As dusk deepened, lanterns and colorful decorations hung along the shopfronts of the marketplace streets, the flow of people moving in twos and threes, orderly and unhurried.

A white-robed young master wearing a wide-brimmed hat, feeling his way with a bamboo staff, walked into a pawnshop with a “Closed” sign hanging at its door.

The veil at the edge of his hat fluttered up at one corner, faintly revealing his refined, handsome face, worn with exhaustion.

Shen Qingwu, meanwhile, sat on the tiled eaves of a three-story building across from the pawnshop, watching idly as Zhang Xingjian struggled along.

It had taken some effort to catch up with Zhang Xingjian, but it hadn’t been terribly difficult. Wounded as he was, with his impaired eyesight, a young master of his looks wasn’t exactly common in such an impoverished place. Zhang Xingjian had calculated any number of hidden routes, yet never once considered how conspicuous his own appearance was.

Did he think a wide-brimmed hat would make him inconspicuous?

Plucking at the grass on the eaves, Shen Qingwu thought lazily: idiot.

Since she’d already caught up with him, she was in no hurry to go down and make trouble. Her prey had already entered her net; she could strike whenever she pleased. For now—watching the prey struggle was rather entertaining, too.

Zhang Xingjian fancied himself clever; Shen Qingwu didn’t bother thinking things through at all—so who would come out on top?

She’d just have to wait and see.

At that moment, having just entered the pawnshop, Zhang Xingjian had finished exchanging a coded signal with the shop attendant.

The attendant behind the counter naturally had no idea that the hat-wearing young master standing before him was his own master, yet he didn’t dare grow careless either.

The attendant invited Zhang Xingjian further inside to rest, offering to arrange a room for the guest.

Zhang Xingjian shook his head, his manner exceedingly gentle: “I have other matters to attend to right now and can’t rest for the time being. Besides, I don’t wish to trouble you all.”

His mention of “trouble” left the attendant baffled, but Zhang Xingjian had already moved past the topic, asking the attendant the question that mattered: “I asked you all to send a letter to the commander of the Yizhou army earlier—it’s been five days now. Has there been no reply from the Yizhou commander?”

With the covert network spanning the region, pawnshops linked together, messages carried by carrier pigeon—five days should have been more than enough.

The attendant said with a bitter smile: “Young master, it seems there’s fighting going on in Yizhou. Our messenger pigeons never flew back once they went in. We’ve sent several batches of pigeons now, and received no reply from any of them.”

Zhang Xingjian frowned: fighting?

Probably friction between the Western Di and Yizhou.

What terrible timing.

Barring the unexpected, Bo Rong should by now have already met with Li Linge, holding her attention; and on his end, the evidence should have flipped around by now, using the so-called charge of dereliction of duty and selling official posts to turn it back against Kong Ye, dragging him down with it…

Once Zhang Xingjian brought down Kong Ye, the Kong family would fall along with him. With Li Linge no longer at court, with no Kong family to shelter them, the Zhang family would become the young emperor’s sole remaining support—only then would there be a chance to slowly maneuver against him, to deal with the young emperor, to depose and kill him…

The young emperor believed that all the world took the Zhang family’s past tragedy to have been caused by the Imperial Princess, and the Zhang family itself was meant to believe the same. The young emperor relied on his sister’s protection to act so recklessly, relied on Kong Ye’s schemes to stand as an equal beside the Imperial Princess. If both of these advantages were stripped away, and the young emperor himself had neither learning nor ability, what could he possibly do?

But as things stood now, it wasn’t only Zhang Xingjian’s side running into misfortune—Bo Rong’s side wasn’t progressing smoothly either…

Zhang Xingjian sank into deep thought.

He’d meant to write and have Bo Rong recall Shen Qingwu; it seemed that wouldn’t be possible any time soon.

Unable to read this young master’s expression through the hat, the attendant could only suggest: “Young master, if your matter is truly urgent, why not summon those hidden guards to help deliver the message to Yizhou?”

