Zhang Xingjian had no idea what Shen Qingwu was thinking.

Threatened with a dagger, and mindful of how badly injured she truly was, and not wanting to grapple with her in front of others and invite misunderstanding, he had no choice but to let her “invite” him into her army tent.

Along the way, more than a few officers watched them pass with words plainly held back; Shen Qingwu wore an expression of utter, shameless indifference, while Zhang Xingjian, naturally, put on the look of a man being dragged along against his will.

Once inside the tent, Zhang Xingjian assumed Shen Qingwu had had her fill of humiliating him, and let out a breath, waiting for her to release him. Instead, Shen Qingwu glanced around her own tent, then pressed the dagger to him again:

“Write me a letter of self-criticism.”

Zhang Xingjian raised an eyebrow. “A letter of self-criticism?”

Shen Qingwu, coughing, let the dagger drop from his throat, stumbling backward from lack of strength. She leaned against a wooden post, and saw that Zhang Xingjian, instead of taking the chance to flee, only regarded her with a pair of star-bright, baffled eyes.

She felt smug, thinking he must be thoroughly cowed by her display of force.

Wait… shouldn’t she be acting weak and fragile right now?

Shen Qingwu, having failed to properly manage the transition between fierce and frail, felt a flicker of private annoyance.

She tightened her grip on the dagger and decided to improvise. “You think Bo Rong’s punishment was just standing here? It’s because of the trouble you caused me that I have to write some letter of self-criticism now. Aren’t you supposed to be so eloquent, so skilled with words?”

She gave the dagger a small flourish, like baring claws at him. “You’re the one who got me into this — you’re going to write it for me. Otherwise…”

She made no effort to hide her killing intent.

Zhang Xingjian’s brow furrowed slightly.

Her logic was strange, and far too forceful.

Zhang Xingjian had a thousand clever ways he could refuse her — but looking at this woman, putting on such a fierce front while clearly pale and weak underneath, and remembering the reasons Bo Rong had raised her… his thoughts shifted slightly, and he said with a smile, “Very well. I’ll write it for you. What should it say?”

He settled himself down with easy grace, rolling up his sleeve and steadying his wrist, a stretch of jade-white bone showing, his lowered eyes catching the candlelight.

Shen Qingwu froze.

She thought that Zhang Xingjian being so agreeable must mean he was scheming something underhanded again. Still, she didn’t much care.

She coughed twice more, sliding down against the wooden post to sit on the ground, and said, offhand, “Write whatever you like.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

He said gently, “Weren’t you going to write a letter of self-criticism to the Commander? Do you have no thoughts at all on what it should say? Or perhaps General Shen has some brilliant insight I could put to paper on your behalf?”

Shen Qingwu hugged her knees and ignored him.

Zhang Xingjian hadn’t expected her to turn so abruptly cold mid-conversation. Ordinary people, he thought, truly couldn’t have gotten used to her. He smiled faintly and set about composing her “letter of self-criticism” on his own, though his own thoughts churned in silence, as he mused:

It seems Bo Rong hasn’t changed Shen Qingwu very much after all.

It seems that even though she’s clearly fond of him, she has no intention of altering her nature for his sake.

That’s… good, actually.

Stop.

Zhang Xingjian cut off this ill-timed train of thought and forced himself to focus on what mattered. He began turning over, in his mind, how best to gently remind Shen Qingwu not to be so unquestioningly obedient to Bo Rong in everything.

Shen Qingwu, meanwhile, hugged her knees from behind, her chin resting quietly and obediently upon them, her eyes fixed unblinkingly on the young lord’s back.

Lost in thought, she found herself once again struck by how good-looking he was, how elegant his bearing. As he wrote, he stayed perfectly still, and yet his brushwork flowed as though it were flying across the page. His shoulder blades shifted faintly now and then, like the jagged outcrop of some blue-green mountain…

She stared at his back.

She watched him with calm eyes, and a faint, restless itch.

By candlelight, Shen Qingwu drew out the blood-stained man’s sash she kept hidden against her chest.

She blinked once, and gave herself a justification: Yang Su had said it was Zhang Xingjian who had carried her out of the mountains, and the man who drifted, half-glimpsed, through her dreams had been Zhang Xingjian too. But the man himself had never once admitted it, and never would.

