Night deepened, thick fog and heavy frost blanketing the village, the barking of dogs growing sparse.

Shen Qingwu and Zhang Xingjian returned to the neighbor’s courtyard well into the second half of the night.

The tables and stools in the yard were overturned, the lanterns extinguished. The guests had long since scattered, and the soldiers had not come back, but the family sat on the ground and on the steps, wiping away tears.

The sparks of the fire were as faint as beans, and no one had the heart to rest.

Seeing the two of them return, with Xiuniang and her fiancé still crying, A’Wen greeted them, and the old couple forced themselves to muster some spirit to thank Shen Qingwu:

“Thank you, Shen Niangzi, for holding back those soldiers tonight. Xiuniang, hurry and thank Shen Niangzi…”

Shen Qingwu wore an air of indifference.

Zhang Xingjian looked somewhat weary, the skin at the corner of his lips broken, the centers of his eyes a deep, lustrous black—yet in his robes he still carried his natural, unaffected grace.

As the old couple’s gaze fell on the young man, he smiled and changed the subject: “What do you plan to do from here?”

At his words, the family’s expressions grew even more pained.

Of course they did not wish to let Xiuniang go to the Eastern Capital, into the palace harem. Country folk had no great ambitions in life; they only wished to live out their days in peace. A place so distant, a future so uncertain—that was not what they wanted.

Otherwise, they would not have tried to arrange a betrothal for Xiuniang before she could be taken away, would not have resisted the soldiers.

Zhang Xingjian spoke gently: “Tomorrow the officials will come again, and they’ll bring more soldiers with them. You have only this one night.”

Only then did the old couple understand that the young man meant to guide them. They hurriedly pulled the whole family into bows of gratitude, hesitating, wanting to speak but holding back.

Zhang Xingjian nodded toward Shen Qingwu: “This is the Garrison General of the West for the Yizhou Army.”

The family stiffened, staring blankly at this woman who looked, at most, a bit taller and colder in temperament than most. Country folk had heard of women generals, but they had never once connected such a woman to someone standing right beside them.

Seeing their expressions, Shen Qingwu lifted her chin and said, “That’s me.”

She drew out her waist tally and gave it a brief flash before them. The family could not read many characters, but they could tell at a glance that this was no ordinary token—not something an ordinary person would dare to forge.

Then Zhang Xingjian had them pack their belongings through the night and flee to Yizhou. He explained to them in detail how to deal with officials along the road, whom to seek help from once they reached Yizhou… He even produced, as if by sleight of hand, a letter from his sleeve, saying with gentle courtesy:

“Once you truly reach Yizhou, ask any officer at random and hand over this letter. Marshal Bo will see that you’re properly housed.”

Shen Qingwu turned to look at Zhang Xingjian, startled and full of admiration.

She was certain that Zhang Xingjian had only been out of her sight for that one brief stretch of time—and in that time, he had bought a hairpin, killed the soldiers who had recognized him, and written out a letter as well…

Shen Qingwu blinked, beginning to turn the thought over: had everything that happened tonight actually been something Zhang Xingjian had foreseen?

Perhaps days ago, the first time A’Wen had leapt into their courtyard, Zhang Xingjian had already heard the commotion. Perhaps that was when he’d begun laying his plans, begun preparing for tonight.

He must have known from the start that Xiuniang’s hasty betrothal was not normal, must have known that the soldiers would not let this family go, must have already meant to help them.

Then… he could have escaped tonight, couldn’t he?

Why hadn’t he left?

Did he know he couldn’t get away?

Did he too think his martial skill couldn’t outrun her?

Shen Qingwu watched as Zhang Xingjian slowly explained to the family how to evade the local officials, the wind brushing past her ears, her gaze burning and fixed on him:

He really did treat everyone with more or less the same attitude.

With his back to her, Zhang Xingjian sensed the turmoil of her emotions tonight—of course he knew what stirred her. Half a shichen earlier, when she had pinned him against the wall, he remembered it with perfect clarity.

Her breath had carried invasion, plunder, injustice.

