Shen Qingwu never retreated, advancing steadily on Zhang Xingjian.

Zhang Xingjian’s gaze shifted slightly, glancing past her toward Yang Su, a faint note of reproach in his eyes: even something this small, and he couldn’t keep it hidden.

Yang Su felt a pang of bitter sympathy, lowering his head: Zhang Yuelu had clearly never witnessed Shen Qingwu in one of her truly frightening moods—swaying on the verge of collapse while still advancing step by step, relentless. Who could possibly withstand that?

Bo Rong’s voice rang out, sterner than usual: “Shen Qingwu!”

Shen Qingwu finally shifted her gaze away, turning toward Bo Rong at the parted tent flap.

Bo Rong said, “How can you behave so disrespectfully before an imperial envoy from the capital? Whatever’s between you and Yang Su, settle it privately—don’t make a spectacle of it out here in the open. Both of you, go report for punishment!”

Yang Su, crestfallen, complied.

Shen Qingwu turned and walked away without a moment’s hesitation.

A faint, complicated light flickered in Bo Rong’s eyes as he watched her go, helpless. Then his gaze shifted to Zhang Xingjian—

So this was his never-before-met third younger brother.

This was the “moon” praised by all of Dongjing, the young man who’d made Shen Qingwu stumble.

Buffeted by the wind, Bo Rong’s face looked somewhat pale. He coughed twice: “Zhang Sanlang, come inside, let’s talk.”

Chang Lin remained on guard outside, exchanging wary glances with Bo Rong’s own guards. Curious to learn something of Bo Rong’s activities over the years, he sidled up with a grin: “Brother, care for a drink? Someone’s keeping watch tonight, a few sips won’t hurt…”

Inside the tent, Bo Rong and Zhang Xingjian could hear every word of Chang Lin’s schmoozing outside, perfectly clearly.

Zhang Xingjian was somewhat surprised: he hadn’t expected a commanding general’s tent to have such poor soundproofing. Nothing outside could be kept hidden.

Bo Rong studied Zhang Xingjian’s calm, gentle face with a certain admiration. He imagined how mortified he himself would feel if caught with his own guards harboring ulterior motives. Zhang Xingjian… had been raised well by his second sister, it seemed.

Bo Rong said, “A commanding general must always keep watch on all sides, listen for anything—forgive the thin tent walls.”

Zhang Xingjian gently apologized: “Chang Lin’s being troublesome. I’ll have him—”

Bo Rong: “No need.”

The commotion outside faded into the distance—Chang Lin had clearly lured the guards away. With that, whatever was discussed within the main tent would go unheard by anyone.

By the stove, Zhang Xingjian raised his sleeve, cupped his hands, lifted his robe, and knelt, bowing respectfully to Bo Rong: “Elder brother.”

He paid his respects to this brother he’d never once met, exactly as he had, on the very first day he was entered into the main family line, knelt before Zhang Wenbi.

A complicated expression crossed Bo Rong’s face.

He remained lost in thought for a moment before telling Zhang Xingjian to rise.

Bo Rong smiled bitterly: “I never should have given Shen Qingwu that jade pendant… you traced it right back to me here. That was careless of me. I’d thought, after more than a decade, no one would remember me anymore…”

Something paused in Zhang Xingjian’s mind: Bo Rong giving Shen Qingwu the pendant, sending her to Dongjing—perhaps it had been meant to test whether anyone in Dongjing still remembered him.

Zhang Xingjian didn’t dwell long on such details: “Elder sister remembers you.”

He paused. “Chancellor Kong Ye remembers you too.”

Finally, he said: “Princess Ande remembers you as well.”

Bo Rong’s lashes trembled. He sat in the seat of honor, his expression weary and worn from his injuries. Sparks crackled in the tent’s brazier; he said nothing for a long while, simply staring into the fire, lost in thought.

Zhang Xingjian said, gently and calmly: “Elder brother has his own difficulties. I haven’t come here to press you for anything. But since I call you ‘elder brother,’ since I call Second Sister Zhang ‘elder sister,’ the rise and fall of the Zhang family’s fortunes is something I can’t help but concern myself with.

“May I ask, elder brother—now that you live under the identity of ‘Bo Rong,’ where is the real Bo Rong? Has elder brother killed him?”

Bo Rong froze slightly.

Bo Rong said, “Is this how Second Sister raised you—to kill people without reason?”

Zhang Xingjian, observing his noncommittal reaction, answered with a smile: “Of course not. If I kill, I always have my reasons… Elder sister hopes I’ll be as honorable and upright as elder brother, but I have my own ambitions too. Living this one life as Zhang Sanlang, as Dongjing’s celebrated Zhang Yuelu—I couldn’t possibly let it go to waste.

