Shen Qingwu suspected Zhang Xingjian was jealous of Bo Rong.

Otherwise, why did he always bring Bo Rong up, seemingly without meaning to? Otherwise, why did he so often deliberately mention Bo Rong even when she herself hadn’t been thinking of him at all?

It was only natural, she supposed, that a brother as outstanding as Bo Rong would draw envy.

Shen Qingwu suddenly felt a flicker of excitement, a sudden sense of understanding toward Zhang Xingjian: he too had a brother he could never measure up to, just as she had always lost out to Shen Qingye.

Shen Qingwu couldn’t help the corner of her mouth curving upward.

So it turned out she wasn’t the only one in this world people disliked—even the noble moon could feel small and inadequate. Everyone, it seemed, was equally “not good enough.”

Zhang Xingjian noticed her smiling: the curve of her lips was faint, but given how sparing her expressions normally were, even this small a smile counted as a rich display of feeling for her.

Zhang Xingjian found himself half-amused, half-irritated by her.

He reached for the teacup on the table, taking a sip of cold tea to steady his mood. Just as he took that sip, Shen Qingwu, remembering his earlier question, finally answered it: “I don’t admire Bo Rong.”

Zhang Xingjian raised his eyes, looking at her through the cloudy tea in his cup: “How do you know you don’t?”

Shen Qingwu said, “I don’t want to sleep with him.”

The tea caught in Zhang Xingjian’s throat, neither going down nor coming back up. He gave her a look somewhere between bewildered and exasperated, and this time, clumsy as she was, Shen Qingwu actually seemed to catch his meaning, adding:

“You and I are different from him and me.”

She sensed the difference instinctively, though she couldn’t quite articulate where it lay.

Zhang Xingjian laughed slowly: “So this one falls short of others in every regard—can’t even earn a shred of admiration from General Shen, it seems.”

Shen Qingwu said nothing.

Watching her wear that same muddled expression as always, Zhang Xingjian found himself struggling hard to hold back.

He set down his teacup with a sharp clack, and as Shen Qingwu’s cold gaze swept toward him, he drew a deep breath.

Fine. He’d always known Shen Qingwu was slow to catch on. No harm in guiding her a little.

Suppressing his irritation, Zhang Xingjian spoke gently, trying to point her toward understanding: “General Shen, perhaps you do like someone, but simply don’t realize it yourself. You don’t grasp how complicated feelings can be, and mistakenly attribute everything to the simplest possible cause. Affection and desire, for instance, are genuinely difficult to separate—if you insist on separating them anyway, there must be some particular reason for it. Could it be that you do have some feeling within you, but simply don’t recognize it, or don’t dare admit it?”

Shen Qingwu said nothing.

Zhang Xingjian waited a long while for her.

He began to wonder whether he’d been too roundabout again, whether Shen Qingwu still couldn’t grasp what he was hinting at.

Zhang Xingjian, doubting himself: “You do understand what I mean, don’t you?”

Shen Qingwu stood in the doorway, looking up at him. Sunlight pooled at her feet; even her shadow stood straight and unbending.

Shen Qingwu said, thoughtful: “You mean, perhaps I like Bo Rong, but I’ve built him up to be too perfect, and kept suppressing myself, not daring to even consider it—so I don’t realize that I like him?”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

He said, faint: “…Is that what I meant?”

Shen Qingwu was quite certain that was exactly what he’d meant.

She thought it over, earnestly: “I really have always thought of Bo Rong as a teacher. He taught me everything I needed to learn, and was always so patient with me. I used to feel I could never quite read him, never knew what he was thinking—now that I think about it, it’s probably because I never really tried to.”

Zhang Xingjian reminded her: “A teacher? A student falling for her teacher would be mocked by the whole world.”

Shen Qingwu said, indifferent: “I don’t care.”

She paused.

She didn’t know whether Bo Rong would care.

Besides… something still felt off to her, though she couldn’t say what.

Zhang Xingjian had nothing to say.