Teeth and tongue tangled close, her lip bitten raw, her breathing alternately light and heavy, her heart pounding so hard it left one breathless. In that moment, Zhang Xingjian had had no choice but to reach out and hold her, slowly stroking her back, calming her down.

What was it like, to be pursued relentlessly by a woman?

What was it like, to be pursued relentlessly by a woman while knowing full well that she likely did not care what this even was?

Zhang Xingjian’s mind was chaos, vast stretches of blankness filling his chest again and again. That blankness always made every decision, every thought of his, take enormous effort.

He was very tired.

He watched himself grow wearier and wearier, powerless to stop it.

Shen Qingwu was surely one of the most troublesome problems he had ever encountered.

And now, she was looking at him with that same unguarded expression again… Zhang Xingjian spared a moment, glanced back at her, and smiled: “What is it? What have I done to offend General Shen this time?”

Shen Qingwu said, “I’m going to be a little better to you.”

Zhang Xingjian gave her a puzzled look: what did “a little better” mean?

At the time, he was too busy arranging things for the family to spare any thought for what her “a little better” might mean.

After the two of them went back, he was too exhausted to pay Shen Qingwu any mind and fell asleep the moment he lay down. Shen Qingwu climbed onto the bed and kissed him where he lay in her arms; he kept his eyes closed, treating it as though a kitten or puppy were licking him.

Holding the person curled against him, Zhang Xingjian’s closed lashes trembled, and he let out sigh after sigh: “General Shen, spare me. I can’t take any more.”

Shen Qingwu laughed softly, her voice full of happiness: “I’ll spare you.”

Even if she wanted to torment him further, he had neither the strength nor the spirit for it.

But Shen Qingwu did nothing more than that.

In the darkness, she pulled the blanket over the two of them. Zhang Xingjian kept his eyes shut; she kept her dark eyes fixed on his sleeping face the whole time. Her spirits were far better than his—everything that had happened that night had left her only more stirred up.

She knew she had, once again, seemingly caused some trouble.

If she hadn’t gone to help that family, whether they were taken away by the soldiers or not would have had nothing to do with her. But she had acted—and if no one helped her manage what came after, her good intentions might turn into disaster. After all, how could an ordinary family stand against soldiers?

But Zhang Xingjian had been there.

He had stepped in.

Shen Qingwu thought, hadn’t he stayed behind, rather than fleeing, precisely because he knew she wouldn’t be able to handle what came next?

Did he want to help that family?

Shen Qingwu herself didn’t much care whether she helped anyone or not—she only concerned herself with what fell within her own sight. When she saw injustice, she acted; when she saw unfairness, she played the hero. It was only that the results were never good, and every time she did a good deed she still ended up being cursed at for it…

And tonight was one of the rare times Shen Qingwu hadn’t been blamed for “good intentions, bad outcome.”

All of it was thanks to Zhang Xingjian.

The night was still, the stars sparse, the moon hidden behind clouds. Shen Qingwu, her heart full and stirred, crawled out from under the blanket and couldn’t help kissing Zhang Xingjian many more times.

Some people really were born good-looking—even exhausted, he was still good-looking.

She would repay him for this!

The next day, the two of them checked on their neighbors and saw soldiers circling the empty house, discussing something before storming off in anger.

Shen Qingwu nodded in satisfaction: it seemed the family had fled through the night, passing the checkpoints safely on her waist tally, without being stopped.

Shen Qingwu turned to look at Zhang Xingjian.

He kept his face lowered, his expression calm and composed, seeming not to care much about the neighbors’ affair. Shen Qingwu crossed to his side in a few steps, seized his hand, and pulled him into the house.

Zhang Xingjian stiffened slightly. “What are you doing?”

Shen Qingwu said, “Repaying you.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

The veins at his temple jumped; his face flushed red one moment and drained white the next. He tried to resist, but truly could not.

This was the fate he had come back to face, the one he could not avoid—

Sunlight spilled warm and thick, filtering into the blue-green bed curtains.

Inside the curtains, the young man’s breath came ragged, sweat pouring off him. He was a man of great restraint, yet today was harder to endure than most.

