Over the following days, Zhang Xingjian tended to his injuries and recovered.

Shen Qingwu found herself, privately, rather pleased.

Though Zhang Xingjian’s condition kept fluctuating for the worse, he always maintained that same smiling, warmly earnest manner toward her. She knew the moon was cold both inside and out, but its noble, distant radiance still had a way of lifting one’s spirits.

The downside was, perhaps because his injuries truly were severe, he spent a great deal of time unconscious. The time she got to see him awake each day was far too short.

Her leave was too precious to waste like this.

So after some deliberation, once Zhang Xingjian was able to walk again, Shen Qingwu suggested they go into town to seek proper medical treatment.

Zhang Xingjian thanked her gratefully.

This strange woman had finally lowered her guard enough to let him leave the house—

So on a clear, breezy day, Shen Qingwu led Zhang Xingjian out of the mountain village toward the nearest town.

The bustling crowds and clamoring noise assaulted them at once, making Zhang Xingjian, accustomed to several days of quiet, pause for a moment.

The woman leading him ahead wasn’t the considerate type, entirely failing to realize that someone with impaired vision might struggle amid a crowd. Through his blurred sight, Zhang Xingjian saw her walking briskly ahead of him, quickly vanishing from view.

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

He suspected that even with perfectly healthy eyes, he still couldn’t have kept pace with her.

He waited in place for a good while before Shen Qingwu quietly slipped back.

She observed him for a while, watching his clear, unseeing eyes gazing toward a toy stall. She asked, “Do you want a toy? I’ll buy it for you. Though this is a child’s toy, you might not even like it.”

Her tone carried suppressed mischief, teasing, and a carefully controlled note of… malicious glee.

Zhang Xingjian, in his mind, sketched out an image of this woman: not short for a woman, her years of farm labor had made her agile and strong. She seemed to know some reading, writing, household skills, cooking—yet oddly inconsistent, sometimes remembering, sometimes forgetting entirely.

Most importantly… she enjoyed watching him suffer misfortune.

What an extraordinary woman.

The more he pieced together her image in his mind, the more a strange, familiar feeling called out to him.

He didn’t know if he was going mad, or simply too ill.

Zhang Xingjian came back to himself, sunlight dancing faintly in his eyes, radiant and bright, gazing toward her direction. Light danced across his raised brow: “Nothing. I was waiting for A’Wu.”

A glimmer of light passed through his eyes as he smiled faintly: “There are too many people, I was walking too slowly—I was afraid A’Wu might be waiting impatiently for me.”

Yet clearly, it had been Shen Qingwu who’d abandoned him, walking off without a backward glance.

Shen Qingwu watched him quietly. His thoughtfulness occasionally dropped a small stone into her numb, cold heart, sending out faint ripples.

The ripples weren’t deep, but they came, again and again, day after day.

Zhang Xingjian asked, “What is it?”

Shen Qingwu said, “You’re handsome.”

She’d seen him at sixteen, but back then had only thought him somewhat more handsome than average. Now, having seen him more, she realized he was far more handsome than an ordinary young man—not by a small margin, either.

Fair skin, dark eyes, red lips, a straight nose…

Perhaps sensing the intensity of her gaze, Zhang Xingjian abruptly turned his face away.

He forced himself to change the subject: “Does A’Wu like children’s toys? That old woman’s been calling out to sell kites for quite a while now.”

Shen Qingwu followed his words and looked—sure enough, beside him, the toy stall’s vendor was a white-haired old woman. The old woman smiled at the two of them, clearly mistaking them for a young couple in love.

Shen Qingwu found this strange in her mind: did she and Zhang Xingjian look like lovers?

Oh, perhaps the old woman’s eyes were simply weak with age, mistaken.

And kites, toys… those were things Shen Qingwu had never had.

As a child, she’d always watched from a distance, secretly, as Shen Zhuo played with the other Shen family children. They’d played hide-and-seek in the garden, flown kites by the water pavilion. She’d thought those looked wonderful, tried to approach, tried to win the children’s favor. She hadn’t thought herself different from them—they could play together, she could too.

Then she’d been locked in a dark room, starved for days.

When the young girl was finally released from that pitch-black room, Shen Zhuo had said, awkwardly, that perhaps he could sneak off to fly kites with her alone, without bringing the other children.

Shen Qingwu had understood then: everyone disliked her, didn’t want her around, and had reported her to Madam Shen.

Shen Zhuo was Madam Shen’s son, someone above her, different from her. Others’ scraps of pity were something to be treasured, to be grateful for, never to be expected, never to be hoped for.

