A child’s innocent words, mortifying to everyone else.

Of everyone present, Shen Qingwu was the least embarrassed. While the family stood frozen at the fence, at a loss for words, she had already reached out and pressed the box of pastries she’d brought into the middle-aged couple’s hands.

Her other hand gripped Zhang Xingjian’s wrist, pulling him toward the courtyard.

The middle-aged couple: “Uh…”

Shen Qingwu turned back, her dark eyes fixed on them: “You invited us, and we brought a congratulatory gift.”

The unspoken meaning behind her words, perhaps only Zhang Xingjian understood—I’ve followed your customs to the letter, so what’s the problem now?

Zhang Xingjian composed himself and stepped in to smooth things over, offering the family a smile: “A’Wen and I were just trading a few jokes, and he must have taken it seriously. It was nothing worth mentioning—tonight isn’t about us, after all.”

He offered his congratulations, but noticed the family’s expressions remained somewhat strained.

The young lady soon to be engaged was A’Wen’s older sister, named Xiuniang. The man she was to be engaged to was clearly a farmer, honest and simple, tall and sturdily built. He stood beside Xiuniang, awkwardly helping her family receive the guests, rather tongue-tied.

Xiuniang was delicately beautiful, fair-skinned, her eyes like a starry night sky. In this small, modest town, she counted as a rare beauty.

This lovely young woman, upon seeing Zhang Xingjian, showed a flash of startled surprise, followed by a wistful, downcast expression. She watched Zhang Xingjian and his tall wife enter the courtyard, and the melancholy in her brow never fully faded.

Something clicked into place in Zhang Xingjian’s mind.

Though Shen Qingwu had no such realization, she was perceptive enough to notice Xiuniang’s gaze lingering constantly on Zhang Xingjian.

She glanced sideways at her fake husband, watching the elegant flutter of his sleeves as he took his seat, watching the smile that never quite left the corner of his mouth.

Shen Qingwu suddenly spoke: “Coveting someone else’s husband—isn’t that a grave sin?”

Zhang Xingjian answered at once: “Not a capital offense.”

He turned to look at her, smiling: “Besides, what standing does General Shen have to say such a thing? Toward me, you… hm?”

Shen Qingwu said flatly: “I’m nothing like her.”

Zhang Xingjian raised an eyebrow.

He heard her continue, quite naturally: “I’m a scoundrel, a villain, a nuisance. Xiuniang isn’t.”

Zhang Xingjian looked at her quietly.

He said: “Who told you that you’re a scoundrel, a villain, a nuisance?”

Shen Qingwu said calmly: “Everyone says so, don’t they?”

Zhang Xingjian: “I’ve never once heard anyone say that.”

She turned to look at him, challenging him: “Your second sister kept you so closely watched, you barely ever left the house—of course you wouldn’t hear it. Besides, people don’t need to say it aloud; their eyes say it plainly enough. You think I can’t tell?”

She defended herself: “I’m not actually so oblivious to how people look at me.”

Whether in the capital, in the army camp, or here and now, Shen Qingwu had always been trouble in most people’s eyes. It was somewhat better in the army camp—she kept to herself there, and whatever trouble she caused was only battlefield business, called “valor,” not “trouble.”

Shen Qingwu had long since learned to provoke fewer people.

The only person she never stopped provoking now was Zhang Xingjian.

Zhang Xingjian gazed at her quietly.

Watching her say this so indifferently, then watching her decide against acting on her thoughts about Xiuniang and instead idly reach for fruit on the table, he noted that people were indeed curious about them, though few dared approach.

That was because the two of them, sitting there together, simply didn’t fit in with everyone else. But Shen Qingwu likely assumed it was her own unlikability at fault.

Zhang Xingjian suddenly said, quietly: “Bo Rong hasn’t been good to you.”

What exactly had Bo Rong been teaching her? Why had Bo Rong sent Shen Qingwu to find him, drawing her into this whirlpool that was the Zhang family… why wouldn’t Bo Rong treat her better?

Shen Qingwu turned to look at him, her brow turning icy: “He’s the best person in this world to me. Say another bad word about him and I’ll kill you.”

Zhang Xingjian’s expression remained calm, regarding her lightly. He had much he could say, but the words caught in his throat, as though frozen by ice.

He swallowed them back down, smiling faintly: “It seems General Shen holds unusually strong feelings for Marshal Bo. Then I don’t understand—why treat me this way, and not treat Marshal Bo the same way?”

He probed her: “Don’t you think he and I are quite alike?”

