The night was black as spilled ink, the deep alley dark and silent. Shen Qingwu crouched on the ground, examining the wolf-hair brush in her hand.

The brush had a pressable spot near one end; a light push released a razor-thin blade from the smooth shaft. At a glance it still looked like an ordinary brush, but it was, in fact, a brush capable of killing.

Zhang Xingjian had used this very brush to fight her through the window earlier, and had used it to streak ink across her face as well.

Shen Qingwu turned the brush over and over in her hands: such fine, soft bristles, such a straight, smooth shaft, and such a thin, cold blade.

So like its owner—seemingly harmless, but all ice and blade underneath.

Thinking of how Zhang Xingjian had hunted her down, left her thoroughly humiliated, and then let her go so easily afterward, Shen Qingwu’s lowered lashes trembled faintly.

She didn’t understand why he’d let her go.

It couldn’t possibly be that he actually had feelings for her!

Shen Qingwu had already made the mistake of reading too much into things once before. She refused to repeat it.

She sprang to her feet, tossed the brush aside, and scaled the wall to make her own way home. She’d lost all interest in choosing a gift for Bo Rong now—her mind was full of nothing but Zhang Xingjian.

Not skilled at expressing emotion, unable to untangle her own lingering attachment, Shen Qingwu simplified the whole tangled mess of feelings from that night into a single word: anger.

She didn’t want Zhang Xingjian’s brush.

Back at the post station, still fuming, Shen Qingwu didn’t notice the lanterns and candles burning bright within.

As she entered the courtyard, Yang Su called out to stop her: “General Shen!”

Shen Qingwu didn’t even look up, continuing on her way.

Because no one had ever called her “General Shen” before.

“General Shen” was a title normally used for the men of the Shen family—it had nothing to do with her.

Yang Su was forced to switch: “General Wu.”

Only then did Shen Qingwu look up, spotting Yang Su standing beneath the eaves, watching her with some exasperation. He stepped aside, clearing the path behind him: “General, Madam Shen has been waiting for you for quite a while.”

Without so much as an “oh,” Shen Qingwu pushed open her door, went inside, and slammed it shut.

The soldiers: “…”

Madam Shen, waiting in the post station, had gone pale and flushed by turns; amid the officers’ awkward silence, she felt a keen sense of humiliation. But this humiliation wasn’t unfamiliar to her—

Throughout Shen Qingwu’s whole life, Madam Shen had often felt this same shame because of her daughter’s willfulness.

Madam Shen forced an awkward laugh at Yang Su and the others: “Qingwu has always had a bad temper, ever since she was young. My apologies for the trouble.”

Yang Su reminded her: “…Do you still wish to see the General? If you don’t hurry, she’ll probably have already gone to bed.”

So Madam Shen had no choice but to steel her expression and, with the servants and officers smoothing the way, go knock on Shen Qingwu’s door. It took a full cup of tea’s time before Madam Shen was finally let in.

Worried Shen Qingwu might cause a scene, Yang Su followed Madam Shen inside just in case. Looking up, he saw Shen Qingwu and couldn’t help bursting into laughter.

Shen Qingwu was wiping her face with a damp cloth, a long streak of ink still visible across it—startling at first glance, as though her face had been disfigured. Looking closer, it was clear it was only splattered ink.

The ink, it had to be said, was remarkably stubborn—Shen Qingwu had scrubbed with a hot cloth for a long while, yet the mark remained, her face flushed pink from the effort.

Yang Su’s gaze flickered away, and he suppressed a sudden, unexpected flutter in his chest.

Living and working alongside Shen Qingwu day in and day out, her usual carelessness about appearances had, in some ways, erased the usual boundaries between men and women. But in this moment, under the dim candlelight, her skin flushed delicate from the hot cloth, her lips red, her teeth white—

Her dark eyes looked over at him, glistening like drops of water.

She looked, for once, like a young woman her age.

And there was no denying she had a certain beauty to her.

Madam Shen lowered her voice: “Qingwu, have Officer Yang and the others step outside. Do you have a moment? Your mother has something private to discuss with you.”

Shen Qingwu studied herself in the mirror. “If you have something to say, say it here. I’m busy—I don’t have time to find another moment.”

Madam Shen: “…Busy doing what?”

Shen Qingwu stared grimly at the ink mark on her face in the dim bronze mirror, as though nursing a deep grudge: “Washing my face.”

Madam Shen looked ready to explode with fury.

Yang Su and the others coughed, worried Madam Shen might faint from sheer exasperation.

Madam Shen’s expression darkened for a long while; Shen Qingwu remained utterly unmoved, and her patience began wearing thin.

