Ever since the New Year’s Eve ceremonies began, the eastern capital had kept up its usual festive bustle.

This year, with Zhang Xingjian absent, it was Kong Ye who presided over the moon-worship ceremony. The wind and snow that day were fierce, and the ceremony proceeded in considerable disarray.

Privately, the court ministers remarked that if Zhang Xingjian had been present, Kong Ye would never have been the one presiding, and the weather that day wouldn’t have turned so unpredictable.

Kong Ye dismissed such talk as superstitious nonsense.

But regardless of how the ceremony had gone, the young master of the eastern capital, the youthful Emperor Li Mingshu, was in a poor mood.

His bad mood stemmed from having just had the consort candidates gathered from various regions brought to the capital, only to receive a letter from Princess Ande before he’d even had the chance to bring them into the palace and enjoy himself. The princess scolded him for neglecting his studies and lacking ambition, sternly ordering him to cancel the selection and send the young women from good families safely back home.

The various pavilions the young emperor had been planning to build were also halted by the princess’s order.

Having lived for years under Li Linge’s authority, even in her absence, a single letter was enough to make Li Mingshu quail.

Dejected, the young emperor gave up his beauties. Reading further in her letter, he saw she said she’d be returning to the capital before long—beyond a faint stirring of longing, what rose in him more was irritation. Once the princess returned, wouldn’t he be back to studying, reviewing memorials, watching his ministers’ every expression to know how to act?

Wouldn’t this freedom to kill on a whim soon come to an end?

To keep the young emperor in good spirits, Kong Ye held ten consecutive days of lantern-viewing banquets in the palace. Lanterns blazed everywhere, dazzling as a forest of fire and silver blossoms. Gazing at the lights, an unbidden thought surfaced in the young emperor’s mind—

If only his sister would disappear.

If only she’d never come back at all.

The thought sent a cold sweat down his spine. Hearing someone call his name, he blinked, startled, and met Kong Ye’s affectionate gaze.

Kong Ye said, “If Your Majesty isn’t enjoying this lantern banquet, why don’t I accompany you to visit the common people incognito instead?”

The young emperor’s eyes lit up.

Then quickly dimmed: “Pity I can’t see the consort candidates…”

Kong Ye said, “The princess really is too strict with Your Majesty. I’ve watched you these past six months—even with the princess away, you’ve handled state affairs admirably. The princess is simply too domineering.”

That state affairs had gone well was, frankly, laughable.

Everyone knew Kong Ye held the reins of court entirely in his own hands. The young emperor’s pardon of the Zhang Family had only come about because of his feud with Kong Ye.

But such words still brought the young emperor considerable comfort.

Kong Ye added, carefully: “If the princess simply never returned, that would be for the best. Your Majesty is the emperor, after all—there’s nothing in this realm you shouldn’t be able to decide for yourself.”

In the past, such talk would have earned Kong Ye a sharp rebuke. But this time, the young emperor fell silent instead.

Kong Ye took note.

With effort, the young emperor changed the subject: “I wonder when my sister plans to return…”

Kong Ye said, “Once Your Majesty is married and formally enthroned, all will be well.”

“Married…”

He frowned, having never wanted to marry and formally ascend the throne. But amid the blazing lantern light, a memory suddenly surfaced—the rustle of fine silks and jeweled hair ornaments, a certain Lantern Festival from years past, when he, the princess, and Chancellor Kong had gone out among the common people, and he’d glimpsed a great beauty.

Delicate and slight, exquisitely graceful. That ethereal, otherworldly beauty had haunted his thoughts for a long time after.

The young emperor blurted out: “Shen Qingye!”

Kong Ye looked blank.

A man so consumed by political scheming, he could barely recall who “Shen Qingye” was. It took him a long moment to remember—she was the woman Zhang Xingjian had broken his engagement with, someone the young emperor had once pined over for quite a while.

Zhang Xingjian’s woman… Kong Ye’s eyes flickered.

He thought of how the Zhang Family had been exonerated, yet Zhang Xingjian still hadn’t returned, nowhere to be found. Young as he was, Zhang Xingjian had always worked against him. Sooner or later, he’d come back and once again become a thorn in Kong Ye’s side.