Shen Qingwu had spent years learning to “be content,” to “let go.”

…Though she’d never learned it well, and Bo Rong still called her “stubborn.”

“A’Wu?” Getting no answer, Zhang Xingjian patiently asked again.

Shen Qingwu turned back, her cold gaze pulling away from the toy stall.

Everything she’d never had, she wanted.

But the one asking was Zhang Xingjian, and anything belonging to Zhang Xingjian, she didn’t want.

This whole journey was meant both to win him and to sever ties with him completely. If she kept something of his with her, only to abandon it later when she abandoned him, it would leave them both somewhat pitiable.

So Shen Qingwu said, “I don’t want it. Let’s go.”

Her tone turned suddenly cold, making Zhang Xingjian pause faintly. Still considering this, he felt the woman who’d kept her distance from him earlier reach out and grab his wrist, leading him forward.

He felt the warmth of her hand against his wrist, calluses on the fingers gripping him. More importantly, her fingers brushed against the shackles on his wrist, against his slightly swollen skin.

He stiffened, as though burned.

This ever-changing woman seemed to have forgotten, once again, the “propriety between men and women” she was always going on about.

Shen Qingwu sensed him flinch, realizing she’d touched his wound. A pang of sympathy struck her, and she shifted her grip to his sleeve instead.

Embarrassed, she said, “I forgot about your injury. Once I think of a way, I’ll help remove those shackles.”

But privately, she thought: when she’d think of a way would depend entirely on when Zhang Xingjian satisfied her.

Zhang Xingjian smiled: “The lady was only trying to guide me—what fault is there in that? I was simply walking too slowly.”

The two continued on, Shen Qingwu leading the way by his sleeve.

He had only that single gray robe, washed clean of blood now, fluttering as he walked, elegant and carefree—though it left him rather cold in the early winter chill.

But Shen Qingwu wouldn’t have noticed such things, and Zhang Xingjian wouldn’t have volunteered the information either. Zhang Xingjian, glancing back, listened to the vendor’s calls fading behind them, thoughtful—

That toy stall—what was it about it?—

At the medicine shop, the physician examined Zhang Xingjian’s wounds and his eyes.

A young man this refined and elegant stood out from everyone else in town; the physician couldn’t help but treat him with extra patience.

The physician said, “You must be careful chopping wood in the mountains—how did you manage to gash yourself on an axe, and so badly in the chest? And you, young lady, were careless too, taking this long to bring him in for treatment… well, fortunately it wasn’t too late.”

The physician then examined Zhang Xingjian’s eyes.

This small-town physician lacked the skill to properly diagnose or treat the poison, and after a great deal of vague, seemingly authoritative rambling, prepared to prescribe some medicine.

Zhang Xingjian smiled, knowing full well the physician had no idea what was actually wrong with his eyes. Still, he didn’t mind—these past few days, as his body had begun to recover, he’d noticed the poison affecting his eyes seemed to be gradually weakening; he could already make out more than before…

Shen Qingwu followed the physician to have the prescription filled.

Pulling back the curtain, Shen Qingwu adopted an entirely different manner, saying flatly to the old physician bent over his writing: “Just prescribe something simple, enough to help him along a little, but not enough to fully cure him. If he fully recovers, I’ll smash up your shop.”

Shen Qingwu added: “Especially don’t bother treating his eyes. He’s fine as he is.”

The old physician, who hadn’t understood the eye condition to begin with, looked up in confusion: “…”

The old physician: “If you don’t want him cured, why bring him to a medicine shop at all?”

Shen Qingwu, righteous: “For comfort.”

The old physician, pained: “But that’s your husband…”

Shen Qingwu paused, remembering this was the lie she’d told earlier for convenience while bringing Zhang Xingjian in. She quickly amended: “He snuck out to see some lover behind my back. I’m not pleased about it, and I want to give him a little punishment.”

The old physician, hesitant: “But you said earlier his injury came from an axe accident…”

Shen Qingwu: “That’s right.”

The old physician concluded this woman was lying through her teeth, and comparing her healthy complexion and easy breathing to the frail, scholarly, gentle young man outside the curtain, he could practically guess exactly how this woman treated her husband on a daily basis.

…Not even willing to spend on a proper dose of medicine.

The old physician suspected the young man’s injuries had, in fact, come from this very woman’s hand.

Shen Qingwu took the prescription with satisfaction and went to have it prepared. Pulling back the curtain, she found Zhang Xingjian, seated there, turning his face toward her as he rose. He extended his hand, unhurried: “A’Wu.”

Remembering what she’d just told the physician, Shen Qingwu’s steps faltered briefly before she walked toward him without so much as a blush.