Zhang Xingjian came back to himself.

He thought of Chang Lin and the others.

After their clash with Shen Qingwu, Chang Lin’s men had fled, badly wounded. They’d since made contact with the pawnshop, hoping to reach Zhang Xingjian. Unfortunately, Zhang Xingjian had been “under house arrest” by Shen Qingwu at the time, with no way to contact them at all.

But now…

Zhang Xingjian said: “Let them heal first. Once their wounds have healed, if they wish to find me—well, tell them to come find me in ten days.”

He gave a place name.

The attendant noted it down, then watched this young master, leaning on his bamboo staff, leave.

He noticed this man’s eyes were impaired, yet his movements were unhurried and composed—genuinely baffling.

Why ten days before they could find him? Couldn’t it be now? Was the hidden guards’ recovery really more important than protecting their master?

The attendant, naturally having no idea of Zhang Xingjian’s true intentions, could only shake his head.

Not long after Zhang Xingjian left, another customer arrived at the pawnshop.

Both visitors today had been strange: earlier, the young master with impaired eyes had made a string of requests with perfect composure; now, the young woman walking in, a bow slung across her back, cold-faced and cold-eyed, looked like no easy customer either.

The attendant’s hand rested on the hilt of a blade in a hidden compartment beneath the counter, and he offered the woman a strained smile: “Miss, it says ‘Closed’ outside—does no one read signs anymore?”

Shen Qingwu looked the pawnshop over, her gaze settling on the attendant.

She asked directly: “What did Zhang Xingjian want from you all?”

The attendant said: “Zhang who? What are you talking about? You…”

He genuinely didn’t know the earlier young master’s name, but this woman looked like trouble, so evasion seemed the safest course. But Shen Qingwu had no patience for verbal sparring—she propped her elbow on the counter and gave it the lightest tap, and the surface beneath her elbow began to crack, inch by inch.

The attendant froze, stunned, sweat beading on his forehead: this bringer of doom…

Nearly in tears, he said: “It’s a small business, how could we have offended someone like you, we’ll change our…”

Shen Qingwu: “Repeat to me everything Zhang Xingjian said to you, everything he did. Or I’ll tear this shop down.”

The attendant hesitantly told her everything, reasoning to himself that the earlier young master hadn’t warned them not to say anything, so it must be fine to tell… though he’d need to warn his master about this right after.

Shen Qingwu: “Then pass a message along to Chang Lin for me.”

The attendant: who was Chang Lin?

Shen Qingwu said unhurriedly: “Tell Chang Lin that Marshal Bo assigned me to protect Zhang Xingjian, and that Zhang Xingjian’s safety is my responsibility alone. I don’t like working together with others—I’m used to fighting on my own. What happened before was just a small lesson. If they don’t heed the warning and insist on coming again, then they can’t blame me for showing no mercy.”

Shen Qingwu propped her chin on one hand, her cold eyes fixed on the attendant, who was now breaking out in a cold sweat:

“You can go ahead and ask Chang Lin—does he really think I can’t protect Zhang Xingjian? He can rest completely assured.”

The attendant: “…”

Shen Qingwu added lightly: “Everyone knows I’m fond of Zhang Xingjian, don’t they? Tell Chang Lin to focus on healing properly.”

Having said her piece, Shen Qingwu turned and left with ease. She’d delivered the warning she needed to deliver; if Chang Lin’s men refused to listen and insisted on competing with her for Zhang Xingjian, that would be on them, not her.

It was only after this fearsome young woman had walked quite far off that the attendant suddenly understood why the earlier young master had told his hidden guards to wait ten days before contacting him—no doubt that young master had known he was being followed by this fearsome woman.

No doubt that young master intended to use those ten days to deal with this woman.

The attendant perked up, secretly hoping that young master could resolve this troublesome woman once and for all, could finish her off—

While Zhang Xingjian and Shen Qingwu quietly sparred with one another, out in Yizhou, a small skirmish had indeed taken place.