The young emperor’s relationship with the Zhang Family, his own relationship with the Zhang Family… all of it made Kong Ye eager to keep the young emperor’s favor from ever landing on Zhang Xingjian.

Kong Ye said, “Fifth Young Lady Shen Qingye truly is a beauty beyond compare, virtuous and refined besides—a model for women throughout the realm. Given the Shen Family’s standing, having one of their daughters become empress would suit perfectly.”

If the young emperor forcibly took Shen Qingye for himself, Zhang Xingjian surely couldn’t remain entirely indifferent about his former betrothed.

And Kong Ye had also received word that Zhang Xingjian seemed to have some kind of history with the Shen family’s second daughter, Shen Qingwu, as well…

Kong Ye didn’t fully understand the details, but he knew enough: the relationship between the Shen and Zhang families would make it impossible for Zhang Xingjian to simply let Shen Qingye go. If the young emperor turned against the Zhang Family again, this time without the princess to mediate, the Zhang Family would inevitably find itself at odds with the throne.

Kong Ye worked to persuade the young emperor: “In the past, I too thought Fifth Young Lady Shen’s looks and character made her worthy of the empress’s title. But she was engaged to Zhang Yuelu…”

The young emperor felt some wariness toward the Zhang Family.

But after a moment’s hesitation, he said, “Didn’t they call off the engagement? And Minister Zhang isn’t even here… I only just cleared his name and exonerated the Zhang Family. They should be grateful to me, not resentful.”

The young emperor talked himself into calming down, deciding the Zhang Family owed him their gratitude.

It was only natural for an emperor to hold his subjects’ fates in his hands. Whatever had happened to the Zhang Family in the past, the matter had long since been settled—why should the emperor feel guilty toward a subject?

Besides, what had happened back then was entirely the Zhang Family’s own fault, for being so hateful, for bullying him so. If he hadn’t wiped out the Zhang Family, who could say who would even be emperor now?

Zhang Rong had always sided with his sister, favored her, called her his best student. Hmph, Zhang Rong thought he didn’t know, but the young emperor, feigning sleep, had heard every word clearly.

Zhang Rong was his own tutor, the Grand Tutor to the young emperor—yet he’d sided entirely with his sister, never with him. Li Mingshu had genuinely feared, at times, that Zhang Rong might assassinate him. In his darkest nights, he dreamed of Zhang Rong and his sister thriving together while he lay in a pool of blood, calling for help with no one to answer…

But he was the man, the one meant to inherit the throne.

His sister was only his sister—what right did she have to be with Zhang Rong, what right did she have to want to depose him!

Thank goodness, thank goodness the Zhang parents had sided with him, supported him. Thank goodness they’d helped him counter Zhang Rong, keep his sister in check…

The young emperor truly hadn’t wanted to kill the old Zhang patriarch, hadn’t wanted to kill so many of the Zhang family—that old man had favored him so much. But killing them had been better in the end—once done, every threat was gone, every grievance buried, no one left to hold it against him.

It was Kong Ye who’d put his mind at ease.

It was Kong Ye who could help him reconcile with his sister, help him secure his hold on the throne.

That night, the young emperor dwelt on old memories. He’d forgotten he’d once said he never wanted to be emperor at all; he blamed everyone else for everything. No matter how he turned it over, only he himself was the pitiable one, endlessly manipulated and bullied by his own subjects.

The young emperor gave Kong Ye an order: “You—go find Shen Qingye. Bring her back to me.”

Kong Ye froze: “Myself?”

The young emperor said, “Yes. Hasn’t the Shen Family lost track of Shen Qingye? Useless, all of them—half a year, and they still can’t find her. The poor girl, out there exposed to wind and rain all this time. You! Go personally, leave the capital, help the Shen Family find her.”

The young emperor said, “The Shen Family should be grateful—I intend to make Shen Qingye empress, I intend to formally ascend the throne! I intend to be a true emperor!”

Kong Ye, who’d originally meant to refuse leaving the capital, felt his interest stir the moment he heard the young emperor speak of becoming a true emperor.

