A cool mountain breeze blew through the air; Zhang Xingjian, soaked in another layer of cold sweat, stumbled backward a step, leaning against a tree trunk, unable to speak for a long moment.

He’d indeed avoided anything vital.

But even though Shen Qingwu had later helped pull the arrow out for him, the force behind that shot was more than someone freshly out of prison like Zhang Xingjian could easily withstand.

Shen Qingwu had assumed he’d stay unconscious for a good while.

She’d been washing her bow and arrows by the mountain stream, planning to move him once she’d finished. She hadn’t expected him to wake partway through, earlier than she’d anticipated. Though what good did waking early do him… Zhang Xingjian’s condition didn’t look promising at all.

He’d lost too much blood, his eyes unfocused, his gray robe soaked through with red, damp strands of hair sticking to his cheek from sweat.

Truly a pitiable-looking young man.

Had Shen Qingwu been even a touch more ruthless, she could have taken advantage of his weakness and finished him off then and there.

But what Shen Qingwu wanted wasn’t merely this young man’s body. So she held back, watching him carefully.

Zhang Xingjian rested against the tree for a moment, sensing something strange, something familiar about the woman before him… but the pain in his body was interfering too much with his thoughts, making it difficult to stay calm enough to assess the situation, to plan his next move.

Never mind. He’d deal with things as they came.

The arrow wound in his chest kept troubling him, each breath sending a fresh jolt of pain, his mind twitching along with it. And yet the face he turned toward Shen Qingwu remained gentle and refined, carrying all the bearing of a fine gentleman fallen on hard times.

He smiled: “This humble one has run into some trouble. Might the lady be willing to lend her aid? I would repay your great kindness.”

Shen Qingwu looked him up and down.

Curiosity stirred in her: how exactly did he plan to repay her?

She was practically becoming addicted to rescuing him.

Shen Qingwu pitched her voice differently, humming an acknowledgment.

In Zhang Xingjian’s blurred vision, he could tell the woman stood some distance away, making no move to approach, showing none of the ordinary concern one might expect from someone offering to help.

This familiar, strange sense of distance reminded him of someone’s particular style… but he stopped himself. He couldn’t keep doing this.

He couldn’t keep searching for traces of Shen Qingwu in every woman he encountered—it would only work against him.

Zhang Xingjian kept his smile in place, his hand on the bamboo staff turning faintly pale: “Might the lady come closer and help support me? You said your home is nearby—might I ask how far?”

How far, indeed.

How would Shen Qingwu know?

She gave a perfunctory “oh,” and walked toward Zhang Xingjian.

Zhang Xingjian extended his jade-fine hand, hoping to lean on her for support. But Shen Qingwu stopped five paces away, touching the bow hidden behind her back, then considering her martial robe and long ponytail…

Second Young Lady Shen figured that if Zhang Xingjian got close enough to catch the scent of blood on her, he’d guess immediately she was no ordinary mountain village girl.

So Zhang Xingjian heard the timid, gentle woman say: “My parents taught me that men and women shouldn’t touch without proper cause—I can’t support you. You’ll have to walk on your own, sir.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

Shen Qingwu still had some conscience left: “Give me that end of the bamboo staff, I’ll lead you along.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled: “…The lady is exceptionally proper. It was presumptuous of me.”

Shen Qingwu took hold of her end of the staff and led the way, walking easily ahead while Zhang Xingjian stumbled behind her several times. She glanced back, looking at him with faint distaste: so weak.

But one look at his face, and she forgave him again.

Though—such a handsome face, was it doomed to blindness from now on?

Shen Qingwu reached out, waving her hand in front of Zhang Xingjian’s face.

In his blurred vision, he could make out something vaguely waving—he guessed it was a hand.

The woman was testing his eyesight.

So he showed no reaction, pretending to see nothing at all.

He privately reasoned that the poison Kong Ye had used on him couldn’t have been too severe, since Kong Ye couldn’t afford to let him die in prison. Now that he was out, there was likely still a chance to treat his eyes.

Chang Lin had come to rescue him before, and strangers had attacked Chang Lin and the others… if his sense of direction wasn’t off, they should be somewhere near Shu Prefecture.

Zhang Xingjian used these scattered thoughts to distract himself from the pain, and heard the woman ask, curious: “Can you really not see anything at all?”

Zhang Xingjian, looking at the vaguely waving shape he assumed was a hand, said courteously: “That’s right, I can’t see. My apologies for the trouble, my lady.”

The two walked on in silence.

The mountain path was rough, the wild forest silent, only the clinking of the chains on the young man’s wrists and ankles breaking the quiet. Occasionally a mountain bird flapped low overhead, turning to look curiously at this strange pair.

