Zhang Xingjian put on the air of a corpse, indifferent to whatever was demanded of him.

Whatever Shen Qingwu did, he gave no response.

Feeling, desire, love, hatred—all of it was superfluous to him. He cared for none of it, wanted none of it. Shen Qingwu could take whatever she wanted, but he wouldn’t give her any reaction in return.

And yet Shen Qingwu found that, having seen through his mind, this unresponsive Zhang Xingjian had become considerably more interesting.

What he refused to indulge in, she was determined to make him indulge in anyway.

During this time, however, Shen Qingwu discovered that “bone-melting powder” had, in fact, little effect on Zhang Xingjian.

His body might be beyond his control, but his mind remained entirely his own to command. It turned out that his surrender that first night had merely been a way to lull her guard. When he refused to give in to it, Shen Qingwu saw just how thoroughly indifferent and unmoved he could remain—

She played however she pleased; he stayed unmoved as a mountain.

Resisting the drug’s effects only meant he suffered for it himself. Refusing to release the tension, his body would eventually convulse against his will, his face turning ashen pale; in severe cases, he’d even cough up blood or lose consciousness.

The first time Zhang Xingjian passed out from this, Shen Qingwu, straddling him, felt both furious and shaken.

At the height of her enthusiasm, she found herself instead with an achingly fragile young master. He lay unconscious on the bed, robe long since loosened, skin luminous and pale, his black, sweat-damp hair spread in disarray like scattered seaweed, framing his utterly bloodless face, lashes beaded with moisture, a thread of blood at the corner of his mouth.

Shen Qingwu very nearly slapped him.

The handsome face that had always delighted her now filled her with revulsion instead.

She checked his fevered breath, his uncontrollable body—he clearly felt something, yet refused to let that feeling show.

To be this thoroughly unmoved… was he simply some rare specimen among men?

Indignant, Shen Qingwu threw on her clothes, sat cross-legged, and stared in bewilderment at the unconscious young master. In all her years in the army camp, she’d seen plenty of men eager and impatient for female company. Surely men who rarely encountered women were like that—wasn’t Zhang Xingjian the same?

His second sister had kept him under such strict control.

Wasn’t she a woman too?

Was he truly not driven by desire at all?

Or was it… that she simply wasn’t attractive enough?

Not as beautiful as Shen Qingye?

Shen Qingwu regarded Zhang Xingjian coldly, then slowly rose to her feet—even if she wasn’t beautiful enough, Zhang Xingjian would simply have to bear it regardless.

And so, deep in the night, Shen Qingwu, her expression perfectly composed, went into town and knocked on the physician’s door. The physician assumed the frail young master of that household had fallen seriously ill again; instead, upon arriving, he found himself utterly speechless:

“Miss, shouldn’t you two pace yourselves a little? As newlyweds, this old man can understand the enthusiasm. But isn’t your husband a sickly sort?”

The physician looked, at something of a loss, at the rosy-cheeked, evenly-breathing Shen Qingwu before him, then glanced, troubled, at the barely-conscious young master lying beneath the covers on the bed.

Shen Qingwu told the physician: “No need to rush off—stay and brew the medicine slowly at my house. I never hide his condition from my husband; once he wakes, you may tell him everything about his illness, in full detail.”

The physician: “…”

Shen Qingwu: “I’ll pay extra.”

Though her salary wasn’t especially large, having spent so many years in the army camp, she’d had few opportunities to spend it. Her leave was worth every coin she might lavish on it—if such worldly things could buy her a bit of pleasure, they were worth spending.

Though the physician found this young lady thoroughly strange and couldn’t fathom what she was thinking, the promise of money made him grit his teeth and stay to tend to the household’s master.

By noon the next day, Zhang Xingjian coughed and stirred awake.

With outsiders present, Shen Qingwu wouldn’t bind him. Waking, Zhang Xingjian found himself facing a physician with an oddly awkward expression, and Shen Qingwu, arms crossed, watching him with quiet intensity.