She would test it herself, and confirm she hadn’t been mistaken.

Shen Qingwu pressed a fist to her lips, coughed a few times, and used the sound to mask her breathing.

Her gaze fixed on his back burned like a hunter’s, fixed on prey — holding her breath, adjusting her movements, creeping soundlessly forward to corner him from behind, ready to strike him down in one blow.

As she crept toward him, holding her breath, Zhang Xingjian heard nothing at all.

He spoke slowly. “General Shen, when I discussed matters with Commander Bo, I found his skill in both letters and strategy first-rate, and couldn’t help thinking it a pity. Defending one’s country is no less a mark of a great man, but our dynasty has always favored the civil over the martial — wouldn’t a talent like his be better suited to the central court?

“A man as quick-witted as he is is a rarity among military officers. I imagine his counsel has served the Yizhou army well. I wonder how well the General knows him?”

He waited a long while for an answer from Shen Qingwu.

He tilted his head to look back, and froze at the sight of a dark shape hurtling straight toward him.

That dark shape, equally startled by his sudden turn, collided into him in a daze. Zhang Xingjian, startled himself, instinctively adjusted his stance, turning to catch this unidentified thing that had crashed into him.

The moment he realized who it was in his arms, he stiffened, and thought to step back — but the small table behind him blocked his retreat, leaving him nowhere to go.

Shen Qingwu knelt before him, her body pressed against his, and as she lifted her head, her eyes met his.

The candlelight flickered across the tent for an instant, and he saw clearly the faint redness threading through her eyes, a few grains of dust caught in her hair.

Zhang Xingjian, startled, said softly, “…What are you doing?”

Shen Qingwu didn’t pull back, her breath mingling with his, and said flatly, “I’m testing your back — to see if it was you who carried me.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Whether it was me or not doesn’t matter.”

Shen Qingwu shot him a glance, and gave a cold laugh. “Of course it doesn’t matter to you.”

— Since you’ll go on resisting and denying everything no matter what.

Her breath, rising toward him, brushed against his face; he could see clearly the fine down at the tip of her nose.

Zhang Xingjian’s eyes narrowed sharply, and he turned his face aside, reaching out to grip her shoulders and push her back.

Shen Qingwu asked, “What were you turning around to say, just now?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “…I wanted to talk about Commander Bo.”

Shen Qingwu, distracted, said, “Go on, then.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “I’d ask that the General sit back down first.”

Shen Qingwu let out an “oh,” as if suddenly understanding. “This is too close for you?”

Zhang Xingjian gave no answer.

He knew she wouldn’t simply obey, and was already turning over how to persuade her — when Shen Qingwu, with startling ease, said, “Fine.”

Her body swayed slightly, and she lifted a hand. Zhang Xingjian, remembering how badly injured she still was, held perfectly still, assuming she meant to use him for leverage to stand up.

Shen Qingwu’s hand brushed past him and tapped him lightly twice on the chest.

A surge of qi seized instantly, freezing in place.

The two of them reflected in each other’s eyes.

A trace of laughter surfaced in Shen Qingwu’s gaze.

Zhang Xingjian’s expression remained perfectly calm. “Is this an acupoint strike?”

Shen Qingwu said lazily, “Mm-hm.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “If you wanted to test whether I was the one who carried you, shouldn’t you have let me turn around first? How does testing it face to face make any sense? Besides, there are people coming and going right outside the tent — every sound in here carries clearly. Doesn’t General Shen have any concern for that at all?”

She gave him a look somewhere between a smile and no smile at all.

Zhang Xingjian remembered then — she had never cared what those people thought. There were only a handful of people whose opinions mattered to her at all.

He closed his eyes.

His lowered lashes trembled like a moth’s wings, and he felt her breath drawing near and receding against his cheek, already sensing that things were about to go badly wrong. Her hand settled at his waist, like a spark scattering across a field of ice and snow.

He knew all too well how reckless Shen Qingwu could be, and felt compelled to invoke Bo Rong’s name to check her. “Aren’t you afraid of Commander Bo punishing you for this?”

Shen Qingwu found the question strange. “I’ve never been afraid of Bo Rong punishing me.”