This was the sort of friction common to a border region like Yizhou—every autumn and winter, the Western Di would always try to seize some grain to see them through the winter, and Yizhou had to guard against it with every precaution.

The fighting was minor, not nearly enough to make Bo Rong recall Shen Qingwu, but when the Western Di forces raided a small town, they still terrified the townspeople, seized no small amount of grain, and committed their fair share of killing and arson besides.

The Yizhou army fought the Western Di at the front lines, while officials handled the minor troubles in the rear—as had always been the case.

It was only that Shen Qingye and her attendants, newly arrived in Yizhou and unaccustomed to this sort of routine border skirmish, were badly frightened by the fighting.

After Zhang Xingjian was imprisoned, the Shen family, after careful deliberation, considering that the Zhang family itself could no longer be relied upon, once again took charge of matters on Shen Qingye’s behalf—just as they had once arranged her engagement—and this time, dissolved her engagement.

This dissolution, though it suited Shen Qingye’s own wishes, was not something she herself had wanted to happen this way.

She naturally wished to break off the engagement with the third young master of the Zhang family, but she had no wish to abandon him in his time of misfortune and add further hardship to the Zhang family’s troubles.

And so, frail and often ill, Shen Qingye pushed against the pressure from her own family and went to the Zhang residence to see Zhang Wenbi. It was precisely because of Shen Qingye’s own initiative and concern at that time that Zhang Wenbi told her something:

Before being imprisoned, Zhang Xingjian had made arrangements for them all. He’d said that if Shen Qingye never came to the Zhang residence looking for him, then nothing further need happen; but if she did come, then Zhang Wenbi was to tell her to be wary of the young emperor.

Shen Qingye pondered privately for a long while over what “be wary of the young emperor” could mean.

In the end, the choice she made was this: when Zhang Xingjian was exiled, she left the capital, accompanied by a maidservant, to travel south of the river to sweep her parents’ graves.

Unwilling to make things difficult for this orphaned girl at such a time, the Shen family had a maidservant and guard accompany Shen Qingye to ease her mind through travel. They put on a full show of caring for Shen Qingye, waiting only for her to return from tending the graves before arranging, once again, a marriage advantageous to the Shen family.

The Shen family’s care for Shen Qingye had always come with conditions attached.

But before setting off to sweep her parents’ graves, Shen Qingye wanted first to go to Yizhou, to see Shen Qingwu. After all her years living with the Shen family, the person she could trust and feel most at ease with turned out to be Shen Qingwu—who had severed ties with the Shen family, with all of them, so many years ago.

Since it was on the way, the maidservant and attendants raised no objection, and accompanied Shen Qingye to Yizhou.

Then they ran into the fighting; when the Western Di forces raided the town, Shen Qingye became separated from her attendants. Once the Yizhou army drove off the Western Di and the front lines shifted forward, the townspeople in the rear finally emerged from their homes to clean up the battlefield.

Stranded there, her belongings and maidservant both gone, Shen Qingye’s heart ailment flared up; after a few days of illness, she roused herself and joined a household that had taken her in, going out to the battlefield to help clear the dead, collecting bodies for burial while also searching for her own maidservant and guard.

Many people were out collecting bodies on the battlefield; coughing, suppressing her fear, Shen Qingye stumbled among the blood and corpses. In her hand she carried a burlap sack the old man had given her—he’d told her that these people were all dead now, and anything useful she found, she could keep for use.

The general in charge had said: carry a fallen soldier to the crematorium, earn ten coppers. Small, humble households had no choice but to make their living off this trade among the walking dead.

Breathing unsteadily, Shen Qingye stood carefully amid the scattered casualties, listening blankly to the groans of pain from every direction. She lifted her eyes to survey the surroundings, seeing the vast sky and drifting clouds, people as small as ants—was this Shen Qingwu’s world?

She wanted to find Shen Qingwu.