Zhang Xingjian spoke to her, low: “A’Wu, I’ve been thinking. Your family isn’t wealthy, and it troubles me that you keep spending money on my treatment. Perhaps…”

He was about to try to talk her into helping him contact his own network, to reach his subordinates.

He heard Shen Qingwu let out a soft breath, laughing: “Zhang Yuelu, I was thinking the exact same thing.”

Zhang Xingjian: “Oh?”

Shen Qingwu: “I also think my family isn’t wealthy enough, which is why I asked the physician to only prescribe cheap medicine. Your injuries can heal slowly, in their own time. I’ll cook for you and take care of you every day, and eventually your wounds will heal completely. Even if they never fully heal, I won’t think any less of you—don’t you agree?”

Zhang Xingjian thought of her uniquely inventive cooking.

He thought, we clearly weren’t thinking the same thing at all.

Still… Zhang Xingjian smiled: “That’s exactly what I meant.”

The two walked back in silence the whole way.

Shen Qingwu had never much cared for talking, and using a different voice for conversation was troublesome besides—when she didn’t need to speak, she felt perfectly at ease.

Zhang Xingjian, hampered by his impaired sight, relied more heavily on his hearing. He was growing accustomed to his current situation, mulling over how to extricate himself from it.

Amid the noisy crowd, Zhang Xingjian suddenly caught a familiar voice—from a couple he’d heard before—

“It’s all your fault, I told you to buy meat earlier and you wouldn’t, now the prices have gone up.”

“Don’t be upset, old woman! We’ve got plenty of money now…”

Searching his memory, Zhang Xingjian instantly identified these voices: they belonged to the parents of the woman who’d rescued him.

He slowed his pace, considering this for a moment.

He tested Shen Qingwu: “A’Wu, look over there.”

He pointed toward the source of the voices—the couple was chattering about mundane household matters, entirely unaware of the two of them nearby. As the couple walked off into the distance, Shen Qingwu looked around, bewildered, having no idea what Zhang Xingjian was talking about.

That couple, to her, were mere strangers she’d met only once; she didn’t recognize them at all, nor did it occur to her that she should pay any attention to the “parents” she’d fabricated for her cover story.

Shen Qingwu hadn’t noticed the middle-aged couple at all—instead, she’d spotted a child spinning a bamboo-copter toy, running heedlessly into the street, about to be struck by an oncoming carriage.

Her body blurred into motion, darting forward. Everyone around only felt a gust of wind pass; before anyone noticed, Shen Qingwu had scooped up the child and set him down safely in a different spot, moments before the carriage would have struck him.

The child, still spinning his bamboo-copter, blinked up in bewilderment at this older sister.

Shen Qingwu said nothing.

The child’s parents rushed over at that moment, shoving Shen Qingwu aside, shouting loudly: “What do you think you’re doing? Why did you grab our precious son? Were you trying to kidnap him? Lucky we caught you—otherwise our precious boy might have…”

Shen Qingwu turned and walked away.

The child’s parents grabbed her sleeve, furious: “Everyone, come look, this person won’t even admit fault, refuses to learn her lesson…”

The child said timidly: “Father, Mother, I’m not hurt…”

The child had only vaguely glimpsed something dark rushing at him, then found himself suddenly lifted just before impact. He hadn’t seen anything clearly, but he sensed… this older sister wasn’t a bad person.

But the child’s opinion didn’t matter.

The adults clearly found Shen Qingwu suspicious; the more she said nothing, the more she looked like someone harboring ill intent.

Shen Qingwu, her sleeve gripped tight, shouted at and accused by the gathering crowd, suddenly turned back, her icy gaze fixing on the couple.

The couple froze, crying out: “What are you going to do, you…”

Shen Qingwu raised her hand, about to brush aside these irritating people crowding and shoving around her—though they couldn’t have overpowered even a single one of her fingers. Just as her hand rose, someone caught it from behind.

A cool scent of pine, like moonlight, drifted toward her from behind.

Zhang Xingjian caught her hand, pulling her behind him, smiling at the loud, agitated couple: “My wife and I share deep affection, a truly harmonious marriage. We’re young, newly wed—naturally we’re fond of children, and it shouldn’t be difficult for us to have our own. Why would we covet someone else’s child?”

The couple froze.

Just as they opened their mouths to argue, Zhang Xingjian’s mild, unhurried tone cut clearly through the chaos, reaching everyone’s ears: “My A’Wu isn’t skilled with words, doesn’t like arguing with people—but I can’t stand by and watch, so allow me to speak up on her behalf—

“Young man, what exactly did you see? No need to be afraid, just tell us clearly. Your parents were worried about you, feared something had happened; I too am concerned for my wife, unwilling to see her wronged. No one here means any harm.”