The physician stammered through a repeat of what he’d said the night before—the gist being that one shouldn’t indulge in excess. A faint gleam lit Shen Qingwu’s eyes as she watched Zhang Xingjian’s usually composed face stiffen, ever so slightly.

Coming from a great family, he did, after all, retain some sense of shame.

At which point Shen Qingwu spoke up: “Doctor, why don’t you also prepare some medicine for my husband’s… performance issues, while you’re at it.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

The physician: “…”

Shen Qingwu’s expression remained perfectly calm, utterly without embarrassment: “You said it yourself—newlyweds get carried away easily. I worry we’ll overdo it and my husband will lose his function. Better to have the medicine ready in advance.

“That sort of medicine must sell fairly well, mustn’t it? Every man in the world needs it, more or less.”

The physician, stunned, turned back to look at Zhang Xingjian: Young master, is your wife always this formidable?

Zhang Xingjian kept his smile fixed in place: “A’Wu is being playful. Please forgive her, sir.”

Shen Qingwu graciously saw the physician out; he left shaking his head and muttering. At the doorway, Shen Qingwu turned a corner and doubled back into the room.

Zhang Xingjian still sat on the bed, his gaze flowing clear as water; seeing her approach, one leg propped on the bed frame as she leaned toward him.

Zhang Xingjian watched her calmly, not moving.

Shen Qingwu gripped his chin, asking: “Well?”

Zhang Xingjian said nothing.

Mimicking his usual, infuriatingly composed manner, Shen Qingwu smiled faintly: “See, this is just how shameless I am. If you won’t cooperate, I’ll keep playing this game anyway. I’m not afraid of losing face—if you don’t care whether the whole world knows you can’t perform, then keep on resisting.

“Zhang Yuelu, let’s see who wins and who loses.”

Zhang Xingjian gazed at her quietly.

He’d said nothing in response then, and Shen Qingwu assumed he had nothing to say.

That night, she came to understand just how ruthless Zhang Xingjian truly was toward himself—after taking the drug, he fell seriously ill.

The moment the medicine went down, he began coughing blood and convulsing, collapsing unconscious in Shen Qingwu’s startled, panicked arms. Rashes broke out across his body in patches, his skin burning red all over, his breath fading from scorching heat to barely perceptible.

Shen Qingwu very nearly believed Zhang Xingjian would die at her own hands.

In truth, he very well might have—had she not been skilled enough in martial arts to carry him at once, rushing again to pound on the door of the town’s only physician.

The physician was nearly driven out of his mind by this newly arrived young couple.

Unable to pinpoint the exact ailment, the physician could only tell Shen Qingwu, vaguely, that Zhang Xingjian likely couldn’t tolerate certain medicinal ingredients—that contact with them would trigger a violent reaction.

Shen Qingwu was baffled: “Is there really such a fragile person in this world?”

The physician, deeply pained, said: “Shouldn’t you be asking yourself instead why you have no idea what your own husband can and can’t take?”

He was practically desperate with frustration, half-tempted to personally teach Shen Qingwu, step by step, how to be a proper wife. With carelessness like hers, how many husbands would she end up killing before she learned?

Shen Qingwu remained unconvinced.

She suspected Zhang Xingjian was deliberately sabotaging things, making sure she gained nothing from all this trouble; surely any other man, lacking Zhang Xingjian’s particular cunning, would never refuse a woman already within his grasp.

What was wrong with him.

She’d offered herself to him and he still refused, preferring death itself to submission?

Shen Qingwu remained indignant, though in truth she’d been sufficiently rattled that she no longer dared act rashly against Zhang Xingjian.

In less than ten days of her holding him captive, he’d suffered one illness after another; rather than healing, his ailments only multiplied. She was certain to end up killing him this way… and then how could she ever face Bo Rong again? Bo Rong would never forgive her.

What exactly was the relationship between Zhang Xingjian and Bo Rong? Why had Bo Rong asked her to protect him?