Kong Ye had long hoped to see state affairs freed from the princess’s grip, freed from Zhang Yuelu’s influence. If the emperor remained his puppet while he held all real power himself, wouldn’t that suit him perfectly?

Kong Ye said solemnly, “Rest assured, Your Majesty! I’ll go to the Shen Family at once and help them search for Fifth Young Lady Shen. I’ll turn the earth itself over if I must, and bring her back to Your Majesty’s side.”

—

On this Lantern Festival night, Shen Qingye had no idea she’d become the young emperor’s newest target.

Having just finished mourning her parents that afternoon, tears shed and done, Shen Qingye still meant to go out and view the lanterns once night fell.

Qiu Jun truly couldn’t fathom what this young woman was thinking.

Leaning against a flagpole, he watched Shen Qingye crouch by the water, setting a lotus lantern afloat, closing her eyes and pressing her palms together in quiet prayer.

He watched her with cool, distant eyes.

Shen Qingye turned her face and looked over at him. The wind stirred the fine hair at her forehead, her lovely eyes shimmering like rippling water, casting faint glimmers of light in the cold night.

Their eyes met.

He paused for a moment, said nothing, didn’t look away.

Perhaps out of sheer laziness.

The young woman, too, kept gazing up at him for a long while without flinching or looking away.

He said flatly, “What did you wish for?”

She curved her eyes into a soft smile: “I wished—may every year bring a day like this one, may every year hold a day like today.”

He said nothing, his gaze flickering.

Though only half-literate, he understood well enough what her simple words meant.

Every year, a day like this one?

…Did she really expect an assassin like him to stay by her side forever?

What was she even thinking. A pipe dream.

Silently, Qiu Jun began turning the whole matter over in his mind from the start. It had all begun when she’d claimed to be his wife—lied to him, to trick him into traveling with her.

He watched Shen Qingye quietly by the water’s edge.

He wondered—could it be she actually liked him?

Ridiculous.

His thoughts churned back and forth, alternating between sudden clarity and confusion. In the end, he concluded she probably did have feelings for him, and this conclusion left his expression even stranger than before. But whatever he thought privately, his face gave nothing away.

Pinned under his gaze, Shen Qingye’s heart pounded, a sense of foreboding rising in her—some persistent feeling that he meant to kill her.

She turned her face away, telling herself she must be overthinking it.

After all, Qiu Jun barely paid her any attention, hardly spoke to her at all.

She sighed and rose, lifting the hem of her skirt. Gazing at the rippling water, she slowly broke into a smile: “Well, I should head back. Would you mind escorting me one last stretch, Qiu Jun—I promise I’m not deceiving you, once this journey ends, there really will be a generous sum waiting for you.”

Her smile was serene, yet tinged with sorrow.

Why did such boundless melancholy hide inside a frame so delicate and fragile?

Qiu Jun, always so quiet, spoke up now, flatly: “Head back?”

She said, “Yes, back to Yizhou, to find my servants and maids, back to the Shen Family… I’ve been away too long, everyone must be worried about me.”

He said, “Don’t put on an act.”

She startled.

He said, “If you truly meant to go back, you and I wouldn’t be standing here now, a full ten li from Yizhou.”

Her face flushed.

She explained, “I’ve been a bit willful, I admit, and I feel guilty for it too. But I can’t not go back—if I don’t, the servants and maids I lost track of might well be put to death for it. The Shen Family runs its household under military discipline, very strictly.

“I can allow myself small indulgences, but not when lives are at stake. So… I do still need to go back.”

She gazed at the gentle ripples on the water, then at his cold, indifferent face. Something in her yearned for so much, yet she understood the Shen Family hadn’t raised her all these years for nothing.

Lowering her head, she smiled faintly: “Once I go back this time, I’ll probably be married off again. After the fuss I caused last time, I doubt feigning illness will buy me any more delays. I only hope my new intended isn’t too much worse than Third Young Master Zhang—not an old man, not someone who’ll beat and curse me every day… that would be enough for me.”

He said coldly, “Are you asking me for help?”

She startled.