With an attitude like that, who would want to embarrass him further?

The street commotion resolved itself quickly, the crowd dispersing in twos and threes. The couple led their child away, chagrined. Zhang Xingjian, still holding Shen Qingwu’s hand, offered an apologetic smile to those around them and led her away from the crowd.

He walked at an unhurried pace, Shen Qingwu watching him intently the entire time.

From start to finish, no one had realized he couldn’t see.

His composure… had he displayed this same bearing, she wondered, when negotiating with the Western Di?—

Once they’d reached a quieter spot, he released her wrist, saying, ashamed: “I apologize for what happened back there. Forgive the presumption, A’Wu—circumstances left me no choice.”

Shen Qingwu looked down at her own wrist.

She rubbed it gently, still feeling the lingering warmth of his fingers. She tilted her head to look at his eyes, asking, “You can’t see—how did you lead the way back there?”

Zhang Xingjian: “By listening. I heard you leave, then heard them arguing, and guessed A’Wu had been caught up in some trouble. Being blind, naturally I have to pay extra attention to remembering the way, so as to spare A’Wu some effort.”

This little test of his had revealed more than just the fact that this woman hadn’t recognized her own “parents.” It had revealed something far more interesting.

Certain suspicions began forming in his mind.

Shen Qingwu asked, “How many steps did we just take?”

Zhang Xingjian blinked: “Three hundred and twelve.”

Shen Qingwu fell silent—he’d genuinely been counting.

Zhang Xingjian said, “We should be standing right in front of that old toy vendor’s stall now, shouldn’t we?”

Shen Qingwu didn’t need to answer—they could both hear the old woman’s calls.

Zhang Xingjian kept his smile in place.

He walked toward the toy stall.

Shen Qingwu had no idea what he was doing, but couldn’t be bothered to ask.

She stayed where she was, still stewing over the earlier trouble, thinking resentfully about how she’d get back at that irritating couple later—maybe slip some laxative into their food, give them a taste of their own medicine.

Having settled on this plan, she turned to leave, when Zhang Xingjian’s call startled her: “A’Wu.”

She looked up to find a hawk-shaped kite hovering right in front of her face, its fierce eyes glaring down imperiously, ribbons trailing from its wings fluttering toward her eyes.

Shen Qingwu instinctively flinched backward, and past the hawk kite, saw Zhang Xingjian’s gentle, refined face.

He smiled faintly: “There now, don’t be angry anymore. Let me give you the kite—I’m sorry my eyes won’t let me fly it with you myself.”

Shen Qingwu stared at him coldly, though he had no idea just how fierce and cold her expression was at that moment. She didn’t take the kite, so he simply tucked it into her arms, relaying the old woman’s instructions on how to fly it.

He finished, smiling apologetically: “Of course A’Wu already knows how to fly a kite—forgive my presumption, I must have amused you.”

In the middle of the market street, the two stood facing each other, quiet and still.

Shen Qingwu finally reached out, slowly accepting the kite from him.

Her heart was pounding hard; her fingers brushed against the bamboo frame of the kite, and her lowered gaze caught sight of his still-swollen wrist.

Shen Qingwu asked, indifferent: “Aren’t you going to scold me?”

Zhang Xingjian: “Scold you for what?”

Shen Qingwu thought of how Bo Rong, if he’d been there, would have criticized how she’d rescued the child, how she’d turned to leave without a word, how improper it had all been…

Shen Qingwu said, “For…”

She couldn’t find the right words; Zhang Xingjian filled in for her: “For not knowing how to protect yourself?”

Shen Qingwu paused, then accepted this phrasing.

Zhang Xingjian smiled: “It’s fine. Aren’t I here? It’s simply that where A’Wu isn’t skilled, I happen to be. A’Wu can do things however she likes. As long as A’Wu is happy.”

…So this was what the moon, fallen from the sky, looked like.

Why hadn’t he become petty, self-loathing, resentful, covered in flaws?

Shen Qingwu turned and walked on ahead by herself.

The warm winter breeze drifted past, brushing against her cheeks; she held the kite close to her chest.

For just a moment, she found she no longer wanted revenge on that couple who’d upset her. Letting it go seemed fine too—they were just ordinary people; no one owed anyone anything.

Shen Qingwu: “I don’t know how to fly a kite.”

He paused, saying nothing.

