Zhang Xingjian counted the passing time.

More than an hour ticked by on the water-clock, and Shen Qingwu finally slumped weakly onto the bed, limp as mud.

Zhang Xingjian leaned over the bed to support her; she lay with eyes closed, covered in sweat and grime, the smell not at all pleasant.

Zhang Xingjian: “General Shen?”

She didn’t so much as grunt in response.

Zhang Xingjian took her wrist to check her pulse, relieved to find she truly had managed, as she’d claimed, to purge the poison from her body entirely. Perhaps the poison itself hadn’t been especially potent, but her own ability was nothing to scoff at either.

Zhang Xingjian’s eyes lowered: “General Shen, can you still get up?”

She gave two faint groans, eyes still closed, utterly listless; Zhang Xingjian couldn’t tell what the sounds meant—confirmation that she was still alive, perhaps?

He called to her for a good while without response, and finally said, “Forgive the liberty,” bending down to lift her into his arms.

He’d never before carried a woman this tall in the standard cradled position, and had to adjust his hold more than once.

He heard her stomach growl; eyes still closed, she muttered something under her breath.

Zhang Xingjian leaned in closer: “What is it, General?”

Having just finished purging the poison, Shen Qingwu had no strength left at all.

She could sense Zhang Xingjian fussing over something pointless, and had already cursed him a thousand times in her head.

And so, as Zhang Xingjian leaned close to her ear, he heard Shen Qingwu grit out: “I said I’m starving! Are you deliberately tormenting me right now because you can’t stand the sight of me, trying to starve me to death?”

Zhang Xingjian fell silent.

He smiled faintly: “General Shen, if I meant to kill you, would I really choose such a method?”

He explained his actions: “General Shen, your… appearance is rather a mess right now. Allow me to tidy you up. Don’t worry, I won’t let you starve.”

He let her lean against him, then hesitated a moment before reaching to loosen her collar.

Shen Qingwu opened her eyes.

She had no strength left at all, and yet the look she fixed on him remained fierce as a leopard in the wild—try touching me and see what happens.

Zhang Xingjian said, helplessly: “I only mean to help you bathe. Nothing more.”

Shen Qingwu eyed him with suspicion.

His fingers curled gently as he undid her sash, revealing the layers of undergarment beneath, soaked through with sweat.

As he undressed her, his fingers brushed against the jade pendant hanging at her neck.

Warm to the touch, never once forgotten. A gift from Bo Rong.

Zhang Xingjian turned his face aside, not looking at her, saying only, evenly: “This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you plainly, General Shen. Forgive the impropriety, given the circumstances.”

He carried Shen Qingwu, clothes loosened, down onto the floor, walking toward the bathtub he’d already refilled with hot water.

His manner was entirely at ease, utterly unbothered by the murderous look in Shen Qingwu’s eyes.

Once Shen Qingwu had been fully undressed and lowered into the tub, steam rising around her, she registered, through her haze, with some shock, that he truly meant to bathe her.

Shen Qingwu raised an eyebrow: he really wasn’t shy about this.

Zhang Xingjian had nothing to be shy about, in truth.

At first, he had hesitated somewhat, even tried not to look too closely at her bare form.

But how could he bathe her without looking? Besides, her long hair was filthy beyond belief… Shen Qingwu didn’t care, but Zhang Xingjian had already reached the limit of his own patience.

His gaze fell to the tub, to Shen Qingwu’s lean, taut shoulders.

Water poured over her, and she sat with her back to him in the tub, dripping wet—there was a certain beauty to it.

Shen Qingwu made a low sound.

Zhang Xingjian leaned in, pouring water over her while asking softly: “What is it?”

He leaned close from outside the tub, nearing the corner of her mouth. She turned sharply and bit down hard on his cheek.

Zhang Xingjian winced with pain, but bore it.

Given how little strength she had left, it was more warning than actual attack.

