Chang Lin woke from a long spell of unconsciousness, his whole body so sore he couldn’t move at all.

Bracing against the pain, he breathed carefully and tried to sit up, when he heard a clear, faint voice from outside: “Awake?”

Chang Lin looked up, startled.

A crescent moon showed through the window, its light thin as porcelain. A landscape screen stood between them, the figure behind it blurred.

Shifting slightly to the side, he could make out the silhouette seated behind the screen—

Zhang Xingjian sat leaning back in a lounge chair against the wall, half his face hidden in shadow, the other half pale as snow, fine as jade.

This elegant, upright young man looked, today, somewhat disheveled.

He lounged carelessly, his robe loose and askew, sleeves rolled up to bare a stretch of pale arm. Now that arm and the back of his hand were densely studded with acupuncture needles, and a young woman was circling him, inserting needle after needle into his flesh.

The young man, beautiful yet listless, made for a jarring sight.

At first Chang Lin assumed the only woman who could get this close to Zhang Xingjian must be Shen Qingwu. But looking again, he recognized her as the Miao girl he’d met once before.

She looked deeply uneasy as she worked, muttering as she inserted the needles: “Whenever you have time, you really should come to the Miao lands with your lady. My needles can only ease the pain a little, they can’t cure it at the root. And after everything you two went through, she actually left you behind—doesn’t care if you live or die…”

She sighed, glancing furtively at a handkerchief lying near his wrist.

Embroidered on it, in strong, sharp strokes, was the character “Shen”—now stained and dirtied with a patch of blood.

She guessed this handkerchief must be a love token between him and that Miss Shen.

Such a devoted couple—how had they ended up like this?

Zhang Xingjian lay there with his eyes closed, so still that even the moonlight above seemed to have more life in it than he did. Chang Lin stared, dazed, until he heard Zhang Xingjian ask again, flatly: “Awake?”

Chang Lin coughed.

A guard beside him immediately brought tea and helped him sit up.

He tried to get down onto the floor, but his legs gave way the moment they touched it.

The guard tending him said urgently, “Your wounds are serious—don’t get up!”

Leaning on the guard for support, Chang Lin waited for Zhang Xingjian’s instructions. But he noticed that Zhang Xingjian had merely opened his eyes, watching him struggle through the gap between the screen and the door, saying nothing at all.

Normally, his lord would have told him not to bother.

But now…

Chang Lin sensed something was wrong.

After a long silence, Zhang Xingjian asked, “How did the pursuit go, that night? Did you leave not a single one alive?”

Chang Lin gathered himself and answered, digging through his memory of that night’s battle with the killers.

He described the fight in detail—how Shen Qingwu had killed, how he himself had drawn dozens of assassins, how skilled those men had been…

He hesitated, then said, “Before I passed out, I overheard fragments of a conversation between Shen Qingwu and the murderer.

“It sounded like… the murderer was connected to Bo Shuai, sent by him. Bo Shuai wanted Shen Qingwu to leave with him… My lord, where is Shen Qingwu?”

Zhang Xingjian looked at him and said nothing.

Chang Lin grew more uneasy, but pressed on out of duty: “Shen Qingwu is Bo Shuai’s person, my lord. You should be careful—she might help him move against you. Her temperament is unpredictable; it’s entirely possible she’d turn her blade on you again…”

Chang Lin glanced at the needles studding his lord’s arm and thought, surely the worst hadn’t already happened?

His lord looked so weak—could Shen Qingwu really have struck him?

Then he heard Zhang Xingjian ask, flatly, “What happened between you and Shen Qingwu?”

Chang Lin froze, not understanding.

Zhang Xingjian repeated himself, patience thinning: “What did you say to her. What did you tell her. Tell me everything, one thing at a time.”

That night, the moon had been bright, the stars sparse, mist rising on every side.

Zhang Xingjian had been unable to catch up with Shen Qingwu, and had collapsed on horseback from the toll the soul-binding gu took on him. When he woke and returned to the town, the Miao girl had eased his pain, and he had realized he would never catch up to her now.

What had happened.

Why had she left.

The only one who knew was Chang Lin, and he’d been unconscious.

Zhang Xingjian pressed him for every detail of that night, of Bo Rong’s role in it. Once he’d settled the practical matters, there remained the one question that mattered most to him—why had she abandoned him?

Lying in his sickbed, Chang Lin began to catch a glimpse of the truth.

His face went ashen.

He stammered, “I—I just told her that you liked her, my lord, that you wanted to marry her, wanted to bring her back to Dongjing, wanted to welcome her into the Zhang family. I also said you’d always wanted her to join the Imperial Guard, that being a general in Yizhou wasn’t really so different from being a general in Dongjing. That you’d be in Dongjing too, that she could see you often…

“I was afraid I was dying, afraid she’d go on not understanding—I couldn’t help saying too much…”

Zhang Xingjian shot to his feet.

