By early morning, everyone in the household, high and low, had run over to watch.

Ever since Zhang Xingjian and Shen Qingwu had reached their brief truce, he no longer avoided her presence, and the people around him began coming and going, appearing before her constantly. By now, in the courtyard they’d rented in this unfamiliar town, the place was full of Zhang Xingjian’s people.

The attendants and the temporarily hired maids, hearing the commotion, all rushed over to watch the excitement:

The refined, immortal-looking young lord of the household was sparring with the disheveled young lady.

This was the first time they’d seen their lord pick up a weapon, and naturally also the first time they’d seen Shen Qingwu wield blade and spear while dressed in women’s clothing.

In the open courtyard, Shen Qingwu wore a cinched blue-green long dress that fell all the way down, her black hair bound up at her waist and decorated with an elegant fan-shaped tassel. Dressed like this, her narrow waist and long figure were set off beautifully, radiant as jade—every movement of her hands and feet sent her sleeves and skirts flying, dashing and free.

When she occasionally turned her face to the side, her features were fine and lovely, red lips against a fair face, her eyes bright as stars—how spirited and full of life she looked.

Everyone was astonished: was this really the same dusty, plain Shen Qingwu they knew?

The beautiful Shen Qingwu stood with arms crossed, chin raised, granting Zhang Xingjian permission to choose his weapon: “Pick whatever you like. I’ll indulge you.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled modestly: “I wouldn’t dream of showing off in front of General Shen.”

He casually picked a short sword from the weapon rack.

He flicked the blade with a finger, then suddenly looked toward her. His eyes still held a trace of gentle amusement as the sword, already unsheathed and severe, thrust straight toward her face.

Shen Qingwu didn’t blink, didn’t move an inch.

To be fair, given Zhang Xingjian’s family background, he must certainly have had outstanding teachers in his martial training; he always presented himself as inept at combat, but really it was just that his practical fighting experience differed from Shen Qingwu’s—her talent was simply exceptional.

If this single strike of his had been shown to an ordinary person, with his elegant bearing, the fluid grace of his swordplay, his features clear and bright as stars, it would have looked like nothing less than a wild goose in flight, a dragon in motion.

Only when the sword’s edge was right before her face did Shen Qingwu dodge, slipping behind him.

Her flying sleeves slowed her by half a beat, but no matter—she struck bare-handed at Zhang Xingjian’s waist from behind. His body twisted, his sleeves unfurling like clouds, and the cold gleam of the blade came at her again.

For a while, the two of them traded blows evenly.

Shen Qingwu noticed that though Zhang Xingjian’s eyes still held a smile, his swordwork showed no laziness at all—every move was swift and ruthless, with not the slightest fear of hurting her.

The sword’s edge brushed past the hair at her temple.

Bo Rong had once said that a sword was like a person—the way someone fought revealed their nature. And so, from Zhang Xingjian’s swordplay, one could glimpse something of him—

Elegant on the surface, ruthless at heart. He was the same whether facing an enemy or facing her—no retreat, no fear showing in him at all.

Shen Qingwu’s eyes shone bright.

She liked this kind of person very much—liked people who showed no mercy.

Zhang Xingjian, in truth, suited her tastes in every respect. His ruthlessness frustrated her, his looks she could never forget, and even his swordsmanship left her thoroughly satisfied.

Zhang Xingjian naturally noticed the spark of interest kindling in her eyes.

He knew perfectly well that the less he held back, the more excited Shen Qingwu would become. If he went easy on her, she would only find it dull.

How to keep Shen Qingwu balanced between interest and boredom, keep her wanting to let go of him yet unable to—this was the puzzle Zhang Xingjian had been studying closely of late.

Aside from the dazzling back-and-forth on the sparring ground, the watching servants were deeply impressed, murmuring among themselves:

“Our lord really is handsome… He’s always sitting and writing, and the young lady always says he’s weak and feeble—I actually thought he really was that frail.”

“Well, the young lady is indeed the stronger fighter. It’s just, uh, her stance is a bit awkward, like a frog…”

Her stance was, admittedly, not very graceful.

Shen Qingwu was still getting used to the inconvenient women’s clothing, and she had to constantly be careful not to let Zhang Xingjian’s sword tear the pretty fabric. Fumbling to keep the blade from getting too close, she moved awkwardly. The servants, not understanding the difficulty of what she was doing, only remarked that she wasn’t fighting elegantly.