Shen Qingwu suddenly said, “There’s a puddle ahead of your feet.”

Zhang Xingjian: “Thank you…”

He obediently stepped around it, but before he finished saying “thank you,” his foot caught on a raised shrub, sending him stumbling. Only the woman holding the other end of the staff kept him steady, saving him from falling. But the sudden movement made his chest wound bleed more heavily.

Seeing this, Shen Qingwu confirmed for certain that he really couldn’t see.

She relaxed.

He was fully within her control now, which put her in the mood to satisfy her curiosity about him: “Sir, when I found you by the water, you were badly hurt. But you don’t seem to be in any pain at all—how is that?”

Her gaze fell to the raw red marks on his wrist, chafed by his own iron chains.

Zhang Xingjian smiled: “My sense of pain is impaired—I can’t feel it. I’m sorry to have worried you.”

Shen Qingwu thought, “Yeah, right.” She didn’t believe a word of it.

She was curious just how long he’d keep up this bald-faced lying.

At the moment, though, since she had to maintain her own lie, she couldn’t very well keep leading Zhang Xingjian onward. After all, the mountains stretched on endlessly—she was only passing through this area; where was she supposed to find a mountain house for him?

Shen Qingwu needed time to build her cover story.

She let Zhang Xingjian walk easily ahead while she circled around behind him, then reached out a single finger and knocked him unconscious—

By evening, Shen Qingwu had cornered a middle-aged couple in front of a farmhouse at the base of the mountain.

The couple had been preparing dinner when they saw a tall, striking young woman dump a young man off her back and lean him against a tree by their fence. The woman walked up and handed them a gold ingot without a word, leaving them staring, wide-eyed.

Shen Qingwu said, unhurried: “I ran into you two chopping wood and hunting earlier today. I’d like you to pretend to be my parents temporarily. You’ll need to move out of this house for now and let me use it. If any neighbors from the town, or the young man I’ve brought with me, ask questions, you’re to help cover for my identity.”

The middle-aged couple’s eyes lit up at the sight of the gold.

But looking at the unconscious young man outside, soaked in blood and still remarkably handsome, and then at the bow the woman carried on her back… they didn’t dare touch the gold.

Shen Qingwu followed their gaze: “I’m a wandering swordswoman. That’s a man I saved—we fell in love, but his family is prominent and won’t let him go with me. His parents want to tear us apart, so in a fit of anger, I kidnapped him.

“The wound on him was from when his family tried to hurt me and he took the blow protecting me. I didn’t hurt him.”

Having just won a fight against a group of men and now enjoying this little game of make-believe, Shen Qingwu was in good spirits, explaining with rare patience: “He’s this handsome—if I weren’t a little unwell in the head, why would I hurt him?”

The couple thought privately: but if you weren’t a little unwell in the head, you wouldn’t need us to pretend to be your parents and help you deceive people either!

Shen Qingwu watched them quietly.

Her eyes were cold and dark, and when devoid of expression, they unsettled people even more than an outright fierce look would have. Few dared meet Shen Qingwu’s gaze directly. As the wife hesitated, the husband snatched up the gold ingot and quickly agreed.

The husband glared at his wife: “Are you a fool? This is gold! We might never save up this much in a lifetime! Our son and daughter-in-law need money too.”

The wife came to her senses.

She smiled, ingratiating: “So how long will you need our house?”

Shen Qingwu: “No more than half a year, at most.”

Because in half a year, she’d need to prepare to rejoin her unit.

The couple relaxed.

In his hazy, half-conscious state, Zhang Xingjian realized he’d been moved to a new location again. He was confused about how he’d blacked out in the mountains… had someone hurt him, or had his body simply given out from the pain?

He forced himself upright with great effort, feeling around, guessing he was lying on a bamboo mat, a fire burning somewhere in the room.

He reached up and pulled his collar open, checking the wound on his chest.

His clothes and the wound had fused together with dried blood; every movement felt like flesh being carved from bone. As he examined himself, he caught the sound of voices outside—something like:

“A’Wu, take good care of that young man. We’re off now.”

“We’ll come check on you both in a couple of days.”

So it seemed this kind-hearted couple had taken in a pitiful stranger their “daughter” had rescued. Since their home wasn’t big enough, they were moving to relatives’ place in town, leaving this house to the injured young man and the daughter tending him.

Zhang Xingjian thought: interesting.

The daughter observed the strictest propriety, refusing even to lend him a supporting hand; yet the parents showed no such concern, willing to let their own daughter share a roof with a strange man.

Was this family simply open-minded, or strange, or did they have some other agenda?

