Zhang Xingjian shut the door and poured Shen Qingwu a cup of tea.

He couldn’t understand it—the mood had been perfectly fine before he left, so why this attitude upon her return? And clearly, whatever it was, it was directed at him specifically.

Could Second Hu have said something unfavorable about him?

Yet no matter how he turned it over, Zhang Xingjian couldn’t make sense of it. Most of his affairs had nothing to do with Shen Qingwu; the rare matters that did overlap with her weren’t things Second Hu could possibly have learned about.

If Zhang Xingjian needed to guard against anyone’s influence over Shen Qingwu, it should have been Shen Qingye’s, not Second Hu’s.

He sat down and handed her the hot tea, his manner gentle and courteous: “This is my fault—I didn’t think it would snow outside, and now General Shen has had to suffer for it. You’ve been running back and forth while I sit here idle—that’s hardly right. General, please rest properly. I’ll go out and take a look for you…”

Shen Qingwu caught his wrist.

Zhang Xingjian paused, looking at her—he hadn’t really wanted to go out either, truth be told. Why go looking for trouble in the snow?

Shen Qingwu kept her head lowered, the faint firelight in her line of sight falling across the bones of his hand. His hand, fine as porcelain jade, was beautiful even in the way its veins stood out faintly beneath the skin—the only flaw was that his sleeve failed to fully hide the shackle chains.

Days of neglect had left his wrist chafed raw and red by the iron links again.

Yet he only smiled pleasantly, never mentioning the pain.

Zhang Xingjian said gently, “What’s wrong? What happened? Would you like to tell me?”

Shen Qingwu stared at his hand, then slowly lifted her eyes to meet his, faintly concerned gaze.

His eyes had something of the peach-blossom look to them—deep and affectionate, misted with a cool haze, altogether the kind of allure that spelled disaster. Eyes like that ought to be gouged out.

Shen Qingwu thought of the Miao girl’s envious talk of “affection,” the words rising to the tip of her tongue, nearly asking outright, again and again—Zhang Yuelu, do you feel anything for me?

But she thought ahead to what his answer would be—

Either startled surprise, or a smooth, opportunistic claim of affection.

Startled surprise, because he’d never had any real feeling for her, and her misplaced emotion once again left him bewildered, perhaps even amused. Or a smooth claim of affection, because he wasn’t a good man to begin with—if he could exploit her feelings to serve his own ends, Zhang Yuelu might well not hesitate to use them.

But Shen Qingwu had no wish to be used.

Nor did she wish to relive that autumn night at sixteen, the rain, the hope, the death of that hope.

Eyes closed, she could already picture exactly how Zhang Xingjian’s expression would shift: he’d smile, say something sweet, coax her, deceive her.

So this was what love was—full of so many traps. So this was the maze she found herself lost in, unable even to make out her opponent’s next move.

Shen Qingwu realized, in the same instant, that whatever Zhang Xingjian’s answer might be, she wouldn’t believe it.

Her interest in him and her inability to trust him had arisen together; her infatuation with the moon and her disdain for it had arisen together too. Not a single word he said would she believe.

So why bother asking him at all?

She no longer wanted to ask.

She wanted to watch for herself. Test for herself.

However much less clever Shen Qingwu was than most, ten of her put together still couldn’t out-scheme one Zhang Xingjian. But they both started with a blank slate of a heart—the outcome of this contest still undecided. Why concede early?

As these thoughts turned over in her mind, Shen Qingwu’s expression shifted from its initial stony coldness into something calm, indifferent.

Zhang Xingjian blinked.

He said gently, “Might I have my hand back now?”

Shen Qingwu looked at their joined hands—or rather, at her own hand, gripping his and refusing to let go.

Her gaze flickered, thinking back to that snowy night before she’d left, when she’d leaned over the table and bitten his finger, and how strangely he’d reacted, his face flushing red.

Shen Qingwu fell silent.

Zhang Xingjian said, “General Shen?”

Shen Qingwu suddenly looked up at him. “I want to sleep with you.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

He sat frozen, the easy smile in his eyes stalling for a moment, his pupils contracting slightly. His fingers trembled; he tried to pull away, but Shen Qingwu, leaning in abruptly, only tightened her grip.

Shen Qingwu, unblinking: “Ever since we started pretending to be husband and wife to find the third young master Bo, I haven’t so much as touched you. Your injuries look mostly healed by now—surely you’re not going to faint on me again in bed?”

It had been over ten days since the two of them had last shared a bed.

And ever since that morning under the dew, when they’d kissed and negotiated their terms, they hadn’t even kissed since.