Shen Qingwu seethed inwardly.

But the more others doubted her, the more she insisted on doing things her own way.

The sparring session lasted about the time it takes to brew a pot of tea, and ended when the sword finally tore a gash in Shen Qingwu’s sleeve.

Shen Qingwu’s long sleeve flared out like flowing water, and she immediately realized her sleeve had been cut. Her eyes went cold, and she closed the distance at once, moving to seize the sword from Zhang Xingjian’s hand. Freed from having to worry about her clothes, her moves grew far more severe—after a few more exchanges, she twisted his hand back behind him with one motion.

She raised her knee, about to kick him down and finish it.

Zhang Xingjian said, “Wutong, that hurts.”

In the midst of her focus, Shen Qingwu suddenly heard this faint remark and snapped back to herself, her dark eyes seeing his pale face looming close before her.

She let go at once, releasing his arm instead of twisting it further, and the sparring came to a stop.

No matter how others saw Zhang Xingjian, no matter how deep and calculating Shen Qingwu believed him to be, in one respect she had always treated him like fine porcelain—something not to be touched carelessly, not to be played rough with.

One touch and it would bruise; one knock and it would shatter. She was very fond of this beautiful piece of porcelain, and after unknowingly hurting him several times, she had gradually begun to hold back her strength, careful not to break him.

The surrounding servants hadn’t heard Zhang Xingjian’s faint remark; all they saw was the young lady, who had clearly had the upper hand a moment ago, suddenly stop—and then throw her arms around their lord.

The servants: “…”

They watched as Shen Qingwu grabbed Zhang Xingjian’s wrist and pulled back his sleeve to check something. She asked, “Where are you hurt?”

Amusement kept flickering in Zhang Xingjian’s eyes.

He said, “I’m not hurt. Lucky you stopped in time.”

Shen Qingwu, still bent over examining his wrist, saw that his skin was porcelain-white, without a trace of the red, swollen marks it used to bear, and felt a small measure of relief.

Zhang Xingjian smiled: “You don’t like seeing me hurt, do you?”

Shen Qingwu snapped her head up to look at him: “That’s not true. I love seeing you hurt—seeing you lying somewhere unconscious, unable to do anything but moan.”

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

Zhang Xingjian sighed and rotated his wrist to show he was fine.

He gave the sword in his hand a light spin, looked up at her, and asked with a smile, “How was my swordwork?”

Shen Qingwu answered honestly: “Not bad.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “I know you’re just flattering me, Wutong. I’m usually too busy, with too much to do, to spend much time training. But my teacher, when he taught me, did say my talent was decent enough—that if I’d put in the effort, I might not be so far from a master’s level.”

Shen Qingwu thought, what nonsense teacher—Zhang Xingjian must have been deceived.

Whenever she compared her own talent to the people around her, she naturally thought none of them were very good.

Still, seeing how pleased he was to talk, and since she wasn’t much of a talker herself, she simply let him go on without arguing. To Zhang Xingjian, this looked like approval.

His eyes curved into a smile, his glass-clear pupils reflecting a dazzling light, and every time, it left Shen Qingwu momentarily dazed, entranced.

This time was no different.

By the time she came back to herself, Zhang Xingjian was already leading her by the hand toward a shaded spot, glancing back at her with a smile that was half genuine, half teasing: “Wutong needs to train every day. I’ve been taking care of my health lately too—I should probably learn a thing or two from you. Why don’t I keep you company while you train these days, and help you practice? What do you say?”

He tempted her further: “I have plenty of pretty clothes here, and I can style your hair for you every day.”

Shen Qingwu said nothing.

If he wanted to train, let him train—what business was it of hers?

This only made Zhang Xingjian happier.

If there weren’t so many people around, he would have pulled her close to whisper something private. He walked a little faster, still holding her hand.

He kept probing: “Do you think swordsmanship suits me? Better than other weapons?”

Shen Qingwu said, “Swordsmanship suits you fine. You’re well suited to it.”

Mostly because it looked good on him.

Zhang Xingjian said, “But I don’t even have a sword that fits my hand properly.”