Shen Qingwu was working to mend his meridians, repairing the tendons in his hands and feet that had been forced and twisted. Zhang Xingjian had said more than once that it wasn’t necessary, but she overrode him every time. She always seized the chance to press her advantage over him, always seized the chance to savor his helplessness in these moments.

She always had to kiss him. To kiss him again and again.

The pain in his wrists always needed some other pleasurable sensation to press it down, or else Zhang Xingjian, unable to bear the surging force she poured into him, would slip into unconsciousness.

At such times, his breathing always grew labored, his neck tilting back unconsciously as he tangled with her. Eyes damp, cheeks flushed, the handsome young man lay on the bed, left to whatever she wished to do with him—and that in itself was nearly impossible to resist.

For Shen Qingwu, all it cost was a bit of internal energy each time to enjoy Zhang Xingjian’s vulnerability, and that struck her as the most worthwhile transaction in the world.

She loved every moment he lost himself despite himself; she also loved watching him grit his teeth, furrow his brow, and gasp in trembling breaths.

But this time, Shen Qingwu meant to repay him—she had no intention of stealing kisses along the way, no intention of ending up tangled together on the bed, forgetting themselves. That was desire, and she had never once restrained it before, but she knew Zhang Xingjian didn’t like it.

Normally Shen Qingwu didn’t care whether he liked it or not, but he had been behaving so well lately that she meant to take his preferences into account this time.

If he didn’t like it, then she would only heal him—no kissing.

And yet, being so earnest about it, the torment Zhang Xingjian endured seemed even greater than usual.

His breathing was unusually ragged, sweat pouring off him, his lips a vivid, brilliant red. His dark, disheveled hair clung to his face; his brow furrowed when his eyes were closed, and when he opened them, sparks of light rippled within like ripples across a clear lake.

He suddenly reached out and clamped down on her wrist, the bones of his long fingers straining, the veins on the back of his hand standing out sharply.

Breathing so close to him she could feel his breath against hers, Shen Qingwu only watched him with curious eyes, doing nothing else.

Zhang Xingjian’s mind was full of the way she usually clung to him, tangled inseparably close at such moments—yet in truth, she was only channeling internal energy into his wrist, and asking him, oddly:

“Does it hurt this much?”

Shen Qingwu reached out to wipe the sweat from his face. “My internal energy is the same as always, I haven’t increased it. What’s wrong with you?”

What was wrong with him…

Zhang Xingjian closed his eyes, resting his forehead against her shoulder. His breathing was labored, each inhale trembling.

Shen Qingwu felt her face flush, her heart pounding, telling herself she mustn’t take advantage of him while he was weak… at least not today.

But the state he was in, the state he was in…

Just as her resolve wavered, she heard Zhang Xingjian’s voice, hoarse: “Shen Qingwu, you scoundrel.”

Shen Qingwu said, “I’m channeling my energy into you, healing your injuries. I haven’t held anything back, I mean to see you fully healed—treating you with such care, how does that make me a scoundrel?”

He said nothing.

Unwilling to lose the exchange, Shen Qingwu mimicked his manner of speech and said crisply, coldly: “Zhang Yuelu, you’re the scoundrel.”

He rested against her shoulder, seeming to let out a soft laugh, but he kept his eyes shut, unmoving, saying nothing further.

Even with his eyes closed, he knew that if he simply turned his face, he could kiss her ear. She would turn to look at him so readily, and he wouldn’t even need to do anything more to kiss her—she would surely be more than willing.

Her eyes burning like fire, her soft lips that never yielded, her narrow waist without an ounce of extra flesh, her long legs, her long hair spilling loose like windblown grass…

In Zhang Xingjian’s mind, it was all images of the two of them growing close like this, as they usually did.

Was this repayment? This was revenge, more like.

The sweat, the itch, the numbness—all of it wore him down, left him exhausted.

He endured it in silence.

A fool, understanding nothing.

…He might as well have just forced himself on her instead—

While the family from the small town fled in secret toward Yizhou to seek out Marshal Bo, it was raining in Yizhou.