Shen Qingwu walked ahead, hugging the kite, along the path they’d already traveled once before, her mind entirely on the kite, forgetting once again the man behind her with impaired vision. But Zhang Xingjian never interrupted her, stumbling along on his own, until he heard Shen Qingwu suddenly say:

“Once you’ve recovered, let’s fly it together.”

Zhang Xingjian paused.

Just as he was about to respond, Shen Qingwu said, “You’re about to hit—”

Before she finished, he walked straight into a tree, stumbling back two steps, leaves showering down around him.

Shen Qingwu burst out laughing.

Zhang Xingjian smiled ruefully.

He said, “Actually, I don’t know how to fly a kite either.”

Shen Qingwu: “Idiot.”

He heard her voice lighten: “We’ll try together some other day.”

But this was a battle, a contest between enemies.

However calm it appeared on the surface, it was only because neither side had chosen to strike first—each still harbored the deepest suspicion of the other.

The next day, Shen Qingwu went alone into town to collect the medicine, continuing to instruct the physician on the newly brewed remedy, on how best to keep Zhang Xingjian restrained, unable to fully recover.

And while she was away, Zhang Xingjian, leaning on his bamboo staff, carefully and thoroughly walked through every corner of the borrowed farmhouse, inside and out.

His eyes truly were impaired, costing him many advantages. But over these several days, he’d familiarized himself with his surroundings—however slowly, he’d managed it thoroughly.

Behind the kitchen, in a hollow at the base of an old tree, Zhang Xingjian dug up a bow.

The bowstring was intact, brand new, any bloodstains long since washed away—but that did nothing to diminish that this was a fine bow, more than capable of killing.

Zhang Xingjian’s fingers slowly traced along the bowstring, recalling the day Chang Lin and the other guards had come to rescue him, the arrow that had shot from the shadows, Chang Lin’s hoarse voice negotiating with an assailant who refused to show themselves.

Zhang Xingjian closed his eyes, smiling faintly.

So the person who’d saved him, and the person who’d tried to kill him, were one and the same.

This woman calling herself “A’Wu” was surely no ordinary village girl at all. She hadn’t recognized her own parents’ voices, yet had saved a child’s life in the blink of an eye… her build was tall and lithe, her movements sharp and decisive—had his eyesight been intact, he suspected he’d have seen a pair of eyes as cold and emotionless as a frozen pool.

She was likely a trained assassin, or a killer for hire.

If Kong Ye had sent someone like this to his side, why not simply have her kill him outright, rather than play these games?

Zhang Xingjian furrowed his brow, thinking it over, recalling every strange, oddly familiar thing about this woman… could Kong Ye have had her impersonate someone else all along?

A flicker of anger rose in Zhang Xingjian’s heart, along with an unexpected surge of anxiety.

Could Kong Ye have investigated Shen Qingwu? Could he believe Zhang Xingjian harbored some feeling for Shen Qingwu strong enough to use her against him, to bring him down?

Shen Qingwu was Bo Rong’s most formidable female general in Yizhou—Kong Ye couldn’t possibly have deployed her against him, and besides, Shen Qingwu should be in Yizhou right now, nowhere near here. This female assassin who’d been at his side day and night was, naturally, a fake.

Claiming her name was “A’Wu,” no less.

Zhang Xingjian smiled faintly, finding the whole thing rather absurd.

What was this impostor after?

Could she be trying to pose as Shen Qingwu, to win his heart through false romance, to pry state secrets from him, to move against enough court officials, and then, once Zhang Xingjian had outlived his usefulness, kill him…

Unfortunately, this assassin’s honey trap was clumsy, faltering, not particularly convincing.

Zhang Xingjian’s mind raced through countless possibilities, imagining all the ways Kong Ye might be scheming against him, digging himself deeper and deeper into an elaborate theory… until finally, he’d constructed an entire conspiracy targeting himself.

He felt both a flush of shame and anger, and confusion over why Kong Ye would connect Shen Qingwu to him at all.

Could he have let something slip somewhere… no, that was impossible.

For all his careful deliberation, it never once occurred to Zhang Xingjian that Shen Qingwu herself might have come to his side in person—never occurred to him that the most successful way to impersonate someone would simply be for that person to come herself.

He waited patiently, planning to enter this game, to match wits with the impostor and eliminate her. He had no wish to see Shen Qingwu, and even less wish to have someone impersonating her, toying with him at his side.

The fake Shen Qingwu, meanwhile, was busy cornering the town physician, pressing him to reduce the dosage yet again. Medicine in hand, she headed home at a brisk pace.

At home, someone was sharpening a knife, preparing a meal in the kitchen, ready to welcome her back.