He sighed, going on and on, lamenting to her that he had no proper tools at hand, that he’d never come across a good sword. He claimed to know nothing about martial arts, with only Shen Qingwu, a true master, at his side…

Chang Lin, who had just received a few pieces of news and had just waved off the onlooking servants, hurried over to find his lord, only to hear him complaining about not having a good sword.

Chang Lin: “…”

The Zhang Family, a clan of a hundred years’ standing—how could they possibly lack a proper sword for their young lord? Legendary blades like Moye and Ganjiang—were those really so precious?

Meanwhile, after all that talking, Zhang Xingjian saw that Shen Qingwu showed no reaction at all—in fact, not understanding what he was getting at, she’d started to zone out…

Zhang Xingjian had no choice but to stop walking and state his real intention plainly: “Wutong, I want you to give me a sword.”

Shen Qingwu was confused.

She said, “I’m not a swordsmith. I don’t know how to forge swords. How am I supposed to give you one?”

Zhang Xingjian reminded her: “Didn’t you once… give a sword to… that person? You didn’t forge that one yourself either, did you?”

He smiled gently, helping her recall the memory: “I remember you were quite friendly with the swordsmith back then—he knew exactly what kind of sword you wanted, and said everything was forged to your specifications. You must have put a fair amount of effort into that, hm?”

Realization dawned on Shen Qingwu.

There had been a year when she’d gone to the eastern capital to report on her duties, and brought a gift there on Bo Rong’s behalf.

Shen Qingwu shot Zhang Xingjian a sidelong glance: that person? Is that really how you refer to your own brother?

Zhang Xingjian said plainly, “Wutong, I want one too.”

Just then, several signal arrows sounded from the sky in the distance, and Shen Qingwu looked up. Daytime signal flares, faint flashes of light, a series of booming sounds.

It was the Yizhou army’s signal.

Shen Qingwu’s mind had already flown far away. Catching sight of Chang Lin from the corner of her eye, she said, “Just have Chang Lin forge one for you.”

Zhang Xingjian fell silent.

Shen Qingwu quickly pulled her hand free and said hurriedly, “I have something to attend to. I’m heading out.”

Zhang Xingjian didn’t catch her in time, and watched as she leapt swiftly onto the lower eaves of the corridor roof, about to climb higher still.

Zhang Xingjian took a few quick steps after her, his hand braced on the railing: “Wutong!”

Standing on the eaves, Shen Qingwu turned back to look at him.

Zhang Xingjian changed his tone and asked, “Come find me when you get back.”

Shen Qingwu’s eyes were bright and clear as she nodded seriously.

She said, “Behave yourself, don’t go running off anywhere. If you do run off… hmph.”

Having delivered this stern warning, she vanished.

Zhang Xingjian smiled faintly, leaned against the railing, and sat down.

His graceful, elegant bearing made even Chang Lin wait a moment before approaching him.

Seeing Zhang Xingjian leaning against the railing, gazing up at the sky, Chang Lin asked, puzzled, “Where did Shen Qingwu go?”

The retainers trailing behind Chang Lin all pricked up their ears—lately, they’d taken great interest in their young master’s romantic affairs.

Zhang Xingjian said flatly, “Didn’t you hear those signal arrows just now? Probably the Yizhou army’s method of sending messages. What do you suppose—does Bo Rong have some urgent matter that requires summoning Shen Qingwu? Wasn’t she given half a year’s leave? Could she be leaving early?”

He propped his chin on his hand, his eyes distant and quiet.

If Bo Rong truly meant to work against him, he wouldn’t simply sit and wait to be defeated.

Zhang Xingjian couldn’t help but wonder—if Bo Rong meant to take Shen Qingwu away from him, what should he do…

His free hand, resting on the railing, tapped restlessly without his noticing. A certain coolness crossed his eyes; though he still wore a smile, it didn’t reach his eyes, and Chang Lin didn’t dare say a word for a long moment.

One of the retainers who had just joined them, not yet familiar with Zhang Xingjian’s temperament and only recalling his usual gentle, kind demeanor, spoke up boldly: “Perhaps Third Young Madam just went out to buy something. It might not be anything important at all. She’ll probably be back soon.”

Third Young Madam…

Chang Lin turned, staring in shock at this loose-lipped retainer: where had “Third Young Madam” come from?