Shen Qingwu was, by nature, a taciturn person. Her mind had been wholly occupied with protecting Bo Rong and hunting down the third young master Bo—and she’d wanted Zhang Xingjian’s injuries to heal properly, too. These past days, she’d kept consistently quiet.

But her quiet didn’t mean her original intention in confining him had vanished.

Zhang Xingjian’s lashes, feather-light, trembled faintly.

He lowered his eyes and said nothing for a long while.

He said, low: “Must it be this way?”

Shen Qingwu could see his reluctance.

Strangely, she felt herself relax at that. A reluctant Zhang Xingjian was clearly at odds with what the Miao girl had claimed. If he truly had feelings for her, would he really be this unwilling, even in bed?

The free, unburdened little wutong tree had no idea of the moon’s twisting, tangled thoughts.

She had no idea that Zhang Xingjian was straining with everything in him to resist his own downfall—intimacy between a man and a woman was the surest way to reveal one’s true nature, the surest way to expose one’s true heart, and the surest way to draw a person into deeper indulgence.

Zhang Xingjian knew himself well enough. He knew how hard it would be to refuse her; he only tried, regardless. If there had been any way in this world to avoid falling for Shen Qingwu, he would certainly have taken it.

What he feared most now was closeness with her—feared most of all sinking so deep into it that he could never pull free again.

Wind rattled the shutters; the snowy night was bitterly cold, yet the stove within the room burned bright and warm.

Shen Qingwu, holding his hand, told him flatly: “It must be this way.”

He looked up abruptly, glanced at her once.

Then lowered his eyes again.

Shen Qingwu wanted to savor more of his struggle, more of his discomfort, wanted to relish his reluctance and resistance—but Zhang Xingjian sat frozen, his lashes trembling violently, and after a long pause, what he finally said was:

“As you wish.”

Shen Qingwu: “…”

By the time he looked up again, whatever unease had shown in his eyes was already hidden, replaced by a composed smile: “Whatever General Shen wishes to do, this one has never been able to resist. Why ask my opinion at all?”

Shen Qingwu said, breezy: “I was worried you wouldn’t cooperate… like before, lying there like a dead fish, giving no reaction at all, and working yourself into throwing up and passing out.”

Like a dead fish…

Zhang Xingjian found himself at a loss for words: was that really how she saw him?

But what was he supposed to say to that now?

Say he wouldn’t be like a dead fish anymore?

Say he’d open his heart to her, cooperate fully in the pleasures of the bedroom?

However detached his temperament, he was, in the end, a proud, refined young man raised with quiet dignity by the Zhang family. He simply couldn’t bring himself to say such things.

So Zhang Xingjian stayed silent.

And in Shen Qingwu’s eyes, this could only mean he remained unwilling.

Whether it was his imagination or not, Zhang Xingjian noticed that the hand gripping his had grown warmer. He sensed her mood had lifted, no longer as cold and severe as before.

Shen Qingwu was, of course, delighted.

She didn’t want her leave to end. She didn’t want to give up on Zhang Xingjian just yet. If he had no feelings for her… well, she liked an unmoved Zhang Yuelu just fine.

As for that “Heart-Bound Gu”…

She’d decide, once she was sure of a few things.

Shen Qingwu stood and walked over to stand before him. He had no choice but to look up at her, helpless.

He’d already conceded—what more did she want?

Standing before him, Shen Qingwu leaned down, thoroughly wicked: “You won’t be a dead fish again?”

Zhang Xingjian said, perfunctory: “I was never a dead fish to begin with.”

He smiled. “So long as General Shen minds her own conduct, I suppose I’m not entirely incapable of cooperating.”

Shen Qingwu: “Then I—I…”

Eager, she stepped forward, pressing against his knees. He had no choice but to part his legs, letting her wedge herself between them. Caught in a churning mix of hot and cold, he heard her lean in and whisper by his ear.

Shen Qingwu: “I want you to take initiative.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

The smile in his eyes nearly gave way, though he barely maintained his composed expression: “I don’t quite follow General Shen’s meaning.”

Shen Qingwu: “You seemed happy enough before, didn’t you?”

Zhang Xingjian: “…?”

He hesitated. “Was… was I?”

Shen Qingwu said, “When I was on top, you didn’t have to do anything—just lie there and enjoy it. There’s no better deal in the world than that. But you were injured then, so I still had some conscience left, didn’t want to torment you too much. You’re mostly healed now, aren’t you? You can’t just keep waiting for me to make every move while you only enjoy it.