Shen Qingwu was caught off guard.

She wondered to herself why she treated Bo Rong the way she did. Bo Rong wasn’t Zhang Xingjian, wasn’t like Zhang Xingjian in this… this way she couldn’t quite put into words.

Whenever she looked at Zhang Xingjian, some unresolved feeling always rose up in her, demanding she do something about it.

Shen Qingwu offered her assessment: “You two are alike, sometimes.”

Something flickered in Zhang Xingjian’s eyes; the smile at the corner of his mouth cooled briefly, then quickly recovered.

He listened as she pondered his other question: “Why do I treat you this way… because treating you this way… feels good.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…?”

He laughed through gritted teeth: “Watching me humiliated feels good to you?”

Shen Qingwu studied his face, seeing that he was holding back anger. His fine, jade-like features had gone starkly pale, starlight flickering in his eyes. She thought he looked rather good like this too—she simply liked watching his composure crack.

And so Shen Qingwu looked at him steadily, quite calmly: “Mm.”

Zhang Xingjian took a deep breath, turned his face away at once, and ignored her entirely.

Shen Qingwu propped her chin on her hand: “Are you angry?”

As guests came and went afterward, no matter how Shen Qingwu tried to strike up conversation, he paid her no attention at all. Baffled yet oddly thrilled by this behavior of his, she could barely resist the urge to tease him further, torment him more…

But she’d sworn just days ago not to torment him for a while, and he’d helped style her hair and pin her flower that very afternoon… Shen Qingwu decided to let Zhang Xingjian have some peace.

And so she turned her face away too, saying nothing more to him. If she didn’t speak to him, he couldn’t grow any more displeased.

Zhang Xingjian watched her quietly, then finally lowered his eyes, smiling to himself in some self-mockery.

Shen Qingwu sat there for a long while; the courtyard gradually filled with guests, and at last the betrothed couple, who’d been greeting guests at the gate, came in, offering pleasantries, thanking everyone for coming, and toasting the assembled guests.

Young, lovely Xiuniang took one sip of wine and immediately coughed, her face flushing crimson. Her honest fiancé hurried to pat her back and fetch her water. She stood delicately beside her sturdy husband-to-be, the picture of soft, gentle fragility.

With her sharp hearing, Shen Qingwu caught a woman among the guests muttering under her breath: “Such a coquette—choking on one sip of wine, just to get a man to pat her back.”

Something clicked into place for Shen Qingwu.

She glanced sideways at Zhang Xingjian, thoughtful.

She was soon drawn back into the young couple’s story—some guests murmured privately that this Xiuniang, barely fifteen, was rushing to marry some man who’d seemingly appeared out of nowhere, such a pity.

Once Xiuniang’s coughing subsided, her fiancé fumbled out a small wooden box and, awkwardly, held out the hairpin inside: “Xiu— Xiuniang, I spent all the money my family had to buy you this hairpin. My parents told me you’d wanted one for a long time. I’ll— I’ll buy you many more hairpins…”

Warm laughter rippled through the crowd.

Flushed red, the fiancé finished what he had to say: “A wife ought to be given hairpins by her husband. My family’s poor, but… no wife of mine will go without hairpins.”

Xiuniang stared, stunned, at the box held out before her, then looked again at this honest man she’d once looked down on. Unable to help herself, she glanced sideways at her neighbor among the guests, standing out from the crowd with his refined, composed elegance…

A tangle of emotions rose in Xiuniang’s chest; she accepted the man’s hairpin, met with warm, teasing cheers from the crowd.

Under the flickering lights, her beautiful face flushed faintly red.

Watching Xiuniang, Shen Qingwu suddenly reached up to touch her own hair. The flower was still there, but she’d picked it herself. There was a wooden hairpin too, but that was also her own.

No one had ever given her a hairpin.

Shen Qingwu turned to look at Zhang Xingjian beside her.

He immediately lowered his head to sip his tea, feigning ignorance.

But Shen Qingwu paid him no mind—she leaned in to poke him, when suddenly commotion erupted in the courtyard, a chaotic rush of footsteps pouring in from outside, the noise draining the color from Xiuniang’s face and the others’.

A group of officials, blades drawn, burst in from outside, marching straight through the courtyard toward Xiuniang: “That’s her—take her!”

Everyone panicked.

The middle-aged couple lunged forward at once; Xiuniang’s fiancé moved to block the way too. A’Wen dove in and bit down hard on one official’s hand. The official, howling in pain, struck A’Wen aside with a slap; A’Wen screamed: “Don’t touch my sister!”

