The long wind was bleak and desolate; the high clouds stretched over the cold, vast sky.

The commander of the Yizhou army was not with his troops.

After winter began, fighting had quieted down, and Princess Ande, the eldest imperial princess, arrived from the eastern capital to secretly inspect the Yizhou army. So for now, the army’s military affairs were being temporarily managed by generals such as Yang Su, while their commander-in-chief, Bo Rong, accompanied Princess Li Linge to secretly investigate her fief.

By the time news arrived from the eastern capital that the Zhang Family’s name had been cleared, Bo Rong and Li Linge were already several li away from Yizhou.

At night, under lamplight, at a long table, Bo Rong and Li Linge sat on either side, each attending to their own important matters.

Li Linge read through several petitions of complaint sent by ministers in the eastern capital, describing how recklessly the young emperor was behaving—how he arbitrarily seized land and arbitrarily raised taxes. His conduct, they said, was less like that of a ruler and more like an ignorant, uncultured landlord. They begged the princess to return to the capital and take charge of state affairs, and not allow the young emperor to continue his absurd behavior.

As for Kong Ye, after being reprimanded several times by the young emperor, he had simply taken to going along with whatever the young emperor wanted—was this any way to serve as an example to the realm?

Li Linge finished reading through this long series of petitions urging her to return to the capital.

She laughed softly, thinking to herself that this was nothing compared to what was coming.

So she picked up her brush and wrote back to the ministers, telling them she intended to travel and enjoy the scenery, and was in no hurry to return to the eastern capital. If they could do nothing about Chancellor Kong, she suggested, why not summon Zhang Xingjian back to the capital instead? With Zhang Xingjian and Kong Ye opposing each other, the young emperor would surely have to restrain himself somewhat.

At the same time, after being urged by letter after letter, Li Linge finally began writing a letter reprimanding the young emperor.

In the name of his elder sister, she ordered Li Mingshu to immediately stop his selection of consorts and the wasteful, people-burdening practices that came with it. If he had no intention of marrying, he should not be selecting women for the harem. If he wished to expand his harem, he needed to first have an empress.

The tone of this reprimand to the young emperor could not be called anything but severe. Based on her understanding of Li Mingshu, Li Linge knew that once he received the letter, he would be afraid, and would temporarily halt his lawless, unruly conduct.

But at the same time, Li Linge also knew that Li Mingshu’s restraint would only last a while. She understood all too well what kind of brother she had raised.

She wanted to see what Li Mingshu would do next.

Having finished dealing with these matters, Li Linge propped her chin on her hand and lifted her head, her beautiful eyes settling on the man across from her, whose bearing was like that of an immortal crane.

The young lord sitting properly at the table had bound only part of his hair with a wooden hairpin; the rest hung loose, loose strands brushing his face. He was bent over, writing letter after letter without pause, his shoulders broad, his brushwork swift, his fingers—those that gripped the pen—carrying the strength of one who could draw a bow.

Not only was he highly skilled in martial arts, he also carried the elegant, refined bearing of one born into a great clan—how handsome, how refined and vigorous he was.

Bo Rong truly was good-looking.

Li Linge felt there was no man in this world more handsome than him.

She had grown accustomed to being a princess, had learned the intoxicating pleasure of wielding power to make swift, decisive judgments over life and death. There was little left in this world that power could not get her. She indulged herself freely in the eastern capital, venting her power as she pleased, and as her ambitions grew, she began to covet more. But…

But!

She simply did not dare, in front of Bo Rong, to use her power to pressure him, or use even the slightest scheme to force him into anything.

She admitted it—she truly did not dare.

She had thought herself fearless, thought that she wouldn’t even spare his own brother, let alone him… but once she stood before him, no matter how much she schemed and calculated, she still wanted to put on the most innocent, purest face in the world, to coax him, to deceive him, to preserve the appearance of peace between them.