“What kind of world offers a deal that good?”

Shen Qingwu, delighted with herself: “This time I want to lie back, I want you to take charge, I want to enjoy myself!”

What a bold thing to say.

Zhang Xingjian had never in his life heard a woman speak so brazenly.

He sat frozen, saying nothing, his ears already flushed deep red.

After a moment, he lifted his gaze to look at her, faintly plaintive: “Has General Shen forgotten the terms we agreed on? Wouldn’t this count as you forcing me into something?”

Shen Qingwu’s eyes lit up.

Once again, she was certain: Zhang Xingjian truly didn’t like her.

Otherwise, who would bring up terms and conditions at a time like this?

In good spirits, Shen Qingwu waved a hand. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted—me helping you with something? What do you want me to do, in exchange for letting me sleep with you… no wait, the other way around.”

Zhang Xingjian said gently, “Two things.”

Shen Qingwu frowned slightly, listening to hear what he’d bargain for.

Zhang Xingjian gave the hand holding his a light shake. “General Shen will remove the shackles from my hands and feet.”

Shen Qingwu raised her brows, considered it for a moment, and decided it didn’t matter.

He couldn’t escape her anyway.

Shen Qingwu said, “That’s easy enough.”

She suddenly felt like playing the considerate wife for a moment, clumsily covering herself: “I’d been meaning to take them off for a while now—I just kept forgetting, since you kept making me angry.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled, naturally not calling out her flimsy lie.

He tilted his head back, his gaze flicking swiftly across her face.

He said, “Make that grotesque, ghoulish face for me again—the one from earlier today.”

Shen Qingwu: “…”

Puzzled, she asked, “What do you want that for?”

Zhang Xingjian said, composed, “I like watching it. What’s it to you?”

Shen Qingwu pressed her hand to his chest, feeling his heart pounding uncontrollably beneath it.

Startled, she looked at him—the flush on his pale, snow-white neck had deepened further, his free hand braced tight against the bed, taut with tension.

Shen Qingwu thought for a moment, then reached down and gripped his chin, forcing him to lift his face and look her in the eye.

She tried to guess why he wanted to see it.

She had no idea why his heart was racing so fast.

She asked, “You want to watch me make a fool of myself?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “…If that’s how you’d like to understand it, sure.”

Shen Qingwu: “…What is wrong with you?”

Zhang Xingjian laughed softly. “Whatever’s wrong with you is wrong with me too.”

She couldn’t understand why his heart was pounding so hard, but making a ridiculous face and embarrassing herself meant nothing to her either way.

The Lady Knight nodded readily.

She felt smug, even a little impatient—an actively willing, on-top Zhang Yuelu would surely be quite the treat—

The battle at that disreputable inn on the Yizhou border may have ended very quickly.

Shen Qingye sat on the stairs with her hands over her ears, trying to shield herself from what was happening. A gust of cold air brushed past her nose; before she could react, someone lifted her by the waist. That person raised her lightly and pulled her into his arms.

Before Shen Qingye could even register the impropriety of it, cold wind rushed in as he carried her, leaping out through a window that had suddenly burst open.

From start to finish, no one from the inn came chasing after them.

Shen Qingye’s heart pounded violently.

The man carried her, moving swiftly through the freezing wind; dazed, her heart racing too fast, she felt her chest tighten and her breath grow short from the speed of their movement, her face growing paler by the moment.

Shen Qingye couldn’t speak—or perhaps the one carrying her simply had unusually sharp senses. Just as she was about to lose consciousness, her feet suddenly touched ground.

The moment her feet hit solid earth, she swayed and fell. She caught herself against the ground, hand stinging, gasping for breath, and slowly registered that she was on a patch of withered yellow grass.

The scent of fallen leaves drifted on the air.

In the darkness, Shen Qingye’s eyes gradually adjusted to the dim light.

She looked up and saw a pale moon hanging in the sky, the wind rustling faintly, leaves and grass swaying and withered. She found herself huddled in a dense forest, and looking up, she saw a young man standing silently among the trees.

The man possessed extraordinary lightness-of-foot skill, balancing with perfect ease on a curving branch that stretched outward, moonlight falling across his tall figure, his brown robes fluttering.

This was a distinctly cold, aloof figure of the martial world, his eyes lowered as he studied Shen Qingye, his gaze pale and light, his expression indifferent.

Coughing, Shen Qingye slowly spoke: “You—you’re Qiu Jun?”

Standing on the branch in the deep forest, Qiu Jun said nothing.

Shen Qingye said, “The people in the inn…”

Qiu Jun said, flat: “All dead.”