Yizhou saw little snow; as winter set in, the climate turned cold and damp, growing ever more humid.

Shen Qingye held up an umbrella and hurried into an inn. She pushed the door open and entered; the inn was quiet.

The circumstances were unusual, but with the wind and rain and the bitter cold, she was certain to fall ill if she stayed outside any longer, and without maids or guards to look after her, Shen Qingye did not have the luxury of getting sick. She could only close her umbrella and grit her teeth as she pushed open the inn’s door.

Inside, the lamplight burned bright, and the place was packed with people, all of whom turned in unison to look at the young woman who had burst in.

Weighed down by her own troubles, Shen Qingye did not notice at first that anything was amiss with the inn.

Just before this, she had finally managed to meet with an officer of the Yizhou army.

That officer told her, to her shock, that General Shen was no longer with the Yizhou army—she had taken an extended leave and her whereabouts were unknown. But even though the general was not present, if they reported to Marshal Bo, they could arrange lodging for Shen Qingye, so that she might wait comfortably for the general’s return…

Shen Qingye declined the officer’s kindness.

She had come to Yizhou for her sister’s sake. If her sister wasn’t even here, what was the point of going to the Yizhou army? She didn’t know any of those officers, and she had no wish for others to look after her merely out of deference to her sister.

Shen Qingye’s heart sank with disappointment, wondering whether this trip would end without her ever seeing Shen Qingwu.

She had finally broken off her engagement to Zhang Xingjian. She no longer felt guilty toward Shen Qingwu, and she longed so badly to see her sister, to tell her about it in person.

She wanted to see Shen Qingwu, wanted to stay out in the world a little longer… She didn’t want to go back to the Eastern Capital, didn’t want to face the Shen family, didn’t want to return to that great household that felt no better than a prison. But stranded out here, who besides Shen Qingwu would help her?

Sorrow shadowed Shen Qingye’s face as she walked in, delicate and slender.

Everyone in the inn watched her without blinking. Shen Qingye shut the door behind her and looked up, about to ask for a room, when she finally noticed how strange the atmosphere was.

She froze.

Leaning against the wooden door, Shen Qingye looked up and saw that the inn’s guests were, without exception, rough and brawny men—most of them hulking, sturdy fighters, with the occasional one or two women eyeing her with ill intent…

They all had weapons close at hand.

As Shen Qingye drew a sharp breath, they raised their blades, toyed with their daggers, and turned their gazes on her as one.

Her back damp with cold sweat, Shen Qingye spun around to open the door and flee.

A dagger came flying with a thwack, grazing her cheek and lodging in the door, cutting off her retreat. Shen Qingye stood frozen for a moment, then turned to face them.

One of the men grinned wickedly. “Such delicate, tender skin—what’s a little girl like you doing in a place like this? Did you overhear something you shouldn’t have? Today…”

They exchanged glances with one another.

Shen Qingye had, after all, grown up in a military household. Though she herself was frail and untrained in martial arts, she could read the murderous intent in the eyes around her. Her face went ashen, her mind blank, and as they closed in around her step by step, she was on the verge of tears from sheer panic.

In a flash, an idea struck Shen Qingye, and the words tumbled out of her: “You can’t kill me—I’m, I’m… Qiu Jun’s wife!”

She had pulled the name out of her memory at random, never imagining it would actually prove useful. The entire inn froze at once, sizing her up with unreadable eyes.

A woman of the martial world hesitated. “Qiu Jun?”

Someone else said, puzzled, “Didn’t I hear Qiu Jun took on some job and got killed?”

The first lie was the hardest; the second came much easier.

Shen Qingye lowered her eyes and clutched a jade pendant hidden in her sleeve. The pendant, meant to be sold for money, had never once occurred to her that it might come in useful like this.

She said, “I have my husband’s jade pendant as proof. Even though he died, he left the pendant with me, telling me to find… find…”

Someone chimed in: “Find ‘Qin Yueye’ for protection?”

Shen Qingye guessed that must be the name of some assassin organization.