Just as Bo Rong lowered his head to write the last letter, someone sat down beside him, and a slender, fair hand reached out with the utmost care, taking hold of his arm.

The wolf-hair brush in his hand paused for a moment, then continued writing.

This reaction of his encouraged Li Linge. She let out a breath, pressed her face against his arm, and gently pushed a cup of hot tea toward him.

Li Linge said, “Brother Rong, are you handling military affairs? Distributing the grain and provisions?”

The two of them, under the pretext of visiting the princess’s fief, were touring the surrounding prefectures to raise grain and provisions to help the Yizhou army get through the winter. Bo Rong needed Li Linge’s authority, and Li Linge was willing to accompany him on this journey.

Bo Rong’s voice was warm and gentle: “Yes.”

Li Linge leaned over to look, and her gaze suddenly narrowed, a thorn seeming to prick at the tip of her heart.

But she endured this sudden stinging pain, and instead gripped Bo Rong’s arm hard, her long nails digging into his flesh.

Bo Rong turned his face to look at her.

Li Linge smiled: “Are you lying to me, Brother Rong? This letter—you’re clearly writing it to ‘A’Wu’… Brother Rong, who is A’Wu? Could it be your wife?”

Her tone grew especially gentle as she spoke. But Bo Rong, who knew her all too well, could of course hear the chill beneath that gentleness.

Bo Rong said, “Guess.”

Li Linge: “…”

His unhurried manner, his calm and indifferent tone, made Li Linge lower her head. After a long moment, she seemed to understand: “Shen Qingwu… is that it? I didn’t see her in Yizhou. Come to think of it, General Shen and I got along quite well. It’s just that General Shen doesn’t talk much… Brother Rong, won’t you introduce us properly?”

She spoke with a touch of coquetry and probing, softly chiding him: “You’ve kept me in the dark for so long.”

Bo Rong said, “She’s occupied with other matters right now, and isn’t with the army. If you want to meet her, you’ll probably have to wait until next March. If by then… you’re still in Yizhou.”

He looked at her deeply.

Li Linge feigned indifference and laughed: “Of course I’ll still be here! I’m just an ordinary princess after all, not the emperor—naturally I like to stay wherever I please… though the eastern capital is so lively, and Sister Zhang misses you so much, Brother Rong… don’t you plan to… go back and see her?”

Bo Rong was silent for a moment, then said gently, “Once the dust has settled.”

Li Linge thought to herself: this “dust settling” you speak of—does it mean the same thing to you as it does to me?

She knew when to stop, and didn’t dare press further about the Zhang Family, afraid that Bo Rong might bring up his parents’ deaths and turn against her. She glanced over at the letter Bo Rong was writing to Shen Qingwu—it was full of reminders for her to stay warm, take care of her health, not overexert herself, and add more clothing in the cold…

Not a single word about military affairs—all of it concern for Shen Qingwu’s personal wellbeing.

Li Linge said softly, “Brother Rong really is attentive to General Shen.”

Bo Rong said, “How could I not be? She’s practically my student too.”

Li Linge’s willow-leaf brows went suddenly still.

After a moment, she curved her lips into a faint smile: “Then wouldn’t that make me her senior sister? All the more reason for you to properly introduce the two of us, Brother Rong.”

Bo Rong remained composed as ever: “If the opportunity arises, of course I will.”

He certainly wouldn’t tell Li Linge that not long ago, he had stopped Shen Qingwu and Li Linge from growing too close. But that had been half a year ago… the situation now had changed, and naturally called for new arrangements.

Li Linge said, “Brother Rong really does enjoy playing teacher. You’re so attentive to General Shen, remembering where her old injuries are, what needs extra care… I really am a little jealous.”

Bo Rong’s lips moved slightly.

He looked down at her beautiful face, at the way she used feigned petulance to complain about her real feelings, and his heart softened even as it ached—but none of this changed what he had to do.

Bo Rong felt as though he had split into two halves.