Zhang Xingjian’s gaze landed strangely on the retainer, and he murmured, “Third Young Madam…”

Chang Lin laughed awkwardly: “My lord, he’s only just been recruited recently, he doesn’t know any better. Please be generous with him…” Privately, he grumbled to himself: if you didn’t always tease Shen Qingwu by calling her “wife,” would people even get the wrong idea that you were already married?

Zhang Xingjian said mildly, “‘Third Young Madam’ isn’t a bad way to put it—but, shh, don’t use it again from now on. Careful our Wutong doesn’t hear it. If she goes after you for it, tell me—should I stop her, or not?”

Chang Lin could see their young master’s mood had already lifted.

Zhang Xingjian, playing innocent, spread his hands: “It’s not as if I could beat her anyway.”

—

Word from the Yizhou army—could it be that the fighting had grown urgent, requiring her recall?

While Zhang Xingjian worried over this, Shen Qingwu was worrying over the very same thing.

The longer she walked toward the camp to collect the news, the heavier her steps became.

She had to admit that her heart had grown a little too wild, a little too free.

Or rather, she’d given herself half a year to unwind, and that time wasn’t up yet—her heart still wasn’t ready to go back. But military orders couldn’t be changed; if Bo Rong issued a summons, as long as she remained part of the Yizhou army, how could she refuse to return?

If she left, what would happen to Zhang Xingjian?

Shen Qingwu felt a flicker of regret just then.

She wished Zhang Xingjian had truly fallen into ruin with no chance of recovery; she wished that, back then, she’d been ruthless enough not to let Chang Lin and the others come along… then even if she went to the camp, she could have continued dragging Zhang Xingjian along with her.

She could have locked him away.

Somewhere only she knew about, where he would wait helplessly for her every visit.

But instead, she’d been utterly bewitched by Zhang Xingjian’s smile and his looks; drowning daily in his sweet words, she’d come to believe that an unharmed, healthy him was the best version of him. She’d let Chang Lin stay by his side, hadn’t stopped him from handling his official business…

She’d given Zhang Xingjian his freedom, only because she wanted him to serve her better.

But… at moments like this, Shen Qingwu found herself hesitating, wishing the moon would never climb out of the mire.

She’d said he was hers.

But she knew that, in truth, he didn’t belong to her.

Only a moon fallen into the abyss could Shen Qingwu briefly claim as her own; a moon hung once more in the sky belonged to someone else, not to her.

By the time she reached the camp, weighed down with worry and her palms damp with sweat, she found only two letters waiting for her: one of concern from Bo Rong, and one from Yang Su.

Neither letter mentioned recalling her early.

Shen Qingwu leaned against the wall, breaking into a cold sweat, then feeling her tension ease.

But she found herself disliking this sense of relief.

She didn’t know what was happening to her; she only hated her own indecisiveness—whether to kill Zhang Xingjian, take him with her, or abandon him, what exactly was she so torn about?

—

After receiving the two letters, Shen Qingwu didn’t hurry back right away.

She wandered the streets for an entire day, pacing back and forth through the bustling crowds.

By deep night, having finally made up her mind, she slowly made her way back to find Zhang Xingjian.

The moon hung at its zenith. A lamp burned in Zhang Xingjian’s room, with Chang Lin beside him reporting the latest intelligence.

Zhang Xingjian handed him a newly finished document and turned to his own private matters.

Chang Lin watched as his lord, robe draped over his shoulders, sat quietly sorting through his box of fine jade, picking out the piece he was most satisfied with. Zhang Xingjian held a dagger, testing it against the stone. Chang Lin watched for a long while, suspecting his lord was carving the jade…

Chang Lin, eager to share the burden, said, “My lord, if there’s something you wish to carve, let this subordinate handle it for you!”

Zhang Xingjian turned his shoulder, dodging Chang Lin’s reaching hand.

He said mildly, “I’ll do it myself, no need to trouble yourself.”

Chang Lin, thoroughly puzzled, waited for an explanation that never came. Just as he was scratching his head, about to excuse himself, he heard two soft knocks at the window, and then saw his lord set down the jade in his hand, a shimmer of light rippling in his eyes:

“Wutong? Come in.”

Sure enough, Shen Qingwu climbed in through the window.

Chang Lin finally understood why his lord had stayed up so late, waiting—he’d previously assumed his lord had some new task to assign him…

Shen Qingwu walked over, and seeing Chang Lin there, looked briefly surprised, her expression plainly asking: what are you doing here?