Someone from Princess Ande’s household had come to question the Shen family.

The princess had expressed her confusion, asking the Shen family why Shen Qingwu would set a fire; asking, too, whether Shen Qingwu and Zhang Xingjian were particularly close.

The questions seemed casual, but the Shen family, hearing them, felt a quiet stab of alarm.

What had happened at the princess’s banquet that night was no secret. There’d been a fire at the princess’s residence in the night; Shen Qingwu had clashed with both Shen Qingye and Zhang Xingjian. With all manner of evidence laid before the Shen family, the princess said nothing further, but the Shen family was already thoroughly alarmed.

At first, the Shen family had reserved their dignity, sending a formal note requesting Shen Qingwu return home for a visit.

When Shen Qingwu ignored it entirely, Madam Shen had no choice but to come in person.

Not only to interrogate Shen Qingwu, but also to let Yang Su and the others witness the Shen family’s embarrassment. Whatever face and dignity the Shen family had maintained over the years meant nothing at all to Shen Qingwu—

Madam Shen gritted her teeth, her voice low: “What exactly is wrong with you? Why would you set a fire at the princess’s residence? It’s only thanks to the princess’s leniency that this hasn’t turned into a disaster—otherwise how would you have cleaned up this mess?! You’re coming home with me. Tomorrow you’ll go with me to the princess’s residence and apologize.”

Yang Su strained to listen: Wait, what? A fire?

Shen Qingwu kept working the cloth against the stubborn ink on the bridge of her nose, seemingly deaf to Madam Shen’s questions.

Madam Shen went on at length regardless.

Finally, unable to hold back any longer, Madam Shen slammed her hand on the table: “Shen Qingwu, I’m talking to you! It’s exactly this kind of indifference that makes Zhang Yuelu despise you!”

Shen Qingwu’s head snapped up.

The sudden, chilling look in her eyes froze Madam Shen in place, as though she’d been plunged into an ice cellar. The oppressive weight of it was so intense that Madam Shen could barely breathe, half-certain Shen Qingwu might actually strike her down where she stood.

Shen Qingwu made no effort to hide the look in her eyes.

The maids and servants Madam Shen had brought went pale: “What are you doing?!”

Yang Su coughed from the side: “Perhaps we should step outside for now—”

The officers, caught somewhere between shock and awkward amusement at the scene, made to excuse themselves, but Shen Qingwu finally spoke: “No need.”

She kept scrubbing at her face, her tone flat: “What business is it of yours.”

Everyone paused a moment before realizing—this was her answer to Madam Shen’s question about why she’d set the fire: none of your concern.

Madam Shen: “You’ll drag the Shen family down with you.”

Shen Qingwu: “Then disown me.”

Madam Shen: “…”

Shen Qingwu turned to look at the whole assembled group, come to hold her accountable.

Three years apart, and Madam Shen noticed Shen Qingwu had changed in certain ways. Still just as strange-tempered, still just as stubbornly cold as ever—but now, as she looked over with the cloth half-covering her face, the exposed skin showed a certain fairness, and the look in her dark eyes carried something between malice and mockery.

Shen Qingwu offered her suggestion, quite seriously: “Disown me. Officer Yang and the others can witness it. What are you all waiting for?”

She tilted her head. “Afraid to?”

The answer, of course, wasn’t that they were afraid.

Having been guided by Bo Rong, Shen Qingwu had come to understand a great many things. Fearing she might be taken advantage of, Bo Rong had taught her many of the world’s unspoken rules.

For instance, these past few days, she’d come to understand clearly why the Shen family—despite disliking that she’d become a female general—no longer sent people to reprimand her: because her good reputation benefited the Shen family too.

Madam Shen had come to scold her because what she’d done at the princess’s residence had implicated the Shen family.

But was there anything in this world that offered only benefit, with no cost at all?

If the Shen family wanted a female general, they’d have to bear the consequences of that general’s willfulness too.

Shen Qingwu set down the cloth.

The sharp snap of it startled Madam Shen and the others out of their thoughts.

The female general had finally scrubbed her face clean, and rose to her feet with satisfaction. Tall and straight, slender-waisted and long-legged, her body carried itself with a boyish looseness and a striking, forceful beauty. The moment she stood, Madam Shen instinctively took a step back.

Shen Qingwu said, offhandedly: “Yang Su, see them out.”

Madam Shen: “You—”

Shen Qingwu: “If you don’t want to disown me, then bear with it. If you can’t bear it, disown me. I’ve got several more days before I leave the capital. The Shen family can take its time deciding. Once you’ve made up your mind, let me know, and I’ll cooperate immediately.”