She nodded slightly, and, worried they wouldn’t believe her, held out the pendant for them to see. She thought this a necessary lie—so long as she could walk out of this inn, she was sure she’d never cross paths with these people again…

The inn fell silent, everyone listening as Shen Qingye spun her tale in a soft, gentle voice. This young, lovely woman spoke so delicately and sweetly that it was hard to imagine Qiu Jun suddenly having acquired a wife.

Qiu Jun was dead, so they didn’t need to spare a weak woman on his account.

But behind Qiu Jun stood “Qin Yueye.”

And who could say for certain that Qiu Jun was truly dead?

In the eerie silence, only Shen Qingye’s voice went on spinning her story. Seeing that no one spoke up, she thought she might get away unscathed—until the inn’s waiter, who had been watching with idle curiosity, suddenly stepped out and blocked her path.

The waiter said warmly, “Qiu Jun’s widow, is it? You don’t look like someone from the martial world, so don’t go getting mixed up in tonight’s business. I’ll get you a room, get some rest. In a few days, some assassins from ‘Qin Yueye’ will come to fetch you… Qiu Jun’s widow—surely they’ll care about that?”

Clearly, the waiter was still testing her.

Shen Qingye could only force a smile and dip into a slight curtsy. “My thanks for the trouble, gentlemen.”

The delicate beauty walked stiffly up to the second floor, gripping the railing, feeling the eyes of everyone below fixed on her back. She could hear them discussing “Qiu Jun,” “when did Qiu Jun die,” “when did Qiu Jun get himself a wife”…

Fear crept into Shen Qingye’s heart.

Her hands were slick with sweat: Sister, save me!—

Around this same time, Chang Lin came once more to find Zhang Xingjian.

He stood beside Zhang Xingjian on a thatched roof in a village, shaded by an old tree, watching the house where Shen Qingwu had confined him go up in flames, the crowd gathering thicker and thicker around it, rushing to fight the fire.

Not long before, several soldiers in plainclothes had crept in and secretly set the fire, meaning to burn down the house—and the person living within it.

Clearly, even though Zhang Xingjian and Chang Lin had killed the men before, some soldier had still recognized Zhang Xingjian as the man Chancellor Kong wanted eliminated. There were always officials eager to curry favor with Kong Ye, eager to quietly kill Zhang Xingjian in order to earn credit back in the Eastern Capital.

And all of this, Zhang Xingjian—confined within the house by Shen Qingwu—understood perfectly well.

The soldiers who had set the fire had clearly scouted the place beforehand. They knew the woman’s martial skill was formidable, capable of felling dozens of men single-handedly; the one worth dealing with, the one they had truly come for, was the man she was protecting.

So the fire would, without question, be set while Shen Qingwu was in town.

Shen Qingwu had gone to town to buy medicine for Zhang Xingjian, who she had tied up at home. Barring the unexpected, when she returned, what she would find was a burned corpse.

And all of this, Zhang Xingjian had anticipated.

Chang Lin had even prepared a body in advance; with the help of the people fighting the fire, a corpse burned beyond recognition was carried out of the courtyard, waiting only for Shen Qingwu to come and identify it…

Standing on the roof beside the young lord, Chang Lin watched the flames grow larger in the wind, and suddenly understood. “So that’s why you wouldn’t leave with me that day—you wanted a better way to deal with the trouble that is Shen Qingwu.”

The more he thought about it, the more he felt this plan was truly clever. “Shen Qingwu is stubborn by nature. Even if you fled, she’d chase us down for sure. Her martial skill is so strong—being chased by someone like that would only bring us trouble.

“But if you ‘died,’ it would be different… After you and I leave, you wouldn’t easily show your face again anyway. You’d hide in the shadows to play your game against Kong Ye, and Shen Qingwu, thinking you dead, wouldn’t keep chasing relentlessly. Besides, she doesn’t have that much time to spend chasing us forever.”

Chang Lin told Zhang Xingjian, “I sent someone to ask around in Yizhou. Shen Qingwu is due to return to her post next March. As long as you disappear until then, she’ll have no way to find you. And even if you come back to life afterward, once she’s back with the army, there’s nothing she can do.”