Shen Qingwu even turned to him and said, “You seem to understand all this quite well. Say a bit more, and I might actually get it.”

Zhang Xingjian thought to himself: say a bit more, and you’ll be running off to live happily ever after with Bo Rong.

He propped his forehead against his hand, feigning frailty: “My head’s spinning a little, I can’t quite make out the words. I need to rest a moment.”

Shen Qingwu knew his little performances far too well by now.

She said, “Why stop talking now? If I really do discover I have feelings for Bo Rong, naturally I’ll stop clinging to you, stop confining you, stop forcing you into anything. Wouldn’t that mean you finally get your freedom? Something that benefits us both—why would you stop halfway?”

Zhang Xingjian propped his cheek on one hand, a single dark eye settling on her.

He smiled: “All this thinking must be exhausting, hm?”

Shen Qingwu said nothing.

Zhang Xingjian said, “Best stop thinking, before you make yourself a laughingstock.”

Shen Qingwu, furious: “Zhang Yuelu!”

She stormed toward him, fists raised, ready to strike. Across the table, she looked down at him, chin propped up, face tilted toward her, his glass-bead eyes shimmering with light, dazzling and bright.

Her raised fist had nowhere to land: wherever she struck that face, wouldn’t it only ruin her own feast for the eyes?

Shen Qingwu lowered her fist. “Mock me again, and next time I really will hit you.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled. “I wouldn’t dare, next time.”

Yet why did she feel certain he’d dare it again regardless?

Shen Qingwu had no interest in trading barbs with him—clumsy with words as she was, she could never out-talk the glib Zhang Yuelu. Bracing her hands on the table, she pressed him instead: “Hurry up and think of a plan. How do I take down the third young master Bo and help Bo Rong? What if I just charge straight in and kill my way through—would that work?”

Zhang Xingjian sighed, reining in his own feelings, trying to reason with her as calmly as he could: “You were just left in a terrible state by their poison—why go back so soon? Those bandits hold the mountain, and know the terrain far better than you do. Charging in alone, could you really win?”

Shen Qingwu said, “Skip the excuses.”

Seeing her set on doing it regardless, Zhang Xingjian knew he couldn’t stop her.

The more one argued with a stubborn person, the more they only dug in further.

Zhang Xingjian said, “If you truly insist on this, there’s a plan to lure the tiger from the mountain—the one they currently want to eliminate is me. By now they should already know who I am, only my movements these past days have kept them from finding me.

“The moment I show myself, I’m bound to draw them in to kill me. Kong Ye’s orders, the bandits will naturally follow. Perhaps the third young master Bo has struck some deal with Kong Ye—once Zhang Xingjian is dead, Kong Ye will help him keep deceiving the court indefinitely.

“But the third young master Bo has always been a coward. Even with the bandits coming to kill me, he won’t show his face. Once I’ve drawn off the bulk of their forces, General Shen can charge into the enemy camp alone and take him alive without much trouble.”

Shen Qingwu frowned. “No.”

Zhang Xingjian: “Hm?”

Shen Qingwu: “You can’t show your face.”

Sunlight blazed bright; Zhang Xingjian’s eyes seemed a clear lake brimming with scattered light, rippling and glimmering.

His eyes curved. “Why is that?”

In her heart, Shen Qingwu didn’t want to see Zhang Xingjian put in danger. In her eyes, he’d always been fragile. Zhang Xingjian was allowed to be tormented by her, and her alone—no one else was permitted to hurt him.

He belonged to her.

Shen Qingwu said, “You’re not that moon hanging up in the sky over the Eastern Capital anymore. You’ve already fallen from there. Now you’re mine. Anyone who tries to fight me for you, I’ll fight to the death.”

Zhang Xingjian froze.

He watched her in silence, his heart skipping a beat over it, the arm resting on the table growing numb with the rush of blood. His throat moved; he turned his face aside, avoiding that direct, unflinching gaze of hers.