Madam Shen: “Is there anyone in this world with as hard a heart as you?!”

Shen Qingwu: “Then go ahead and find out.”

She raised her voice again: “See them out!”

Yang Su and the others immediately straightened, ready to escort Madam Shen and her party out. Madam Shen was unwilling to let it go, but everyone here was a stranger to her, and the Shen family needed to maintain its standing in the capital long-term—they couldn’t afford to disregard appearances the way Shen Qingwu did.

Compared to three years ago, this scene was deeply humiliating.

Back then, it was they who had driven Shen Qingwu away.

Today, it was Shen Qingwu driving them out instead.

Madam Shen thought, Shen Qingwu’s temper truly had grown too vicious. Who had taught her to be like this? Had she known Shen Qingwu would grow this disrespectful of her elders, she’d never have raised her. Raising her had been nothing but endless trouble—the Shen family would suffer greatly because of her sooner or later.

Madam Shen and her party were politely shown out of the room. Standing in the courtyard, Madam Shen still had one final thing to say: “Fine. I’ll show you the courtesy of not pressing this further… let’s speak of something more private, then.”

She paused a moment, glancing at Yang Su and the others.

Madam Shen said coldly: “What exactly are you doing, caught between Qingye and Zhang Yuelu? You said yourself, years ago, that you’d been drunk, that nothing would ever come of it between you and Zhang Yuelu—we respected your choice.

“But why are you now inserting yourself between that engaged couple? Do you realize they should already be married? Qingye, worried you’d feel uncomfortable, has found excuses to keep delaying it… Qingye is kind, but you can’t keep exploiting other people’s kindness forever.”

Shen Qingwu walked, step by step, into the courtyard.

Having said this, Madam Shen paled and stepped back. She’d always feared Shen Qingwu’s strength, but today she feared her more than ever—in years past, Shen Qingwu had at least treated her as a mother; now, Shen Qingwu was simply a madwoman.

A madwoman no one could handle.

The sheer intimidation of this madwoman left Madam Shen trembling with every step, needing the guards behind her for support.

Shen Qingwu stared at her, then suddenly curved her lips into a smile.

She said, “I have no intention of doing anything with Zhang Yuelu. I’ve always kept my word, and I don’t intend to go back on it now. But—”

She let a malicious smile spread across her face.

The more frightened Madam Shen grew, the more pleased she became.

Shen Qingwu leaned close to Madam Shen’s ear, and threatened: “I like being caught between them. I intend to disgust them both for the rest of their lives.”

Madam Shen: “You’d hurt yourself just to spite others!”

Shen Qingwu answered: “I’m a madwoman, after all.”

But this madwoman, it turned out, was only spiting Madam Shen—her words and actions didn’t quite match. At the very least, when Zhang Xingjian sent invitation after invitation over the following days, asking to speak with her, she ignored every single one. The invitations, once delivered to the post station, vanished without a trace, like stones sinking into the sea.

During the day, after finishing his official duties, Zhang Xingjian had spent a full hour listening to Chang Lin voice his suspicions.

He hadn’t only listened to this chatter—he’d also read through some letters.

One, in particular, came from the Shen family. They tactfully warned him to be wary of Shen Qingwu, suggesting she might harm both him and Shen Qingye. The Shen family complained that no one could handle Shen Qingwu.

Hm. Little Qingwu playing the villain again?

…No one can handle Shen Qingwu?

Zhang Xingjian turned the wolf-hair brush over in his hand, a golden light shimmering in his eyes.

This was the very brush Chang Lin had found in an alley near the Bian River. Shen Qingwu had evidently dropped it there, and Chang Lin, sent to erase evidence of the night’s fighting, had come across it.

Chang Lin offered his conclusion: “It must be that whoever delivered the invitations made a mistake—out of a dozen or so invitations, surely she’d have replied to at least one? I’ll go right now and—”

Zhang Xingjian said flatly, “Never mind.”

He leaned against his desk, distracted. “She’s always ignored me.”

Shen Qingwu was like a solitary boulder at a cliff’s edge—sharp, jagged. The brush she didn’t want, she’d simply discarded, and trampled on besides.

His temperament was normally even, his manner gentle with everyone; nothing in this world usually stirred his anger. But in this moment, Zhang Xingjian caught a faint trace of displeasure rising in his own heart:

She wore some jade pendant of unknown origin against her skin without fail, yet couldn’t be bothered to spare a thought for his brush.

…Perhaps not even Chang Lin knew that, ever since their falling out all those years ago, Shen Qingwu hadn’t spoken a single word to Zhang Xingjian.