Hearing that Shen Qingye had arranged to meet Shen Qingwu, Shen Zhuo had decided to come along and see his sister as well.

It had been years since Shen Qingwu left the Shen household, and more than ten days now since she’d returned to the eastern capital, and in all that time she’d ignored the Shen family entirely, never once answering the invitations sent by old acquaintances. She treated Shen Qingye and Shen Zhuo exactly the same in this regard.

Beneath his hurt, Shen Zhuo felt a deep ache of concern for this younger sister of his.

He’d gone to the trouble of gathering portraits of a number of fine young men from the eastern capital he’d heard of or knew personally, hoping Shen Qingwu might find a good match and put Zhang Xingjian behind her. He didn’t want her staying away from home for years on end, and just as much, he didn’t want her to cut off all contact with Shen Qingye over some man like Zhang Xingjian.

And yet, for all the portraits he’d gathered, Shen Qingwu’s reaction was flat, even faintly irritated.

Shen Zhuo said, “Qingwu, I mean nothing by this. I just want to see you happy. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Shen Qingwu shot back, “Where exactly am I unhappy, where exactly am I hurt? Is my arm broken, are my eyes blind, that you should look at me with such sorrow? Why should I sit here while the two of you go about choosing men for me?”

She rarely spoke, but whenever she did, it was never gently.

Three years apart, and Shen Zhuo hadn’t yet readjusted to how sharp she could be.

The portraits scattered across the table stirred in a cold draft, the scroll ends rolling faintly; the room fell into a chilly silence.

Trying to smooth things over, Shen Qingye said softly, “Sister, Brother only wants you to be happy. There are plenty of fine men in this world, and I want the same as he does — for you to live a life that brings you some joy.”

She hesitated, then added, “As for Third Young Master Zhang…”

She wanted to say that Zhang Xingjian wasn’t the right match for her cousin, but as his own betrothed, saying so might make her sister think she spoke out of some feeling for him herself. She also wanted to say that she and Zhang Xingjian weren’t nearly as close as her sister seemed to imagine — but wouldn’t that only encourage her sister to keep clinging to feelings for him?

As Shen Qingye hesitated, Shen Qingwu said flatly, “There’s no need to mention Zhang Xingjian to me.”

After a long pause, Shen Qingye said quietly, “Whatever Sister thinks, there are some things I need to make clear. Between Third Young Master Zhang and me… it’s nothing more than keeping up appearances, a mutual convenience. His family has great expectations of him, and his sister keeps him under close watch.

“When we first became betrothed, I was devastated. I missed you so much, and I hated myself for causing you to be wronged — I had no wish to be betrothed to him at all… The day I watched you leave from atop the city gate, I refused food in protest.”

Shen Qingwu raised her eyes and looked at Shen Qingye, listening to her recount those days —

Back then, Shen Qingye, having only just arrived at the Shen household and already confronted with such an ugly truth, had felt utterly hopeless. Too young and unformed to stand against the family, all she could think was that she must not become the villain of the story herself.

If the Shen family abandoned her over it, she’d thought, it wouldn’t matter much — she could simply go join her already-departed parents.

It was Zhang Xingjian who had come to find her, and struck a bargain with her. He told her to give him some time, and he would resolve the matter. If Shen Qingye truly did not wish to marry him, he would, in time, grant her her freedom, and would not let the Shen family blame her for it either.

That gentle young lord had said: “Let me be the villain in this.”

In this moment, Shen Qingwu’s eyes flickered, and she closed them briefly. She could easily picture the absent-minded smile that must have been on his face when he’d said those words.

Shen Qingye lowered her eyes. “He was only newly come of age, and wanted to restore his family’s fortunes — that took time. So he and I simply helped each other. Sometimes he’d help me get out of the house; sometimes I’d play the dutiful future sister-in-law in front of his sister, to set her mind at ease about him.”

Shen Zhuo, listening beside them, sat stunned, staring at Shen Qingye in shock.

That this delicate, obedient cousin of his harbored schemes like this — no one in the Shen family had likely ever suspected it.

Shen Qingye asked, “Sister, what can you tell from a relationship like that?”

Shen Qingwu answered, “…You feel guilty over me, and don’t want to marry him. And his attitude toward it all is simply — take it or leave it?”

Shen Qingye shook her head.

She said, “Sister, an arrangement like that reveals something about him — Third Young Master Zhang values his family’s interests above all else, treats marriage as a trifle, treats romantic love between men and women as mere play.

