! We’re all officials here—do you intend to work against us?”

“I’m not working against you. I just want something to do…” Shen Qingwu said.

“And what about Zhang Yuelu?” Zhang Rong said.

Shen Qingwu’s eyes flickered.

Zhang Rong could only use Zhang Yuelu as his excuse now, to hold back this increasingly unruly girl. “If you want to go far away, to leave us, well, I’m no blood relation of yours, so I’ve no right to object… but Zhang Yuelu is your fiancé. Do you intend to abandon him?”

Shen Qingwu lowered her eyes.

This was exactly what troubled her: Zhang Yuelu was well-bred, handsome, good-natured, and accomplished in scholarship, an excellent official besides. There was nothing wrong with him at all—but someone so refined, so fine as jade and orchid, truly wasn’t suited to a life of wind and rain on the road with her.

“If I become a bandit, I won’t be worthy of him,” Shen Qingwu said quietly.

Seeing that she still held Zhang Yuelu in her heart, Zhang Rong relaxed.

Before he could think of another excuse to keep her, he pressed his advantage with Zhang Yuelu. “I don’t think you’re unworthy of our family’s young man at all—no one thinks that. If you believe you’re unworthy, go tell Zhang Yuelu yourself.”

The thought of Zhang Xingjian’s gentle smile clouding over at her words made Shen Qingwu unwilling to go.

Suddenly, an idea struck her. “Didn’t you say once I grew up, I could break off the engagement?”

Zhang Rong’s heart skipped.

He kept his expression calm. “That’s right, I’ll agree to you breaking off the engagement.”

Before Shen Qingwu could feel pleased, Zhang Rong added, “But you’ll have to tell Zhang Yuelu yourself.”

Shen Qingwu: “…”

Zhang Rong needled her deliberately. “What, don’t you dare?”

Shen Qingwu, stubborn, retorted, “What’s there not to dare?”

A hint of amusement showed in Zhang Rong’s eyes as he settled back, unhurried, robes gathered. “Then once you’ve settled all this, off you go to be your lady bandit chief.”

“Not a lady bandit—a bandit chief! A hero of the martial world!” Shen Qingwu insisted.

But to officials, it all amounted to the same thing.

Zhang Rong merely smiled without answering, his eyes signaling that he was waiting to see how she’d manage it.

Shen Qingwu huffed and stormed out of the room.

The moment she left, Zhang Rong’s expression changed. He had the carriage prepared, intending to go find Li Linge to discuss Shen Qingwu’s future—as a court official, he simply could not allow a bandit to spring up right under his own roof.

Li Linge had always understood Shen Qingwu better than he did; perhaps she could help talk her out of it.

While Shen Qingwu kicked at leaves in the Zhang household courtyard, troubled, sunlight filtering faintly through, a young man appeared through the moon gate, his figure graceful as a crane.

He moved with such quiet composure, his bearing so dignified. His fleeting shadow appeared for only an instant in the sunlight, and Shen Qingwu, sharp-eyed, spotted him and turned to flee.

But Zhang Xingjian had already seen her.

“Wutong!” Zhang Xingjian called with a smile.

Shen Qingwu turned back, bracing herself.

She could barely bring herself to look at him: at eighteen, the young man had refined, elegant features, an air that stood out from any crowd, a faint smile always at the corner of his lips. He carried himself with such cool, noble grace, like moonlight from the heavens—and yet was so approachable, without a trace of arrogance… especially toward her, he was endlessly easygoing.

Zhang Xingjian smiled brightly. “The first person I saw when I got home was you. I must be blessed with good fortune today—a sign that something wonderful is about to happen.”

Shen Qingwu thought: see, he was always so glib, such a smooth talker.

Since he’d greeted her so warmly, she could hardly pretend not to see him.

She looked up at him.

“Why are you home? Shouldn’t you be at the office right now?” she asked.

—If she’d known he’d be back, she wouldn’t have been wandering around out here.

Zhang Xingjian read her thoughts from her expression.

He smiled, unruffled. “I asked for leave from the office. I came home to celebrate your birthday early. Did you forget?”

“My birthday’s still a long way off,” Shen Qingwu said.

“All the more reason to start preparing early,” Zhang Xingjian said.

He stepped toward her; she stepped back.

Zhang Xingjian stopped, laughing helplessly. “Wutong, what are you avoiding?”

“I’m not avoiding anything,” she denied.

He studied her for a moment. “Did you do something you feel guilty about?”

“How could I?” she said at once.

He guessed that she spent her days idling about at home—what could she possibly have done to feel guilty over? Zhang Xingjian still had that much confidence in her.

He had the guard behind him bring forward a letter, and told her with a smile: “I found a craftsman living deep in the mountains, said to be extraordinarily skilled at forging weapons. Weren’t you in need of one? I could go with you to see him.”

Shen Qingwu’s eyes lit up.

She reached out to grab the letter.

Zhang Xingjian pulled it back behind him.