The chaos threw the whole scene into disarray.

The middle-aged couple shielded their daughter: “Officers, officers! Our daughter isn’t unmarried—she has a fiancé, they’re to be married any day now!”

The official cursed: “You think the officials don’t already know your little scheme? Are you out of your minds? Once she’s living in luxury in the palace, won’t the whole village benefit too? And you dare marry her off already… tired of living, are you?”

Xiuniang was seized, and she burst into tears: “Father, mother—”

Her sturdy fiancé lunged forward, grappling with one of the officials: “Xiuniang is engaged to me, you can’t take her…”

The official said: “Look closely! It’s not us who wants to take her—she’s been chosen by the imperial household! The emperor is selecting beauties for the palace—this is an enormous honor! Everyone, seize her…”

The couple wailed: “Neighbors, they’re seizing a commoner’s daughter by force—our Xiuniang hasn’t even come of age, our family never once dreamed of sending our daughter into the palace! Even if the capital is wonderful, we don’t want to go…”

They wiped at their tears; Xiuniang sobbed, A’Wen clung with his teeth to an official’s leg refusing to let go, and the fiancé, pinned down by two officials, was beaten soundly.

The lanterns in the courtyard flickered dim and uncertain.

The guests, shocked by such brazen abuse of power, moved by the family’s suffering, rose indignantly one after another: “What are you doing? Xiuniang is already engaged, she’s not unclaimed—and you still mean to seize her…”

The official shouted: “Are you all in rebellion now? Defying the imperial order? The emperor wants Xiuniang in the palace…”

The old couple wept: “How would the emperor even know our Xiuniang exists…”

Sitting in the courtyard, Shen Qingwu finally understood what was happening.

No wonder, when she’d first rented this place, there’d been no talk of an engagement in this family—and now Xiuniang suddenly had a fiancé. No wonder, when she’d checked the almanac, she couldn’t understand why this family hadn’t chosen an auspicious date.

They’d never had a choice at all.

They were rushing to marry off their daughter, with as much fanfare as possible, before she could be taken away. They believed the more guests they invited, the greater the show of support, the less likely the officials would dare seize her.

They hadn’t expected the officials to be quite this brazen—

Shen Qingwu reached for her back, then realized she’d left her bow and arrows at home.

She paused, then decided it didn’t matter. With her skill, she could win Xiuniang back with her bare hands alone.

But before she could act… amid the chaos, Shen Qingwu grabbed Zhang Xingjian, shoved him into a corner, and kicked over a table with one foot. The table’s dark shadow fell over the space, concealing it perfectly, hiding Zhang Xingjian from sight.

Shen Qingwu told him: “Hide here and don’t come out.”

Pushed into this safe corner, Zhang Xingjian went momentarily blank. Seeing her about to leave, he couldn’t help reaching out to catch her.

Zhang Xingjian: “Shen Qingwu!”

She turned back to look at him.

The flower in her hair swayed gently, luminous in the dim night light.

Zhang Xingjian said quietly: “They represent the imperial court—you’re no match for them…”

Shen Qingwu dismissed this: “All of them together couldn’t beat me.”

Zhang Xingjian tried to make her understand: “They’ll call for more men.”

Shen Qingwu: “They can’t beat me. Just stay hidden, don’t let them find you.”

Busy as she was preparing to fight, to right this wrong, she still worried those men might hurt Zhang Xingjian, might so much as lay a hand on him.

Having hastily tucked her person away safely, making sure no one could find him, she turned and plunged into the crowd.

Shen Qingwu joined the fight bare-handed; tucked away in the shadowed corner where she’d pushed him, Zhang Xingjian listened to the shouts outside—

“Who are you? You dare raise a hand against us? Tired of living? We’ll have you in prison by tomorrow!”

“This woman’s vicious—who is she, whose family? Brothers, all of you, at her!”

Zhang Xingjian’s lashes trembled; after listening to the commotion outside for a moment, he slowly pushed aside the table propped against the wall. Without a single backward glance at the fight, following a route he’d already scouted out, he slipped away amid the chaos—

The night watch drum sounded once; a gong echoed through the streets.

Zhang Xingjian stood before a small stall that hadn’t yet closed for the night, buying a wooden hairpin.

A figure appeared silently behind him.

Chang Lin cleared his throat.