Shen Qingye looked around in every direction, hoping to find some general she might speak with. Shen Qingwu should be quite famous within the Yizhou army—if she could just find someone from that army, surely they could take her to her sister.

With her sister there, her sister would protect her.

Her sister would help her find her scattered attendants, recover her belongings. She wasn’t actually in any rush to travel south to sweep the graves—her parents had been dead so many years now, after all, and she performed the rites every year in her own courtyard; returning to their homeland held little real appeal for her.

What did appeal to Shen Qingye was the vast world Shen Qingwu had leapt free of the small confines of the Shen household to reach—the freedom to choose the life she wanted.

Shen Qingwu had once said that if Shen Qingye ever needed anything, she could come find her for help.

Only… Shen Qingye’s coughing grew severe, her face ashen from the stench of corpses and blood. She’d followed the old man collecting bodies for several days now, had seen no shortage of soldiers, but not a single general. She tried speaking with the soldiers, but since she had no money to offer, they wouldn’t even pass along a message on her behalf.

The soldiers looked down on her: “You think you can just go see General Shen? No token to show, don’t block the road. Our General Shen has no family, no friends.”

Helpless, Shen Qingye crouched among the corpses, trying to think of a way. Her sack caught on a corpse; following the old man’s lead in searching through bodies, she closed her eyes and, trembling, felt out something cold…

The unusual texture made Shen Qingye open her eyes. She saw a plain, simple jade pendant lying in her palm.

The jade was only of middling quality, carved with the character “Qiu”—Autumn.

She thought a pendant like this might fetch the old man’s family a bit of money in exchange for taking her in. Grateful for their shelter, she gently held it out at once: “Old sir, do you think this could be exchanged for money?”

The old man turned, and at his first sight of the pendant, was overjoyed. But the moment he saw the character carved on it, his face went pale with shock: “Lord Autumn!”

Shen Qingye was taken aback.

She said: “You recognize this character, old sir?”

From what she knew, most common folk couldn’t read at all. This household was no exception—yet how did an illiterate old man recognize the character “Qiu” on the pendant?

Flustered, the old man snatched the pendant from her hand and threw it to the ground, his weathered face full of lingering terror: “Little girl, you can’t just go picking up anything you find. Don’t you ever listen to the storyteller in town? Haven’t you heard the tale of ‘Lord Autumn Leaf, Scattered in the Cold Wind’?”

Shen Qingye’s clear eyes were full of confusion.

The old man spoke with great conviction: “That’s the greatest assassin in the martial world, called Lord Autumn. Wherever he passes, not even grass grows. That vicious, vi— that master, who knows how many he’s killed? How could ordinary folk like us dare provoke him? Their assassin’s tower, every one of them carries a jade pendant bearing their name, and this one is— is—”

The old man examined the character on the pendant carefully once more, quite certain: “This is Lord Autumn!”

Exactly like what the storyteller had described to them!

Lord Autumn was the most famous assassin, the most formidable one of all.

The storyteller’s tales were full of legends of him slaughtering people like cutting grass—how could ordinary folk dare provoke him?

Muttering, the old man said this Lord Autumn must have taken on some assignment, killed someone, and so on. Common folk like themselves loved hearing legendary tales, but had no wish for the legendary figures themselves to turn up right beside them. Best that a cold-blooded killer stay confined to stories…

The old man: “Miss, throw that pendant away, quickly!”

Shen Qingye gently tried to reassure him: “But this pendant was found among the bodies on the battlefield?”

The old man was startled.

Shen Qingye offered a faint smile of comfort: “Lord Autumn must have died here on the battlefield by accident—wouldn’t it be better if we used his pendant to get a bit of money?”

At that moment, Shen Qingye didn’t think herself capable of having any connection to figures of the martial world.

The old man remained firm in refusing to touch the pendant, but Shen Qingye picked it up and kept it safely. She meant to exchange it for money, then use that money to bribe some low-ranking Yizhou soldiers into taking her to find Shen Qingwu.