She released her bite quickly enough, her lashes damp as rain-soaked eaves, water dripping steadily, her gaze hazy yet smug as she glared at Zhang Xingjian.

Zhang Xingjian looked at her.

His eyes were dark as ink, and impossibly clear.

Shen Qingwu couldn’t imagine finding a more beautiful pair of eyes anywhere.

Something thumped in Shen Qingwu’s chest; she thought the way Zhang Xingjian looked at her just then seemed a little, a little…

Before she could work out what, Zhang Xingjian had already smoothed that look away.

Zhang Xingjian asked, smiling: “Why bite me?”

Shen Qingwu: “Starving!”

Zhang Xingjian raised an eyebrow.

Shen Qingwu: “Dying of thirst!”

Zhang Xingjian’s eyes curved with laughter.

Shen Qingwu suspected he was simply using this as an excuse for revenge.

Zhang Xingjian said: “Then rinse your mouth first, General.”

Shen Qingwu found this tiresome; she’d been unkempt in the army for years, and whenever she came back exhausted from battle, she’d always dived straight into food like a starved wolf. Yet Zhang Xingjian insisted she rinse her mouth first…

Zhang Xingjian said gently: “You’ve fallen into my hands—nothing here is up to you. You’ll simply have to follow my rules.”

He looked at her, smiling: “Don’t worry, General. Just endure a little longer—I won’t let you go hungry.”

He rose and left, returning after a while with a cup of salt water, insisting she rinse her mouth with it.

Famished and parched, Shen Qingwu found herself genuinely without the energy to resist him.

General Shen, ever adaptable, rinsed her mouth several times at his instruction; when she tried to simply swallow the salt water, he pinched her throat shut, refusing to let her.

Shen Qingwu endured it.

Her damp hair clung to her cheeks, spilling across her shoulders and back; stripped of her usual martial bearing, she looked, just then, rather delicate and pitiable in a girlish way, waiting on Zhang Xingjian with plaintive eyes.

Yet inwardly, Shen Qingwu thought: once I’m better…

Zhang Xingjian’s lashes lifted; he wiped the grime and blood from her face with a few gentle strokes, and Shen Qingwu’s features finally emerged clean and lovely. Satisfied, he said: “Much better.”

Under Shen Qingwu’s indignant glare, he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers.

A tingling numbness spread to the tip of her tongue.

Shen Qingwu’s eyes flew wide open.

Zhang Xingjian smiled: “Bear with it a moment longer, General.”

Amid the rising steam, a flush spread across Shen Qingwu’s cheeks; his soft lips and tongue left her drifting, her mind growing hazier still.

She thought she could bear it well enough… this particular means of comfort was enough to make her grudgingly forgive him.

But Shen Qingwu quickly grew frustrated again: he’d stirred her interest, yet she had no strength left to act on it.

The long, warm, damp kiss left Shen Qingwu looking even weaker in the tub, and even stirred something in Zhang Xingjian himself. But he was, as ever, patient, unwilling to stop before achieving his goal—this small gesture of comfort wasn’t enough to make him abandon his purpose—

He was determined to get Shen Qingwu properly clean.

He couldn’t bear having a reeking Shen Qingwu throw herself at him again.

Through this method, Zhang Xingjian washed Shen Qingwu’s body clean, and carefully rinsed her hair strand by strand as well.

Shen Qingwu felt thoroughly wrung out by his ministrations, lying limp in the tub, gasping for breath; his own clothes had gotten soaked through by her mischief as well, leaving him no less bedraggled.

At last, Zhang Xingjian wrapped her in a large towel, lifted her from the tub, and carried her back to the bed.

Still in his half-dry, half-damp robe, he brought several plates of pastries to the bed to feed the famished Shen Qingwu.

She could hardly wait.

She ate the pastries while watching him. The look in her eyes… made Zhang Xingjian smile.

He could tell she still had plenty of interest left in his body.

Taking advantage of her unwillingness to move to tease her a little—Zhang Xingjian found this rather amusing—

It had to be said, Zhang Xingjian revealed, once again, a side of himself few knew about—he was remarkably good at looking after people.