Zhang Xingjian said nothing.

Chang Lin chattered on beside him for a long while, and he never made a sound. Chang Lin watched his snow-white robes flutter, like the shadow of a wandering crane, aloof and cold. He assumed the fire below must have hurt Zhang Xingjian somehow, and felt a flicker of worry, though he didn’t know how to ask.

After a long silence, Chang Lin said, “Shall we go?”

Zhang Xingjian: “Let’s watch a little longer.”

Chang Lin: “Watch for what… if we keep watching, Shen Qingwu will be back soon.”

He paused, then seemed to understand. “Do you want to see her reaction with your own eyes—to be certain she won’t cause us any more trouble—before you can leave with an easy mind?”

Zhang Xingjian didn’t answer.

Instead he said something that seemed to have nothing to do with the moment: “Chang Lin, have you ever heard the phrase—stumbling forward, faltering back, blamed at every turn.”

Chang Lin was taken aback.

Zhang Xingjian said, “It means that no matter what you do, you’re blamed for it. As if nothing you do is ever right, as if there’s not a single part of your life that’s correct.”

He smiled faintly. “That’s the life Shen Qingwu has lived, year after year.”

Chang Lin said, “So… what of it?”

Zhang Xingjian said slowly, “Look at how unlucky Shen Qingwu is—help someone on the street and she gets accused of kidnapping; pay silver to rent a house and get cheated into a haunted one; tell people plainly that she and I are husband and wife, and still get questioned and doubted over and over… Her whole life has been this state of being blamed at every turn.

Chang Lin said, “But I’ve never seen it get to her.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled. “That’s right. It doesn’t get to her. Whatever she ought to do, she still does. Whatever she wants to do, she still goes and does. It’s as if she’s never once avoided causing trouble simply because she knew she would. She’s never once refrained from doing something out of fear of being blamed.”

He lowered his gaze, something like rippling water moving softly within it. “You see—saving me is such a thankless thing to do. And still she’s saved me, again and again.

“She’s never once stopped helping people, stopped saving anyone, just because the outcome of saving me turned out badly.

“She’s not quite like other people.”

The wind blew across his face and robes as he stood on the rooftop, the raging fire reflected in his eyes. He thought, distant and detached, of everything that had happened lately:

Shen Qingwu was less easily hurt than most people.

Shen Qingwu was more easily hurt than most people.

Chang Lin listened blankly to the young lord’s words. He understood where this feeling came from, but he didn’t understand why the young lord hesitated like this now, so unlike his usual self.

The young lord understood everything, let go of everything. All the dust and tumult of the mortal world meant nothing in his eyes.

Zhang Yuelu, who cared for no one—only he could be a true moon, standing in for the long-vanished sun to cast his light, sheltering everyone around him…

A moon should be impartial, without favorites.

A moon that played favorites was no longer a moon that stood high above, calculating everything without fail, was it?

Why was the young lord hesitating like this now?

Chang Lin suddenly said, “Young lord, look—”

He didn’t need to say it. Zhang Xingjian had already seen.

His gaze flickered, and he saw Shen Qingwu appear among the crowd watching the fire from across the way.

He watched as, in an instant, she flung down her bag full of vegetables and the medicine she’d brewed, and threw herself into the inferno despite the crowd’s desperate attempts to hold her back.

People around her tried to stop her. “Miss, come back! That fire’s too fierce, there’s nothing you can save.”

“Miss, may you find peace—your husband, your husband is already dead…”

They pointed at the corpse, its face burned beyond recognition.

Shen Qingwu only spared it a glance before plunging into the flames regardless—

Chang Lin: “Young lord…”

He turned and, to his shock, saw Zhang Xingjian leap down from the rooftop through the trees, racing toward the inferno.

The young lord, pale and pure, smooth as glazed porcelain, was the kind of person the mere sight of whom filled others with joy.

Chang Lin stood frozen, watching it all unfold, utterly bewildered.