The Miao girl cried out in alarm: “Careful!”

Loose needles clattered to the floor, his brocade robe slipping from his shoulders as he rose abruptly from the chair and strode toward the screen.

For an instant, Chang Lin thought the candlelight looked like will-o’-the-wisps—this quick-striding man, face pale as snow, eyes dark as night, seemed to radiate a chill amid the ghostly light.

Zhang Xingjian stopped before the bed and said sharply, “You told her I’m in love with her? That I want to marry her?”

Chang Lin didn’t dare answer.

It was the first time he had ever seen Zhang Xingjian truly furious.

This man, so mild-tempered, so endlessly tolerant of his servants, now bent down toward him, his hand trembling uncontrollably within his sleeve. He grabbed Chang Lin’s collar, his half-loosened hair falling against his neck, a dark fire in his eyes, threads of red spreading across the whites.

The guards cried out in shock: “My lord!”

Zhang Xingjian’s hand closed around Chang Lin’s throat, fingers contracting against his will, cold fury radiating off him: “You’ve ruined my entire plan!”

He understood now, at last, the whole chain of cause and effect—understood where he’d gone wrong, understood why Shen Qingwu had wept even as she kissed him, why she’d held him and cried even as she turned to leave.

If not for Chang Lin—if not for Chang Lin!

He had been so certain he could weave the net carefully, quietly, and win Shen Qingwu’s heart without her even noticing—make her fall in love with him willingly, make her unable to leave.

What did he lack?

He lacked nothing.

His looks, his lineage, his bearing, his learning, his temperament—in every way he held the advantage where her preferences were concerned. He had only failed at restraint, failed to love her from the very beginning… failed by letting so many years pass them by.

He had believed he could still make up for it.

He had spent all this time chasing her, trying to fix everything.

He had almost succeeded. He’d been so close…

Give it a year, maybe two, and she would realize she loved him. Give it three years, maybe five, and she would marry him, make peace with herself, make peace with him.

She wasn’t lacking courage to face her past, wasn’t lacking the capacity to love. She was only confused, had simply never loved nor been loved before. She was only trapped by years upon years of disappointment, only refused to hope where he was concerned…

He had believed he could move her heart, could win her over.

He had been halfway there.

And Chang Lin had ruined it all at the last step.

Love had become a war—one where either he won or she did.

And Shen Qingwu, stubborn as she was, would never simply watch him win.

But love… was never supposed to be a war in the first place.

His voice came out hoarse: “If I wanted to tell her I loved her, day and night by her side—do you think I lacked the chance, lacked the opportunity? Do you think that when the right moment came, I would have said nothing?

“I only wanted this one thing… and you destroyed it.”

His eyes reddened faintly, hatred and loathing churning unchecked. His entire plan overturned, the woman he loved driven away from him…

This single word—love—had cost him everything, and just as he’d climbed to the cliff’s edge, he found himself falling, bit by bit, into the abyss.

The guards dropped to their knees, begging as one. Chang Lin could barely breathe, watching Zhang Xingjian’s eyes go blank.

It took every ounce of restraint Zhang Xingjian had to suppress the flash of killing intent that had risen in him toward Chang Lin. He closed his eyes, telling himself this wasn’t Chang Lin’s fault.

It was his own arrogance—he had never told anyone his true thoughts, his true plans. He had built the plan with no room for error, had overestimated himself, had actually believed he could control something as uncontrollable as love.

His hand slowly loosened.

He steadied himself, and said flatly, “My apologies. I lost control.”

Chang Lin’s eyes, in that instant, went red.

He saw the faint tremor in his lord’s hand beneath his sleeve, the pallor of his face, the furrow of his brow. The Miao girl leaned against the doorframe, clearly wanting to say something, gesturing frantically at them.

Her meaning was plain: your lord is enduring tremendous pain right now—stop provoking him. If his emotions keep spiking like this, the soul-binding gu really will kill him.

Chang Lin dropped to his knees with a thud.

His voice came out cracked: “My lord, it was my fault. I—should I go find Shen Qingwu now, try to fix it, tell her you don’t actually care for her…”

Even as he said it, he knew it was hopeless—what use would that be now?

Sure enough, Zhang Xingjian simply looked at him in silence, and rejected the idea.

He calmed himself, turning his head to look out the window. “Never mind. I don’t blame you—you meant well. But you did ruin my plan, and once you’ve healed, you’ll still face punishment. As for now…

“I have one last option left. A gamble with everything on the line, to win Wutong back.”

His voice grew quieter as he spoke.

Chang Lin had always thought his lord’s schemes never failed.

But looking up now, he saw in Zhang Xingjian’s eyes, fixed on the bright moon outside the window, something lost and uncertain.

