The mountain wind howled through the forest, creeping fig vines crawling over broken stones.

All around, silence fell like a shooting star into the mountain wind, leaving a wistful ache, a heaviness settling over the heart.

After a full day of switching horses and fleeing without rest, Shen Qingwu knew she must look thoroughly disheveled. But she rarely cared about such things—right now, held in Zhang Xingjian’s arms, she refused to let herself be fully embraced, tilting her head up to study him with her ink-dark eyes.

Why didn’t this man look the least bit worse for the terrible circumstances?

Why did he remain so composed, so refined, possessed of a bearing no one else could match?

Shen Qingwu found this thoroughly unfair.

Zhang Xingjian, in this moment, showed a tenderness rarely seen from him. His finger rested against the spot of blood near the corner of her eye, gently wiping it away with the pad of his thumb. He was so focused, his lashes long and curved like curtains, his eyes glowing like polished glass, dark and lustrous.

The blood on Shen Qingwu’s face wasn’t easy to clean off.

Zhang Xingjian wiped at it again and again, drawing an irritated frown from her, but he didn’t stop. He looked directly at her, yet his mind was clearly elsewhere, weighed down with thought.

Because Shen Qingwu was staring at him unblinking, as though she hadn’t even heard his “let’s talk.” He could afford to wait this little while; he waited patiently for her answer. Or rather, he himself held little confidence in what he was about to say next.

Shen Qingwu looked at him and said, “You look like Bo Rong at first glance, but look closer and you’re nothing alike. How could you possibly compare to him?”

The finger Zhang Xingjian had been resting against her cheek went still.

Zhang Xingjian looked at her silently.

Shen Qingwu spoke plainly: “You just pretend to have a good temper—Bo Rong actually has one. You’re full of scheming, calculating to your core—Bo Rong has never once played mind games with any of us. Your martial skill is terrible, one push and you’re down—Bo Rong isn’t like that, he can lift a fifty-jin blade with one hand, can you?”

Zhang Xingjian ground his teeth.

Shen Qingwu looked him over with a critical, disdainful eye. “You’re cold-blooded, cruel, everything you do serves some purpose. You pretend to be a gentleman, pretend to be kind, but you truly don’t care whether anyone else lives or dies. You throw tantrums, badmouth people, and keep wanting to kill me at the slightest provocation. You never let anyone see who you really are. You’re a bad moon…”

The finger pressed against her cheek turned ice-cold, pressing down harder for a moment.

Zhang Xingjian said, “I have never once wanted to kill you.”

Shen Qingwu stopped talking.

She admitted it readily, even with a faint smile. “I know.”

She added, “But it wouldn’t matter even if you did want to kill me. I’d kill you right back.”

Zhang Xingjian’s feelings churned, complicated.

The false smile at the corner of his lips could barely hold; he said in a low voice, sounding, just as she’d described, genuinely on the verge of anger: “I’m this terrible, and you still won’t let me go?”

Shen Qingwu found him absurd.

She said coolly, “Since when do I need your permission for what I want to do?”

In her heart she thought: she’d never much liked good men to begin with. What genuinely interested her, what she found herself unable to let go of, was the coldness of the moon.

Bo Rong was too good—more like a father to her than her own father ever was; Zhang Yuelu was difficult, hard to manage—the kind of man suited to conquest through strategy and force.

She had always liked what she couldn’t have.

And besides, besides… in her eyes, Zhang Yuelu was such a beautiful little immortal of a man.

That face alone would have been enough. And yet heaven had favored him further—he wasn’t just a pretty face, he was so vividly alive, every trait of his only spurring her on, making her fight harder the longer the battle went.

Holding Shen Qingwu, Zhang Xingjian was already thinking of pushing her away. But he was weak from his injuries, and she, leaning against him, seemed perfectly comfortable and showed not the slightest intention of leaving.

Having gotten to the bottom of things, Shen Qingwu no longer felt like killing Zhang Xingjian.

She settled into a more comfortable position in his arms, lifted her chin, and directed his hands: “Hold me.”