She was trying. She would see her sister—

The land of Bashu was truly vast.

A hawk circled high overhead, dust rising in the wind.

Choking on the dust, Zhang Xingjian coughed as he slowly made his way, staff in hand, along a rugged, steep mountain path.

These past few days, exposed to wind and rain, sleeping rough, his wound had never healed, and his eyesight had recovered little more. This made walking the mountain path at dusk all the more difficult.

To make matters worse, red evening clouds spread across the sky, a cold wind blew bleak and thin, and the whole atmosphere around him turned suddenly bitter and chill.

The veil on Zhang Xingjian’s hat fluttered up; through his clouded vision, he saw blurred figures appear abruptly before him. Focusing harder, he saw dark clusters of men and horses appearing on every cliff and ridge around him.

A rough count put them at twenty or thirty.

Zhang Xingjian cupped his hands in greeting: “This humble traveler only wishes to pass through. All my money is yours, good sirs—buy yourselves some wine with it.”

Quite sensibly, he drew out his purse and set it respectfully on the ground. The autumn wind stirred his robe, his sash lifting slightly—clearly he traveled light, carrying nothing else of value hidden on his person.

The land of Bashu bordered not only the Western Di but, being a frontier region, was also home to no small number of mountain bandits and outlaws. The court lacked the strength to control them and simply let matters be. Traveling alone on the mountain path, Zhang Xingjian naturally understood the sensible course, and had no wish to clash with them.

Ordinarily, once he handed over his money, these bandits would let him go on his way.

But this time—Zhang Xingjian heard a hoarse, cold laugh: “So you’re the one who’s been looking for ‘Bo the Third’?”

Zhang Xingjian went quietly still, slowly lifting his gaze.

“Bo the Third” was the birth-order nickname of the real Bo Rong. After Zhang Rong had borrowed the identity of Bo Rong, the real Bo Rong had taken his brothers and fled into the mountains. Zhang Rong, being merciful, hadn’t killed them, and had no idea where they’d gone. Zhang Xingjian, however, wanted to confirm that the real Bo the Third wouldn’t bring trouble to the Zhang family.

If these men meant no harm, Zhang Xingjian would have to figure out how to deal with them peaceably; if they meant harm, then he’d have more than enough justification to kill them.

Ever since escaping from Shen Qingwu’s side, what Zhang Xingjian had been searching for all along was the real Bo Rong.

And now he knew—the real Bo Rong had changed his identity, and had become “Bo the Third.”

On the mountain path, Zhang Xingjian smiled faintly: “I see. I am an old acquaintance of ‘Bo the Third.’ If you gentlemen know him, might you be willing to guide me to him?”

The brawny men all sneered coldly.

They said: “You think we don’t know what you’re really after? People like you, born into wealth and privilege, never caring whether the rest of us live or die… Bo the Third told us himself—we can’t let you walk out of these mountains alive.”

Zhang Xingjian’s brow rose slightly.

He said: “Might there be some misunderstanding?”

The man said: “You mean to kill us, and you think we don’t know it? You people would never let ‘Bo the Third’ live—we’ve known that all along, you bastards!”

Their righteous fury caught Zhang Xingjian off guard.

Before he could say anything more to them, the men came bounding out from the shadows of the trees on every side, closing in around him. Weapons raised, they shouted: “He’s alone—kill him!”

The wind tossed his wide-brimmed hat.

Zhang Xingjian sidestepped a blade swung at him; the hat, taking the blow meant for him, split in two and spun off into the dim evening light.

Zhang Xingjian retreated two steps, forced to raise the bamboo staff in his hand. His sleeves, black hair, and sash all flew wild in the fierce wind, revealing the pale, elegant young master’s true face—only further convincing these men that Zhang Xingjian had to die.

The real Bo Rong was Zhang Rong’s secret, and Zhang Rong, in turn, was the real Bo Rong’s secret.

To protect their own identities, each side really ought to eliminate the other.