Zhang Xingjian murmured, “This is the only way I have left… If even this doesn’t work, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

He smiled faintly, the familiar gentle expression settling over his face. But the smile in his eyes was bleak, hopeless. He gazed at the moon outside, already beginning to lose his bearings.

In matters of love—

He was the fish, and others held the knife.

The moonlight was thin, the candle flickered, and Zhang Xingjian stood in silence.

He said nothing for a long while, and no one in the room dared breathe too loudly.

“My lord?” Chang Lin ventured.

Zhang Xingjian came back to himself.

The others watched him grow calm again, watched him stop mentioning Shen Qingwu, watched him issue new orders: “Chang Lin will recover here and wait for word from Dongjing about the investigation into my parents’ old case. Everyone else comes with me to Yizhou.”

He added flatly, “Send word to the central court in Dongjing—no, I’ll write it myself… I should show my loyalty to His Majesty, should return to court, should let the officials know I’m still alive.”

He thought it through slowly. “Send word to the prefects, generals, and commanders of the surrounding provinces who are affiliated with the Zhang family, and persuade them to cooperate with me. Tell them—there’s rebellion in Yizhou, and the Zhang family must root out this internal threat, clear the sovereign’s side of corruption.

“If they trust me, lend me their troops. The commander of Yizhou is about to rebel—before the court in Dongjing catches wind of it, this is their chance to rise. Let’s see who’s willing to follow me.”

Everyone in the room was stunned.

Rebellion in Yizhou?!

Chang Lin said, “You mean Bo Shuai…”

Zhang Xingjian said nothing.

Chang Lin asked, unsettled, “Shouldn’t we notify the court, notify His Majesty, prepare in advance…”

Zhang Xingjian’s tone was cold. “No need. Which way the court leans, before this is settled—that’s hard to say.”

He was hinting that someone in the central court was feeding information to Bo Rong, cooperating with him. Whatever alliance Bo Rong had with that person ran deeper, it seemed, than his own blood tie to Zhang Xingjian.

Who could it be?

Could it be… Princess Ande?

While Zhang Xingjian revised his plans and set out for Yizhou with his men, certain things had, indeed, quietly been unfolding elsewhere.

Shen Jie, carrying an imperial edict, had traveled south to find Shen Qingye. Chancellor Kong had left the capital, traveling alongside the Shen family’s troops. Overnight, Shen Qingye had earned herself the title “Phoenix Girl.” The young Emperor made no secret of his fondness for the Shen family, his longing for Shen Qingye—the Shen family was both moved and bewildered.

But this was the Shen family’s chance, and the whole household rallied, determined to bring Shen Qingye back to Dongjing.

In a small town not far from Yizhou, one evening at dusk, Shen Jie rode idly through the streets at the head of his troops, patrolling the town.

Another day, another fruitless search.

Far from being displeased, Shen Jie actually felt relieved.

From his saddle he said, “Good work today, men. Let’s call it here and report back to the Chancellor…”

A clear voice, bright as an oriole’s, cut through the air and turned his blood to ice: “Brother!”

Facing the setting sun, Shen Jie’s hand slowly tightened on the reins. He did not turn around.

But his soldiers had already recognized her before he did, and erupted with excitement: “Fifth Young Lady Shen! Fifth Young Lady Shen has returned!”

Shen Jie slowly turned his horse. Bathed in the red glow of sunset, he saw, coming toward their column in the street, a slender, delicate young woman of striking grace.

Shen Qingye was the most beautiful woman in the Shen family.

Skin like snow on lotus leaves, lashes curled like flowers swaying in the wind. Hair dark as clouds, a face like a blossom among the clouds. Even in coarse hairpins and plain cloth, her fragrance could not be hidden; even from a distance, before her face could be fully seen, her boundless charm was already unmistakable.

She approached with light, graceful steps, and the whole street held its breath.

Shen Jie watched her coldly: his cousin, always beautiful—and the older she grew, the more she bloomed like a fine flower.

The young Emperor had likely set his eyes on Shen Qingye even back when she was still Zhang Xingjian’s betrothed.

At the far end of the street stood a swordsman in black, wearing a straw rain hat. Whether he was watching this direction, none of them could tell.

Shen Qingye came to a stop before Shen Jie’s horse, tilting her head up with a timid smile at her cousin, then bending her knees in a bow.

She explained softly what had happened over the past half year: “I got separated from my maid, ended up among the common people, went through quite a lot to survive… I never meant to worry the family.”

The guards beside Shen Jie laughed. “Fifth Young Lady, why speak so formally? Now that you’re back, just come with us.”

The Shen soldiers’ manner toward her was warm and easy.

Uneasy, Shen Qingye nonetheless gave a small nod.

Just as she was wondering whether her cousin meant for her to walk alongside their horses, she heard Shen Jie ask, “A delicate woman like you, returning unharmed—surely a great deal happened to you along the way?”