Shen Qingwu went on, “Besides, you’re too weak. You wouldn’t buy me much time anyway—don’t waste my energy on this.”

Zhang Xingjian lowered his eyes.

Shen Qingwu urged him to think of another way, but his mind was in chaos, already wandering. Zhang Xingjian answered halfheartedly: “Then make a straw man, dress it up as me, and use it to draw them out instead.”

Shen Qingwu said, “That’s a good plan.”

She turned to head out and start planning it; Zhang Xingjian watched her retreating back, and this time made no move to stop her.

He lowered his head, looking at the sweat on his open palm, and the faint marks where his own nails had dug in.

Just now, he’d had to dig his nails into his palm to keep himself from asking Shen Qingwu how she truly saw him, what she truly wanted from him.

Slowly, Zhang Xingjian rose from the table and walked to the window, watching the warm winter sunlight outside, watching Shen Qingwu wander about searching for wood and dry grass.

He watched her quietly, his gaze soft and calm.

He thought that if this world were some kind of playground, and Shen Qingwu wandered through it alone, adrift and confused, then he was probably the toy she happened to favor most.

Whatever toy she liked, she’d want to keep entirely to herself, share with no one else.

He didn’t know whether he was truly her favorite.

He’d once believed he was—later, he came to think otherwise. She was, in the end, like everyone else in the world: she too believed Bo Rong was the finest of them all, and that Zhang Xingjian fell short of him in every way.

Zhang Xingjian knew that Bo Rong was his own private demon.

Ten years running, he’d never once managed to step out from that man’s shadow—even in the one woman he’d ever genuinely felt something for, Bo Rong still occupied a place in her heart.

What an irony, truly.

Zhang Xingjian thought to himself: it really was time to leave.

He could play Bo Rong’s stand-in within the Zhang family; he was willing to help clean up Bo Rong’s mess. Because the process of cleaning up that mess was, in itself, the very process by which he would gradually replace Bo Rong, piece by piece.

The moment he’d learned Bo Rong was still alive, he’d known his chance had come.

Once the dust settled, everyone would find that Zhang Xingjian was in no way inferior to Bo Rong—that Zhang Xingjian would accomplish far more than Bo Rong ever had.

Bo Rong, trapped by sentiment, had fled from the world’s affairs. Zhang Xingjian would not.

Just watch—he would become that singular, irreplaceable moon, hanging eternal in the sky.

Shen Qingwu…

Shen Qingwu…

Let her do as she pleased with Bo Rong.

What business was it of his—

Together, Zhang Xingjian and Shen Qingwu built a straw figure out of dried grass, dressing it in his clothes; seen from behind, it passed reasonably well for a real person.

Though Shen Qingwu felt the straw figure captured nothing of Zhang Xingjian’s own particular elegance, he told her no one would look that closely—she needn’t worry over such small details.

The two of them settled on their plan: they’d spread word that Zhang Xingjian was here, drawing the bandits toward the decoy. At the same time, Shen Qingwu would march up the mountain alongside the troops the prefect had arranged.

The officials meant to wipe out the bandits, to add a fine achievement to the prefect’s record for the new year; Shen Qingwu meant to take the third young master Bo alive, and once done, bring him to Bo Rong.

Shen Qingwu specifically insisted that Zhang Xingjian come along with her as well.

Zhang Xingjian gave no clear answer either way.

In the dead of night, Shen Qingwu hid Zhang Xingjian in the cellar of an abandoned dye workshop.

She’d spent these past days scouting the town back and forth, and had finally found this safe spot. As long as Zhang Xingjian stayed hidden here, no matter how violent the fighting outside might get, none of it would reach him.

Pushed down into the cellar, Zhang Xingjian said, helpless: “I’m not that weak.”

Shen Qingwu answered halfheartedly: “Wait for me. I’ll come back for you once I’ve succeeded.”

Since he’d failed to escape on several occasions already, Shen Qingwu had come to assume that Zhang Xingjian had accepted their arrangement, and wouldn’t try to flee on his own. So there was no need to bind or restrain him—he only needed to sleep through the night, and by dawn, everything would be settled.

