For someone unused to receiving praise, resisting the pull of flattery was difficult.

Resisting it from Zhang Xingjian was even harder.

Shen Qingwu knew perfectly well he always had honeyed words at the ready, capable of turning anyone’s head. She’d scoffed at it before, unmoved…

But he’d called her beautiful.

“Beautiful” wasn’t a word often applied to Shen Qingwu.

Delicate, spring-eyed Shen Qingye was called beautiful. Lavish, dazzling Li Linge was called beautiful. The pampered, poetry-writing unmarried daughters of noble households were called beautiful. Shen Qingwu… who would ever call her that?

People called her capable in a fight, formidable in martial arts, strange-tempered, prone to trouble.

She tilted her head, mulling over what he’d said.

Zhang Xingjian had already tested the waters, easing the jade pendant free from inside her collar, fingers hooking around the crimson cord it hung from. He caught sight of the character “Wu” carved into the pendant again, pausing faintly, and glanced up at her.

Shen Qingwu, too, had her moments of striking, radiant beauty.

The pale green short cape, the plain white flowing skirt, the sash cinched at her waist with its cloud-and-vine pattern, her shoulders narrow and her figure long and slender. Her dark hair pinned up, pearls and tassels scattered through it, her long brows swept elegant, her lips touched with red…

This was likely the closest Shen Qingwu had ever come, in her entire life, to truly looking the part of a proper young lady.

She held the small diamond-shaped mirror in her hands, unable to put it down, examining her own face, her own waist, again and again.

The jade pendant, though…

Normally she made a mess of things and didn’t care whether she wore one pendant or several. But tonight, she had the vague sense that she wouldn’t be making a mess of anything—how could taste from a refined young master of a great family ever go wrong?

If it did go wrong, that could only mean Zhang Xingjian had done it on purpose.

Studying herself in the golden glow of the mirror for a long while, thoroughly pleased, she made her decision without hesitation. “I’ll just wear one pendant, then.”

His brow curved.

He immediately reached for the cord at her neck, about to have her tilt her head down so he could remove that pendant.

But she said, matter-of-fact, “Move the one on my neck down to my waist, and take off the one already there.”

His fingers, still hooked around the cord, went still.

He looked up at her.

Her eyes were dark and clear, her expression pleased—clearly with no other thought behind it.

He asked her softly, “Why?”

She didn’t understand the question.

Suppressing his displeasure, he kept his tone mild. “Why keep Bo Rong’s pendant close no matter what, and take mine off instead? Am I not as good as him?”

She thought: what nonsense is this.

“Weren’t you just matching the pendant to the outfit? But Bo Rong’s pendant is Blue Field jade—it’s especially expensive. Something that valuable, of course I can’t just toss it aside carelessly. I have to be careful with it.”

“Mine is Dushan jade,” he said. “Fine-grained, smooth, tough and dense—it’s ranked alongside Blue Field jade. Also quite expensive.”

“…”

Her limited knowledge only extended to Blue Field jade; she’d never heard of Dushan jade. But if he said the two were equally prized, it was probably true.

She held her ground. “But that one was a gift from Bo Rong.”

“And mine isn’t?”

“Aren’t you just using it to match the outfit?”

He faltered, unable to continue. If he admitted he’d chosen it deliberately, she’d probably refuse to wear it at all.

Here he was, in love with a woman, forced to carefully hide his own feelings for fear of scaring her off.

He looked down at the pendant hanging at her throat.

“Bo Rong’s different from you,” she said. “He carved it and polished it himself. He hesitated a long time over whether to give it to me. But I knew he meant to give it to me, so when he wouldn’t, I just took it.

“I stole this one from him! He said I was reckless beyond reason, and told me to wear it close to my skin, to think of him often…”

“Think of him often? You’ve practically carved him into your heart already—how much more often could you possibly think of him?”