Chang Lin, resigned, knew perfectly well how superfluous he was at this moment.

But still—

Chang Lin attentively poured Shen Qingwu some tea and asked, “You were out the whole day—did the Yizhou army call you back?”

Zhang Xingjian lowered his eyes, composed as fine jade. Chang Lin was, in effect, his mouthpiece.

Shen Qingwu slumped over the table and downed a whole pot of water.

Her heart was heavy, and she didn’t know how to sort out her feelings.

She said, “It’s a long story.”

Zhang Xingjian didn’t move.

Chang Lin said, “You, saying ‘it’s a long story’?! Tell me about it—did the Yizhou army give you some kind of trouble? We can help you think of a way through it.”

Shen Qingwu noticed a few pieces of glimmering green jade sitting on the table. Just as she looked more closely, Zhang Xingjian reached over and put them away.

She glanced at him in confusion, but then, remembering her own troubles, decided not to bother figuring out what he was up to behind her back this time.

Shen Qingwu said listlessly, “No trouble. And they didn’t recall me either. Bo Rong just told me to add more clothes since it’s cold and things like that, and Yang Su wrote me a letter too, ugh.”

Chang Lin let out a breath of relief.

He looked toward Zhang Xingjian: my lord, I’ve found out what you wanted to know.

Zhang Xingjian finally moved.

He picked up a piece of hibiscus cake from the tray on the table and, lowering his head, fed it to Shen Qingwu. She simply lay there without moving, letting him feed her.

Chang Lin heard his lord say gently, “Someone’s worried about you—what’s there to be unhappy about? Why make that face?”

Shen Qingwu cast him a cold sidelong glance: he had no idea just how merciful she was being!

He had no idea how long she’d held back, resisting the urge to knock him out and drag him off!

Shen Qingwu found herself so attached to his warmth that she had to endure her own violent impulses just to stay near him.

Shen Qingwu snatched the cake from between his fingers and ate it herself. She had a sweet tooth, but after a while found it too rich, and lifted the half-eaten cake to feed it to Zhang Xingjian instead.

Chang Lin said, “Our lord doesn’t usually—”

Zhang Xingjian opened his mouth and took the bite offered to him.

Shen Qingwu glanced at Chang Lin, inexplicably pleased with herself: “Zhang Yuelu has a sweet tooth—bet you didn’t know that. I know!”

Chang Lin: …What he’d meant to say was that their lord was fastidiously clean and would never normally share food like this, passed back and forth, with someone so careless. But… never mind.

Chang Lin said, “My lord, I’ll take my leave now.”

Zhang Xingjian nodded.

He maintained his composure, careful not to make his subordinate feel slighted, offering Chang Lin a polite smile before his gaze settled back on Shen Qingwu.

As Chang Lin quietly moved to the door, he heard Zhang Xingjian ask Shen Qingwu, “So, what exactly did the letter say, to leave you so conflicted?”

Chang Lin, easing the door open, heard Shen Qingwu say, “Bo Rong’s letter was fine, nothing important in it—I don’t even understand why he suddenly wrote to me, he never used to do that sort of thing… but Yang Su, well…”

Zhang Xingjian said, “What about Yang Su?”

Shen Qingwu said, “He brought it up again—asking to marry me.”

Standing at the door, Chang Lin strained his ears, suddenly reluctant to leave.

Zhang Xingjian used a handkerchief to wipe crumbs from the corner of Shen Qingwu’s mouth; at her words, his fingers paused for a moment, but he kept smiling as though unbothered: “You must have refused him.”

There had been a time when Zhang Xingjian had let Yang Su pose as himself, letting Shen Qingwu mistakenly believe Yang Su was the one who’d rescued her from the snowy mountains. Even with that perfect opportunity handed to him, Yang Su hadn’t managed to win Shen Qingwu over.

Surely this time would be the same.

And yet Shen Qingwu fell silent, brows furrowed, her expression showing a hint of inner conflict.

Zhang Xingjian lowered his eyes to study her, asking softly, “What’s wrong? Can’t bring yourself to refuse him? If you truly have no feelings for him, why let him keep hoping in vain?”

Shen Qingwu looked up and countered, “But how do I know I truly have no feelings for him? Maybe this could be a good match—Yang Su laid it all out for me, and honestly, some of what he said made sense.”