“If elder brother hasn’t dealt with that person, then allow me to handle it in your place. I won’t put elder brother in a difficult position.”

Something flickered in Bo Rong’s eyes; he remained silent.

Zhang Xingjian asked further: “Parents dead so tragically, forced to flee far from home, ambitions left unfulfilled, service to the country left unrendered… if elder brother wishes to remain the man of honor, then let me be the executioner in your stead. May I ask, elder brother—do you need me to kill Li Linge for you?”

Bo Rong stared at him in shock.

Bo Rong: “Zhang. Yue. Lu.”

…This was nothing like the Zhang Xingjian he’d pieced together from others’ scattered remarks.

Yang Su had only said the man was formidable, handsome, well-cultivated, highly capable in matters of state; Shen Qingwu, meanwhile, had barely mentioned him at all… Did Shen Qingwu even know this side of him?

Zhang Xingjian studied him.

Zhang Xingjian said softly: “So it seems Li Linge wasn’t the one who murdered elder brother’s parents after all.”

Bo Rong came back to himself, his tone turning cold: “Are you testing me?”

Zhang Xingjian apologized, yet showed no sign of repentance: “Because elder brother’s actions have truly been strange, and elder sister’s explanation could never satisfy me. If Princess Ande loved elder brother, and elder brother loved her in return—why would she, a princess, need to move against the Zhang family?

“Elder brother’s parents were, after all, subjects, and subjects can never truly refuse their sovereign. If the princess had simply waited patiently, with a lover as capable as elder brother, shouldn’t she have trusted him to protect her, to manage the delicate balance between imperial family and noble clan? What circumstances could have made her feel so threatened that she needed to kill elder brother’s parents?

“From what I understand, she was, at the time, nothing more than a carefree, innocent young girl. Anyone at that age deserves sympathy, deserves understanding… I don’t believe a princess could commit such an error, unless she were born a madwoman who’d managed to deceive everyone around her.”

Zhang Xingjian considered the Li Linge he himself had come to know.

He smiled, certain: “And she is precisely not a madwoman by nature.”

Bo Rong’s eyelids lifted slightly, studying Zhang Xingjian intently.

Bo Rong asked, “Then who do you think it was?”

Zhang Xingjian answered: “The young emperor.”

The tent fell utterly silent. A gust of wind passed outside the curtain, snuffing out the fire in the brazier.

Darkness fell, absolute stillness.

A fierce light flashed briefly in Bo Rong’s eyes before he suppressed it. His hand, resting on his knee, clenched into a fist; he closed his eyes, his mind drifting back to that year—

That blood-soaked, freezing night, when he’d stormed the palace alone, facing down thousands of imperial guards.

A scholar wielding a sword, driven to it against his will.

Amid flashing blades and gleaming steel, the princess had begged him to spare the young emperor, promising to make amends to the Zhang family…

Through that endless night, the woman he loved had knelt before him weeping, her delicate hand gripping his sword, trembling: “He’s my only brother, I’ll keep him in line, I’ll make him admit his wrongs, he’s just a child who doesn’t understand, everything he did was for my sake, I’ll make it up to the Zhang family… Rong-ge, won’t you forgive him?”

But the dead couldn’t be brought back to life.

But before dying, his parents had forced him to swear he’d never be with Li Linge.

He’d wanted to kill the young emperor; the princess had wanted to imprison him. Each had tried to resolve the matter their own way, until finally, exhausted, their love spent, they’d severed all ties between them.

And how could a mere subject sit in judgment of his sovereign?

Bo Rong said flatly: “You’re right that the princess wasn’t born a madwoman. But the young emperor’s innocence carried a cruel edge.”

Zhang Xingjian listened quietly.

He said slowly: “You wanted to kill the young emperor, but held back for the princess’s sake. She watched you carefully—with her in the way, you could never reach the young emperor, could never act against him. Your only option was to fake your death and flee.”

Zhang Xingjian continued: “Years later, elder brother, fighting battles, winning victories that overshadow even the sovereign—eventually you’ll return to court, eventually people will stop watching you so closely, eventually the princess herself will forget you… Elder brother meant to sever all ties with the Zhang family, to bear this burden alone so as not to implicate the family. When that day comes, will you kill the young emperor?”

Bo Rong said nothing.

Zhang Xingjian smiled faintly: “But Kong Ye already suspects the Zhang family, suspects you as well. I doubt you can keep this hidden until that day comes.”

Zhang Xingjian murmured, as though to himself: “Why don’t elder brother and I work together instead?”

Bo Rong: “Zhang Yuelu, you needn’t involve yourself in this…”

Zhang Xingjian said, warm and courteous: “No. Elder brother wants revenge; I want fame and fortune. We each get what we want—isn’t that perfectly convenient?”