She ignored the odd edge in his voice, lost in thought instead. “I haven’t written to Bo Rong in a while. I forgot to warn him about the man who killed Bo Lao San. I should really—”

She pressed her lips shut, wincing at a sudden pain—he’d yanked hard on the cord at her neck, cinching it tight.

She shot him a cold look.

He changed his tone. “Wutong, this whole trip has been kept secret. Warning Bo Rong early might alert the culprit. Bo Lao San is already dead, so the threat to Bo Rong is essentially gone. What we’re after now is the secret behind that killer—whether Bo Rong’s identity has been discovered by anyone else. Even if you warned him, it wouldn’t accomplish anything.”

“Don’t understand.”

He said simply, “Don’t write the letter. Wait until things settle.”

She couldn’t quite trust him.

She thought it over for a long while, and only after he reminded her once more of his blood ties to Bo Rong did she nod, reluctantly.

She guessed he must have discovered something he wasn’t telling her. No matter—she’d stay close to him, and make sure he never hurt Bo Rong.

And so, after a long detour through his own frustration, the conversation finally circled back to the pendant.

This time he simply told her outright, “I only know how to tie this one particular knot, and I doubt I could replicate it. If it’s undone, I might never manage this exact one again. Are you sure you want to trade mine for his, over a single pendant?”

She looked down at her own slender, lovely waist, and the ribbons, sachet, pendant, and lovers’ knot hanging from it.

“You’re really dense,” she said.

He offered no response.

Reluctantly, she made her decision. “Then find a handkerchief, find a box, and wrap up my pendant properly. I’m only wearing your clothes for a little while, wearing your pendant for a bit of fun… tomorrow I still want my own clothes and my own pendant back.”

He finally smiled.

His smile was faint, his eyes bright as stars, his arm still around her waist. At such close range, his features practically glowed, and her heart pounded, a faint ache spreading through her.

She turned her face away, refusing to look at him.

She’d been having this inexplicable feeling a lot lately… perhaps some lingering side effect of her recovery keeping her usual boldness in check.

He helped her remove the pendant, wrapped it carefully in a handkerchief as she’d instructed, and placed it in a small jade box. He wasn’t trying to be difficult about it—it was only a pendant, after all.

The refined, elegant young master closed the lid of the jade box, casting one last look at the smooth, green pendant inside, a smile lingering in his eyes—

She’d only agreed to set it aside for one night.

But if he could get her to set it aside once, he could surely manage it a second time.

Someday, he meant for Shen Qingwu to forget Bo Rong entirely—for that pendant’s place to belong to him instead.

Once the pendant was safely put away, he turned back to find her carefully lifting her skirt, about to push the door open and step outside.

“Wutong?”

She turned back, reluctant. “What?”

She let his choice of name slide, willing to indulge him a little given how well he’d treated her tonight—answering his questions, talking with him, rather than ignoring him entirely.

His eyes crinkled with amusement, his tone gentle. “Where are you going?”

She felt too self-conscious to admit she just wanted to show off her pretty outfit.

She found an excuse instead. “I—I’m going out to look around, see if I can find any leads on the culprit, help Chang Lin out.”

“Didn’t you say tracking people down wasn’t your job—that people should just bring you the killer?”

She stared at him.

He stepped closer. “Besides, weren’t you worried you don’t know how to talk to people?… Why don’t I come with you?”

She looked him up and down.

A sly gleam of amusement flickered through her eyes.

“Zhang Yuelu, you want to come out with me?”

He was about to come up with some excuse.

She didn’t care what excuse he had. Magnanimously, she waved a hand. “Change your clothes, and you can come.”

Puzzled, he said, “Naturally I’d change before going out.”

A man as particular about his appearance as he was could easily change outfits seven or eight times in a single day.

She lifted her chin. “I don’t want you wearing your usual clothes. I want you dressed like Chang Lin.”

He blinked.

She crossed her arms. “If you don’t agree, I’m not taking you.”

He understood her meaning now, vaguely.

He smiled faintly. “All right. Why don’t you pick something out for me yourself, then—something to your satisfaction?”