Noble young masters of his upbringing were usually waited on hand and foot, hardly able to care for themselves, let alone anyone else.

Yet Zhang Xingjian took excellent care of Shen Qingwu.

He wasn’t necessarily practiced at these tasks—bathing someone, washing their hair, wiping them down, feeding them food and water—but he didn’t find it distasteful at all; he seemed, if anything, rather interested in it.

Clumsy at first, even choking Shen Qingwu while giving her water, he’d soon grown skilled enough to read a single glance from her and know instantly whether she wanted food, drink, or a kiss.

Of course, he still refused to kiss her first.

Faced with her meaningful looks, he only offered an amused smile.

He teased her—

Deliberately leaning in, only to pull back without kissing her. Lingering a breath away from her, deliberately drawing her in, all while making perfectly composed small talk.

Zhang Xingjian’s cruelty here was plain to see.

Shen Qingwu couldn’t tell whether she’d drifted off from sheer exasperation at him, or from being properly fed and watered at last.

In the end, Zhang Xingjian held this now-clean, fresh-smelling young lady in his arms, looking down at her, her breathing already long and even.

She’d finally escaped her ordeal.

And he, finally, no longer had to worry over her.

Zhang Xingjian let out a soft breath, belatedly beginning to feel the weight of his own exhaustion.

He couldn’t be bothered to get up and move to another room—others had long since drawn countless conclusions about their relationship anyway. Zhang Xingjian simply stayed there, holding Shen Qingwu, lying beside her on the same bed, and fell asleep.

Half-asleep, he thought: he hoped Wutong might reconsider the relationship between them, given more thought.

If she wouldn’t properly consider it… then the time for him to leave had come—

Zhang Xingjian was woken by a string of light kisses.

Eyes still closed, he felt a disorienting sense of time looping back on itself—for as his wrists shifted, he felt that same resistant, tugging force.

Zhang Xingjian opened his eyes, blinked, and found his hands bound with cloth strips.

Moonlight streamed in through the skylight.

Wearing only a thin robe, hair loose, Shen Qingwu knelt astride his waist, looking down at him from above. She’d just leaned down to kiss him, a hint of arrogance still lingering in her eyes.

Zhang Xingjian fell silent for a moment: the scene felt so familiar it nearly convinced him he was still her captive, confined to some room, his freedom stripped away.

But his feet weren’t bound this time.

And what wrapped his wrists was only cloth, no crushing chains.

In other words, Shen Qingwu was playing a game with him.

In the dark, Shen Qingwu noticed his eyes had opened; he simply watched her calmly, showing no shock or resentment.

Shen Qingwu smiled: she did love how endlessly composed the moon remained.

Shen Qingwu: “You’re awake?”

Zhang Xingjian: “Hm?”

He paused, gauging her current state: “Still not quite yourself?”

Shen Qingwu ignored his question, pressing a hand to his waist, blunt and to the point: “Up for it?”

Zhang Xingjian: “Now?”

Shen Qingwu said, as though it were obvious: “I can manage. Can you?”

Zhang Xingjian reminded her: “General Shen, you’ve only just purged the poison—your strength surely hasn’t recovered yet.”

Shen Qingwu said coldly: “Then you shouldn’t have tempted me.”

Zhang Xingjian denied it: “I did no such thing.”

Shen Qingwu couldn’t have cared less whether he had or not.

She was, by nature, stubborn—like a bone dangled before her all through the night that she couldn’t quite reach, leaving her hungry even in her dreams.

Forced awake by that hunger, with Zhang Xingjian sleeping peacefully beside her, she decided she’d simply do as she pleased.

She pinned him down, lowered her head, and bit his throat, pressing him beneath her—

The encounter that followed was hardly what one could call satisfying.