Chang Lin waited outside until Zhang Xingjian emerged from the tent, then walked alongside him.

Chang Lin said, “Looks like you got what you wanted.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled without answering.

Chang Lin said, “There you go, putting on that act again… never mind, I won’t ask. But a courier just arrived from Dongjing with an urgent gazette, a whole stack of official business, all needing your attention…”

Zhang Xingjian immediately rubbed his temples, beginning to cough: “I’m exhausted, I need to rest. Chancellor Kong can handle Dongjing’s affairs…”

Chang Lin laughed: “Would you stop faking illness in front of me? Why are you so lazy… mm.”

He cut himself off, having spotted Shen Qingwu.

Zhang Xingjian saw her too.

His hand, still rubbing his temple, stiffened faintly for a moment before he lowered his sleeve, offering her a polite smile.

His eyes flickered with a faint question: why was she standing out here in the wind? Waiting specifically for him?

He began to recall: had he provoked her hatred yet again, this badly?—

Shen Qingwu still wore her hair in the same half-tied style from before, having only added a dark outer robe.

She stood leaning against a tree, an air of cold, fierce intensity about her. Her hair brushed against her face; the female general’s dark eyes weren’t looking at them at all, but gazing up at the bright moon overhead. She looked both pale and formidable at once.

Chang Lin greeted her: “What are you doing out here… waiting specifically to give our young master a hard time?”

He said “hard time” somewhat awkwardly.

But he couldn’t find a better way to put it.

Every time Shen Qingwu saw Zhang Xingjian, she wore this same expression—fierce, cold, burning with combative intensity.

Zhang Xingjian straightened his robes, sighed, and bowed to her: “General Shen.”

He thought, surely Shen Qingwu despised him even more now.

Shen Qingwu slowly turned her face, staring at Zhang Xingjian as though facing her lifelong enemy.

In the sparse starlight of the cold night, she’d overheard Zhang Xingjian’s relaxed, joking exchange with Chang Lin. She’d rather liked that side of him, though she doubted Zhang Xingjian realized just how much desire it had stirred in her.

She’d meant to forget him, meant to let him go. But he was iron-hearted, and yet, infuriatingly, soft as spring water underneath.

A flood about to break its banks, killing intent her very nature, emotions suppressed and accumulated over years finally demanding release: he was the one who’d insisted on rushing into the mountains to save her, carrying her the entire way; he was the one who, despite having shared life and death with her, had still pushed the credit for saving her onto Yang Su, insisting on drawing a clean line between them.

The harder a man was to have, the more fatally attractive he became.

The more the moon tried every means to avoid being plucked from the sky, the more determined she became to pluck it down and toy with it.

From this moment on, Shen Qingwu resolved to overhaul every fixed notion she’d held about Zhang Xingjian, no longer wishing to forget him, to let him go—

Zhang Xingjian’s very existence had become, to her, a slow torture, a form of exquisite suffering. She remembered him vividly, and hated him bitterly, both at once. For her own sake, she had to fight back, had to answer the challenge.

She wanted Zhang Xingjian unsatisfied, wanted him to bow his head, wanted him to regret, wanted him to beg her.

She wanted to force him, humiliate him, destroy him, and if necessary, burn everything down together with him.

She would use every means at her disposal to pluck this moon from the sky.

She wanted the moon to lose to her—

In the deep night, Shen Qingwu ignored Zhang Xingjian’s words entirely, answering only Chang Lin: “General Bo punished me. I’ve served half an hour standing at attention.”

Light rippled faintly in Zhang Xingjian’s eyes.

He asked, “…Whatever he told you to do, you simply did it? Aren’t you still wounded?”

He thought she was being far too obedient toward Bo Rong, though Bo Rong wasn’t entirely without his own private motives where she was concerned. He genuinely wanted to warn this fool, but she’d never believe him, would she?

Shen Qingwu, meanwhile, thought: was this her showing weakness, softening his heart?

Zhang Xingjian, his tone calm, told Chang Lin to go ask Bo Rong to release Shen Qingwu from her punishment.

Shen Qingwu tilted her head, seemingly lost in thought: playing weak worked this well?

She’d learned something.

Her expression cold, she said to Zhang Xingjian: “Come here and help me.”

Chang Lin left to find Bo Rong. Shen Qingwu leaned against the tree, her face deathly pale, breaking into a cold sweat. Zhang Xingjian, believing her utterly frail, hesitated a moment before stepping forward, extending his hand—only for Shen Qingwu to produce a dagger from somewhere, pressing it against his throat.

Dagger at his neck, Zhang Xingjian could only sigh, helpless: “…”

Shen Qingwu said: “I can’t walk. I’m tired. Take me back to my tent.”

She was quite satisfied with how well her act of weakness had worked. From this moment on, she intended to make war on him.