Having hidden him safely away, Shen Qingwu shouldered her bow and crouched low, preparing to climb back up out of the cellar.

Zhang Xingjian caught her hand from behind.

Shen Qingwu turned back.

Zhang Xingjian said, “Shen Qingwu, there are actually a few things about this plan I haven’t quite worked out. Something about the contents of those letters doesn’t sit right with me. Could you really not wait a few more days, until I’ve had time to puzzle it through properly?”

Shen Qingwu said, “Every extra day means one more day of danger for Bo Rong. I know you’re clever, but sheer strength can overcome an enemy too—you and I have never done things the same way. I don’t think there’s any contingency I can’t handle.”

Zhang Xingjian considered, then asked, “Must you go see Bo Rong yourself? I do have men of my own who could deliver the third young master Bo to him—you needn’t return to Yizhou in person.”

Shen Qingwu said, “I won’t feel at ease unless I see to Bo Rong’s safety myself.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “And if something happens to me…”

Shen Qingwu assumed he was afraid.

He sat there, spotless amid the darkness, cool and solitary, utterly alone. Perhaps, like her as a child, he too feared this endless black.

But this place wasn’t like the little dark room she’d been locked in for so many years.

The people who’d locked her away had forgotten she existed, forgotten to ever let her out.

But she would never forget Zhang Xingjian existed. As long as she drew breath, she would come back and bring him out. She would never let him be trapped here forever.

Shen Qingwu said, “I’ve hidden you somewhere truly safe, far from where we’ve been staying. Even if they realize the decoy was a trick, it’ll take them time to find their way here. I’ll be back before they ever find you.

“And if I truly can’t make it back in time, if you’re hurt because of it, I’ll make them pay for it, I promise. Don’t be afraid.”

Zhang Xingjian asked, “And if I die?”

A chill flashed in Shen Qingwu’s eyes: “Then I’ll kill every last one of them, and avenge you.”

Zhang Xingjian gripped her wrist, saying nothing.

Shen Qingwu couldn’t make sense of his silence, his hesitation.

After a long moment, he looked up, released her wrist, and smiled: “Go on, then, General.”—

At dawn, Shen Qingwu met up with the government soldiers at the foot of the mountain.

According to Zhang Xingjian, these men would cooperate with her in clearing out the bandits. Different purposes, same task—they could all make the trip together.

Combined, they numbered several dozen. No one knew exactly how many bandits were hiding in the mountains, but from what Shen Qingwu observed, a great many of them had already come down the mountain, heading straight for Zhang Xingjian. Whatever remained up there—mainly the third young master Bo himself—the group should be more than enough to handle.

These men weren’t strangers to Shen Qingwu, either—Zhang Xingjian, through the prefect’s connections, had already told them to cooperate with her. Having previously posed as servants, they’d already come to know a fair bit about her temperament.

The group exchanged few words upon meeting, and prepared to head up the mountain at once.

Suddenly, a swift horse came galloping down the narrow trail. Before reaching the mountain path, its rider leapt down, breathless: “Lady Shen! Fellow warriors!”

Shen Qingwu and the others turned.

Red dawn light danced behind the clouds, the horizon tinged faintly crimson.

In the cold morning wind, the rider cupped his hands toward them, his eyes fixed on Shen Qingwu: “Lady Shen, the plan has changed. Don’t go up the mountain.”

The group startled.

The rider said, “Young Master Zhang just sent word—he believes something’s off about this plan, and has had the prefect call it off for now. All of you, please return to the government office to see the prefect at once. Lady Shen, Young Master Zhang wants you to come find him too—he says he has something to tell you.”

The group murmured among themselves.

Shen Qingwu said, “Who are you? I’ve never seen you before.”

The rider cupped his hands. “This one has served the young master for years as one of his death-sworn men. The young master keeps many such men—it’s no surprise you haven’t seen me before.”