Zhang Xingjian waited, smiling faintly, until Shen Qingwu entered the room.

Shen Qingwu had just finished performing this whole scene specifically to convince Zhang Xingjian of her identity, certain that he must have overheard it upon waking moments ago. But that man was always composed and calculating—he wouldn’t easily let anything slip.

Now, there was just one final act left to perform to fully win him over—

Shen Qingwu hid her bow away carefully.

Then she clumsily changed into the women’s clothing the wife had prepared for her before leaving.

She hadn’t worn women’s clothing since she was sixteen. In the army, she had military uniforms and battle robes; outside the camp, practical martial robes or riding clothes. Hairpins interfered with jumping; bracelets would give away her position to enemies; even a jade pendant hanging from her sash would serve as evidence of her being a “wild girl” with “no manners.”

At sixteen, she’d once patiently dressed up to see Zhang Xingjian.

At twenty-one, she would dress up again in full finery—this time to capture him.

Though “full finery” was a stretch, given Shen Qingwu’s limited skill—she only managed to jab a few hairpins randomly into her hair. Her bun came out badly; too tight and it pulled painfully at her scalp, looking terrible; too loose and it looked like it might fall apart, also terrible.

Applying rouge, perhaps because the rouge was poor quality, left her face too red; she hastily tried to fix it with white powder, which ended up making her face too pale instead.

She fumbled around searching for lip color, couldn’t find any after a long search, and gave up, listless.

The wife had left her plenty of women’s clothing, but perhaps due to the poor fabric quality, nothing looked particularly good on her.

Even someone as indifferent to feminine appearance as Shen Qingwu found herself thinking she looked a bit ugly. But… wasn’t Zhang Xingjian blind anyway?

He couldn’t see regardless.

So Shen Qingwu calmly picked up an axe and walked into the room to see the pale young man sitting against the wall on the bed.

The faint smile on his face never wavered, from start to finish.

Perhaps while she’d been busy getting dressed, he’d taken the chance to straighten himself up a bit—he looked considerably better now than he had on the mountain path. But with no men’s clothing available, he still wore the same gray, blood-stained robe, the chains on his wrists and ankles further restricting his movement.

Shen Qingwu said, indifferent: “My parents have left.”

Zhang Xingjian said gently: “Mm, I heard just now. I’ve troubled your whole family—I feel quite ashamed.”

He weighed his words carefully: “Your family’s life must not be easy, and yet you’re all so kind-hearted—caring for me alone must be exhausting for you. I do have some savings of my own. If the lady could just contact the right person, I could…”

Shen Qingwu thought: wanting to contact his own men, is he? Dream on.

She mimicked Shen Qingye’s manner of anger, her voice light but trembling as though upset: “Do you think I saved you for money? Don’t ever say such a thing again, sir—don’t insult us like that!”

She caught, sharply, the faint stiffening at the corner of Zhang Xingjian’s eyes.

He quickly recovered, smiling: “It was presumptuous of me.”

Shen Qingwu snorted inwardly with amusement.

Playing the kind soul, she walked toward him: “Sir, those chains on your wrists and ankles make it hard for you to move, and if anyone saw them, it might cause misunderstandings, which wouldn’t be good for my family. I don’t have a key to unlock them, but I do plenty of farm work—I can break the chains apart. That way… at the very least you can hide the shackles beneath your sleeves and hem, out of sight, and you’ll be able to dress and undress more easily.”

She spoke naturally, then remembered she was supposed to act embarrassed.

But… whether her face turned red or not, a blind man couldn’t tell either way.

How infuriating.

Shen Qingwu glared at Zhang Xingjian: unable to let him witness her superb acting.

Shyness? A delicate maiden?

As if she couldn’t pull that off.

Zhang Xingjian agreed.

This woman, alternating between remarkably weak and remarkably strong, worked at the chains on his wrists and ankles for a good while, the overpowering scent of rouge on her enough to send an ordinary man into a coughing fit—Zhang Xingjian endured it with perfect composure.

He even found himself wondering: had she done her hair up? Changed her clothes?

Why?

Could it be… because of him, a stranger?

A sense of wariness rose in Zhang Xingjian’s heart, but he couldn’t let this woman notice.

Everything about the present situation felt strange, and with his own injuries so severe, needing to rely on someone else, with Chang Lin and the others out of contact, their situation unknown… this strange woman was, at present, the only one he could rely on.

Even as she hacked at the chains hard enough to send jolts of pain through his wrist, coming dangerously close to striking his hand several times, and pressing against his arm with what might or might not have been intent… Zhang Xingjian quietly shifted away, enduring it all in silence.

