“General, the tea here is quite good. Let me have the server bring us a few more pots.”

Perhaps because Yang Su always felt he ought to look after Shen Qingwu’s feelings, he took it upon himself to find something to say, even stepping out to call the server over for more tea.

In truth, Shen Qingwu didn’t have nearly so many tangled feelings churning inside her as he imagined.

She was different from other young women — she lacked their delicacy, was rough and plain by nature. Such a temperament suited a battlefield well enough, but the moment she returned to ordinary life, she always seemed out of step with everyone else.

At that moment, Shen Qingwu could see Zhang Xingjian seated in the private room of the restaurant across the way, and could see that he’d noticed her too. But she felt no urge to move, nor any hesitation in meeting his gaze head-on.

What could Zhang Xingjian possibly do about it, knowing she was here?

Under the bright moon, the Bian River flowing on, the teahouse filled with the sound of a singing girl’s tune blending with the strains of a pipa, mixed with the bustle of the crowds outside, the delighted cries of people admiring the lanterns below, the scent of rouge, the flicker of lamplight…

This small private room in the teahouse seemed, all at once, to have gathered up the whole of the world’s bustling life within it.

Beyond that bustle, everything felt strangely still, the music drifting on and on, as she leaned against the window, chin propped on her hand.

Her vocabulary was thin; the only word she knew to describe it was “beautiful.”

He looked at her, and she looked back without blinking.

His lashes trembled faintly, and he pulled his gaze away, caught off guard.

Watching him reach for the cup on the table, something stirred in Shen Qingwu’s mind: were all young lords from great families like this? Every word, every gesture of his set him apart from everyone else — even the way he lowered his head to drink looked more striking than it had any right to.

Still, Shen Qingwu had come to believe that, in private, Zhang Xingjian was actually rather languid and easygoing. She’d witnessed at least twice now his lazy, reluctant manner, unwilling to move even when pushed along by others.

From what Yang Su and the others had told her, even now, betrothed as he was to Shen Qingye, plenty of young women still cast longing glances his way in secret. But the Second Young Lady of the Zhang family kept a close watch over him, which was why not a single rumor of impropriety had ever attached itself to his name.

Privately, Shen Qingwu thought it rather a pity.

He looked like he’d be so easy to fluster, and yet he was still untouched — how pitiful, really.

For a moment she found herself thinking of the crude jokes the men in camp used to trade; the next moment, her mind wandered to that night in the dark, to his ragged but restrained breathing, the faint flush on his face, his eyes blindfolded.

Shen Qingwu lowered her eyes, a faint smile rising at the corner of her mouth, an itch stirring somewhere in her chest. But the itch wasn’t severe yet — she could still keep it in check.

Yang Su, leading the server back into the room, froze for a moment: he had never once seen Shen Qingwu wear a smile so teasing, so soft.

All across the eastern capital, people whispered privately, guessing that Shen Qingwu must have some feelings for Zhang Xingjian.

Across the window, over the flowing waters of the Bian and the bright lantern-lit moon, Zhang Xingjian looked over at Shen Qingwu, these very thoughts drifting idly through his own mind.

The world loved to speculate about the affairs of the Zhang and Shen families, loved to gossip over why Zhang Xingjian and Shen Qingye still hadn’t married, and now, with Shen Qingwu back in the eastern capital, people had begun whispering new theories in secret — “That woman general said back then she didn’t care for Zhang Yuelu, but the air between the two of them is strange, all the same.”

“Maybe someone said the General once pursued Zhang Yuelu, and she’s been sour with him ever since, out of spite.”

“Love turning to hatred? Or hatred turning to love?”

They didn’t dare voice these speculations openly, but Zhang Xingjian knew perfectly well what people were saying.

Shen Qingwu, too, surely knew.

And so he always made a point of keeping some deliberate distance from her, always calculated carefully the mood between them, always tried to preserve her dignity while never indulging her willfulness too far.

And yet, for all his careful worrying, Shen Qingwu herself never seemed troubled by any of it in the least.

As far as he could tell, she simply did whatever she pleased, whenever she pleased —

Disguising herself as the Princess to kiss him, pinning him down to take her pleasure; and tonight, sitting openly across the way in another teahouse, making no effort at all to hide the fact that she was watching him.