Whatever punishment he gave, she would simply accept it.

Zhang Xingjian said, “Behaving like this will only disappoint Commander Bo.”

Shen Qingwu said, “So this is what you wanted to discuss about Bo Rong?”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

He felt her touch at his waist and couldn’t help stiffening. She was fumbling with something at his side, touching him with… Zhang Xingjian’s eyes flew open, and he looked down to see Shen Qingwu winding a blood-stained sash around his waist.

His eyes darkened.

Her breath fell against his neck, stirring a few strands of his dark hair loose.

A restless light swam, flickering, in Zhang Xingjian’s eyes.

His fingers, hanging limp at his sides, went numb; he tried, little by little, to steady his breathing, telling himself it was nothing, that he didn’t care.

He said, with forced composure, “Bo Rong may be a military officer, but he has the calculating mind of a civil official. His fondness for you isn’t purely about valuing your talent — there’s some measure of using you in it too. Whatever he asks of you, you’d do well to think twice.”

Their breaths kept brushing against each other.

Breath meeting breath, faint sweat gathering at her brow, a strange, charged atmosphere passing between them.

She kept her head bowed, earnestly trying to fasten the sash around him, but she wasn’t very skilled at tying a man’s belt, and her fumbling at his waist left Zhang Xingjian’s whole body rigid, his gaze shifting like water, unsettled.

Look at him — such a fool!

Whatever gritted-teeth thoughts Zhang Xingjian was having, Shen Qingwu answered lazily, without looking up. “Why bring that up? Are you worried about me?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “You are, after all, the one who saved my life.”

The moment the words “saved my life” left his mouth, Shen Qingwu’s expression turned abruptly cold. She lifted her eyes, icy. “Who ever wanted to be that? Have you repaid me for it?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Haven’t I?”

Shen Qingwu said, “Have you repaid me in the way I actually want?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “And what is it you want?”

Shen Qingwu said, “What I want is…”

Just then, an awkward cough sounded from outside the tent — Chang Lin’s voice. “General Shen, I’ve heard our young master is here… ahem, visiting you? It’s rather late — perhaps you could let our young master go, and the two of you could catch up another day?”

Zhang Xingjian suddenly moved, his hand slipping past her sleeve. Shen Qingwu froze, startled that he could move so quickly — her acupoint-sealing skills had clearly deteriorated far more than she’d realized.

In an instant, Zhang Xingjian had drawn her dagger from her sleeve and swept it toward the space between her brows.

Shen Qingwu arched her waist back, avoiding the blade. But she kept her arms locked tightly around his waist, refusing to let go of the sash.

Zhang Xingjian had only meant to force her back, never expecting she wouldn’t release him. Pulled toward her instead, his sleeve of blue cloud-patterned silk pinned beneath her, the dagger in his hand came dangerously close to her brow, and his heart lurched.

The two of them tumbled to the ground together. Zhang Xingjian braced himself with one elbow to keep from crushing her, the dagger in his other hand stopping just short of her forehead.

He looked down at her.

Shen Qingwu mocked him. “Why not strike, then? So indecisive.”

Zhang Xingjian suggested, “In that case, perhaps the General could release this indecisive man of mine.”

Shen Qingwu said, “No.”

She fastened the sash around him, her chaotic movements leaving his outer robe rumpled and loose, as he leaned over her, a few strands of hair falling across his cheek — quite unlike the usually immaculate Zhang Xingjian.

Shen Qingwu broke slowly into a smile, then began coughing, her cheeks flushing from the effort, a wild fire burning in her eyes. “Keep dreaming.”

She lunged suddenly, reaching to strike his chest again; Zhang Xingjian caught her hand to block it.

One of them lay on the ground, the other crouched low above her. She, though far more skilled in the martial arts, was gravely weakened now by illness; he, though only skilled to the standard of a fine young lord from a great family, found restraining a sick woman no great effort at all.

Zhang Xingjian said, “You have a fever. You should be resting, not…”

Shen Qingwu slapped a palm against his chest, the blow sending his qi and blood churning. His dagger swept through a few loose strands of her hair; locked in close combat, both their breaths grew ragged and heavy.

The muffled sounds of their struggle left sweat beading on both their noses.