When the chains on his wrists and ankles finally snapped apart, the woman let out a startled cry and leaned against the bedpost, catching her breath.

Zhang Xingjian’s heart softened.

Zhang Xingjian said gently: “My lady…”

Shen Qingwu tilted her head up to look at him: “Call me ‘A’Wu.’ That’s what my parents call me.”

Zhang Xingjian forced himself to forget the person who instantly came to mind—someone with a jade pendant bearing that very character, “Wu.”

He silently reminded himself: he needed to forget Shen Qingwu.

After a long pause, Zhang Xingjian said, “The lady’s abandoning propriety now?”

Shen Qingwu said, “Call me ‘my lady’ out in public, and ‘A’Wu’ at home. I may care about propriety, but I’m not entirely without warmth. I’m the one taking care of you while you’re injured—if you keep calling me ‘my lady,’ I won’t even know who you mean.”

This response… sounded rather genuine.

Zhang Xingjian said nothing for a moment, then smiled.

He introduced himself: “This one’s surname is Zhang. Zhang Yuelu.”

After an entire day of exertion—fighting off guards, carrying a grown man, scheming to deceive someone—Shen Qingwu was thoroughly exhausted, dizzy with hunger. Her repeated misses on the chains had less to do with acting than with simply lacking the energy and strength from hunger.

Now, hearing Zhang Xingjian speak, Shen Qingwu, her mind consumed with thoughts of food, forced herself to focus: here it comes.

The moment Zhang Xingjian would spin his made-up story to fool an unfamiliar mountain village girl had arrived.

She was curious to see whether he lied only to Shen Qingwu specifically, or treated everyone the same.

Hurry through this part, and then dinner!

Zhang Xingjian said, low: “This one was originally an accountant in a prominent household in Dongjing. My master committed some offense, and naturally I had to face some punishment along with him. While being escorted into exile, I encountered mountain bandits fighting with government soldiers, and… I managed to escape in the chaos.”

He lowered his face, the candlelight catching a look of sorrow, understanding:

“If the lady feels I’m too much trouble, you could always hand me over to the soldiers…”

Shen Qingwu: “You’re too badly hurt, you’d die if you went back to prison, I’ll save you, if anyone comes looking for you we’ll deal with it then.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

Did this woman always talk this fast?

That strange sense of familiarity surfaced in him again.

Before he could finish expressing his heartfelt gratitude, the woman had already rattled off a stream of sympathetic words about his pitiable situation, then said: “Are you hungry? Let’s eat.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

He felt she’d responded to his backstory rather perfunctorily.

But he smiled all the same: “All right.”

Shen Qingwu stood there, momentarily blank.

Her intention had been to urge Zhang Xingjian into the kitchen—someone as formidable a general as her, cook? Unthinkable.

Awkwardly, she tried to convey her meaning, inviting Zhang Xingjian toward the kitchen, hinting that as a guest, he shouldn’t expect the host to do everything.

Zhang Xingjian paused, then smiled ruefully, pointing at his own eyes, then explaining that his injuries were so severe he likely couldn’t even manage a few steps out of bed. Finally, he smiled magnanimously:

“But A’Wu makes a fair point. A’Wu has already shown me great kindness by taking me in. Let me handle this evening’s meal—”

Shen Qingwu, glancing at his left hand as he tried to rise, saw it swollen badly from the chain’s chafing. Startled, she looked at his face—cold sweat covering his brow, his complexion white as paper. Aside from showing no sign of pain, he looked utterly dazed and unsteady.

Belatedly, she realized: she’d only crudely pulled out the arrow and bandaged him. For someone freshly wounded like this to get up and cook… she was practically endangering his life.

Bo Rong would be furious.

Shen Qingwu pressed her lips together.

She stood and stopped Zhang Xingjian.

Zhang Xingjian caught the note of frustration in her voice: “You don’t know your way around my home—if you bump into something and break it, that would be a disaster. Besides, how could I let an injured guest cook? Lie down and rest a while, I’ll handle the kitchen.”

Zhang Xingjian: “What if A’Wu and I cook together…”

Shen Qingwu thought: you look like you’re about to pass out at any moment! If I work you to death, Bo Rong will be furious. I’d probably be kneeling in punishment for that, and he still wouldn’t forgive me.

Too impatient for more talk, she pressed down on Zhang Xingjian’s shoulder, making him rest. She turned and left for the kitchen, suppressing her growling stomach as she set about tackling dinner—

Shen Qingwu truly couldn’t cook.

She’d never even watched anyone else cook properly.