Surrounded on the mountain path, Zhang Xingjian had no choice but to fight back. He was no great warrior himself, and his eyes and his wound both worked against him, but on this narrow mountain path, though he retreated step by step, he was never entirely overwhelmed by these men.

The refined young master, robes flying, was elegance itself when wielding a brush—but wielding a staff in battle, he carried an indescribable grace of his own.

His composed, unruffled bearing lent an unexpected beauty even to facing these ragtag mountain bandits with their haphazard fighting style.

Only… however fine he looked, he was no match for so many men bent on killing him.

Zhang Xingjian blocked a blow with his forearm, then was struck by a palm strike from the side and staggered back hard, turning his head to spit blood, a thread of it trailing down his chin and dripping onto the hair ribbon at his shoulder, staining it red.

His dark eyes gazed calmly, silently, at his enemies.

After so long in this fight, the enemy finally noticed this young master’s weakness—”His eyes can’t see clearly—this is our chance!”

Zhang Xingjian’s heart sank.

In the end, he hadn’t managed to hide his weakness.

At this point, with the sky growing darker by the moment, the enemy exploiting his disadvantage, and the mountainous terrain a battlefield they knew well while he did not—he truly saw no way to win… Zhang Xingjian let out a sigh.

His hand braced on the bamboo staff, his thin robe brushing against his chilled fingers.

Zhang Xingjian said softly: “General Shen.”

Only the whistling of the wind answered him.

Zhang Xingjian smiled bitterly: “Second Young Lady Shen.”

Fearing he might have reinforcements coming, the enemies swung their weapons and rushed at him without waiting further. Zhang Xingjian raised his staff to meet them again, a trace of helpless amusement in his eyes.

At last, Zhang Xingjian said: “Shen Qingwu.”

He said softly: “Please, A’Wu—come save my life.”

A bitterly cold blade flashed toward his face like a wave of snow. In that instant, as his enemy closed in, his calm, dark eyes finally made out every strike aimed at him with perfect clarity. He had no time to dodge, nor any ability to…

He could only gamble.

Life and death, hers to decide.

Zhang Xingjian lowered his eyes, the corner of his mouth curling into a faint smile.

He raised his staff to block the blade coming at him, but it could not withstand the overwhelming force of internal energy behind the strike. More blood seeped from beneath his lips; he staggered back step by step, his gray robe gathering dust, his snow-white hair ribbon catching the golden-red light of dusk.

The blade was about to strike him between the brows—

Zhang Xingjian watched it come, unblinking.

His retreat was suddenly cut off from behind; someone pressed close against his back, a hand reaching out to grasp his hand—and with it, the bamboo staff he held.

The enemies on every side stared in shock at the woman who had suddenly appeared, watching her materialize behind this frail, scholarly young master, steadying him, shielding the vital point over his heart, not letting the blade advance a single inch closer to the space between his brows.

In an instant, the bamboo staff in Zhang Xingjian’s hand became a weapon of death.

Shen Qingwu’s voice, cold and indifferent, sounded quietly close against his ear:

“Mountain bandits, doing evil as they do—all deserve death.”

The dust and grime of travel on Shen Qingwu’s body mingled with Zhang Xingjian’s blood. Gripping his hand, guiding the staff in his grasp, she turned it toward the enemies on every side, unhurried.

Shen Qingwu continued: “Zhang Yuelu belongs to me. Who dares try to take him?”

The enemies were stunned, and then contemptuous of this young woman who’d suddenly appeared. On the mountain path, they looked at this pair, nearly embracing one another, and found it laughable.

Was this some hero-saves-the-beauty scene? But who wanted to play the stepping stone here!

The mountain bandits showed no sign of backing down, pressing forward fiercely still: “Kill the man, kill the woman too…”

The cold wind howled, breath caught tight in the space of an instant. Held by Shen Qingwu—her hand over his, over the staff—Zhang Xingjian faced these enemies once more.

Life and death, hers to decide.

So be it, then. Let it be hers.