She shook her head quickly, blushing with an embarrassed laugh: “Not this time, really. It’s just that no one’s around to talk to, and I felt lonely. Don’t take my rambling seriously, Qiu Jun, I was just talking.”

Something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

There was too much in her words, too far removed from his world.

If she wasn’t asking him for help, then what was she thinking?

The phrase “not being free to choose one’s own path” had never existed in Qiu Jun’s world.

He couldn’t make sense of it.

He decided to keep watching, for now—

The Lantern Festival’s lantern-viewing should have been a lively affair.

This wasn’t the first time Shen Qingwu and Zhang Xingjian had gone to view the lanterns together.

But what excited Shen Qingwu more than the outing itself was Zhang Xingjian’s promise of a gift.

She’d begun to understand that Zhang Xingjian was, at heart, a person of great wit and playfulness. He knew how to have fun, how to tease, how to laugh, how to sulk. He wasn’t some aloof, desireless figure—in private, he was remarkably down-to-earth, remarkably willing to share in simple pleasures with everyone.

A man like that would surely have countless gifts still to give her, countless surprises waiting.

She’d grown almost numb to the clothes he gave her every day. Pretty outfits no longer interested her much; she wanted to know what else he might have to offer, beyond fine clothes and jade pendants.

She waited from dawn until dusk.

Once night fell, she went out with him, enduring Chang Lin’s shameless insistence on tagging along, determined all the same to walk the whole street with Zhang Xingjian.

As long as Zhang Xingjian didn’t say anything, Chang Lin was determined to keep tagging along to watch the show.

Zhang Xingjian’s temper was far too good—predictably, he said nothing.

Seething inwardly, Shen Qingwu had no choice but to hold it in.

But walking along with him, when they reached the winding riverside, Zhang Xingjian happily went to buy a lantern to release, and Chang Lin, curious, went along to buy one too, leaving her thoroughly out of patience.

Crouched by the water, Zhang Xingjian asked her with a smile, “Won’t Wutong release a lantern too?”

She said coolly, “No.”

He explained, “It’s a folk custom—you write down your wish, place it in the lantern, and let it float away on the water…”

She said, “My wishes don’t need anyone else’s help. I don’t believe in this sort of thing.”

She found him fussy, like an old woman.

He smiled and, since she wouldn’t join in, simply held his own lantern and wrote his message, making his wish with quiet sincerity.

She noticed Chang Lin nearby too, buying a lantern and making his own wish with equal solemnity.

Sharp-eared, she caught Chang Lin muttering: “I hope our Third Young Madam makes it safely through the Zhang Family’s doors, without any trouble. I hope our lord manages to bring her in this year…”

Third Young Madam?

In her mind, she traced through the Zhang Family relationships once more.

Her heart sank.

She said abruptly, “Zhang Yuelu, are you getting married again?”

He lowered his eyes.

He paused, then turned to her with a smile: “What do you mean, ‘again’? The way you say it, it sounds like I marry someone new every day.”

She said nothing, seemingly lost in thought.

He asked, “Does Wutong have some thought on this?”

Suppressing her irritation, she said stiffly, “I remember you once told me you loved someone. Are you planning to betray the one you love, and marry someone else instead?”

He said gently, “Not at all. If I love someone, of course I’d only marry her. But I’m not marrying anytime soon—the one I love doesn’t have room for me in her heart yet.”

Her lips twitched slightly.

Crouched by the river releasing his lantern, he smiled: “What’s that reaction, Wutong? Jealous?”

She said nothing.

She didn’t want to say anything, didn’t even know what she should say. Whatever came out would surely sound bitter, and the thought rising in her mind—what right does she have—already told her she still remembered what had happened all those years ago.

That old matter…

Left her feelings for Zhang Xingjian so tangled she could no longer make sense of them herself.

Never mind. If she couldn’t make sense of it, she’d stop trying.

Cut the knot cleanly—she was leaving soon anyway.

In her silence, she heard him say softly, “What are you thinking, Wutong? Tell me—if you’ve misunderstood me, give me the chance to explain.”

She didn’t want to untangle the mess between them any further.

She said, “Tell Chang Lin to lower his voice. Who makes a wish loud enough for the whole world to hear?”