Bound as he was, Zhang Xingjian was willing but unable; weakened as she was, Shen Qingwu found herself in much the same state. Yet her stubbornness left them both stranded together over the flame, suspended somewhere between finishing and not.

Sweat beaded on Zhang Xingjian’s forehead, his hand trembling against the wooden bed frame as he cursed her under his breath: “You scoundrel!”

He said: “Untie me.”

Shen Qingwu did feel a flicker of guilt over this.

But she’d always been competitive to a fault, and even knowing her judgment had been wrong this time, she refused to admit defeat.

Weakly, she said: “Just enjoy it.”

Zhang Xingjian, neck tilted back, breath faint: “Am I… certain that’s what this is?”

His chin ached where she’d bitten him.

Shen Qingwu, out of strength, collapsed forward, falling onto him, knocking against his ribs hard enough to hurt.

Sweat dripped onto Zhang Xingjian’s lashes.

Both of them drenched in sweat, minds somewhat blank, Zhang Xingjian laughed helplessly; she lay utterly still, refusing to let him up either.

He urged her gently: “Are you done yet?”

Shen Qingwu: “Instead of nagging me like this, you should work on improving your own skills.

“Look, isn’t this exactly the kind of establishment for that? You can’t even properly attend to someone… I’ll find you a couple of books to study.”

As she shifted, Zhang Xingjian caught her, pulling her back down.

He struggled against the cloth binding his hands, trying to sit up. Steadying her, he slowly propped himself upright, fingers brushing at her waist, making her squirm with ticklishness.

He said slowly: “How could I dare tire out the General? Let’s… make do, shall we?”

Shen Qingwu’s eyes lit up: “Make do?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing closer to make things easier for him. Their limbs tangled tightly together, both soaked as though submerged in seawater, water shedding with every movement.

Moonlight cool and clear, she leaned against his shoulder, breath catching faintly as she discovered something new: “So… men can move like this too.”

Zhang Xingjian’s breath came ragged, his response distracted.

She turned her face aside, breath tangling with his—

That night at the house of pleasure amounted, in the end, to more farce than anything else.

Once Shen Qingwu came to her senses, she turned around and refused to acknowledge any of it.

Back to her usual taciturn self, she urged Zhang Xingjian to clean up and leave with her.

Ever attuned to reading people, Zhang Xingjian, seeing she hadn’t brought it up, simply treated the previous night as though nothing had happened at all.

What Zhang Xingjian hadn’t expected was that, sitting down to a midday meal back at their lodgings, Shen Qingwu was the one to bring it up.

She said flatly, at the table: “What do you want from me?”

Zhang Xingjian, caught off guard, looked at her in confusion.

Shen Qingwu: “I’m not one to welsh on a bet. I forced myself on you last night while out of my mind, and you had no choice but to go along with it, given my strength over you. As we agreed before—I do something for you, you do something for me in return. What do you need from me?”

Zhang Xingjian looked at her.

After a long moment, he said: “Was last night a transaction, then?”

Shen Qingwu: “What else would it be?”

She said, quite calmly: “Didn’t we agree from the very start that this was a transaction?”

She never went back on her word once given.

She rapped the table, pressing him: “Shen Qingwu isn’t someone who shirks her debts. Whatever you need, just say it.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled: “I need nothing. I didn’t consider last night a transaction.”

Shen Qingwu raised an eyebrow.

She looked at him and said: “Don’t make this more complicated than it needs to be.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

Shen Qingwu: “Unless you have some other purpose, needing to stay on my good side, and that’s why you’re indulging me like this?”

Zhang Xingjian said nothing, watching her quietly.

Something cool, something complicated, flickered in his eyes.

At last, he laughed softly, his voice gentle: “Very well, I do have a purpose—I want to stay on General Shen’s good side, so you’ll help resolve my brother’s troubles, so it won’t come to light and drag my brother down with it.”

He fabricated his reasoning with perfect composure: “Though you’re close with Marshal Bo and eager to help him first and foremost, to me, you’re not a member of the Zhang family—not someone I can simply trust. I need to keep General Shen happy, willing to help me of her own accord.