One of them wanted to leave; the other refused to release the sash.

Shen Qingwu gripped his waist, her mind clouded, stars flashing before her eyes, but she laughed anyway, cold and certain: “It was you who carried me.”

She had confirmed it.

She murmured on, as though caught in a dream: “It was you who drew me in, then abandoned me.”

She said to herself: “So I’ll draw you in too — and then abandon you.”

Zhang Xingjian’s breath caught for a moment.

He looked down at her — this proud, cold Shen Qingwu, her long hair spread loose beneath her. A woman of such fierce temperament, and yet she had this soft, black hair too; loosened, it left her features looking all the more striking.

That striking beauty might have come from her own good looks, or perhaps simply from the smile on her face just then.

Without her needing to point it out, Zhang Xingjian was already well aware that his heart had skipped a beat.

Candlelight fell across both their eyes, flickering unsteadily against the tent walls from the force of their struggle.

She lay against him now, calm, indifferent, her emotions plainly in disarray. Her cheeks burned red; when Zhang Xingjian’s hand brushed against her scorching face during the scuffle, he realized her fever was starting to spike.

She was probably already too feverish to think clearly.

Zhang Xingjian suddenly said, low, “Then let me draw you in, just once more.”

A restless light flickered in his eyes, and he leaned down swiftly, drawing close to her cheek.

Shen Qingwu felt his lips press lightly against her cheek, damp and warm.

Her brows lifted in surprise at the kiss, and she froze.

The cold wind howled outside, the full moon hanging high, and Chang Lin paced anxiously before the tent.

He heard the muffled thuds of a fistfight from within and felt a chill of dread, his mind filled with tragic visions of his young master being thoroughly overpowered by Shen Qingwu.

How could his young master possibly win a fight against her? Even Chang Lin himself wouldn’t dare swear he could beat Shen Qingwu.

His young master, gentle-tempered though he was, and easygoing most of the time, surely couldn’t bear the shame of being beaten by a woman, which was likely why he hadn’t called for help.

Chang Lin was seized several times by the urge to rush in and save his master, but held back each time, afraid of what indecent scene he might stumble into.

Anyone could see, blind or not, the wicked designs Shen Qingwu harbored toward his young master…

For a long while now, no sound had come from the tent at all.

The leaves rustled, the night wind cold, and Chang Lin tried calling out cautiously. “Young Master? Shen Qingwu? Are you both all right?”

Shen Qingwu gave no answer. It was Zhang Xingjian’s voice, weary and hoarse, that replied: “We’re fine.”

Chang Lin startled.

That voice of his young master’s — what had Shen Qingwu done to him?

What exactly were they doing in there?

Inside the tent, warm with heat, Zhang Xingjian had used that kiss on her cheek to leave Shen Qingwu dazed. With her senses already clouded, he swiftly moved to seal her acupoints, leaving her, just as she had left him earlier, unable to move.

Shen Qingwu let out a muffled grunt. “You! Learned that fast.”

He seemed to let out a small laugh. “I had a good teacher.”

She lay flat, stiff and unmoving, while he, catching his breath, carried her to the bed, wrapped her tightly in the blankets, covering even her face completely.

He had no wish to look at her again.

Zhang Xingjian sat propped against the wooden post by the bed, catching his breath, thinking that Shen Qingwu, fevered and confused as she was, likely wouldn’t remember any of this when she woke — and he himself ought to forget all of it too. What had just happened, he told himself, was nothing more than a means to quiet her down. Nothing more.

He lowered his head, glanced at his own disheveled state, wiped the sweat from his brow, and closed his eyes.

A long while later, Chang Lin finally saw Zhang Xingjian emerge, lifting the tent flap, his expression perfectly composed. Chang Lin glanced inside — the candles had already been snuffed out, and nothing could be seen at all.

Zhang Xingjian instructed him, “Pass the word — have the bags and carriage prepared. We’re leaving camp tonight, returning to the eastern capital.”

Chang Lin was startled.

He hesitated, then said, “The Western Di signed a peace treaty with Great Zhou, and yet they’ve been secretly encroaching on our borders. Just yesterday you said we should stay here, gather evidence against the Western Di, and give them a proper warning… why the sudden change, returning to the capital?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “The friction between the Western Di and Great Zhou can be handled from the capital just as well. Commander Bo will provide the evidence — there’s no need for me to remain here in person. Besides, official business is piling up, and I can’t keep leaving all the burden to Chancellor Kong.”