“He lacks nothing in talent, looks, or character. His sister poured everything she had into raising him well, and he truly is that untouchable moon hanging over the eastern capital. But the moon is cold. It never spares a second glance for anyone.”

Her lashes trembled faintly. “That’s how he is toward me. Toward you, Sister… it must be just the same.”

Shen Qingwu fell silent for a moment, then said, “The oath I swore back then was real.”

Shen Qingye startled.

Shen Qingwu recalled it for them. “If I marry him, may I be struck down by lightning.”

Shen Qingye gripped the table, her voice trembling. “That’s not what I meant! I wasn’t trying to force you to say that…”

Into the tense silence, Shen Zhuo cut in. “Qingwu, why don’t you at least take a look at these fine young men your brother picked out for you?”

Shen Qingwu stood up abruptly.

Both Shen Zhuo and Shen Qingye startled.

Without so much as glancing at the portraits, Shen Qingwu asked them, “In your eyes, I’m some grief-stricken, pathetic woman, unable to live without a man, who needs to find a replacement for him just to forget him. Otherwise I’ll go on being unhappy forever — is that it?”

She went on, “Whether you believe it or not, I have never once felt the way you both seem to think I do.”

Shen Zhuo seemed on the verge of saying something, then held back; Shen Qingye looked thoughtful.

They watched Shen Qingwu, and heard her ask, “What kind of person do you think Shen Qingwu is?”

She pressed on. “Do you think Shen Qingwu is strange, unreasonable, a bundle of flaws in need of correcting, in need of saving? Or proud, willful, self-satisfied, half mad?

“How do the two of you see me?”

— How did they see a Shen Qingwu so unlike themselves? A Shen Qingwu who was always the one being criticized?

How did the noble children of great families look upon the ant crawling through the dust, cast aside by some, pitied by others?

Neither of them had an answer.

Shen Zhuo fumbled for words. “Whatever you are, you’re still my sister. I want you to be happy. If you don’t like this, Brother won’t do it again…”

Shen Qingwu said coldly, “Does Brother think I’m being too sharp right now?”

She continued, “I say I don’t want to marry Zhang Xingjian, and you don’t believe me. I say I don’t want a replacement for him, and you think I can’t let go. I say I don’t want to marry at all, and you find that strange… When I say nothing, you worry. When I speak, you doubt me.

“That’s exactly why I don’t want to see either of you.”

Shen Qingye said, “I’ll do my best to think over what you’ve said, Sister… but I don’t think that’s the only reason you won’t answer our invitations, won’t see us.

“Is it because we couldn’t help you back then, and you’ve given up on us out of disappointment?”

There was a hint of tears in her eyes.

Shen Qingwu answered, “No.”

She turned her head aside and, without quite meaning to, caught sight of Zhang Xingjian standing below with Chang Lin and Yang Su.

Shen Qingwu thought: that moon, indifferent to everyone — how did it see Shen Qingwu? How did the moon regard the ones its light never touched?

As if sensing something, Zhang Xingjian suddenly looked up through the scattered lantern-light. The full moon hung overhead, his white robes stirring in the wind, as clear as a deep pool, as pure as jade.

The firelight flickered across both their faces, quiet and restless at once. The moonlight fell like a thin frost.

Up in the tower, Shen Qingwu’s eyes stayed fixed on that young lord below, even as her mouth answered Shen Qingye. “I’ve simply come to understand, at last, that I’m not like the two of you. And people who are different from each other don’t really belong spending all their days together.”

Shen Zhuo asked, “Different how?”

Shen Qingwu said, “Brother is Lady Shen’s own son by blood — whatever he does, she’ll only ever blame me, never him. Qingye is the daughter of a great hero, now passed; her parents are both gone, and the Shen family took her in and arranged a good marriage for her — the whole world watches to judge how the Shen family treats her.

“It’s just like the moon in the sky — the two of you stand in the places its light can reach. I stand in the gutter, in the shadow it never touches.

“We were simply born different, you and I.”

Shen Zhuo, distressed, wanted to argue that it wasn’t so, but Shen Qingye kept her eyes fixed on her cousin and asked quietly, “Is my guilt toward you, my affection for you — is that a burden to you, Sister?”

Shen Qingwu said, “I wouldn’t call it a burden. Put it this way, Qingye — you want me to be happy. If marrying Zhang Xingjian would make me happy, you’d actually be willing to help me get him. Isn’t that right?”

Shen Qingye nodded, dazed.