One half, his mortal flesh, was trapped there like something lifeless, laughing and talking with Li Linge, papering over the peace between them. The other half, his soul, had left his body and risen high above, coldly watching that body with lowered eyes, watching the woman he both loved and hated.

Bo Rong heard himself say calmly: “I remember Your Highness’s private affairs too, and care about you a great deal as well. For instance, I still remember when Your Highness, at fourteen, boldly declared to someone that she didn’t see why Li Mingshu should be the one to become emperor, when she was only allowed to study alongside him—she wanted to be empress in her own right.”

Li Linge’s eyes suddenly went rigid.

She raised her head slowly, looking at Bo Rong’s gentle eyes, weathered by hardship. She couldn’t read the depths of those unfathomable eyes. She was captivated by them and wary of them, entranced and terrified; she loved this man’s noble, gentlemanly bearing, and hated him for not simply bending to her will; she hated that Bo Rong understood all of her—every concealment, every secret, every filthy, shameful thing.

Li Linge slowly began to smile.

She buried her face in the crook of his arm, cooing softly: “I was young back then, just joking around. I can’t believe you remembered it all these years.”

Bo Rong paused for a long moment, then slowly reached out and stroked her back, letting her relax.

Li Linge changed the subject: “How is General Shen able to receive your letters?”

Bo Rong said, “I send them to the army, and the Yizhou army forwards them to the various camps. If A’Wu sees the signal, she’ll go and collect the letter.”

—

The letters sent to the Yizhou army were received by Yang Su. Noticing that one of Commander Bo’s letters was addressed to Shen Qingwu, something stirred in his heart at once—it had been a long time since he’d seen that unruly, lawless Shen Qingwu.

Commander Bo’s letters were delivered swiftly to every camp, unlike those of an ordinary general like himself. Since that was the case, why shouldn’t Yang Su take advantage of the commander’s convenient delivery route to write Shen Qingwu a few letters of his own?

The army spent its days either training or engaging in the tedious jokes and contests men amused themselves with; Shen Qingwu’s quiet, odd nature stood out as unique in comparison.

Meanwhile, at Zhang Xingjian’s residence, Chang Lin was reporting to him the new developments in the eastern capital.

Chang Lin said excitedly, “Second Young Lady Zhang and several of the older elders of the Zhang Family entered the eastern capital the day before yesterday. Many ministers went to pay their respects, and Chancellor Kong has gone into hiding, claiming illness. Hmph, and that young emperor was so ‘kind’ as to send some gifts too, saying something about how the family had been wronged.”

Chang Lin continued, “The young emperor even asked Second Young Lady about your whereabouts. She said she didn’t know, and the young emperor breathed a sigh of relief.”

This news had arrived just yesterday, rushed by fast horse—three horses had reportedly been ridden to death delivering it. Since Zhang Xingjian would not enter the eastern capital himself, handling affairs there was inevitably this cumbersome. Fortunately, things had finally turned out well.

At the very least, the Zhang Family would be able to spend this New Year in comfort.

Zhang Xingjian, robe draped over his shoulders, sat by the window looking over the newly arrived documents. He said, “Kong Ye can’t control the young emperor. Having tasted the flavor of power, the young emperor is finding it harder and harder to restrain himself. Naturally he fears my return to court, fears returning to the state of being suppressed as before… and yet the princess still hasn’t returned…”

He frowned slightly.

He wondered privately whether Bo Rong had done too well—so well it exceeded his expectations.

Bo Rong had managed to deal with Li Linge without the slightest apparent psychological strain, keeping her from returning to the eastern capital… and then there was the matter of Third Young Master Bo’s death, and Kong Ye’s pursuit and attempted killing of Zhang Xingjian himself…

Zhang Xingjian tossed the documents onto the table and sank into thought, his eyes lowered.