Chang Lin said, “But you said before…”

Zhang Xingjian gave him a smile. “Chang Lin, you seem to have a great many opinions today.”

Chang Lin fell silent at once, not daring to voice any more objections.

His young master was pleasant enough most days, but on the rare occasions his mood soured, he became nearly impossible to argue with.

Whenever that happened, it was best to keep one’s distance—

It wasn’t until the army physician came to deliver her medicine and chatted idly with her that Shen Qingwu, once she woke, learned that Zhang Xingjian and his party had left in such haste.

The old physician remarked, with feeling, “Young Master Zhang really was a rare sort of great man from the capital — not the least bit arrogant. He delivered our grain and provisions and didn’t give anyone any trouble, didn’t try to order the camp around. Commander Bo had meant to hold a welcome feast for him, and he up and left without telling a soul.”

The old physician went on, “I’d guess he saw how simple our camp facilities were and didn’t want to put us through the trouble of arranging a proper feast, so he slipped away quietly. Truly, truly… the moon of the eastern capital really is a noble, pure sort!”

Shen Qingwu let out a scornful laugh.

The old physician glanced at her. “You have some brilliant opinion of your own?”

Shen Qingwu said, “Nothing but a coward.”

She touched her own cheek, lost in thought.

She was gradually discovering that whatever she remembered while dazed and delirious didn’t seem to fade much once she was clear-headed again. However outlandish her memories seemed in that hazy state, they might well have been entirely real.

Like her dream of Zhang Xingjian carrying her a long way through the snowy mountains. Or, for instance, her dream of grappling with him in a fight, and how he’d… kissed her, then learned from her and sealed her acupoints, leaving her unable to move.

After the old physician left, Shen Qingwu went out of camp alone, wandering aimlessly.

Recovering from her injuries now, with no one requiring her to train, she could sit for hours on some nameless cliffside, lost in thought.

The spring wind blew gently, the faint cracking sound of melting ice and snow winding down the mountainside below. It was spring, in the twenty-fourth year of the Tianlong era, and the whole mountain, on the verge of waking into bloom, lay reflected in Shen Qingwu’s cool, indifferent eyes.

She touched her cheek, recalling the way he’d drawn close, the warmth of that light touch against her skin.

She replayed the moment again and again in her mind.

In her dazed state she hadn’t been able to judge it clearly, but thinking back on it afterward, again and again, she felt, vaguely but with growing certainty, that in that instant, his face had flushed red.

…How infuriating, that he’d covered her face with the blanket.

How laughable, that he’d fled the scene.

Shen Qingwu let out laugh after cold laugh, though in her heart she felt a faint, unmistakable satisfaction.

“Shen Qingwu! Shen Qingwu!”

Yang Su came scrambling up the mountainside, breathless, calling for her. “The court’s commendation has arrived! Commander Bo wants you to come quickly — the envoy from court says you’re specially permitted to name whatever reward you like, straight from the central court.”

Shen Qingwu shot up to her feet at once, standing tall in the wind, the spring meltwater trickling beneath her feet, countless spring blossoms quietly opening across the unwatched mountainside.

Whatever she wanted?

She broke into a smile, her eyes bright.

There was, indeed, something she wanted! —

Shen Qingwu returned to camp to accept her commendation.

The battle from the end of the year would naturally have been reported to the court once Zhang Xingjian returned to the central government, and the court’s reward was only proper. Setting aside her own promotion, the imperial envoy waited for the woman general to return and receive the decree with a broad, patient smile, showing not the slightest impatience.

Bo Rong warned her beforehand: “Don’t make any inappropriate requests.”

Shen Qingwu rolled her eyes.

She told the court, “I don’t want any special reward. I’ve simply been in the army so long, and sometimes it wears on me. I’d like to request a long leave of absence from the central court — if there’s no pressing military business, I’d like to leave the Yizhou army for a while and travel, see the world.”

The envoy was taken aback.