He paused, turning to look at Chang Lin.

Chang Lin, clutching his lantern, looked thoroughly wronged: “My lord, I wasn’t even being loud.”

He sighed, shook his head without a word, and smiled as he went to release his own lantern.

She said, “Zhang Yuelu, you’re far too easy on your subordinates. Not even… that person… treats his subordinates the way you do, letting them get away with practically anything.”

She’d actually used “that person” in place of “Bo Rong.”

Something in him softened, amusement stirring in his eyes.

He explained gently, “When you have people serving as your loyal retainers, people who risk their lives for you day after day, is it really wise to order them around and treat them harshly all the time? If you want someone’s complete loyalty, you need endless patience with them in ordinary times, give them whatever they need—after all, you’re asking them to die for you, in the end.”

Chang Lin’s eyes flickered.

He said nothing.

She paused, feeling that Zhang Xingjian had just said something remarkably cold and ruthless, delivered with remarkable gentleness. His coldness didn’t surprise her. What surprised her was the substance of what he’d said.

She lowered her head.

He asked, “Does that make you think of something?”

She said, “Are you good to me because you want me to die for you too? To do the dying for you?”

Chang Lin nearly choked on his own blood.

Zhang Xingjian’s own words caught in his throat, neither up nor down.

He couldn’t help but sigh: “Think again about who I was actually talking about.”

She fell silent.

She wondered who he’d been hinting at… who could it be?

In this silence, she watched Zhang Xingjian finally finish writing his message and set the lantern onto the water. It drifted away on the current, and he closed his eyes to make his wish:

“May every year hold a day like this, may this day return every year.”

He’d given her plenty of time to think, waiting for her to realize who he’d meant and come argue with him about it. But he heard no sound behind him, and turned to look at Shen Qingwu.

Her gaze wasn’t on him at all.

She was looking up, at something high above…

High above!

He heard Chang Lin suddenly flip upward beside him, his voice sharp: “That person looks just like, just like…”

She said coldly, “The one who killed Third Young Master Bo.”

Zhang Xingjian shot to his feet: “Wutong!”

She was no longer listening to him at all, no longer even looking at him. She remembered clearly the face of the murderer who’d toyed with her, remembered how he’d killed Third Young Master Bo while posing as his trusted sworn brother, at the height of his trust.

At that moment, the figure stood atop the flagpole, peering down with eerie stealth.

The killer’s eyes met Shen Qingwu’s.

She wore a long dress of blue and white, pearls and tassels adorning her hair, a bright-moon pendant swaying gently at her ear. A few loose strands of dark hair brushed against her snow-white face; under the lantern light, gazing up at the flagpole, her eyes were dark and still, like an ordinary, innocent young woman…

But she was watching him steadily, without wavering.

The killer didn’t recognize this beautiful woman at first, only sensing something familiar in her eyes. The instant Shen Qingwu leapt into the air, springing toward the flagpole, recognition struck him at once—

“It’s you!”

Remembering how vicious this woman was, the killer twisted around and fled at once. Shen Qingwu launched herself after him, and the two of them raced along the riverbank, leaping in tandem.

Chang Lin proved no less capable, falling only half a step behind Shen Qingwu, catching up to the fleeing killer as well.

Standing by the water, Zhang Xingjian rose slowly. The river flowed on, the lanterns swayed and scattered, and he stood there, elegant and still as white clouds over dark water—but the space around him was now entirely empty.

He lowered his eyes, thinking for a moment.

Then abruptly he turned and strode swiftly the other way, heading along the long bridge in the direction Shen Qingwu and Chang Lin had gone. He judged the direction as he walked, glancing about, and with a light clap of his hands, retainers fell into step behind him.

He gave the order: “Catch up to them.”

A retainer asked for clarification: “My lord, are we to kill the opponent?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Use your own judgment. If it comes down to a critical moment and we stand to lose someone, then it no longer matters whether he lives or dies.”

Shen Qingwu and Chang Lin left the city one after the other, pursuing the killer closely.

This time, no matter what, they couldn’t let him escape again—no matter what, they had to find the truth behind Third Young Master Bo’s death.