Shen Qingye startled.

To think that in so short a time, this man had killed everyone in an entire inn?

This wasn’t at all like anything she’d been raised to expect. Shen Qingye had never known that so many people could die so quickly outside of a battlefield. She sat frozen, unable to speak, her face turning even paler.

Qiu Jun said, flat: “Those who offend ‘Qin Yueye,’ who confine one of ‘Qin Yueye’s’ own, deserve death.

“Since you claimed to be Qiu Jun’s wife, you are, by that claim, one of ‘Qin Yueye’s’ people. Knowing full well your connection to us, they chose to hold you against your will regardless. They meant to make an enemy of ‘Qin Yueye’—that in itself was provocation. I am the one who administers ‘Punishment.’ Naturally, I came myself.”

But Shen Qingye had only been lying.

Sitting on the grass, she looked up and asked, “You administer ‘Punishment’?”

This martial-world killer she knew nothing about spoke with unwavering calm, and this casual, matter-of-fact manner, almost like idle conversation, gradually eased her fear, the color slowly returning to her face.

She heard Qiu Jun say, “Qin Yueye has four masters, named for the four seasons. Spring for warmth, summer for coolness, autumn for harvest, winter for storage. I am Autumn—bridging spring and summer with winter—and my role is ‘Harvest’: to purge disorder for Qin Yueye, to punish petty thieves and traitors, to punish those who provoke Qin Yueye.

“Those gathered at the inn meant, from the start, to organize themselves against Qin Yueye. Order was broken. Punishment naturally followed.”

Shen Qingye nodded.

She said softly, “I see.”

She thought to herself that this man was nothing like the cold-blooded killer she’d imagined—patiently explaining these unfamiliar rules of the martial world to her. These strange rules, so utterly foreign to her own world, left her bewildered, yet also strangely drawn in.

Composing herself, she brushed the bits of grass from her skirt and stood, meaning to thank Qiu Jun: “Thank you, Qiu Jun, for helping me.”

She added, bashful: “I had to lie to get myself out of there. Since you won’t hold it against me…”

Her words suddenly caught.

Won’t hold it against her?

No.

Qiu Jun had just explained so much to her, and one crucial thing he’d said was—he administered Punishment.

So then, those who offended Qin Yueye deserved punishment—did that mean she, a liar, deserved punishment too?

He hadn’t brought her out of the inn because he thought she didn’t deserve to die—but because her purpose differed from those others’… which meant she deserved a different punishment?

Alarm shot through Shen Qingye.

Clever as she was, the moment she pieced this together, she gathered her skirts and turned to flee. Unfortunately, she was frail beyond measure—already sickly back in the Eastern Capital, and only worse for having fled into the martial world.

A sharp gust of cold wind chased after her from behind.

Shen Qingye stumbled to the ground, and turning her head, saw a cold blade streaking toward the space between her brows.

Gritting her teeth, she moved as fast as she could, drawing out the jade pendant she’d kept as a lifeline, holding it up, her voice trembling but loud: “I’m not lying—I, I wanted to place a request with ‘Qin Yueye’!”

The blade stopped just short of her forehead, not striking down.

Pale-faced, she saw Qiu Jun already standing silently before her, looking down at her.

Qiu Jun said, “A request?”

Trembling, Shen Qingye told herself desperately: since this man administered Punishment, he must be someone who valued rules above all. If she could just convince him, he would surely forgive her unintended offense.

And so Shen Qingye told the second lie of her life: “I—I’d heard that Qin Yueye takes on all manner of requests. I need something from Qin Yueye, and by pure chance, I came into possession of Qiu Jun’s jade pendant. My going into that inn wasn’t random—I wanted to find Qin Yueye to place a request, but didn’t know how, so I had no choice but to try things on my own…

“That you came yourself, Qiu Jun, is more fortune than this humble woman deserves. I wonder if Qiu Jun might forgive the small deception I resorted to, only to place my request?”

Qiu Jun said, thoughtful: “For someone outside the martial world, finding Qin Yueye to place a request would indeed be difficult.”

Shen Qingye held back tears and nodded.

Qiu Jun looked her over. “You want to place a request with me?”

With no other option left, Shen Qingye said, “…Yes.”

Qiu Jun said, “My price for taking action is beyond what ordinary people can afford.”

Shen Qingye said, “I won’t hide it from you, sir—I too come from a family of some means. That I can’t pay right now is only because I’ve lost track of my funds, my maids, and my guards. I came here looking for my sister—she’s the Garrison General of the West. Perhaps you’ve heard of her?