Zhang Xingjian looked at her silently.

Shen Qingwu made her demand more specific: “Hold me the way you did a moment ago.”

In that instant just now, something in her had stirred, an indescribable softness welling up inside her. She had liked that feeling, and wanted it again.

But Zhang Xingjian wasn’t going to cooperate this time.

He began playing dumb, his hand resting politely on her shoulder, his expression a picture of confusion: “What is General Shen talking about? What position?”

Shen Qingwu pressed her lips together, her face turning cold and distant—

See. He really was difficult to deal with.

At this point Zhang Xingjian repeated what he’d meant to say earlier: “General Shen, let’s talk.”

Even someone as slow to notice as Shen Qingwu could feel, in that instant, his mood shift from turbulent to calm—

General Shen. Shen Qingwu. A’Wu. Wutong.

Wutong. Shen Qingwu. General Shen.

The different forms of address, and the order in which he used them, surely carried some meaning for Zhang Xingjian that she hadn’t quite grasped yet.

Shen Qingwu fell into thought.

In the face of her indifference, Zhang Xingjian recovered his own composure.

She insisted, stubbornly, on sitting in his arms; he simply pretended not to notice, keeping his hand resting politely on her shoulder, just enough to stop her from going any further. He tried asking her:

“General Shen, do you truly not believe I have any goodness in me at all?”

Shen Qingwu looked up.

Zhang Xingjian lowered his eyes and said softly, “I am a fugitive wanted by the court. General Shen is the one who saved my life. Whether or not General Shen believes it, I do hold some difference in my heart for the person who saved my life, compared to everyone else.”

He paused, thinking to himself that Shen Qingwu probably didn’t feel the same way.

Zhang Xingjian went on, “I’m afraid of dragging you down with me. I don’t know how long General Shen can stay away from the army, but surely you meant to use this time to rest and unwind. Traveling with a fugitive like me—won’t that affect you?

“And besides… if the court were to recognize General Shen, to discover who you truly are, wouldn’t I only be dragging you down further?”

Shen Qingwu said flatly, “What are you trying to say?”

Zhang Xingjian’s long lashes lifted as he studied her.

His manner was gentle and refined, his voice soft, only testing the waters: “For the sake of your own future, shouldn’t General Shen abandon me?”

Shen Qingwu laughed.

She said, “No need to trouble yourself over that. As long as you don’t go running your mouth, no one will know I’m the Garrison General of the West. And if anyone does find out, it will have been you who told them. Zhang Yuelu, I won’t let you off easy.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “You distrust me that much?”

Shen Qingwu answered without missing a beat: “Didn’t you go and tell that fleeing family that I’m the Garrison General of the West? If the soldiers catch up to them, won’t my identity be exposed?”

Zhang Xingjian paused.

He explained, “As long as they follow the route I gave them, someone will be there to receive them. The Eastern Capital court isn’t entirely Kong Ye’s to command—I have my own connections, and the young emperor’s own leanings can be used as well… General Shen, I have never once meant to harm you.”

Shen Qingwu said a flat, indifferent “Oh.”

Zhang Xingjian fell silent.

The negotiation wasn’t going smoothly; her constant distrust of him genuinely shook something in him, left him faintly displeased.

He considered himself to have always been generous with Shen Qingwu, to have looked after her in many ways. Even if he hadn’t bared his whole heart to her, he had never once harmed her. It was she who had kept him imprisoned all this while, kept his injuries from ever fully healing…

Zhang Xingjian realized that whatever tangled thing existed between him and Shen Qingwu, it was hard to say who was in the right and who was in the wrong.

He fell into silence.

Shen Qingwu looked down at his subdued expression and felt a twinge of softness. She tried reaching out to poke his cheek.

A drop of dew fell from the leaves above, landing on his upturned lashes. In the dark, cool air, light glimmered, brilliant and clear.

He flinched at the cold wind, his face reddened from the chill.