He’d never heard such a request before, but the General was, after all, a woman — perhaps her needs really did differ from those of a male general seeking rank and title.

The envoy answered with a smile, “This humble official will relay the General’s request to His Majesty upon returning. His Majesty has always been merciful, and I doubt he’ll make things difficult for the General. Please await good news.” —

Afterward, Bo Rong asked Shen Qingwu what she meant to do with her leave — was she truly that exhausted, needing rest? Had he been asking too much of her?

Shen Qingwu lied. “I just want to rest for a while. After I was injured that time, I felt like I’d missed out on a great many things.”

Bo Rong, as expected, believed her, and asked no further questions.

Shen Qingwu thought that a man as bright and honorable as him could never understand the darker corners of her own heart, and would only try to suppress them if he knew. But she’d already made up her mind to do something wicked, and she wasn’t about to let anyone stop her.

She would obey Bo Rong in everything else — but her own affairs, she would decide for herself.

Shen Qingwu had requested a long leave, and the court did indeed send an imperial decree granting it.

The decree was delivered to Yizhou; back in the eastern capital, the young Emperor who had issued it paid the matter no mind at all, since the decree had been drafted jointly by the Princess and Chancellor Kong — all that was required of him was to affix his seal.

More precisely, it had been drafted by the Princess, with the Chancellor’s attitude toward it entirely indifferent.

After all, the Princess clearly meant to protect Shen Qingwu, and after Chancellor Kong raised the matter with the young Emperor a few times and found him unmoved, he let the matter drop.

That year, the Lantern Festival celebrations were especially lively.

With Zhang Xingjian away from the eastern capital, the young Emperor had only old Kong Ye for company, and inevitably found it dull.

The young Emperor proposed an incognito outing, and went eagerly to beg the Princess’s permission. Li Linge, equally bored, was pleased to see her brother in such high spirits, and agreed with a smile.

And so, accompanied by Kong Ye, this pair of imperial siblings disguised themselves as commoners and wandered through the bustling streets of the eastern capital, admiring the lanterns among the common people.

The young Li Mingshu, drinking in the sights with wide eyes, found himself thinking that although the palace’s own lantern displays were grander, he preferred it out here. Craning his neck to look around at the crowd, he suddenly collided with a young woman as he turned.

The woman staggered back a step from the impact.

The nursemaid beside her scowled. “Who do you think you—”

But the woman quickly caught her arm, speaking softly. “It was my fault for bumping into him. Let’s go.”

Li Mingshu, jostled, felt a flash of cold menace cross his face for an instant — but turning, he saw a delicate, graceful young woman bowing an apology to him.

Slender, fragile, her waist impossibly narrow. Standing amid the bustling crowd, she looked as lovely as some celestial maiden.

That was… Li Mingshu suddenly remembered: Zhang Xingjian’s betrothed, Shen Qingye!

With no Zhang Xingjian to use as an excuse to get out, Shen Qingye had been cooped up at home, stifled and restless, and had finally managed, through an invitation from Zhang Wenbi, to come out and enjoy the lanterns — she certainly had no wish to let some collision spoil her good mood.

She gave the shy, boyish-faced young man an embarrassed smile, then took her nursemaid’s arm and disappeared into the crowd, her steps unhurried, the tassels in her hair not so much as brushing her cheek — impeccable etiquette, every movement.

Li Mingshu couldn’t help chasing after her a few steps.

Li Linge, behind him, said with a faint, knowing smile, “Li Mingshu, what do you think you’re doing?”

He turned to find his sister and Kong Ye had caught up with him.

The night blazed with lantern-light, jade dragon lanterns soaring, flowering trees of silver sparks all around. Kong Ye stroked his beard with a pleased smile, while Li Linge, catching that flash of cruelty that had crossed her brother’s face, gave him a slow, appraising look from head to toe.

Li Linge said, smiling, “I’ll say it once more — you are not to seize some commoner girl by force, and you are not to touch Shen Qingye. If you want a beautiful woman, wait for this year’s selection of consorts.”

Li Mingshu protested, unconvinced. “Didn’t you have your own thing with Zhang Xingjian…”

Li Linge fixed him with a cold look, and he fell silent at once, remembering just who was responsible for bringing his sister to where she stood today. He gave her a placating smile, more than a little afraid of her.