Besides—Shen Qingwu added silently to herself—once she left Zhang Xingjian, she might genuinely need a marriage of some kind.

Zhang Xingjian, perfectly composed, said, “What sort of sense did it make? Tell me.”

Standing at the door, Chang Lin sometimes couldn’t help but admire his lord’s composure—able to keep talking to Shen Qingwu so calmly even at a moment like this.

Meanwhile, Shen Qingwu had come to think of Zhang Xingjian as nothing more than a harmless, gentle companion, someone she could discuss her situation with.

Shen Qingwu sat up, crossed her legs, and settled beside him, laying it all out seriously: “Look, you’re going back to the eastern capital soon, and I’ll be going back to Yizhou too. Something about that feels off to me…”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Off, how?”

Shen Qingwu looked into his eyes: “I’ve thought about it a lot—I think it’s that I can’t bear to give up our… physical relationship. Kissing you, sleeping with you, it’s all really good.”

Zhang Xingjian kept smiling.

He simply said, “Chang Lin, aren’t you leaving yet?”

Chang Lin, who had been eavesdropping with great interest, hadn’t expected Shen Qingwu to be this entertaining—no wonder she’d managed to win over his lord. But now, with his lord’s clear dismissal, he had no choice but to reluctantly close the door, giving up on the rest with real regret.

What a shame.

Chang Lin genuinely wanted to know what other shocking things Shen Qingwu might say next.

Inside, Zhang Xingjian kept coaxing her: “And then?”

Shen Qingwu said, “I want to try it with someone else too. Since Yang Su has that kind of interest in me, I might as well give it a try. That way, you can rest easy too—I won’t keep clinging to you. These past years, I must have been quite a headache for you.”

Zhang Xingjian didn’t comment on that.

He only smiled and said, “But what if you find that sleeping with Young Master Yang isn’t as good as with me?”

Shen Qingwu frowned.

Zhang Xingjian leaned in close, his long, thick lashes framing those beautiful eyes, once again clouding Shen Qingwu’s senses.

Zhang Xingjian said softly, “Marriage is a lifelong matter. Wutong, different as you are from ordinary people, you still shouldn’t deceive someone into marriage and ruin his life.”

Shen Qingwu’s lips parted slightly.

Zhang Xingjian wrapped an arm around her shoulders and said, “Why don’t I offer you a suggestion instead.”

Shen Qingwu said, “What?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Come to the eastern capital with me.”

Shen Qingwu answered without a moment’s thought: “Impossible.”

Zhang Xingjian remained unruffled: “Hear me out first.”

So Shen Qingwu listened.

Zhang Xingjian said, “I imagine you’ve turned over the question of what you and I are to each other more than a few times, privately, and still haven’t sorted it out. But you can’t bear to give up my… body, just as I, consumed by desire, don’t want to be parted from you either, not even for a moment.

“I understand your reservations completely. What you and I have isn’t a long-term solution—you need something stable. There are plenty of fine young men in the eastern capital, no shortage of them better than Young Master Yang.”

He continued to persuade her, his voice gentle: “And while you’re out searching for your good match, Zhang Manor’s doors will remain open to you all the same. You can come find me any night you like, and I won’t mind at all.”

Shen Qingwu: “…”

She wondered if she’d somehow misunderstood him.

Zhang Xingjian’s next words confirmed it: “You haven’t misunderstood—that’s exactly what I mean. I don’t care what you do during the day, don’t care who you choose as your husband, I won’t shut my door to you. You can still come find me for pleasure, night after night.

“Come at midnight, leave by dawn—who would ever know? I won’t tell a soul, and I’m happy to be your secret companion that no one else knows about.”

Shen Qingwu said, “Do you even hear yourself? Zhang Yuelu, what you’re suggesting is—it’s practically—it’s practically asking to be my kept man.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled.

He could see that even as Shen Qingwu scolded him with her mouth, her eyes were shining bright, and he knew his words had struck a chord with her. She lived outside convention, and of course she’d be drawn to a relationship that did too…

Sure enough, Shen Qingwu lunged forward and threw her arms around him, cupping his face and studying it, utterly enamored: “Zhang Yuelu, you really are… more, more than I imagined, even more than I imagined…”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Hm?”

Shen Qingwu said, “Even more to my liking!”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and murmured by his ear: “Let me think it over…”