“Last night was that sort of transaction. General Shen needn’t do anything further.”

Shen Qingwu understood.

She nodded: “Don’t worry, I’ll certainly help Marshal Bo.”

He offered a perfunctory smile, lowering his gaze, saying nothing for a long while.

Through the rest of the meal, Zhang Xingjian remained distracted. Shen Qingwu paid him little mind—he was often like this; it wasn’t the first time.

She finished her meal quickly, gathering her bowl and chopsticks to head for the kitchen.

Before she left, Zhang Xingjian called her back.

He spoke slowly, as though still thinking it through: “General Shen, back then, when I refused you—were you especially upset?”

She turned back, looking at him in confusion, unsure why he’d bring up the past now.

Shen Qingwu brushed a loose strand of hair from her face and said: “I suppose so.”

At least now, she felt nothing much about it.

Zhang Xingjian studied her: “Is that when you stopped trusting anyone at all? Me most of all?”

He asked further: “Do the oaths you swear, the words you speak—do they truly matter that much to you? Truly beyond taking back, beyond changing, beyond any remedy?”

Shen Qingwu wasn’t skilled at untangling such delicate emotions.

She hadn’t even fully understood his first question, let alone how to answer it.

But she didn’t want to appear foolish, unable to even follow what he was saying.

Shen Qingwu answered his second question coldly instead: “My word has always been my bond—otherwise how could you cooperate with me, trust me at all? Don’t you find me entirely trustworthy?”

Zhang Xingjian looked at her, smiling faintly: “Yes, General Shen is certainly trustworthy indeed.

“Your word as good as gold, never to be broken…”

He lowered his gaze, thinking to himself that she even insisted on settling their agreed terms as a proper transaction, terrified of owing him anything, of taking advantage of him in any way.

He’d once gone to great lengths to keep his distance from Shen Qingwu.

And now, just as he’d begun to waver… Shen Qingwu had made him realize he truly shouldn’t waver at all.

He really should leave, after all—

Shen Qingwu came back from the kitchen, the winter water so cold it left her washing dishes in an irritable mood.

The whole way back, she’d been scheming how to coax Zhang Xingjian into washing the dishes for the both of them. Well—she could always do something for him in exchange.

Pushing the door open, she found Zhang Xingjian seated at the table, flipping through a few sheets of paper. Composed as an autumn moon, he sat in this humble room as though seated in some grand hall.

Shen Qingwu admired the sight of him for a moment before stepping over, leaning in from behind, and saw he was examining the letters she’d brought back—the ones stolen from Bo the Third.

While he was absorbed in the letters, Shen Qingwu coughed and mentioned how cold the winter water was.

Zhang Xingjian turned his face, glancing at her.

Shen Qingwu: “Skills as fine as mine shouldn’t be wasted washing dishes. If my hands crack, my grip on sword and bow won’t be precise—if we ran into danger, that could endanger both of us. You don’t have that problem—with me around, you never have to lift a finger to fight anyone off, all you need is your tongue…”

Zhang Xingjian cut off her carefully rehearsed rambling: “Just leave the dishes—I’ll wash them in a moment.”

Shen Qingwu refused to take advantage of him.

She said: “You wash one day, I wash the next.”

Zhang Xingjian: “No matter. I’ve nothing else to do anyway—washing them daily makes no difference to me.”

His easy agreement left Shen Qingwu feeling she’d been bullying him. She said: “Do you need anything…”

Zhang Xingjian cut her off gently: “You mean, is there something you can do for me in return? Nothing for now. Consider it owed—I’ll bring it up when I need something.”

Shen Qingwu: “…I don’t like owing debts.”

Zhang Xingjian said, quite readily: “Then General Shen can wash her own dishes.”

Shen Qingwu pressed her lips together.