She looked at him.

He amended, smiling, “Second Young Lady Shen.”

Only then did she give a small huff and walk toward him—

Lanterns lit the evening streets, the night fires glittering like stars.

She and he walked out together into the bustle.

Despite her elegant, refined long skirt, she couldn’t help walking with her back to the crowd. Hands clasped behind her, she turned her head to look at him as she walked, smiling—

Narrow sleeves, fitted martial attire, a jade-and-silk sash at his waist.

She couldn’t help but marvel at how striking he looked, how exceptional his bearing was: dressed so sharply, he looked nothing like a servant, but rather like one of those dashing, romantic heroes out of a storybook.

She thought her own taste was excellent.

The longer she looked at him, the more convinced she became of it.

He laughed. “What are you staring at? Watch where you’re walking.”

He reminded her, “Wasn’t the whole point of coming out tonight to be admired by the crowd?”

“The corner of my eye already tells me plenty of people are sneaking looks at the two of us.”

“Oh? And do you understand what exactly they’re looking at?”

She missed the teasing in his tone entirely.

She answered with perfect seriousness. “Not entirely sure yet. Let me look some more.”

She said this while continuing to walk backward, hands still clasped behind her, facing him, smiling.

A beautiful, radiant young woman, paying no attention to anyone else, staring only at him. Starlight seemed to shimmer in her eyes, laughter dancing there, more vivid than he’d ever seen her—who could possibly resist that? Heat rose in his face, his composure slipping further by the moment.

He sighed. “Wutong…”

“There’s a fruit stall over there, knocked over by the wind.”

Her eyes had always been sharp; she’d spotted a corner of the street no one else had noticed yet. Before he could react, she’d already lifted her skirt and dashed off toward it, stumbling several times, saved from falling only by her considerable skill.

The fruit stall had indeed been toppled by the wind, its owner crouched on the ground, sighing as he gathered up the scattered fruit, wary of anyone trying to take advantage while his back was turned.

The gruff vendor grumbled loudly, complaining about all the customers who’d walked off.

She crouched down beside him to help gather the fruit.

The vendor immediately grew suspicious. “Grown as you are, coming to bully an old man like me. This fruit’s not worth much, but I grew it with my own hands. Taking advantage of me like this—have you no conscience at all…”

A plump woman standing nearby, overhearing this, scowled and walked off.

She said nothing, kept her head down, helping gather fruit, ignoring the vendor’s crude complaints entirely.

Zhang Xingjian, watching for a moment, crouched down to help as well.

The vendor had already griped away every other passerby with his loud complaints, and seeing this young pair ignore his abuse entirely, continuing quietly to help, he watched for a while longer. Neither of them had pocketed any of his fruit—each piece went back onto the stand, one by one.

The vendor let out a breath.

His earlier fury faded, and he mumbled, quietly, “Thank you.”

He added, “Couldn’t be helped, really.”

Running a small business meant always fearing a loss.

She kept her head down, saying nothing. Whether the vendor praised or cursed made no difference to her. Zhang Xingjian leaned close to her ear just then, murmuring a few words.

Startled, she looked up, meeting his lowered gaze.

He smiled, coaxing her. “Give it a try.”

She pressed her lips shut, silent.

He said softly, “Aren’t I right here?”

—If she got it wrong, she’d want to hit him, and wasn’t he always ready for that?

Slowly, she lowered her eyes.

As the vendor gathered fruit alone, he heard a flat, faintly cold woman’s voice. “No need to thank me.”

He looked up, bewildered, meeting her eyes.

She crouched there, staring at him without blinking. In her hand she held a piece of fruit, gripping it so hard her knuckles had gone white.

The vendor didn’t notice any of this.

Seeing the young woman’s youthful, pretty face lifted toward him, and struck by her kindness, he smiled. “You’re a good soul, young lady… are you here with…” he trailed off.

He glanced at Zhang Xingjian’s appearance and dress, puzzled for a moment.