When Zhang Xingjian woke again, he found his condition entirely different from all his previous awakenings.

This time, he hadn’t been bound with cloth strips, nor were his eyes covered with white cloth. Though the shackles on his hands and feet hadn’t been removed, soft cloth now wrapped the cold iron chains, protecting his wrists and ankles, swollen raw from the chafing.

His wounds had been freshly bandaged, and he was properly dressed.

Zhang Xingjian slowly sat up on the bed and saw Shen Qingwu sitting in the corner across from him.

She sat in the dim light, ghostly and quiet, her eyes like a wild wolf’s, her entire bearing radiating a “don’t provoke me” hostility. Anyone unaware of her presence there would surely have been startled by the sight of her.

Shen Qingwu stared at him: “Resisting to the death? You truly aren’t afraid of dying.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled: “Would fearing death have let me provoke General Shen in the first place?”

Shen Qingwu: “You’re really not afraid I’ll kill you?”

Zhang Xingjian: “Life and death are matters of fate.”

Shen Qingwu sneered: “You’d already guessed, hadn’t you, that Bo Rong ordered me to protect your life.”

Zhang Xingjian sighed.

Seeing Shen Qingwu’s expression darken, and worried she might act rashly, that provoking her into losing all reason might lead to something far worse, he said gently: “I had no idea Marshal Bo had ordered General Shen to protect me. I was merely testing the waters, taking a guess.

“Crossing swords with a heroine like General Shen inevitably carries some risk.”

He spoke with great sincerity: “Believe me, I’ve never encountered anyone quite like General Shen before.”

A woman single-mindedly determined to conquer him, unwilling to take the ordinary path to confine him, and yet a woman who wasn’t entirely without meaning to him either… Zhang Xingjian thought that, were she not the one who’d saved his life, he wouldn’t need to concern himself so much with her welfare.

But by the same token, if Shen Qingwu hadn’t harbored some feeling for him, he’d have died at her hands a hundred times over already.

This ongoing exchange with Shen Qingwu, every step carefully weighed, left Zhang Xingjian utterly exhausted as well.

Her next words pulled him back to reality: “You think you’ve won?”

Zhang Xingjian: “Hm?”

He looked at her, puzzled: he couldn’t be made to sleep with her, couldn’t be touched, gave no response at all—even if this stirred her combative instincts further, what more could Shen Qingwu do against an opponent who’d effectively given up any path forward himself?

Shen Qingwu walked toward him, one knee braced on the bed, leaning down over him.

Light flickered in Zhang Xingjian’s eyes, his face stiffening slightly: surely she wasn’t going to…

Would she rather see him dead than give up this entanglement with him?

Shen Qingwu’s hand settled on his wrist, her palm cupping his swollen wrist, sharp internal energy flowing from her palm into his body.

In an instant, Zhang Xingjian felt a stabbing pain radiate from his wrist. At the same time, that same force was mending the tendons in his wrist, half-ruined from his mistreatment in prison. Pain and relief arrived together, the sharp sensation shooting up through his blood toward his skull…

Zhang Xingjian let out a muffled groan, sweat beading on his forehead, and fell backward involuntarily. Following the motion, Shen Qingwu fell with him, pressing down on top of him.

Her hand still cupped his wrist, pushing aside the troublesome chain, forcibly continuing the treatment.

Sweat beaded on his forehead and lashes, his gaze hazy, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his face flushed from it all.

Shen Qingwu, utterly astonished, felt a sudden surge of excitement. She slowed her movements, halting the flow of internal energy, and the breathless young master beneath her couldn’t help reaching out to grasp her, his voice hoarse as sand grinding stone:

“Don’t stop…”

Pressing close to his ear, Shen Qingwu asked, curious: “Feels that good?”

She’d only meant to try it, never expecting it would actually work… A cruel curve touched her lips as she said: “Zhang Yuelu, you just like being tormented, don’t you?”

That wasn’t entirely fair of her to say.