Without turning around, Zhang Xingjian finished buying the hairpin, tucked it into his robe, and walked on unhurried. Wrapped in his thin robe, sleeves stirring in the breeze, he asked Chang Lin evenly: “How do things stand at court?”

Ten days earlier, before heading into the mountains, Zhang Xingjian had told a pawnshop attendant to have Chang Lin wait for him on a certain hillside near this town.

Chang Lin had waited here the entire day, and at last, in the dead of night, saw the third young master appear. He understood then—the young master’s plans never failed; if he’d said to wait here, he was certain to find a way to arrive.

How could Shen Qingwu ever hope to contain him?

Chang Lin fell into step behind Zhang Xingjian, answering his question: “As you instructed, several ministers are preparing to overturn the case against you, young master, pinning the fabricated evidence on Chancellor Kong instead.”

Zhang Xingjian said: “Good. Kong Ye must be at his wits’ end right now—the young emperor’s been giving him no peace.”

Chang Lin looked puzzled.

Zhang Xingjian turned his face to him, smiling: “The young emperor is holding a nationwide selection of beauties, isn’t he?”

Chang Lin looked at the young master with admiration, unsure how he could possibly know this. But Chang Lin hadn’t thought the matter important enough to report, and now that the young master asked, he answered casually enough:

“Should be, I suppose—I’m not entirely certain myself. With the Imperial Princess gone, it’s only natural the young emperor would want to hold a selection. He’s reached the age for marriage, after all.”

Zhang Xingjian: “But the young emperor’s been laying hands on respectable young women across the realm. Kong Ye surely can’t keep him in check…”

Chang Lin nodded, still puzzled.

After a moment of silence, Zhang Xingjian laid out his next move: “Now’s the best opportunity—have the Censorate press their impeachments harder. For the sake of his own reputation, Kong Ye will inevitably try to restrain the young emperor’s excesses, and the young emperor, already impatient with him, is very likely to take the court’s memorials seriously right now.”

Chang Lin nodded repeatedly, committing Zhang Xingjian’s instructions to memory.

Still, Chang Lin urged: “Young master, impeaching Chancellor Kong is important, and so is restoring your name. But the court still has a warrant out for you—it’s far too dangerous for you to be out here on your own. Wouldn’t it be better to come back with us…”

Zhang Xingjian shook his head: “I have other matters to attend to.”

He still needed to deal with the matter of the real Bo the Third; the court’s affairs in the capital weren’t the top priority just yet.

Chang Lin nodded.

Chang Lin followed along as a matter of course, but when they reached the head of the alley, Zhang Xingjian stopped, turning back to look at him with some hesitation. Chang Lin caught the hesitation, and heard Zhang Xingjian say slowly: “Go back first, then. I’ll summon you again when needed.”

Chang Lin: “…”

He didn’t understand: “You’re not coming with me?”

He said: “You’ve already escaped from Shen Qingwu’s side. There’s nothing she can do about it now… you’re clever enough, you’re sure to find a way to stay clear of her. It was my carelessness before, failing to protect you properly, but if you just rejoin us, even ten Shen Qingwus couldn’t touch you…”

Zhang Xingjian lowered his eyes.

He thought of that afternoon—Shen Qingwu leaping through the window into the room, throwing herself into his arms, insisting he tuck a flower into her hair.

He thought, too, of years ago, at that flower-viewing banquet, of Shen Qingwu gripping his hand and refusing to let go.

And he thought of just moments before—Shen Qingwu, busy rushing into a fight, still remembering to shove him into what she believed was a safe corner, worried he might get caught in the crossfire. A careless Shen Qingwu who nonetheless remembered he was a wanted fugitive, who’d found a way to keep him hidden from the officials’ eyes.

He thought of her eyes—

Those cold eyes, indifferent to everything.

Eyes that could, nonetheless, curve with laughter, could smile, could ache with sorrow. Eyes that tried to tell him things, that pressed him, that pushed him to go get her whatever she wanted.

Zhang Xingjian hesitated, and hesitated again.

The cool wind brushed his cheek.

He said slowly: “She won’t give up.”

…She wouldn’t let go of him.

Chang Lin: “But you’re no easy mark either.”

If Zhang Xingjian didn’t want to be found by Shen Qingwu, how could she ever find him?

In the cold night, Chang Lin heard Zhang Xingjian say softly: “She could use a lesson taught to her. But I, I…”

Chang Lin: “Hm?”

Chang Lin suddenly tensed: “Who’s there?!”

In the cold night, several officials burst in with disordered footsteps, appearing abruptly at the crossroads. Catching sight of Zhang Xingjian, they suddenly recalled the strikingly familiar portrait on the arrest warrant.