He held up the prefect’s waist tally for all to see, and the soldiers, convinced, began urging Shen Qingwu to abandon the plan along with them. Shen Qingwu said nothing, lunging suddenly toward the rider—

But he’d anticipated this, using his lightness-skill to leap backward, landing back on his horse.

The rider called out loudly: “This one has delivered the message. Whether Lady Shen believes it or not, she may ask the young master herself. Farewell!”

His horse was swift; Shen Qingwu, saying nothing, leapt into the treetops to give chase, but her speed on foot couldn’t match the horse’s pace. She returned to the group, and the soldiers took their leave of her.

They served the government, and with the prefect’s order relayed to them, there was no question of continuing regardless.

Shen Qingwu touched the saber at her waist. “Go on back, then.”

She lifted her gaze, staring from the mountain’s foot up at the hazy clouds and mist wreathing the peaks above.

Someone, noticing her expression, tried to persuade her: “Won’t you go see Young Master Zhang, Lady Shen? True or false, one meeting would settle it.”

Shen Qingwu said, “Zhang Yuelu doesn’t get to decide things for me.”

Since the others had given up on going up the mountain, she’d simply go alone. She trusted her own strength enough—taking the third young master Bo alive by herself would be difficult, but not impossible—

Not long after Shen Qingwu left, Zhang Xingjian, with Chang Lin and the other soldiers’ help, emerged from the cellar.

By the second half of the night, the moon overhead had grown faint, sunlight beginning to filter dimly through the clouds.

Zhang Xingjian looked up at the clouds above, thinking that Shen Qingwu should have joined up with the government troops by now, should be heading up the mountain.

Chang Lin followed behind him, watching his young lord’s slight, distant figure ahead.

Moved, Chang Lin said, “Young master, you’ve finally seen the light of day again.”

Zhang Xingjian said nothing, walking on with his hands clasped behind his back.

Zhang Xingjian had let it go. Chang Lin, meanwhile, had begun to worry.

Chang Lin said, “What if Shen Qingwu comes back and can’t find you?”

Zhang Xingjian said, light: “Then let her believe I’m dead.”

He lifted his wrist, and Chang Lin, startled, saw a strip of white cloth wound around it, blood seeping through the bandage, deep and vivid red.

Zhang Xingjian said, gentle: “I let out a little blood down in the cellar, disturbed the traces a bit. Shen Qingwu likely won’t come back… but if she does, seeing those signs, she’ll assume the bandits took me.

“These past years, those bandits under the third young master Bo have burned, killed, and plundered without restraint—their crimes are beyond counting. If Shen Qingwu hunts them down across a thousand li and kills them all, that would only be ridding the people of a scourge.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled faintly. “Though the odds of that happening are quite low, really. The moment she finds the third young master Bo, her whole heart will fill up with thoughts of Bo Rong—she won’t spare a thought for me. Even if she notices I’m missing, the most important thing on her mind will still be seeing Bo Rong, not searching for me.”

Zhang Xingjian had no intention of going with Shen Qingwu to see Bo Rong.

He wasn’t about to place himself under Bo Rong’s scrutiny like that.

Chang Lin said, “But what if Shen Qingwu really does think you matter more, and goes to find you among the bandits instead—kills every last one of them, and still can’t find you…”

He didn’t dare imagine what she might do then.

Zhang Xingjian said, “Then her leave of absence should be reaching its end. Do you really think she’ll keep chasing after me?”

Chang Lin froze.

Zhang Xingjian said, mild: “You see, this is simply how things are.

“Between Zhang Yuelu and Bo Rong, Shen Qingwu will choose Bo Rong.

“Between Zhang Yuelu and her army post, Shen Qingwu will choose her post.

“I was never her first choice to begin with, so you needn’t worry she won’t let me go.”

However many times this fever dream had left Zhang Xingjian lingering, however much of his own heart had stirred within it, it was, in the end, time to wake.

It had been a fine dream.