They pursued him using lightness footwork, but partway through, the killer managed to get hold of a horse. Out in the wild, desolate countryside, with no way to turn back, Shen Qingwu and Chang Lin had no choice but to push their inner strength even harder, chasing after the fleeing horse.

By rights, with both of their skills, this killer shouldn’t have had any chance of escaping.

On this Lantern Festival night, the city blazed with wandering lights, but the farther one got from the city, past the lanterns, the thinner and emptier the air grew.

Out on the vast plain, as they pursued the horse, the two of them plunged into a reed marsh, the reeds standing waist-high.

Under the cold moon, a great expanse of gold closed in around them, spreading wild and unchecked, a soft layer of white frost floating atop it. The horse vanished into the reeds at once, swallowed whole, leaving no trace.

Standing in the reed marsh, listening in every direction, Shen Qingwu suddenly caught the faint sound of a bowstring, an arrow loosed.

She leapt into the air: “Watch out!”

The warning reached Chang Lin in time.

He and she scattered in different directions as dozens of black arrows rained down at them from within the golden reeds. After the volley came several dozen more figures, dressed as black-clad guards, weapons drawn, closing in on them from all sides.

The killer who’d fled on horseback leapt down as well, sneering as he swung his blade at the two of them under the moonlight.

Chang Lin’s heart lurched: “Shen Qingwu, this is an ambush! We should…”

Retreat?

She paid him no mind at all.

The moment the killer entered the fray, he was all she could see. Confident in her own skill, and consumed with hatred for the man who’d toyed with her, she knew that if not for him, she’d already be back with Bo Rong, Third Young Master Bo safe beside them.

Dressed in women’s clothing, without a proper weapon at hand, she snapped one of the incoming arrows and used its point as a blade, charging straight at the killer.

Seeing her like this, and with the surrounding guards showing no sign of retreat—clearly intent on killing them both—Chang Lin couldn’t afford to lose focus either, and grit his teeth to fight off the attackers pressing in around him.

In his heart, he could only pray: that their lord would realize the killer wasn’t acting alone, that he’d send help soon—

The fighting raged on without pause, the chase carrying them farther and farther from the city gates.

Under the pitch-black sky, the golden glow of the reeds mingled with the moonlight above, casting the world in something dreamlike.

Only the smell of blood cut through it all.

The arrowhead in Shen Qingwu’s hand nearly caught up to the killer, close enough to slash his throat, when he suddenly turned his face toward her under the moonlight and gave a chilling smile:

“You don’t care about Zhang Yuelu’s life anymore?”

Her eyes went ice-cold; for a moment she didn’t register what he meant, though her weapon never once slowed.

He sneered: “Your ‘Bond of Hearts’ gu—this far away, it’ll cost Zhang Yuelu his life, won’t it?”

In the next instant, she lunged at him, knocking him down into the reeds, the arrowhead pressed to his throat.

She said, “You’ve been watching me?!”

He could barely breathe.

Meeting her eyes, he forced the words out: “Let me go… you go back to Zhang Yuelu, I’ll go report back, and neither of us has to die.”

He gasped out, with effort: “Shen Qingwu, you’re not like them. Stop helping them hunt me down… we’re on the same side.”

She said, “What do you mean?”

Blood spilled from the killer’s lips, filling the gaps between his teeth.

He looked at this fool of a woman and sneered relentlessly: “Still don’t understand? I work for Commander Bo… it was Commander Bo who wanted Third Young Master Bo dead, Commander Bo who had me embedded at his side all along.”

She said sharply, “And you’re after Zhang Yuelu too!”

She said, “That fire on the mountain… you’ve killed so many people already.”

He forced the words out with difficulty: “So what? You, a demon with countless deaths on your own hands, lecturing me about that? If the two of you hadn’t chased me so relentlessly, if Zhang Yuelu hadn’t refused to let me go… why would I have had to act?

“Shen Qingwu, come back with me to see Commander Bo, and you’ll understand everything.”

She stared at him, her mind blank.

Suddenly, she heard Chang Lin’s muffled cry of pain behind her.

She snapped back to focus: “Let Chang Lin go!”