She had no idea that the sensation of pain and warmth bursting simultaneously through his wrist meant something real—his tendons had been damaged for over a month now; ever since leaving prison, his hands and feet had never regained much strength, part of why he’d remained so persistently frail.

Against those mountain bandits that day, his inability to fight back had been due in large part to his body’s genuine weakness.

He, too, wanted his injuries properly healed.

And so, Shen Qingwu found that Zhang Xingjian—unmoved even by “bone-melting powder”—now flushed red-cheeked and breathless from her flow of internal energy alone. Brows knit beneath her, the corners of his eyes tinged red and white, his lips parted slightly.

Shen Qingwu lowered her head and kissed him.

He paused.

Shen Qingwu stopped channeling energy into him.

The moment she stopped, the constant swelling in his wrist became unbearable to him.

Zhang Xingjian, brow furrowed, looked up at her in some confusion. She gazed down at him unhurriedly, her lips merely resting against his, not claiming him as she usually did. The two of them faced off in silence for a moment, and then, clear water swimming in his eyes, he slowly parted his lips.

A smile lingered in Shen Qingwu’s eyes.

Tongue against tongue, teeth against teeth.

She thought: so that’s all it was, after all.

And so, beneath the dim candlelight, the two of them found themselves in bed once more, impossible to say who had initiated it, who had pursued whom. Feeling, once woven into a net, spread everywhere—there was no escaping it once it had taken hold.

Candlelight climbed the flying blue bed-curtains; at moments like this, Shen Qingwu, gripping his shoulders, always seemed to favor looking down at him from a position of command.

While he, breath coming quick, his face flushed entirely from her doing, felt as though his whole body were being slowly boiled alive. His hand, beyond his control, settled on her shoulder, trembling faintly as it brushed against her warm skin.

Shen Qingwu bent to kiss his forehead, their mingled breath moving between them. Through the haze, he heard her ask: “How did you guess that A’Wu was Shen Qingwu? Tell me.”

He closed his eyes and didn’t answer.

She stopped.

He opened his eyes to look at her, light shimmering in his gaze. Her heart stirred violently, and yet she gripped his chin regardless, watching his breath spiral out of control, watching the flush spread across him, his eyes brimming.

The water in his eyes threatened to drown her, to pull her under completely.

Pressed to his lips, she demanded again and again: “How did you know A’Wu was Shen Qingwu?”

Sweat mingled between them.

What torment could be worse than this—wounding the enemy by a thousand cuts while costing yourself eight hundred in the process?

Unable to bear it any longer, Zhang Xingjian pushed his hand against her waist, and with his eyes closed, said in a low, hoarse voice:

“Someone kept reminding me of another person, and yet this person shouldn’t resemble that one in any respect at all. Either she’s gone mad, or I have. General Shen, which do you think it is?”

Shen Qingwu laughed.

Hearing her laughter, Zhang Xingjian opened his eyes and looked up at her. With the candlelight behind her, the kneeling young lady’s black hair hung loose and disheveled, her eyes curved in laughter. She seemed livelier than usual, a peach-pink flush rising in her eyes—more strikingly beautiful now than she’d ever been before.

She said teasingly: “You’re the one who’s gone mad.”

Zhang Xingjian thought: so that’s how it is.

Was it, though?—

When it was over, Zhang Xingjian lay on the bed, his face pale as snow, his hair jet black.

Moonlight bathed the room.

He turned his face aside, watching Shen Qingwu, in excellent spirits, fasten her belt and tie back her hair carelessly, clearly preparing to head out.

Shen Qingwu turned back, meeting his gaze.

She said with a grin: “Who won, hm?”

Zhang Xingjian said gently: “Too soon to say.”

Shen Qingwu: “Say whatever you like.”

She had never cared for cooking, and these past few days, with Zhang Xingjian confined, no one had been cooking for her; she’d been making do carelessly in the kitchen on her own. She thought her cooking tasted about like pig slop; Zhang Xingjian never offered a single complaint, though she herself had plenty.