She thought it over for a long while; by the time Zhang Xingjian had finished reading the letters, she finally said: “Fine, I’ll owe you, then. Whenever you need something later, I’ll repay it. Don’t worry, I won’t forget.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled.

It was a cold, distant smile. Shen Qingwu belatedly registered that his mood wasn’t particularly good.

She leaned in: “What’s written in the letter? Something upsetting you?”

Zhang Xingjian glanced at her silently.

Was it the letter upsetting him?

Shen Qingwu said: “After I took the letter, Bo the Third’s men chased me relentlessly, so I knew it had to be important. Something this important obviously can’t go back to them. You’re clever enough to have figured out what it says by now—tell me quickly.”

Zhang Xingjian’s attention returned to the letter, and he told her: “Nothing much, really. It’s written in Bo the Third’s voice, addressed to someone else. The letter tells the recipient they’ve located Zhang Xingjian—that is, me. Bo the Third assures the other party they’ll eliminate Zhang Xingjian, that Zhang Xingjian won’t make it back to the capital alive.”

Shen Qingwu: “Bo the Third wants you dead! These past few days while I was gone, were you alright?”

Zhang Xingjian: “I was fine.”

He had no intention of telling her that Chang Lin and the others were with him.

Shen Qingwu: “So who’s this letter addressed to?”

Zhang Xingjian: “Kong Ye, most likely.”

Shen Qingwu understood at once: “Chancellor Kong, right… the one who’s always been against you. Bo the Third’s actually working with him now! Heavens!”

She suddenly connected the dots: “So Chancellor Kong knows Marshal Bo’s identity is faked? Kong Ye’s courting Bo the Third specifically to bring down Marshal Bo, isn’t he? Will Marshal Bo get stripped of his position, lose command of the Yizhou forces?”

Zhang Xingjian, head lowered: “Looks that way.”

Shen Qingwu: “I won’t let Chancellor Kong succeed.”

She pressed further: “Is that everything in these letters?”

Zhang Xingjian: “Mm… there are a few more letters, just small talk about meals and greetings, nothing useful… though something about these letters strikes me as odd.”

What exactly was odd about them, he couldn’t quite pin down just yet.

As Zhang Xingjian studied the letters, deep in thought, he looked up to find Shen Qingwu eagerly rolling up her sleeves, slinging the bow from the wall onto her back, and tucking a sword at her waist.

Zhang Xingjian watched her silently.

He asked: “What are you doing?”

Shen Qingwu: “Everything’s clear now. I’m done playing house with you. Bo Rong’s in real danger—I’m heading up the mountain to capture Bo the Third. I won’t let him keep dealing with Chancellor Kong.”

Zhang Xingjian said softly: “But isn’t Bo the Third trying to kill me right now?”

Shen Qingwu: “But Bo Rong’s situation is worse.”

Zhang Xingjian fell silent.

Shen Qingwu made her decision: “I’m going to find Bo Rong.”

As she planned her next move, she went a long while without hearing Zhang Xingjian’s voice. Needing his help thinking things through, she turned back, puzzled, to look at him.

She naturally assumed that, since he’d come for Bo Rong’s sake too, his goals must align with hers, that he’d naturally be just as anxious to help Bo Rong as she was.

She turned back and found Zhang Xingjian watching her, cool and distant.

Zhang Xingjian: “You’re going to find Marshal Bo—and what about me?”

He smiled, though the smile never reached his eyes: “General Shen, are you parting ways with me, then?”

Shen Qingwu, baffled: “You’re coming with me, obviously.”

She said: “Don’t even think about shaking me off!”

Zhang Xingjian said: “Bringing me along to find the man you… admire so much? Is that really appropriate?”

He asked, with apparent sincerity: “General Shen, have you ever considered… that you might genuinely be quite smitten with Marshal Bo? You’ve always been rather dense about your own feelings—I wonder if I’ve helped you see that more clearly now.”

Shen Qingwu: “…”

At last, she noticed the odd, faintly biting edge beneath his composed tone.

She tried to work out why that might be.