He thought about his own goal: to help conceal Bo Rong’s identity, to help himself gain power, to make sure Kong Ye could never recover, and then, slowly and carefully, to eliminate the young emperor and support a new emperor from within the imperial family…

Was Bo Rong’s goal really the same as his?

Bo Rong had never actually said that his goal matched Zhang Xingjian’s. It seemed, from beginning to end, Bo Rong had only ever tacitly gone along, tacitly permitted…

Zhang Xingjian pressed his fingers to his brow and remained still for a long while.

Chang Lin said, “My lord?”

Zhang Xingjian said quietly, “Chang Lin, tell me—if Shen Qingwu abandoned me, destroyed my future and my plans, treated everything I’ve given her as if it counted for nothing, knowing full well how I feel about her yet choosing to ignore it, refusing to trust me while trusting others, using a clean break to abandon me and take revenge on me, destroying my hopes, destroying my feelings, destroying my love for her… what should I do?”

Chang Lin was startled.

After a long moment, he stammered, “This subordinate doesn’t know… but given your temperament, my lord, the kindest thing you could do would probably be to let your heart go cold from then on, and never have anything more to do with her.”

Sunlight slanted through the gaps in the window lattice, falling on the pale, exposed throat of Zhang Xingjian, his head tilted back.

Zhang Xingjian gave a soft “Mm.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “I like to think my temperament is decent—I endure much and rarely act out of malice. But no matter how much I might love someone, if I experienced sufficiently cruel and ruthless treatment, I too would eventually give up. So then, why is it that Bo Rong can turn a blind eye to Li Linge’s past conduct, and coexist peacefully with her for so long without incident?”

He murmured to himself, “Is it that I underestimate the weight of feeling? That my heart is still not as broad as his?

“Or is it…”

Chang Lin pressed, “What?”

Zhang Xingjian said nothing.

But inwardly he was asking himself—or was it that Bo Rong had deceived him? That Bo Rong had his own goals, his own thoughts, and was merely using him, Zhang Xingjian, as a tool to achieve them?

But what did Bo Rong actually want? What was he actually capable of? Of everything Bo Rong had said about the past, how much of it was true, and how much was false?

Was Li Linge truly so pitiable? Had Li Mingshu truly killed people? Had the Zhang parents truly died so innocently?

Zhang Xingjian sighed.

He couldn’t judge.

The reason he couldn’t judge, he realized, was that he had no way to simulate what Bo Rong must have felt—he didn’t know what it was like to have one’s family destroyed, one’s heart turned to ash; he didn’t know whether a person could remain normal after living through something like that…

All Zhang Xingjian could do was stay on guard against everything, and protect the Zhang Family and Shen Qingwu well. Whatever Bo Rong was planning, it made no difference to him—he trusted himself to handle it. The only thing he needed to worry more about was making sure Shen Qingwu stayed clear of all of it. Bo Rong couldn’t really be called good to Shen Qingwu—but Zhang Xingjian would make sure Shen Qingwu knew what real goodness looked like.

Chang Lin lowered his head, mulling over the meaning of his lord’s words, when the light, rustling sound of footsteps passed by his ear; having heard it often these past few days, he paid it no mind.

But then he saw the young lord, who had been lying back in the master’s chair with his eyes closed in thought, suddenly open his eyes.

Zhang Xingjian braced a hand on the window ledge, leaning his body slightly outward, and smiled: “Wutong!”

In the pale morning light, robes fluttering, Shen Qingwu turned back to look, and saw a handsome, dashing young lord leaning against the window, smiling, his eyes like moonlight rippling through water.

Zhang Xingjian waved his other hand at Chang Lin, gesturing that he could leave.

Seeing that his lord’s heart and eyes were entirely full of Shen Qingwu, Chang Lin left feeling rather put out, glancing back as he went—he saw Shen Qingwu cross the distance in two or three steps and leap right up to the window, looking at their lord through it.

Chang Lin felt somewhat comforted at the sight: at least, no matter how indifferent Shen Qingwu’s attitude toward their lord seemed, she was consistently, thoroughly infatuated with him.