Feeling pleased, she headed into the kitchen, intending to cook herself something good to celebrate.

She really was starting to like Zhang Xingjian a little—every round with him brought some new surprise.

Better still, she’d slept with him again.

After that “bone-melting powder” incident, she’d tried every trick she could think of, matching wits and strength with him, and had finally tasted him again.

What surprised her was that she didn’t feel bored, didn’t feel it had grown tedious. Every time she touched him, every time their breath tangled together, something in her trembled in time with her own blood.

A melting, dizzying feeling, one that clouded her mind and stripped away her reason, leaving her able to see nothing but him.

Every time she kissed him, a kind of soul-deep pleasure washed through her.

What did that mean?

It could only mean that Zhang Xingjian was an exceptionally satisfying man to sleep with.

Having tasted this pleasure, she’d become like the young men among her fellow officers—consumed with interest in the act itself, already anticipating the next round the moment one had ended.

After Shen Qingwu left, Zhang Xingjian lay flat on the bed, eyes closed, replaying what had just happened in his mind as well.

His mind was, in truth, largely blank; he hadn’t meant to dwell on it deliberately. But an experience this far outside the ordinary always managed to stir him, whether he willed it or not.

Her fingers entwined with his, her breath brushing his cheek, every time she drew close, his blood seemed to boil within him, his gaze following her without his consent, a hollow, aching happiness rising in his chest at the same time.

Zhang Xingjian thought to himself, detached: so this was the inherent weakness of men. Once you’d tasted pleasure, resisting your own nature became especially difficult.

He absolutely could not give in.

He was the Zhang family’s moon, carrying the weight of the family’s hopes on his shoulders. With the sun cast out of the family, he alone remained. He wanted to achieve great things, wanted to replace the sun, wanted everyone to remember him, wanted to be the only one who mattered. He wanted to give back everything he’d learned to the Great Zhou, to make worthwhile all those long, lonely years he’d spent confined within the family compound.

He’d given up on Shen Qingwu once, in his youth, and had long since known that had been the wrong choice—no one would ever accept Shen Qingwu…

Zhang Yuelu was different from Shen Qingwu—Shen Qingwu could simply turn and walk away whenever she pleased, unhappy; Zhang Yuelu couldn’t let go of anyone.

Life ought to follow the easier path, shouldn’t it?

Hazy moonlight bathed the young master on the bed; Zhang Xingjian saw with perfect clarity his own struggle and hesitation in the dark, saw Shen Qingwu’s face circling endlessly through his mind.

Her cold, indifferent gaze, unlike any other woman’s; her upright, striding gait, unlike any other woman’s; her careless dress, her hair always simply tied back in a ponytail; her smug smile, her provoking gaze, the flat, unashamed look on her face whenever she was caught spying on him…

General Shen, unrivaled beneath heaven.

On the bed, Zhang Xingjian turned to face the wall, the chains on his hands and feet knocking against the bed frame with a clinking sound. His wrist didn’t hurt as badly as usual—even this, he owed to Shen Qingwu.

Zhang Xingjian never imagined that, one day, every aspect of his life would be infiltrated by Shen Qingwu to this degree. Yet there was little he could do about it now, except watch it happen before his eyes.

At last he closed his eyes, a helpless, self-mocking smile crossing his lips.

So be it, then.

He needed Shen Qingwu to help heal the wounds on his hands and feet, needed her, even, to help remove the shackles from them.

A small sacrifice, no great matter.

She only wanted his body; once she had it, she’d surely grow bored of it soon enough.

But Zhang Xingjian thought, too, that he needed to leave Shen Qingwu behind before long. Continuing like this would do neither of them any good.

He had no idea what had happened outside during his days of captivity, how Chang Lin and the others were faring. He needed to find out—

That evening, at dusk, Shen Qingwu returned to her courtyard carrying medicine and vegetables, and was startled to find a child in her courtyard.