She didn’t care what people said, didn’t care what he thought of her, didn’t care… whether he even knew she was watching him.

What a truly unrestrained woman, this Shen Qingwu.

He found, in fact, that he’d grown rather fond of that particular quality in her.

Zhang Xingjian lowered his eyes, the faintest smile rising at the corner of his mouth. He raised his cup to hide it.

“You’re well aware of my sister’s feelings for you. Unless it’s truly unavoidable, I’d ask that you keep some distance from her.” Shen Qingye’s soft, gentle voice drew him back.

Zhang Xingjian said, “It was never a matter of me doing anything to her.”

Shen Qingye pressed her lips together, and said quietly, “I know. But I don’t want to see my sister get hurt. Since you’re already betrothed to me, why keep provoking her? She only just managed to let go of you…”

Shen Zhuo, who had meant to stay silent, couldn’t help chiming in at this. “That’s right! Our Qingwu has no shortage of good matches waiting for her — don’t you go holding her back, Zhang Yuelu.”

Zhang Xingjian turned his head, his gaze landing on Shen Qingwu, still leaning at her window across the way, still watching him without blinking.

Meeting his eyes again, she even arched an eyebrow at him, defiant.

Zhang Xingjian’s lashes fluttered, and he pulled his gaze away once more.

He answered the two siblings with a perfunctory reply. “I am, after all, a senior official at court, and she is our only woman general. I have some official business I need to discuss with her.”

Shen Qingye’s eyes flickered, still unconvinced. As far as she was concerned, every single interaction between Zhang Xingjian and her cousin only did her cousin harm.

She hadn’t witnessed it herself, but Shen Zhuo had told her, three years ago, exactly what oath Shen Qingwu had been forced to swear. Every time she thought of it, she found herself quietly in tears.

Shen Qingye said, “A man as clever and calculating as you simply isn’t the right match for my sister.”

Shen Zhuo, beside her, seemed on the verge of saying something but held back. He’d disliked Zhang Xingjian ever since what happened years ago, but Qingye and Zhang Xingjian were betrothed, and sooner or later the two of them would marry regardless.

Zhang Xingjian lifted his eyes again, their quiet depths rippling like still water, reflecting the distant lights outside, soft and tender.

But what he said was cold and composed. “You needn’t worry that I’ll do anything to your sister. As I said, it’s only official business. If you truly can’t set your mind at ease…”

He gave a careless little laugh.

He said to Shen Qingye, “Who was it, back then, who gave your aunt the idea — who was it that dealt with Shen Qingwu? I trust you know full well.”

“The evidence against me is in your hands. You could expose me at any time. So tell me… do you think,” he paused, “that if Shen Qingwu learned this side of me, what would she do? Is there any chance at all that something could happen between the two of us?”

His eyes, even as he said this, still carried that same gentle, refined smile.

Shen Zhuo, baffled, cut in. “What idea? What did you say to my mother? What exactly did you do to us, Zhang Yuelu?”

Zhang Xingjian didn’t answer. Even as he smiled at Shen Qingye, he couldn’t help glancing out the window once more —

Shen Qingwu had shifted position, her dark eyes cool and sharp, and she shot him a glare.

Something tugged gently at Zhang Xingjian’s heart, sweet and aching at once.

Shen Qingye, meanwhile, stared at him blankly, struck once again by just how cold and ruthless this man could be.

She had guessed, countless times, that it had been Zhang Xingjian behind whatever scheme had been used against Shen Qingwu back then. It had been she herself who’d brought Zhang Xingjian to meet her aunt — and in doing so, she had brought harm down on her cousin. But she’d never had proof, and no one had ever told her the truth of it.

She had always been wary of this betrothed husband of hers.

And now here he was, admitting it to her with perfect ease — yes, he was the villain behind it all.

He was handing her the very evidence that could ruin him.

He…

Shen Qingye pressed her lips together, thinking that Zhang Xingjian was, once again, cutting off any possibility between himself and Shen Qingwu. Such a cold, ruthless man, unwilling to give her cousin even the smallest chance. He’d made up his mind to that effect years ago, and had never wavered since.