Shen Qingwu stood beneath the window, looking at Zhang Xingjian: “What do you want?”

He asked her with a smile, “So early in the morning—where are you off to?”

Shen Qingwu said flatly, “Training.”

Shen Qingwu glanced at Chang Lin’s retreating figure: “Scheming with people so early in the morning, are you?”

Zhang Xingjian let her characterization of his work as “scheming” pass without comment. He looked at her, dressed in her practical martial robes, and simply smiled, “Wutong, come in. I’ve had a new set of clothes made for you.”

Something flickered in Shen Qingwu’s cold eyes, that bright light nearly leaping straight into Zhang Xingjian’s arms.

But Shen Qingwu composed herself again: “No need. I can’t fight in women’s clothes, they’re inconvenient to move in. I’m better off dressed as I am.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “I had these made according to your habits—they look good, and they won’t get in the way of your fighting. Won’t you at least try them on?”

Shen Qingwu: “…”

She studied him for a moment.

Shen Qingwu said coldly, “Move.”

Zhang Xingjian understood at once and stepped aside to let her through. Shen Qingwu, as expected, climbed in through the window. But just as she landed, Zhang Xingjian moved in smoothly and gently caught her by the waist, drawing her in.

Shen Qingwu: “…”

The look she gave him for this unnecessary gesture was full of unspoken meaning: what’s the point of this? I already climbed in myself, what are you doing?

With perfect composure, Zhang Xingjian kept his arms around her waist and leaned down to straighten her collar: “I couldn’t help myself—I wanted to hold you. Please bear with me.”

Shen Qingwu: “…”

Shen Qingwu said, “This is like drinking poison to quench your thirst, isn’t it? You’re no good in bed, so you make these little grabby moves out of bed instead, just to let off some steam.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled: “You can think that if you like.”

Shen Qingwu used the excuse he’d given her to construct her own logic, and with that, she’d made sense of why he’d been so eager to get close to her lately.

Truly pitiable.

Truly baffling.

That men of this world simply couldn’t control their desires.

Shen Qingwu said, “How much longer is this strange condition of yours going to last?”

Zhang Xingjian laughed softly: “Hm? Is my Wutong already sick of it?”

He took her hand and led her toward the inner room, speaking softly. Shen Qingwu frowned, knowing that she wasn’t sick of it exactly—she just found it strange. She’d never experienced anything like this before, couldn’t understand this kind of closeness.

There had been times she wanted to be close to Zhang Xingjian too, and she never hid it.

But never this often…

If it kept going like this, she felt she would become more and more not herself…

Shen Qingwu said irritably, “Go get this bad habit of yours fixed.”

Zhang Xingjian spread his hands: “There’s nothing I can do about it.”

Zhang Xingjian didn’t want to talk to her about desire—he was afraid she’d suggest going straight to bed, and he wouldn’t know how to refuse. He led her to look at the new women’s clothing he’d had made for her.

The moment Shen Qingwu saw it, her eyes lit up, and she forgot all her troubles, sitting on the bed and stroking the fabric, utterly captivated for a long while.

Zhang Xingjian leaned close to her ear: “The sleeves aren’t too wide. It’s a long skirt, but it won’t drag on the ground. The four corners of the skirt are also weighted with tassels, so the hem won’t fly up too much while you move…”

He then produced, as if by magic, several colorful cords, and looked at her with a smile: “I also learned a few tricks for braiding hair, to make sure it won’t come loose while you’re fighting, won’t get in your way…”

Shen Qingwu suddenly lunged at him, throwing her arms around him and pinning him beneath her.

Her face flushed crimson, too moved to speak.

Zhang Xingjian stroked the coarse ends of her hair, his voice gentle: “It’s really not that difficult. Besides, there aren’t so many fights in this world that need you in them—wearing women’s clothes won’t hold you back from much.”