Shen Qingwu smiled.

It was the first time she had smiled all night.

Her smile carried a trace of mockery. “But turn the same thing around onto me, and I certainly wouldn’t wish you well, let alone help.”

She fixed her eyes on Shen Qingye’s, and spoke, word by word: “Whoever wrongs me can go to hell. Whatever stone trips me up, I’ll grind to dust. Whatever’s taken from me, I will take back.

“Shen Qingwu is nothing but a wretch, through and through.”

Whatever had happened three years ago had ended the moment she cut all ties with the Shen family.

Shen Qingwu thought back, very deliberately, to those three years ago — deliberately recalling how she’d left, what she’d been thinking then, what had filled her heart and mind the moment she’d plunged that blade into Zhang Xingjian:

“…You lived in the light, cherished and protected by family. I grew up in the shadows, and it made me into something dark. You can’t bear to leave the family — I can. I struck out alone, far from everyone — you’d never dare.

“I really am strange. But I have no wish to change, and I don’t believe I’ve done anything wrong.”

She looked at Shen Zhuo, dazed and nearly in tears, and at Shen Qingye, her face only slightly paled, and thought that her brother’s capacity to bear things fell rather short of Qingye’s.

Shen Qingwu concluded, “So don’t bring me any more portraits of suitors. Don’t fret over my lifelong happiness. Don’t try to gently convince me, in some roundabout way, that Zhang Xingjian isn’t the right match. I don’t need any of it, and I don’t care about any of it.

“Whether I marry or not is none of your concern — it’s mine alone to decide. The Shen family abandoned me long ago. As long as the choice remains in my own hands, I have no need to watch anyone’s expression, because I have no family.

“I’m leaving now. If possible… it would be best if we simply stopped contacting each other.”

Having said what she needed to say, and seeing that neither of them had quite recovered enough to respond, Shen Qingwu turned and headed for the door.

As she pushed it open, she heard Shen Qingye ask, “But you don’t actually hate me, do you?”

Shen Qingwu lowered her eyes.

She said, “No.”

Shen Qingye said, “You just don’t want to see me — but that doesn’t mean you’ll turn against me because of it, does it?”

Shen Qingwu said, “No, it doesn’t.”

Shen Qingye asked, “Then if I were ever in trouble, if I ever needed you — would you care, Sister? Would you help me?”

Standing by the folding screen with the door already open, Shen Qingwu turned back and looked at Shen Qingye, still watching her so intently from within the room.

She answered, “I would.”

Shen Qingye’s face broke into a faint smile, blinking away the tears in her eyes as she watched Shen Qingwu leave. Shen Zhuo made to follow, but Shen Qingye held him back.

As Shen Qingwu made her way downstairs, she heard Shen Qingye murmuring something to calm Shen Zhuo behind her.

Shen Qingwu thought, in a way, Shen Qingye and Zhang Xingjian really were well suited to each other.

She simply didn’t much like watching it.

“General.”

At the bottom of the stairs, Zhang Xingjian was already waiting for her.

She swept past him and walked quickly into the crowd. Yang Su hurried to catch up.

Zhang Xingjian and Chang Lin followed behind Shen Qingwu as well — Zhang Xingjian quiet and composed, while Chang Lin cleared his throat a few times and said gruffly, “Shen Qingwu, our young master’s sent you several letters. Why haven’t you answered any of them?”

Shen Qingwu was busy looking at the lanterns.

Chang Lin, under strict instructions from Zhang Xingjian, pressed on regardless. “Our young master’s letters bear his official seal. Ignoring even the letters of a senior court minister — is that really appropriate? You shouldn’t let private grievances interfere with official business, should you? That’s the sort of thing that gets a person impeached by the Censorate.”

He kept badgering her. “You need to give a reason…”

Yang Su, sensing this wasn’t going well, chimed in. “Perhaps our General has simply been too busy with official duties…”

He trailed off, stammering — Shen Qingwu, out enjoying the Lantern Festival with time to spare, could hardly claim to be so busy.

Shen Qingwu had had quite enough of this.

She spun around sharply, and the icy look in her eyes stopped Chang Lin in his tracks.

She said, word by word: “You want a reason? Here’s your reason — I can’t read.”

Chang Lin and Yang Su: “…”

Zhang Xingjian’s lashes fluttered, and a soft laugh escaped him.

The person who had written on his palm that night, demanding answers so fiercely — perhaps she’d simply been some phantom born of the parasol trees after all.