“Once I reunite with my maids and guards and recover my funds, I’ll be able to pay your fee. I wonder if Qin Yueye might extend some accommodation on this point?”

Qiu Jun said, flat: “I’ll verify what you’ve told me. If you truly wish for me to act, wait here again in three days.”

Shen Qingye said, “And if I don’t come…”

Qiu Jun said nothing.

Shen Qingye guessed that if he determined she’d been lying, death would surely await her. She dared not cross a martial-world killer.

Still—hadn’t she passed this particular test, at least?

Then she heard Qiu Jun say, “Since your purpose was to place a request, and you lied about being my wife to that end—given that Qin Yueye’s rules on outsiders placing requests are not widely known, your actions here, though improper, are somewhat understandable.

“However, though your death sentence may be waived, some lesser punishment remains due. You will still be punished.”

Frozen, Shen Qingye watched Qiu Jun lean down, a dagger appearing from who knew where, its blade flashing white before her face. Her whole body went rigid with cold, certain the blade meant to cut across her—or that she’d be disfigured…

A faint coolness brushed her cheek, her hair lifting slightly.

The blade had taken a lock of her hair, now held in Qiu Jun’s hand.

The moon overhead slipped behind a cloud, the light dimming for an instant. In the cold wind, Shen Qingye lifted her face, her clear, gentle eyes meeting his cold, still ones as he leaned over her.

The wind blew.

Heaven and earth fell suddenly silent.

Qiu Jun withdrew, holding the lock of her hair, and said, flat: “Miss Shen. Wait here for me again in three days. If you can truly afford my price, I’ll travel with you.”

In the blink of an eye, amid the rustle of falling leaves, the formidable killer had vanished from before her.

Shen Qingye sat frozen for a moment, then crouched down silently, reaching up to touch her own cheek.

She thought she might have found a way to handle Qiu Jun.

Could she use him to escape everyone searching for her… could she string him along, spend a few more days out here in the world, and only think about returning to the Shen family once her sister came back?

A caged bird, once freed, is always reluctant to return to its cage.

In the pale light of early dawn, Shen Qingye crouched on the ground, arms wrapped around herself, her heart pounding as a bold, reckless idea took shape—she began charting her own course of rebellion—

Travel alongside an assassin?

She truly didn’t want to go back to the Shen family, didn’t want another betrothal, didn’t want to marry.

Shen Qingwu couldn’t help her right now. But Qiu Jun could—

In the warm room, snow drifting past outside, Zhang Xingjian walked toward the candle, meaning to blow it out.

Shen Qingwu said, “Why blow it out? I want to look at you.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

He stood with his back to her at the foot of the bed, and after a long moment, sighed softly. He took the bamboo basket used for drying vegetables and set it over the candlestick, dimming the open flame. With the light blocked, the room grew faintly dim, yet somehow that only deepened the sense of hesitant, unspoken intimacy in the air.

Zhang Xingjian immediately regretted doing it.

And Shen Qingwu had already grown thoroughly impatient. “I already took off your shackles, made the face for you too. Zhang Yuelu, are you planning to wait until I’ve fallen asleep to make a move?”

She said, cold with a laugh: “Well, you’ll be waiting forever.”

She said, “Is being intimate with me really such a hardship for you?”

Her voice had turned somewhat cold, clearly unwilling to give him much more time to stall. Zhang Xingjian, knowing her temper well enough, turned silently back toward the bed.

His hands went to the sash of his robe, unhurried, and he began loosening his outer garment.

Shen Qingwu said, “If you take another ten years to undress, another ten years folding your clothes neatly, I’ll kill you.”

Zhang Xingjian laughed at that.

He said gently, “Must General Shen be so crude?”

The little silver hook on the bed curtain swayed like a crescent moon; the blue-green drapery rippled like water. Inside the curtain, Shen Qingwu watched his sash fall outside, his outer robe hanging half-open as he climbed onto the bed, no longer stalling.

The embroidered curtain fell closed, like a layer of mist settling over the two of them.

Such stillness.

Shen Qingwu, too, began to feel a certain awkwardness, warmth rising to her face.

She lowered her head, silent, as he leaned in to hold her—and then, suddenly, she said, “You know what to do, don’t you?”

Zhang Xingjian: “Hm?”

Shen Qingwu: “This is my first time… um.”

Her gaze flickered.

Zhang Xingjian looked at her, at a loss for words.

A faint flush rose on his face; slowly, he said, “Do you think this isn’t my first time either?”

The candlelight flickered bright. The night was still long.