A faint, gentle melody drifted through the courtyard, threading through the air like a fresh mountain spring. A boy of seven or eight clutched a paper kite; turning to see Shen Qingwu at the gate, his face immediately flashed with guilt, and he shrank back toward the base of the wall.

The child called out loudly: “Sister’s back!”

The soft tune stopped.

The child gave Shen Qingwu a timid smile, saying nervously: “My— my kite fell into your courtyard, sister, and the big brother told me to just come get it myself… I’ll go now.”

Shen Qingwu was tall, unsmiling, her eyes always cold and devoid of expression. Adults disliked her, kept their distance from her—how much more so a child?

Before she’d entered the courtyard, it had been full of children’s laughter; the moment she appeared, the laughter cut off abruptly—nothing unusual in that.

Shen Qingwu watched the child scramble up over the wall in a hurry to flee.

Startled into clumsiness, the child’s foot slipped, and he nearly fell from the wall. He glanced back, sheepish, at Shen Qingwu standing motionless at the courtyard gate, scratched his head with a bashful grin, and finally leapt down and dashed off.

With her sharp hearing, Shen Qingwu judged from the sound of the child’s retreating footsteps which direction he’d run.

The little courtyard fell quiet again; Shen Qingwu set the vegetables and medicine down in the kitchen first before heading back to the main room.

Zhang Xingjian sat half-upright on the bed, white cloth strips supporting his hands and feet. Though his movement was still restricted, having gone unbothered these past few days, he’d grown accustomed to his current circumstances, and that elegant, graceful bearing of his—the one Shen Qingwu always found so appealing—had returned once more.

He set down, unhurriedly, a leaf he’d been holding.

Shen Qingwu’s gaze fixed on his hand.

He gave the leaf a little shake, his tone gentle: “I haven’t done anything, truly. A yellow leaf simply blew in, and some child running through the courtyard shouted that this place was haunted.”

He said, somewhat helplessly: “Surely General Shen doesn’t want people genuinely believing this place is haunted, drawing crowds of onlookers? I had no choice but to speak with the child, and played a tune on the leaf to calm him down. Otherwise, what if the child accidentally damaged some trap General Shen has set up here targeting me?”

Shen Qingwu: “Setting traps? Good idea—I was just planning to do exactly that.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

He watched Shen Qingwu pull a stool over and sit down in front of his bed. He turned his face slightly aside, knowing her daily torment was about to begin again.

Ever since their falling-out, he generally had no wish to participate in this particular “hobby” of hers.

This time, though, her attention wasn’t on him at all—instead she asked: “Where did that child come from?”

Zhang Xingjian said: “His name is A’Wen, seven years old today, and he’s actually our neighbor. This courtyard General Shen rented had long been rumored haunted—no one would rent it. Once some fool finally took it, though, the place stayed suspiciously quiet day after day… children, naturally, tend to grow curious.”

A faint smile touched his eyes, tinged with something reminiscent: “Children are always curious. He climbed over the wall hoping to catch a ghost for fun. I, a wanted criminal of the court, obviously couldn’t let him run wild. With General Shen not around, I had no choice but to speak with him a little.”

Shen Qingwu: “What did you say to him?”

Zhang Xingjian sighed: “Nothing more than playing a little tune on a leaf, coaxing him to stay put in the courtyard instead of wandering off.”

Shen Qingwu didn’t believe a word of his nonsense.

She suspected Zhang Xingjian had certainly used the child to pass along some message, some way to resolve his own predicament of captivity.

But she didn’t particularly care about that.

Her eyes fixed instead on his slender fingers peeking from his sleeve, thinking of the badly swollen skin hidden from view. She frowned, an uncomfortable feeling rising in her chest.

His wrists were injured, and yet he’d still played a tune for some child… while she’d gotten nothing at all.

Shen Qingwu said coldly: “I didn’t know you could play tunes on leaves. Had I known you had that particular talent, I should have gagged your mouth too.”

Zhang Xingjian caught the displeasure in her voice.