Shen Qingwu lowered her eyes: “But if I’m not fighting, what can I do?”

Zhang Xingjian was taken aback, not understanding what she meant.

Shen Qingwu said, “Then Shen Qingwu really would be completely useless.”

In women’s clothing, fighting would be inconvenient, so she’d have to stay quiet and still; out of her fine clothes, she could be the formidable General Shen, respected by all.

Zhang Xingjian said slowly, “How could you possibly be useless?

“You can have many different identities. No single identity is the whole of you. Setting one aside for a while doesn’t mean you’re worthless.”

Shen Qingwu said, “If I’m not General Shen, then who am I?”

Zhang Xingjian lay back on the bed, reaching up to cup her cold cheek, his eyes curving into a soft smile: “You’re my Wutong.

“My Wutong, unmatched under heaven.”

Shen Qingwu lay sprawled over him, her face cradled in his hands, staring blankly at him as he smiled like that. A current seemed to run through her body, a tingling, soul-shaking sensation that made her whole body tremble involuntarily.

His eyes reflected only her. That look in his eyes, that look…

She couldn’t put the feeling into words.

She only knew that, for the first time, she found it not so hard to accept when Zhang Xingjian called her “Wutong.”

Shen Qingwu lowered her head and kissed his neck, biting down on the flesh of his throat.

Zhang Xingjian let out a muffled groan and pulled her waist in tighter. Kissed until he’d broken into a sweat, he couldn’t help pushing her back: “Wutong, get up.”

Shen Qingwu: “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Zhang Xingjian gritted his teeth: “…Who told you that me being a little nicer to you means I’m asking you for that? Look at the setting, look at the timing—do you really think this is appropriate?”

Shen Qingwu: “If you’re not asking me for that, then what are you doing?”

Zhang Xingjian choked slightly.

After a moment he laughed: “I meant it as an invitation—for when the moon rises over the willow tops… not for right now.”

Shen Qingwu understood.

Just as she was about to ask whether he was even capable, Zhang Xingjian clapped a hand over her mouth to keep her from embarrassing him any further.

He pulled her up to sit with him on the bed, saying, “Let’s look at your new clothes first.”

Shen Qingwu said, “It really won’t be very convenient to move in, though.”

Zhang Xingjian suggested, “You could practice more. Given enough time, maybe you’ll be able to fight in women’s clothes after all.”

Shen Qingwu found this very reasonable.

When it came to combat, there was nothing so far she couldn’t get used to.

Shen Qingwu rolled up her sleeves, ready to go, with Zhang Xingjian following behind her.

Zhang Xingjian said, “I’ll spar with you.”

Shen Qingwu: “You? Your martial arts?”

Zhang Xingjian: “Hm? Not good enough?”

Shen Qingwu looked around in all directions: “Where’s Chang Lin…”

Zhang Xingjian said with a smile, “General Shen is so formidable—surely you won’t let my inferior skill get in the way of your performance. It’s just sparring, not an actual battlefield. I just want to help you get used to the moves, and to the clothes…”

He saw that Shen Qingwu remained unmoved.

Zhang Xingjian sighed helplessly: “You put on my clothes, and now you want to go play with some other young man? Do you really think I have no temper at all?”

Shen Qingwu laughed.

She wasn’t foolish enough to actually think that—she was just teasing him.

She threw herself into his arms, legs wrapping around his waist, delighting in watching him flustered.

Shen Qingwu thought to herself, of course she wanted to be with him, wanted to be close to him. He smelled so good, his bearing was so fine, no other young man could compare to him. She couldn’t help but well up with all sorts of sweet words she wanted to say to him…

But when it came time to speak, the words caught in her throat.

All she managed was a flushed face and a racing heart, unable to say more.

So instead she tilted her head back and kissed him.

Between kisses, Zhang Xingjian held her close and murmured, “…I really wasn’t asking you for that.”

Shen Qingwu thought, I know.

But she didn’t stop.