“I’ll go with you,” he said.

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded, reluctant.

Pleased, Zhang Xingjian handed her the letter. He sidled up beside her slowly, and as she bent her head to read it, he slipped an arm around her shoulders from behind, leaning in to murmur softly about the craftsman’s reputation.

The faint scent of incense on him drifted to her, his hair brushing against her ear, and Shen Qingwu felt an odd sensation stir within her.

Still, she braced herself as though facing a great enemy, not daring to move.

She didn’t know what the feeling meant, but her instincts told her not to rise to Zhang Xingjian’s bait—it would never end otherwise.

Whatever he wanted to do, let him do it.

Zhang Xingjian, for his part, was already picturing something wonderful.

A short holiday, deep mountains and old forests, just the two of them traveling together.

No one to disturb them—the perfect chance to deepen their bond.

His Wutong kept growing up… he was in such a hurry, longing to marry her as soon as possible. Since she never brought it up herself, he’d have to take the initiative.

And so Shen Qingwu and Zhang Xingjian set off together to climb the mountain and visit the craftsman.

At first, things went well.

Shen Qingwu noticed that it was just the two of them going, raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

They rode horses partway up the mountain, then continued on foot. Zhang Xingjian pretended to be out of breath, calling to Shen Qingwu weakly: “Wutong, wait for me.”

Shen Qingwu turned back, reluctant.

“Just wait for me at the foot of the mountain,” she suggested again.

Zhang Xingjian refused.

He tilted his face up, laughing softly. “I’m worried you might run into danger. I want to go up with you.”

Shen Qingwu nearly choked on her own outrage.

She thought, with martial skills as formidable as hers, how could she possibly run into danger?

Watching her expression, Zhang Xingjian said mournfully, “You think I’m holding you back, don’t you?”

His lashes were thick and long, his eyes soft and bright, his features so handsome, his expression so pitiful… Shen Qingwu, taken in by his face once again, comforted him. “No, I don’t.”

Zhang Xingjian pressed his advantage, holding out his hand to her. “Then hold my hand as we walk, all right?”

Shen Qingwu puffed her cheeks and glared at him.

“Should I carry you up the mountain instead?” she said.

He burst out laughing, his eyes crinkling.

“No thanks,” he said, smiling. “I need to maintain some manly dignity—I can’t have you carrying me.”

His slender, fair hand had been extended in midair for a long while now.

The green bamboo rustled softly, a stream babbled nearby. A cool breeze stirred the young man’s blue-green robes, ruffling the hair against his face as his hand remained outstretched, waiting for her.

He really was lovely to look at.

As if possessed, Shen Qingwu stepped forward and took his hand.

She couldn’t help herself, and gave it a little stroke.

The smile in Zhang Xingjian’s eyes deepened.

Shen Qingwu glanced at him sideways and caught that smile.

He said, perfectly serious, “If you want to touch it, just touch it. I never said you couldn’t. Why be so sneaky about it?”

“I wasn’t,” Shen Qingwu said immediately.

Zhang Xingjian merely smiled and said nothing more.

The two of them climbed the mountain hand in hand, and by the time they reached the craftsman’s home, the mood between the two young people had grown very warm indeed.

Shen Qingwu was happy to turn and chat with Zhang Xingjian; when his breath brushed her neck, when he acted coy and tried to hug her, she only laughed it off without pushing him away.

But the good mood only lasted until they arrived.

The moment she saw the craftsman, Shen Qingwu could barely contain herself, rushing straight over and leaving Zhang Xingjian tossed aside.

Zhang Xingjian, helpless, gathered his robes and sat himself down on a bamboo stool, pouring his own tea, watching as Shen Qingwu hit it off wonderfully with the craftsman, chattering away about the weapon she wanted forged.

The two of them talked eagerly, like old friends, the craftsman immediately spreading out his blueprints to study together with Shen Qingwu.

They began discussing what kind of stone they’d need…

Zhang Xingjian sat by, chin propped on his hand, watching, when Shen Qingwu turned to him. “Zhang Yuelu, go find that kind of stone for me, it’s up on the mountain.”

Zhang Xingjian froze.

“Just… just me, alone?” he asked.

Shen Qingwu nodded.

Zhang Xingjian wanted to be alone with her, not leave her alone with the craftsman. He opened his mouth to refuse.

“I don’t know the mountain paths, I wouldn’t know which stone you mean. Wutong, come with me…” Zhang Xingjian said.

The craftsman, oblivious to the mood, chimed in: “I have the blueprints! I’ll find it for you right now!”

Zhang Xingjian fell silent.

Shen Qingwu nodded. “Zhang Yuelu, do me this favor. I still want to look at a few more weapons here. Didn’t we come up the mountain to get a weapon forged? We should make good use of the time… splitting up means we can get the sword made faster.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

Was this really about making good use of time to help her forge a sword?

But under the weight of her expectant gaze, he could only agree, gloomily.