He would remember all of it.

But he had to leave now—

Dawn broke faintly, the red sun spreading across the sky, half the heavens washed in gold.

A fierce battle was underway in the mountains.

The third young master Bo, having hidden for over a decade, still couldn’t escape the fate of finally being found. Many bandits had gone down the mountain to kill Zhang Xingjian, but his own trusted men remained behind—and before dawn, they ran into the cold, forbidding figure of Shen Qingwu.

That a lone woman would climb the mountain by herself struck the third young master Bo as almost laughable.

He too had once been a soldier! Before Zhang Rong had borrowed his identity, he and his brothers-in-arms had rolled through real battlefields, had a bit of fighting spirit in their blood once. It was only that he’d feared the battlefield, feared death, wanted only to flee from it all… Years of cowering in hiding, true enough—but however fearful he’d become, being scorned again and again by some slip of a girl was simply too much to bear!

Those stolen letters had yet to bring consequences, and Zhang Rong clearly meant to see him dead—if he didn’t resist now, he truly might die.

Old Three Bo, in his cave, had his men scout thoroughly, confirming that only Shen Qingwu had come to provoke them—no one else had moved against them. Urged on by his men, Old Three Bo dragged out the great blade he’d once wielded and charged out, joining his men in an attempt to take her down.

Life or death, it hardly mattered now.

Either way, the secret of the swapped identity had to stay buried forever, beyond the court’s reach!

Shen Qingwu fought her way through the bandits, finally laying eyes, in broad daylight, on this Old Three Bo who’d hidden himself away for so long. The moment he appeared, her gaze locked onto him.

In the thin sunlight, the man proved to be tall and burly, with a square jaw and dark skin. Had he stood upright and open beneath the sun, he might have made something of himself. But he’d hidden too long—his gait was unsteady, his eyes furtive and shifty, his whole body hunched, more like some ridiculous buffoon than a man.

The sunlight made Shen Qingwu narrow her eyes.

Old Three Bo let out a great shout, charging in with his blade.

His trusted men closed in alongside him to surround Shen Qingwu: “Kill her together! If we let her go, we’re all dead here anyway! The court will hunt us all down!”

These men were nothing more than deserters, in the end.

Shen Qingwu grew only more composed.

Saber in hand, her bow at her back barely drawn at all, she wove through the bandits, leaping and spinning, her blade cutting through them like splitting mountains—though she held back from killing outright, meaning only to take Old Three Bo alive.

However many men bore down on her at once, her goal remained the same: take Old Three Bo.

She studied him as she fought: his right hand was injured, forcing him to wield his blade left-handed. Every time her own blade swept past him, his right arm twitched involuntarily.

His left-handed swordsmanship wasn’t especially fluid.

Shen Qingwu understood at once: the man must have been wounded in the right arm on some battlefield, forced to switch to his left hand ever since. The battlefield had broken his nerve completely—perhaps that was precisely why he’d been willing to trade identities with Bo Rong in the first place.

Trading identities, fine—that was his own business.

But Old Three Bo had no business trying to conspire with Kong Ye against Bo Rong!

Shen Qingwu lunged forward, closing in on him. Braving the blows raining down around her, she feinted, tricking Old Three Bo into thinking her blade would strike him. As he stumbled backward, she swung her arm behind her back and flung an arrow forward with a sharp snap of her wrist.

The force was ferocious!

Stumbling, Old Three Bo couldn’t dodge the arrow in time. Shen Qingwu’s steps carried her forward, closing the distance further. Just as she was about to seize him, a long blade thrust in from the side, deflecting her arrow and shoving back against her with counter-force.

Blades and swords flashed all around, unblinking.

Shen Qingwu was forced to retreat.

Her long hair swept across her pale eyes; she saw that the one steadying Old Three Bo was one of his own trusted men.

That man held him up. “Old Three, are you all right?”

Old Three Bo coughed violently, looking at his brother-in-arms with grateful eyes.