Something in his heart tightened; he had no idea why she’d be upset. As far as he understood her, Shen Qingwu, cold as she was, wasn’t a cruel person. He’d explained so much precisely so she wouldn’t turn on a child.

Yet why was she still displeased?

Countless thoughts churned through Zhang Xingjian’s mind; he attributed her displeasure to her inability to trust him. But there was nothing to be done about that.

He simply couldn’t afford to stir her suspicion further, couldn’t risk her turning on a young child.

On any other day, Zhang Xingjian wouldn’t have bothered responding to her. But today, he spoke gently, trying to settle her mood: “I merely happen to have a number of small talents—I simply know a bit too much, that’s all.”

A flicker crossed Shen Qingwu’s eyes.

Know a bit too much…

She asked: “What else can you do?”

Zhang Xingjian smiled: “Nothing at all.”

Shen Qingwu glanced at him, thought for a moment, then suddenly rose to her feet. Zhang Xingjian, who’d been watching her all along, felt a tightening in his chest as her expression turned abruptly colder.

Shen Qingwu: “You think I don’t know what dirty little schemes you’ve got hiding in that head of yours?”

Zhang Xingjian cut in smoothly: “Those two words are read ‘filthy-minded.'”

Shen Qingwu froze.

Meeting his gaze, a sudden numbness spread through her chest, softening despite herself: she’d known it—he really did understand every word she said. Every time he pretended not to understand, he’d surely been lying to her.

Shen Qingwu retorted with perfect confidence: “You think I don’t know your filthy little scheme? You wanted to use that child to pass along a message, to get someone to come rescue you.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled without answering.

Shen Qingwu sat back down: “But I’m magnanimous. I won’t hold it against you.”

The smile in Zhang Xingjian’s eyes deepened.

She clearly only felt free to dismiss such things because she was confident no one could beat her in a fight. He could hardly resist the urge to point that out—

Zhang Xingjian: “General Shen, there are far too many ways in this world to kill you.”

Shen Qingwu: “You’re with me now—killing me means killing you too. Would you really let that happen? I trust you care a great deal about both our safety.”

Zhang Xingjian fell silent.

Only then did she catch his meaning, and shot him a sharp, baring glance: “You want to kill me? Could you even manage it?”

With his laughably weak skills—please.

Zhang Xingjian bore it, keeping his smile in place.

Shen Qingwu sat down beside him as a matter of course, idly winding a lock of his soft hair, loose at his waist, around her finger: “I won’t hold your little schemes against you, and I won’t worry about that child sneaking in either. I won’t torment you tonight—just play me a tune, the way you did for that child.”

Zhang Xingjian pretended not to notice her playing with his hair, only glancing at her once.

Play a tune?

What kind of taste was this? The mighty General Shen, capable of appreciating something so trivial? He found it hard to believe at all.

Shen Qingwu fought down the longing rising in her chest, but with Zhang Xingjian right beside her, who could resist—

Whatever others had experienced, she wanted it too.

And the moon, as it happened, was a moon of many talents.

She wanted to hear a tune too, wanted to have something that child had had, that she herself never had.

Shen Qingwu threatened Zhang Xingjian: “If you won’t play me a tune, I’ll keep tormenting you tonight.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

Watching him frown, she asked, curious: “What are you hesitating for? Don’t tell me you’d rather… hm?”

Zhang Xingjian said at once: “I’ll play the tune.”

Shen Qingwu suppressed a smile.

She stretched, leaning back slightly, draping herself over his shoulder from behind to look at him. She saw his calm face, his jade-pale profile.

Having stared for a while, her heart stirring on impulse, an itch rising within her, she suddenly brushed aside the loose hair against his cheek, leaned in, and kissed his cheek.

He went rigid with shock, his lashes fluttering faintly.

Zhang Xingjian stayed quiet for a long moment, the fingers holding the leaf against his knee going numb, before turning his head to look at her: “Didn’t you say you wouldn’t… hm?”

Shen Qingwu: “Hm what? Can’t understand you. Play the tune.”