Before sixteen, her life had mostly consisted of being scolded and punished, secretly watching others practice martial arts; after sixteen, someone taught her martial arts, and she was forced to study daily. As for cooking and needlework, back when she still had a wet nurse, the woman had worried over her and tried patiently to teach her; but eventually, everyone had grown estranged, and both sides simply gave up.

Shen Qingwu stood in the kitchen, rolling up her sleeves.

Cooking should be easier than needlework.

Never having eaten pork didn’t mean she’d never seen a pig run.

General Shen was, after all, a woman too—she’d heard women had some natural talent for cooking. Surely she’d be the same.

Nearly two hours later, after Zhang Xingjian had drifted in and out of feverish sleep several times, Shen Qingwu’s endlessly delayed dinner was finally ready.

She carried in three vegetable dishes, one meat dish, and a soup, brimming with confidence, and woke the young man, who seemed to be running a slight fever, calling him to eat.

Zhang Xingjian opened his eyes and immediately praised her: “A’Wu truly is as accomplished as she is lovely—I could smell the food from far away.”

Shen Qingwu brightened.

She generously reached out to help him off the bed, beginning to think Zhang Xingjian’s shameless flattery was, in fact, rather charming at times. She said, “I don’t cook often—try it and see.”

Zhang Xingjian picked up his chopsticks.

His lashes lifted slightly as he raised them; the candlelight in the room reflected in his unseeing eyes.

He said, courteously: “This one finds it… quite distinctive.”

Shen Qingwu: “Then eat plenty.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled and agreed, taking several genuine bites as if to prove his sincerity.

Seeing how much he seemed to enjoy it, Shen Qingwu’s confidence swelled further, no longer worried her cooking might poison herself. She scooped a generous mouthful onto her chopsticks and eagerly took a bite herself…

Shen Qingwu turned to stone.

Perhaps because she’d gone silent for so long, Zhang Xingjian sensed something was off. He politely turned his head in her direction, asking courteously: “My lady?”

He called again: “A’Wu?”

Shen Qingwu opened her mouth and spat the food out. She rinsed her mouth with the soup she’d made, only to spit that out too the instant it touched her tongue.

She stood, gulped down an entire pot of cold water, and only then recovered.

Shen Qingwu couldn’t help but ask: “This young man… Zhang Yuelu, is it not just your sense of pain that’s numbed, but your sense of taste too? You’re eating this with such apparent relish?”

She wasn’t wrong—food she herself couldn’t stomach, he showed not the slightest sign of distaste over. After noticing she couldn’t eat it, he’d even taken a few more bites for himself. The whole performance was unhurried, dignified, without a hint of difficulty.

She knew Zhang Xingjian was well-mannered, well-cultivated, never one to embarrass others, but still…

Shen Qingwu said: “Stop eating. Let’s go into town and find my parents to make us dinner.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled: “Hm? Didn’t I say it was quite distinctive? If A’Wu can’t manage it… I’m afraid A’Wu will have to go find your parents in town alone. I’ve caused you enough trouble already, but I won’t be able to make the journey.”

Zhang Xingjian paused: “I’m still wounded—I doubt I could handle another trek. Besides, I don’t find this meal lacking at all.”

Seeing he showed no sign of forcing himself, Shen Qingwu found him even stranger.

She vaguely recalled the Zhang household maids mentioning that Zhang Xingjian preferred sweet food and disliked spicy dishes, yet the man himself never seemed to show any food preferences at all. He really was…

Shen Qingwu’s expression grew slightly complicated as she sat down to eat alongside him.

If he could eat food this terrible without changing expression, surely she could too. A female general who’d fought on battlefields—defeated by something this trivial? Unthinkable.

As she sat down a bit too forcefully, Zhang Xingjian heard a sharp clink, followed by a splash.

He tilted his head, listening.

He asked, “What was that sound?”

Shen Qingwu blinked, staring at the four dishes and soup before her, falling into a long silence.

Zhang Xingjian asked again, politely, and she finally admitted, awkwardly: “My hairpin fell into the soup.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

Shen Qingwu said, earnestly: “A little dirt never hurt anyone. You don’t mind, do you?”

Zhang Xingjian’s smile stiffened slightly, though he remained perfectly amiable: “This one doesn’t mind at all.”

He could endure this.

Shen Qingwu raised an eyebrow, propping her chin in her hand, watching him eat: this level of endurance from Zhang Xingjian was actually quite entertaining.

She found herself rather enjoying testing the limits of his patience, curious to see if he’d ever break.

She’d just have to wait and see—

And so, in her new identity, Shen Qingwu passed her first day with Zhang Xingjian safely.

She thought it had gone rather well.

He thought she was terribly strange.