The officials froze in shock: “Seize him!”

Zhang Xingjian watched calmly as they came rushing toward him—

Shen Qingwu handled the fight with total ease. The guests had all fled; fighting alone, she’d scared off the officials easily enough. In the now-empty courtyard, only Xiuniang’s weeping family remained.

Xiuniang sat on the steps, her fiancé’s arm around her shoulders, choking back sobs. A’Wen, his face covered in blood, knelt beside his sister, trying to comfort her.

Xiuniang’s parents, steadying themselves, wiped away their tears, masking their grief as they came to thank Shen Qingwu.

Choking on their words, they said: “Thank you, heroine, for helping us—what should we do now…”

Shen Qingwu paid no mind to what they should do next; she surveyed the courtyard, now a wreck, leapt up, and moved swiftly through the space. The family watched, dumbfounded, as Shen Qingwu kicked aside several wooden stools and suddenly bent down to crawl into the gap beneath.

She lifted the tablecloth—the corner beneath was empty, only a sliver of moonlight following her hand as she pulled back the cover. The young master who’d been sitting there safely just moments before was gone.

He’d escaped after all.

Ignoring the family’s effusive gratitude, Shen Qingwu leapt onto a treetop, scanning the surroundings with a cold eye, and set off in pursuit—

She ran swiftly through the streets and alleys, her figure a blur, flashing across walls and between trees.

The wind tousled her hair; the flower in her hair had fallen out at some point without her noticing, and the fighting had knocked her carefully arranged hairstyle loose, strands sticking messily to her cheeks.

Shen Qingwu suddenly spotted several bodies lying at a street corner; she leapt down from the wall to investigate, crouching to check, and found the soldiers already dead.

Sensing a presence behind her, she sprang up at once, snatched the blade from a dead soldier’s hand, and spun to strike behind her with a full swing.

Clear moonlight fell into her eyes.

The blade stopped just short of its target, never completing its arc—

Standing before her was the gentle, elegant young master. His thin sleeve, caught by the edge of the blade, fluttered upward; in his hand, he held a hairpin with three swaying tassels, dangling it before her.

Zhang Xingjian smiled: “Hm? Why so fierce?”

Shen Qingwu stared at him blankly.

Slowly, she lowered the blade, tossing the blood-stained weapon at her feet. She stood there rigidly, her dark eyes fixed unblinkingly on him.

Moonlight fell over the two of them.

Zhang Xingjian smiled faintly, saying with some helplessness: “Some soldiers at the banquet recognized me, so I had to lead them off and deal with them somewhere no one would notice. I’m sorry I’m back so late… is Xiuniang’s family alright?”

Shen Qingwu looked at him coldly.

Yet the light in her eyes burned unmistakably bright.

Zhang Xingjian said with a rueful smile: “Having just killed some men, I’ll need General Shen’s help burying the bodies. And as for Xiuniang’s family’s troubles—simply chasing off the soldiers won’t be enough. We’ll need a further plan.”

She stepped toward him, one step at a time.

Fearless, unstoppable, like a blade unsheathed—bright and dazzling.

Zhang Xingjian stepped back, one step at a time.

He held out the hairpin to her: “I bought you a hairpin. Isn’t this what you wanted? Don’t be angry anymore.”

The moment his hand brushed hers, she knocked the hairpin from his grip without mercy. The crisp clatter of the wooden pin striking the stone pavement rang out, and Zhang Xingjian heard Shen Qingwu say coldly: “I don’t want anything from you.”

Zhang Xingjian paused.

He said with a smile: “Still want it, though, don’t you?”

Shen Qingwu: “No.”

She wanted nothing at all from him. She stood there in the empty street, night wind howling around her, the vast bright moon hanging overhead.

She had never held any expectations of Zhang Xingjian.

She had never held expectations of anyone.

She’d lived twenty-one years, lived to this very day, and she had never once expected anything from him!

The wind swept past the young lady’s cool, pale eyes, the fire within them enough to set a heart pounding.

Zhang Xingjian carefully avoided meeting her gaze, smiling gently: “Then let’s deal with the bodies first…”

He turned to head toward the corpses on the ground, but Shen Qingwu suddenly grabbed his wrist from behind, yanking him back. Zhang Xingjian, turning, was shoved backward by her.

Pressed against the wall, his neck tilted back, she kissed fiercely down toward his throat—

She wanted nothing from him.

She only wanted him.