Shen Qingwu said slowly, “If we stay here much longer, you’ll fall ill again. We need to find somewhere sheltered from the wind.”

They couldn’t go back to the old village and town—the courtyard she’d rented at such expense had burned down. She’d have to find a new place to settle.

She rose to leave, but Zhang Xingjian quickly caught her by the shoulder and pulled her back down.

Shen Qingwu’s eyes lit up faintly.

Zhang Xingjian tilted his face up. “So General Shen still intends to keep me confined, and won’t let me go?”

Shen Qingwu didn’t bother answering.

Zhang Xingjian sighed. “Then might I at least go without being bound? Let me come and go alongside General Shen? Your martial skill is so formidable, surely you’re not afraid I’d manage to escape. And besides, I truly do have urgent matters I must attend to… Could General Shen show a little accommodation?”

Shen Qingwu still didn’t bother answering.

Zhang Xingjian said, “Bo Rong.”

Shen Qingwu turned to look at him at once.

Her gaze had gone somewhat icy, restrained fury simmering beneath it. “Is that the only card you know how to play?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Believe me, if I had any other choice, I wouldn’t want to bring up the Marshal at all… but I know how much you care about him.”

Shen Qingwu said, “And so what? If you think you can use Bo Rong to control me, you’re dreaming.”

Zhang Xingjian lowered his eyes and explained gently, “General Shen has it wrong this time. I bring up the Marshal because the urgent matter I must attend to concerns him directly. My plea for General Shen to stop confining me is also, in truth, for the Marshal’s safety.”

So she did care about Bo Rong, after all.

Seeing Shen Qingwu grow still, Zhang Xingjian judged she was ready to hear him out in full.

After a long silence, Zhang Xingjian finally told Shen Qingwu the truth of Bo Rong’s identity. Since Bo Rong had allowed Shen Qingwu to come this far, he clearly meant, deliberately, to draw her into the affairs of the Zhang family. Zhang Xingjian had tried every way to avoid this, but he had lost out to her sheer persistence.

Now, if he still wanted to find the third young master Bo, there was no way around Shen Qingwu.

Shen Qingwu listened quietly to the old history of the Zhang family.

Her eyes flickered, and understanding dawned—only now did she realize what Li Linge’s feelings toward Zhang Xingjian that day had truly been about: she had mistaken Zhang Xingjian for Bo Rong.

Shen Qingwu looked down at Zhang Xingjian’s pale, cold face, and thought, in scattered fragments: had many people mistaken Zhang Xingjian for another Bo Rong, over the years?

Shen Qingwu said softly, “So you’re Bo Rong’s younger brother.”

Zhang Xingjian said nothing, silent.

Shen Qingwu considered this for a moment, then made up her mind. “I won’t stand by and ignore anything to do with Bo Rong. I’ll go with you to find the third young master Bo—and if that person means Bo Rong any harm, I’ll help you kill him. I won’t let anyone threaten Bo Rong.”

Zhang Xingjian looked at her quietly.

Shen Qingwu said, “If you’d told me this plan from the start, why put yourself through so much suffering? For Bo Rong’s sake, I won’t waste any more time on you, keeping you bound like this. Where do we go now?”

Zhang Xingjian said slowly, “No rush. I’m still rather tired. I need to rest a while.”

Shen Qingwu looked at him reproachfully: how could he be so weak?

Zhang Xingjian leaned back, giving himself a better view of Shen Qingwu’s earnest excitement over the matter of Bo Rong.

He watched it all with quiet composure, savoring her sincerity, turning over his own private thoughts.

Under Shen Qingwu’s continued urging, Zhang Xingjian said slowly, “In that case, I’m no longer General Shen’s prisoner? General Shen will stop confining me?”

Shen Qingwu conceded, “You still have to come and go with me at all times. I won’t let you out of my sight.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Then I’m no longer your captive. General Shen can’t simply demand whatever she wants of me—or else, I won’t help you solve the Marshal’s troubles.”