Before their mother died, she had told him to obey his sister in everything. His sister was the only family he had left; whatever she wanted — the stars, the moon — he was willing to give her. As long as she kept letting him have his fun, kept indulging him…

Li Linge murmured, half to herself, “Shouldn’t you be getting married soon…”

Li Mingshu blurted out, “I don’t want to! Once I marry, I’ll have to take the throne, I’ll have to deal with all that tedious business — I don’t want to… Things are fine as they are now.”

He wanted to play, wanted beautiful women, wanted the four courts to submit to him, wanted the whole realm to bow before him. But he wanted it all handed to him — he wanted his sister and the Chancellor to bear all the hard work, while he simply enjoyed the fruits of it.

Behind them, Kong Ye’s eyes flickered.

Li Linge smiled faintly, turned, and walked off.

Seeing that his sister had nothing more to say, Li Mingshu let out a breath of relief. He followed after her, glancing back again and again, reluctant, toward the direction Shen Qingye had disappeared.

What was the Zhang family, after all? Nothing more than a subject’s household.

He was the sovereign. If he wanted to take Zhang Xingjian’s betrothed for himself, then Zhang Xingjian ought to yield her to him. His sister allowed herself whatever she pleased while forbidding him the same — she’d probably already had her taste of Zhang Xingjian herself, and yet she wouldn’t let him have Shen Qingye…

Li Mingshu gazed after her, longing written plainly on his face.

Kong Ye caught up with him slowly, and murmured quietly, “Your Highness, the Princess certainly keeps a tight rein on you.”

Li Mingshu nodded, sullen.

Kong Ye said slowly, “If only the Princess weren’t here…”

Li Mingshu, startled, shook his head rapidly, glaring at Kong Ye. “What are you saying? That’s my sister…”

Kong Ye said, “This humble official only means that, if the Princess were away from the capital, Your Majesty would no longer be under anyone’s watch… Your Majesty is the sovereign, after all — you should be free to do as you please. What good is it, always being watched over by the Princess?”

Kong Ye added, “There’s talk at court, Your Majesty, that the Princess harbors great ambitions — that she covets the throne itself.”

Li Mingshu, still turning over Kong Ye’s earlier words in his mind, answered absently, “If Sister wants to be Emperor, let her be Emperor. I don’t care either way. All I want is…”

Beautiful women, games of intrigue, rare delicacies — all he wanted was his own pleasure.

Kong Ye thought to himself, coolly: Li Linge really has raised this boy into a useless wreck, hasn’t she. That must have been her intention all along.

But Kong Ye and Li Linge were enemies — the Princess knew perfectly well he’d been involved in the affair with the Zhang family years ago. If not for Li Mingshu’s insistence, the Princess would long since have found some excuse to have Kong Ye killed. So there was no use in Kong Ye trying to curry favor with her; his only option was to prop up this foolish young sovereign, to keep Li Mingshu content in his role as Emperor.

Kong Ye continued murmuring in Li Mingshu’s ear: “If only the Princess would leave the capital…”

Li Mingshu found himself thinking, unbidden, along with him: yes, if only Sister had some reason to travel far away for a while—

That year should have been an unremarkable one.

And yet a case erupted that shook the entire nation.

Zhang Xingjian had been accused of corruption and bribery, of selling official posts and titles, of currying favor with scholars across the realm and newly appointed officials. The Princess, upon hearing of it, flew into a rage; the Chancellor, too, expressed profound grief and outrage; the young Emperor, naturally, added his own reprimands.

The entire Zhang family was sentenced to exile. Zhang Xingjian himself was to be escorted to Lingnan, forbidden forever from returning to the capital.

News of a case this enormous spread swiftly through the court and beyond.

By the time word reached Yizhou, Shen Qingwu was in the middle of the street, polishing a fine new bow, discussing its craftsmanship with the bowyer who had made it.

The sun blazed overhead; she looked up, the wind cold against her face, her robes billowing. Bow in hand, she strode toward camp, her expression growing lighter and lighter with every step.

Zhang Xingjian, brought low?

Wonderful.

She asked no questions about the cause, cared nothing for the reasoning behind it. All she could think was —

The moon was finally about to fall.