He got the impression this pair looked like a beautiful young lady from some great family, having run off with a dashing young swordsman.

But that wasn’t a polite thing to say aloud.

He rephrased. “Are you and your… guard, out enjoying yourselves together?”

Zhang Xingjian raised an eyebrow.

He watched her light up with excitement at once.

A noble lady and her guard—that was exactly the point of having him change clothes!

Who said only she could be the guard, only she could be unworthy of him? He ought to be unworthy of her too.

Never one for words, she found herself absolutely delighted by this. Without any prompting from him, she broke into a smile, nodding eagerly, chin bobbing. “That’s right!”

Her clear, ringing voice startled the vendor.

Zhang Xingjian turned his face away from her, unable to keep his smile from deepening.

Such an adorable Wutong… how was he supposed to endure this?

Noticing the vendor’s odd expression, adorable Wutong realized she must have said something wrong.

It had been Zhang Xingjian who’d whispered in her ear, telling her to try talking to people. If the conversation stalled, it was only right that he step in to smooth it over.

And so, Zhang Xingjian, still smiling faintly to himself, winced—she’d grabbed his wrist and yanked hard.

Composing himself, he turned back, leaning close to her ear, murmuring a few more words.

Under the vendor’s increasingly puzzled stare, she said, straight-faced, “My father was a soldier. I’ve trained in martial arts since childhood, so my manner of speaking is a bit rough. No offense meant, sir.”

Having recited what Zhang Xingjian taught her, she shot him a glare: rough?!

But the vendor, at that, suddenly seemed to understand all her odd behavior.

He said, sympathetic, “Ah, I see. What a kind heart you have. Harvests have been poor this year, and still we’ve got to pay the emperor’s taxes—better off as a soldier, honestly… And here you are, still able to go out and enjoy yourself. Your family must be doing well.”

Zhang Xingjian murmured in her ear again.

The tips of her ears flushed red at his breath against them, her mind going faintly blank.

She worked hard to remember his words, reciting them carefully: “Doesn’t your family have children of their own, sir? Why must you be out working alone so late?”

This small talk left her thoroughly bewildered, unsure why she was even saying any of it. She kept glaring at him, but fortunately, with just a few prompted lines, the old man’s tongue loosened considerably.

She soon got to her actual purpose. “So your family lives on the east side of town. What a coincidence—I had a guard steal some of my family’s belongings and slip away a few days ago. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?”

Her eyes lit up: so this was what Zhang Xingjian had been steering her toward—asking about the culprit.

In the end, the old man gave them his address, telling them to come by the next day and ask.

His son and daughter ran their own small businesses too, and saw plenty of passersby. He trusted the pair completely, telling them to visit another day and ask his children—perhaps they could help recover the stolen goods.

Thoroughly satisfied, she accepted two oranges pressed into her hands, and bid the old man farewell alongside Zhang Xingjian.

Back among the crowds, she found herself quietly thrilled. “I’m really quite good at this.”

She mulled it over. “Talking to people is easy.”

He smiled faintly.

Walking quietly beside her, she suddenly turned, facing him, walking backward again.

Her eyes shone. “Did you hear what people around us were saying?”

“What did they say?”

“They said I’m beautiful.”

He listened for a moment.

He’d caught a few remarks, but he feigned ignorance. “I didn’t hear anything.”

She immediately scoffed. “Your martial arts must really be lacking.”

She leaned in, took his hand, and channeled a thread of internal energy into his wrist. Her energy surged through him, straight and forceful, numbing his arm with a strange, long-forgotten thrill…

He stiffened slightly.

Her breath brushed his ear as she urged him on. “Listen carefully. Did you catch it now?”

He said nothing.

She was practically dying of impatience.

Here she was, someone usually so oblivious, having to personally teach someone as sharp-eyed and sharp-eared as him how to read the reactions of passersby around them—

“You’re hopeless.

“If you still can’t hear it, then look at their eyes.