Shen Qingwu said, puzzled, “Weren’t you already going to deal with this yourself? Didn’t you put yourself through all that trouble, become a wanted fugitive… just so you could move about more freely? Aren’t you Bo Rong’s own brother? This is something you were going to do anyway—and you’re using it to threaten me?”

Zhang Xingjian smiled. “Aren’t I supposed to be the bad moon? If the sun never returns, wouldn’t that suit me better? Why should I have to help the Marshal at all? Wouldn’t it serve me far better to claim the Zhang family’s glory and expectations all for myself?”

A dangerous glint rose in Shen Qingwu’s eyes.

She hated nothing more than being threatened.

But still… Bo Rong truly had been good to her, and she had said she would repay him.

Weighing her debt to Bo Rong against her pride, Shen Qingwu was forced to concede: “If I can’t do what I want to do, this whole trip means nothing to me. And there’s no telling what I might do, on a trip that means nothing. Zhang Yuelu, I mean to have you one way or another—if you want to negotiate terms with me, you’d best think carefully before you speak.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “My demand of you isn’t a large one—if you want something from me, you help me with something in return. One exchange for another. Is that really so unfair?”

Shen Qingwu said, “I have the right to refuse.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “As you like.”

Shen Qingwu said, “You’re counting on the fact that I haven’t lost interest in you yet, using yourself as your own bargaining chip against me?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “I know Bo Rong matters more to you than anything. For his sake, you’d do anything at all.”

Shen Qingwu thought to herself: not quite anything, surely.

But she didn’t bother arguing over something so pointless.

As Zhang Xingjian laid out these fair terms with her, Shen Qingwu accepted every one of them without hesitation. She had no reason not to, naturally—confident in her own formidable skill, she likely wouldn’t have minded even if he’d asked her to become an assassin on his behalf.

Shen Qingwu lowered her head, then asked him, suddenly sly, “And if I want to kiss you—what terms apply to that?”

Before Zhang Xingjian could even open his mouth, she had already answered herself: “The negotiation isn’t over yet, the terms haven’t taken effect yet—which means I can still do exactly as I please.”

Dew dripped softly, the mountain wind cool and light, the red sun hiding behind clouds like a churning stream. Beneath that gradually brightening dawn, Shen Qingwu took hold of Zhang Xingjian’s chin. He only tilted his head back, letting her do as she wished, earning a satisfied smile from the general.

The red sun fell warm across his face, while a heart within him burned—hot one moment, cold the next.

The wind tousled his hair, light and shadow flickering before his eyes; forced to tilt back his head and endure her kiss, Zhang Xingjian watched her without looking away for even a moment—

Zhang Xingjian wanted to see, clearly, the exact distance between himself and Shen Qingwu.

She was the free wind of the borderlands, a proud hawk in flight; he was the hopeless moon trapped in the Eastern Capital, a lonely shadow.

She would walk through fire for Bo Rong without a second thought; whatever she felt for him, by comparison, amounted to nothing at all. Once he saw that gap clearly, once he had thoroughly given up on her, only then, perhaps, could he finally resolve to sever every tie between them.

He admitted he couldn’t let go of Shen Qingwu. He admitted he was drawn to her again and again. He fought with everything he had to resist it, and watched himself sink deeper regardless.

He stood at the edge of a cliff, gazing at that lone, ever-flourishing wutong tree, wanting to leap into the sea of clouds below. He couldn’t stop his eyes from turning toward her again and again; he couldn’t stop his feet from carrying him one step closer. He knew he was walking toward the edge of the cliff, and he didn’t care.

So someone needed to pull him back.

So he knew he couldn’t go on like this.

If he could see all of this clearly—if he knew that no matter what, Shen Qingwu would always choose Bo Rong over him…

In that instant when he had rushed into the fire and abandoned Chang Lin, Zhang Xingjian had, without a doubt, once again given up a chance to escape Shen Qingwu’s side that had been his for the taking. He had thought of a better way to make himself give up on her at last—

He was waiting to watch Shen Qingwu abandon him.

She would abandon him. He was certain of it.