Shen Qingwu’s pupils contracted sharply; she lunged forward at once.

But she was still a step too late—

The man supporting Old Three Bo twisted the blade in his hand and, catching Old Three Bo entirely off guard, drove it into his back from behind. The blade’s tip burst through his chest; Old Three Bo’s eyes went wide as an ox’s, and he coughed up a mouthful of blood with a wet, choking sound.

The man took a blow from Shen Qingwu’s palm in return, laughing as he retreated swiftly backward.

Murderous fury flashed in Shen Qingwu’s eyes: “You want to die!”

…Killing Old Three Bo, right in front of her!

The other bandits stood there, stunned.

They froze in place, staring dumbly at Old Three Bo collapsed in a pool of blood, utterly lost, without direction. Shen Qingwu gave chase after the killer, but mid-sprint, her nose suddenly caught an unusual, acrid scent.

She had always trusted her instincts.

She abandoned the chase at once, retreating hastily. But as the red sun climbed higher, that acrid smell filling the whole mountainside could no longer be concealed—

The golden sun leapt above the horizon.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Explosions tore through the mountain one after another, fire and powder kegs bursting open on every side, flame sweeping toward Shen Qingwu and the bandits alike.

Shen Qingwu threw herself to the ground as fast as she could; the nearest explosion detonated close by, a searing wave of heat washing over her, her ears ringing without pause. Gritting her teeth, she who’d escaped injury from Old Three Bo and his men found the back of her head soaked crimson with blood from the blast instead.

The moment the explosion behind her stopped, she leapt up to run, only to find a fresh explosion waiting ahead of her.

The entire mountainside had become a sea of fire.

Explosions kept erupting on every side, leaving no way out to be found. Shen Qingwu, thrown to the ground, gritted her teeth, and suddenly understood why that rider had told her not to climb the mountain:

Zhang Xingjian!

The rider claimed to serve him—he hadn’t wanted them going up the mountain. Zhang Xingjian had, in fact, tried to stop her from climbing all along. He’d never much liked Bo Rong.

Had he sent someone to kill Old Three Bo? Did he mean to kill her too?

Why would he want her dead?!

Was it because she’d treated him badly?

She had to know the reason!—

However many injuries Shen Qingwu suffered in that sea of flame that day is beside the point. Dragging her badly wounded body, she gritted her teeth and made her way down the mountain, forcing herself back to the cellar, and upon finding it completely empty in the darkness, slowly began to smile.

Shen Qingwu sank to her knees, her face and head soaked in blood, her robes drenched and filthy with it. Having just crawled out of a brush with death, she’d forced herself back here for one reason alone—to see what Zhang Xingjian was doing.

Sure enough, he wasn’t there.

Kneeling on the ground, bracing herself up with her saber, swaying, Shen Qingwu rose and staggered outward, blood coating her face and blurring her vision. Through that haze of red, she thought hazily of the Miao girl’s words, once, that Zhang Xingjian liked her—

Shen Qingwu understood clearly now: it truly had all been false.

She was a fool to have ever troubled herself over it—deceived by Zhang Xingjian again and again. She’d been so naive at sixteen; why, at twenty-one, was she still falling for it?

Just wait.

She would not let Zhang Xingjian off—

Five days later, Zhang Xingjian sat inside a carriage, having just poured himself a cup of tea, when a commotion erupted outside.

Chang Lin’s voice rang out, sharp: “Shen Qingwu!”

Zhang Xingjian paused, lifting the carriage curtain to look ahead—

Chang Lin and the others sat mounted on their horses, and there, covered head to toe in blood, was Shen Qingwu, as though she’d crawled straight out of hell itself. Her icy gaze passed over no one else, fixed directly on him.

She looked half-mad, the wild red veins threading through her eyes enough to make anyone’s blood run cold.

In the whipping wind, Shen Qingwu raised her arm, drew her bow, the arrow aimed straight at Zhang Xingjian within the carriage—

“I told you already—cross me again, and I will kill you.”