“Their eyes are speaking. They’re saying—oh, where did this beautiful young lady come from?”

He gazed at her steadily.

The night wind drifted past, and in his clear, deep eyes—like still river water—starlight reflected, layered with the image of her.

Reflected the image of her, shamelessly praising herself.

His throat moved faintly.

Surrounded by the noise of the crowd, though he knew he shouldn’t, his mind drifted, helplessly drawn to her. He couldn’t control his own racing pulse, the heat surging through his wrist. He could only lower his eyes, smiling, and ask, voice hoarse:

“Where did this beautiful young lady come from?”

She answered herself. “That foolish guard beside her doesn’t deserve her at all.”

He looked at her.

Her expression was the picture of innocence. “That’s not me saying it—that’s what their eyes are saying.”

As she went on solemnly praising herself, the corner of his mouth lifted. Her face warmed faintly; his wrist turned slightly, fingers catching hers, drawing her hand slowly into his sleeve.

The laughter in his eyes flowed like a clear river, shimmering and bright. “Mm. That foolish guard beside her doesn’t deserve her at all.”

She looked down at his hand holding hers.

He said softly, “Too many people here. Wouldn’t want to get separated. Second Young Lady Shen surely isn’t afraid of getting lost, but I might be.”

She thought he was talking nonsense.

But her eyes curved into a smile anyway.

She was in a good mood.

She let it go, let him hold her hand if he wanted to—

Of course he’d heard the praise from those around them.

Properly dressed up, she really was a beauty tonight.

The voices around them rose and fell, flowing like a winding river through the night, drifting slowly past them—

“Look at that beautiful young lady, so lovely.”

“That gallant fellow beside her isn’t bad either.”

“What a perfect match—talented and beautiful, like a match made in heaven.”

For the first, only time in her life, someone had called Shen Qingwu part of “a match made in heaven”—

He asked her, “Are you happy?”

“Yes.”

“Because you rarely get to go out and enjoy the streets like this?”

She glanced at him, surprised. “Of course not. I go out often—before—”

She stopped.

“Before? Can’t say?”

She shook her head.

She didn’t think there was anything she couldn’t say. “I just never wore anything this pretty out before. Everyone always said I looked ridiculous in nice clothes, like some clumsy imitation, told me not to embarrass myself.”

Something in him went hollow for a long moment.

He said quietly, “The Shen family?”

She glanced back at him, catching that look in his eyes.

Her tone flattened. “You’re not about to pity me, are you? I’m no good person. There’s a reason people said that about me.”

She pulled her hand from his, refusing to hold it any longer.

Twirling a strand of loose hair by her cheek, she told him, unhurried, about her own faults. “I stole things as a kid. I was a thief. My father beat me for it, my brother pleaded on my behalf. When pleading didn’t work, he tried to talk me into changing.”

She told him she’d always loved pretty clothes as a child.

Only she’d never had any.

Once, finding a cousin’s room empty, she’d quietly put on some clothes her cousin had taken off. At the time, she’d reasoned that since they’d been discarded, taking them quietly wouldn’t matter to anyone.

And afterward… it was all mockery, really.

And Shen Zhuo’s disappointment in her.

She couldn’t help wondering—if Shen Zhuo knew she was now tangled up in bed with Zhang Xingjian, wouldn’t he be even more disappointed in her?

But it didn’t matter.

Shen Zhuo was so weak-willed; whether he was disappointed or not meant nothing to her.

As for Shen Qingye…

She pushed the thought away, pressing her lips together. “Thinking about it now, I still love stealing things.”

She pinned the label on herself, casually. “You were supposed to belong to Shen Qingye, but I stole you instead, out of spite. I don’t care what happens to either of you afterward—knowing me, you’ll just have to consider yourselves unlucky.”

She walked ahead.

He suddenly reached out, pulling her back from behind.

He wrapped his arms around her, his voice, elegant and detached, reaching her ear: “I was never Shen Qingye’s. Wutong… whose do you want me to be?”