And yet Shen Qingye couldn’t help glancing at him again, a tangle of doubts stirring in her mind: why did he keep cutting off every possibility, over and over again?

Her cousin… didn’t seem to have done anything to him either.

Was it her cousin he was cutting off — or was it himself? Was he afraid her cousin might lose control — or afraid that he himself might?

Lost in her own troubled thoughts, Shen Qingye failed to notice what Shen Zhuo had already caught: that Zhang Xingjian had glanced out the window five times already.

Shen Zhuo, losing patience, got up and leaned in close beside Zhang Xingjian; before he could be stopped, he’d thrown the window open and was peering outside. “What exactly are you staring at? Huh!”

He gasped aloud: “Qingwu!”

Shen Qingye, seated across from Zhang Xingjian, shot up at once and joined him at the window. Seeing Shen Qingwu seated in the teahouse across the way, Shen Qingye’s face lit up with delight, and she waved. “Cousin!”

Shen Qingwu: “…”

Shen Qingwu had no wish to see Shen Qingye.

What was there for the two of them to talk about?

Shen Qingye had sent her several invitations already, and she still had no intention of meeting her cousin on the night of the Lantern Festival. And this time, it wasn’t only Shen Qingye — Shen Zhuo was there too.

She wanted even less to go over now.

But it seemed there was no avoiding it.

Across the way, the two siblings watched her with eager, delighted eyes, while Zhang Xingjian wore the faint smile of a man enjoying the show. Shen Qingwu turned her face away slightly.

She had always kept in mind whatever small kindness others showed her. Even if she had no wish to meet them, now that she’d already been spotted, there was no harm in going to see them for a while. Surely her cousin and her brother couldn’t leave her more at a loss than Zhang Xingjian already did.

Yang Su followed Shen Qingwu up to the private room on the second floor of Xuande Tower, where the first person they came face to face with was the jade-faced young lord himself, and only after him, the two siblings.

Zhang Xingjian bowed to her with cupped hands.

Shen Qingwu’s expression toward him, as ever, showed nothing at all.

Zhang Xingjian said, “General Shen, once you and your siblings have finished catching up, might I trouble you for a little of your time? There’s something I need to discuss with you.”

Right in front of him, Shen Qingwu slammed the door of the private room shut.

Chang Lin, off to the side, winced.

Yang Su stood there dumbfounded: he’d never have guessed Shen Qingwu would treat the man she supposedly had feelings for so harshly.

The one least fazed by it all was Zhang Xingjian himself. He rubbed his nose and let out a small laugh, then instructed Chang Lin, “Let’s wait out here a while.”

Chang Lin said, “What if she still won’t have anything to do with you…”

Zhang Xingjian said quietly, “I don’t have another chance.”

He lowered his eyes. Tonight, no matter what, he had to get Shen Qingwu to speak to him.

Whatever she wanted from him, so long as it wasn’t excessive, he was prepared to give it to her. He needed to learn from her, in her own words, where that jade pendant had come from — the Zhang family’s secrets ran too deep and tangled for him to risk any misstep.

Inside the private room, Shen Qingwu took a seat.

Shen Qingye poured her a cup of wine, chatting softly about idle matters.

Shen Qingwu wasn’t one for conversation, and the atmosphere in the room grew somewhat strained.

Unable to bear the awkwardness any longer, Shen Zhuo pulled out a portrait with a flourish. “Qingwu, what do you think of this young man?”

Shen Qingwu turned her wine cup slowly in her hand, her gaze lingering, then lingering longer, a touch of bewilderment on her face: it was a painted portrait of some young lord she didn’t recognize.

Did she know him?

Shen Zhuo spoke to her warmly. “Qingwu, your brother has prepared portraits of several young men — all fine sons of good families here in the eastern capital, all on good terms with the Shen family. Take a look at them all. This world doesn’t hold only one Zhang Xingjian worth your favor…”

Shen Qingwu: “…”

She lifted her eyelids and said, ice-cold, “Who said I favor Zhang Xingjian?”

Shen Zhuo and Shen Qingye exchanged glances.

Shen Qingwu went on, “You’re trying to find me a substitute for Zhang Xingjian?”

She set down her wine cup: did she deserve nothing more than a substitute for Zhang Xingjian?