The killer said, “He’s Zhang Yuelu’s man—if he goes back to Zhang Yuelu, Zhang Yuelu will learn everything we’ve planned. Tonight, I only wanted to see you, not anyone else. That man has to die.”

The arrowhead in her hand showed no more mercy after that.

She struck without the slightest hesitation. Startled, the killer fought back with all his strength, throwing a punch straight at her chest.

In the midst of their struggle, he kicked her back and scrambled up from beneath her, snarling: “You’re insane! I’ve already explained everything to you… are you truly mad, incapable of understanding plain words?”

She looked up.

Blood streaked her cheek—whether her own or his, she couldn’t tell.

She rose slowly, her eyes distant and cold.

She said, “You know about the ‘Bond of Hearts’ gu—that means you must have that girl from the Miao borderlands in your grasp. You mean to kill her, don’t you?”

She gripped the arrowhead tightly, its sharp edge cutting into the palm she’d spent these past months allowing to soften. Her robes flared, blood streaking her long skirt—dressed like a proper young lady of good family, though she was, of course, no such thing.

She advanced on the killer, step by step.

She said, “You mean to kill Zhang Yuelu, kill Chang Lin, kill so many more. I don’t know whether all of this is really Bo Rong’s doing, don’t know what exactly you think he’ll tell me if I go back with you…

“But tonight, you won’t be killing Chang Lin.”

The killer retreated, step by step.

He said sharply, “Zhang Yuelu is the one who abandoned you, who didn’t want you, who despised you! It was Commander Bo who took you in, who raised and trained you! You owe him gratitude!”

She laughed softly.

She said, “Don’t worry. I’m well aware of what I owe.

“But that’s a matter for later. Tonight…

“I mean to kill you. What can you do about it?”

This woman, dressed in fine clothes, playing the part of a gentle, harmless young lady—yet the blood on her body, the ice in her eyes, all revealed her for exactly what she was: an utter, unrepentant force of violence.

They’d forgotten who she really was.

They’d assumed these past six months had tamed her, stripped her of her fury.

But Shen Qingwu had never changed at all—

Surrounded and struck down by dozens of attackers, Chang Lin finally found himself overwhelmed; in his final moments, a sword pierced his chest, his breath failing.

He thought he was surely going to die here, and through the haze, he heard the sounds of fighting still going on.

His body alternated hot and cold, his mind growing dim; in his fading awareness, he felt as though he were crossing the river to the afterlife.

He didn’t know how much time passed before a pair of hands pulled him up out of the blood and dragged him, hauling him out of the reeds.

Utterly without strength, Chang Lin murmured, eyes closed: “Shen… Shen Qingwu?”

She answered flatly.

His breath was faint: “Am I… going to die…”

She thought he probably was too, and since she never offered false comfort, she said nothing, only kept dragging him. She thought, if only she could see Zhang Xingjian—he’d surely be able to save Chang Lin, given how good he was to his own servants, to his retainers…

And Bo Rong, Bo Rong…

Chang Lin forced his eyes open and saw her cold, distant eyes.

He said, his voice breaking: “Shen Qingwu, I don’t want to die like this… I haven’t seen our lord yet, haven’t seen you walk through the doors of the Zhang Family, haven’t seen you make all the people who looked down on you furious with envy, I don’t want to die…”

She looked up sharply.

Her sweat-damp hair fell against his neck.

She said, “Married—”

His voice came out hoarse, breath faltering: “Are you really that dense? Can’t you tell our lord’s in love with you, madly in love with you… Do you know how much he adores you? For your sake, he won’t even go back to the eastern capital, he’d rather rush documents back and forth by fast horse every single day just to stay by your side…

“Our lord wants so badly to marry you into the family, you’re the only one he’s ever loved in his whole life… can you really not see it? Can’t you just say yes, come with us? Our lord’s heart and eyes are full of nothing but you…”

He thought he was dying.

He murmured on, delivering what felt like his final words.

Then—a soft thud.

Shen Qingwu let his body drop, standing dazed amid the reeds.

The moon hung bright, the wind high.

She tilted her head back to look up at the moon in the sky.

—The moon, in love with her?

Why would it be.