Shen Qingye bit her lip, a flush of shame and anger rising in her cheeks.

Shen Jie was delicately probing her chastity… simply because she was a woman, did she have to bear this kind of suspicion?

Fighting down her emotions, she forced a bow. “A swordsman escorted me the whole way. I encountered no ill intent from anyone, Brother, rest assured. I have not—have not brought shame upon the Shen family.”

It seemed her half year of freedom had given her the courage to push back against her own family.

Though the fingers hidden in her sleeve dug hard into her palm, and the tears in her lowered eyes were held back only by sheer will.

Shen Jie’s guards couldn’t bear to watch. “My lord, let it be. The palace matrons will ask about all that. Let’s just bring Fifth Young Lady back properly.”

Shen Qingye caught the key words instantly: matrons? Palace? What were they talking about?

Shen Jie fell silent for a long moment.

He closed his eyes, opened them again, a visible struggle playing across his face.

Sitting stiffly on his horse, looking at Shen Qingye’s delicate face, he suddenly thought of Shen Qingwu.

She had once told him bluntly that she didn’t need his pity, that he was too weak, that he had never been able to help her, that his soft-hearted sympathy was worthless to her.

He hadn’t been able to save one sister. Was he now going to watch another walk into the fire? He didn’t dare defy the family—was he really going to watch, again and again, as his sisters walked toward uncertain fates, powerless to stop it?

In Shen Qingwu’s eyes, he was weak, useless, his sympathy cheap…

Abruptly, Shen Jie spoke: “Shen Qingye.”

The girl standing beside his horse looked up, the last light of sunset reflecting in her glass-clear eyes.

He said: “Run.”

She froze for an instant, then understood what her cousin had said. Before the guards beside him could react, she snatched up her skirts and ran, straight toward the far end of the street, away from the column.

Shen Jie’s men snapped to attention: “My lord, what are you doing?!”

“Fifth Young Lady, don’t go!”

They spurred their horses forward to catch her, this supposedly delicate young woman: “Fifth Young Lady, don’t panic, we come on the Emperor’s own orders, to escort you into the palace to become Empress. This is a tremendous honor—has the young master of the Shen family forgotten his place? Surely Fifth Young Lady hasn’t either?”

“Fifth Young Lady, don’t force us to use force!”

“Young Master Shen, hurry and make your sister stop!”

Shen Jie sat motionless on his horse. He said nothing, raised no objection, and simply watched as the galloping horses kicked up dust and closed in around his stumbling, fleeing cousin.

He was gambling on the barest chance: Shen Qingye had said someone had escorted her. A delicate woman like her, making her way through the world—of course she should have someone skilled in martial arts protecting her. He just didn’t know whether that swordsman was nearby, right now.

Shen Jie himself could not afford to openly defy the court. Weak as it was, all he could do was pin his hopes on someone else saving his sister.

In the chaos, he heard Shen Qingye cry out: “Qiu Jun!”

In an instant, the cold wind swept up fallen leaves, and the black-clad swordsman who had stood so still at the end of the street sprang into motion. Amid the panicked horses, he caught Shen Qingye in his arms, sweeping her clear of the hooves.

The mounted guards cried out in fury and shock as the rain hat fell away, revealing the swordsman’s face, cold as frost.

The guards laughed bitterly. “And what is Fifth Young Lady playing at?”

“Sir, do you mean to defy His Majesty, defy Chancellor Kong? Fifth Young Lady, would you really drag the whole Shen family down with you?”

Pale as a sheet, Shen Qingye was held by the waist in Qiu Jun’s arms. She had no room to think about the impropriety of a man touching her so; in that instant, sharp-witted as ever, she understood her own fate all at once.

She, who had always simply drifted with the current, felt a sudden wave of helplessness rise in her.

Wide-eyed, dazed, her lips trembling, she didn’t know what to do—watching this decisive, ruthless man face down the royal troops directly—

Qiu Jun said coldly, “I took on the task of escorting Fifth Young Lady Shen. I don’t know who any of you are. The task isn’t complete, so I’ll go on following her.”

Shen Qingye looked up at him.

“I never hired you,” she said.

“I changed my mind,” he said flatly.

“Whether I choose to escort someone, whether I choose to take on a task—what business is it of yours?”

Her eyes, clear and cool as autumn water, met his, sharp and cold as frost.

Slowly her eyes reddened, and quietly she reached out and gripped the edge of his sleeve.

She had no idea what lay ahead.

But could she… try, just this once?

The battle that followed wasn’t short.

Shen Jie couldn’t simply stand aside—he had to move against his own cousin and this stranger. He carried the imperial edict, had Chancellor Kong’s backing, and bore the weight of the Shen family’s honor. He had no choice.

The warning he’d managed to give Shen Qingye had been the barest sliver of one.

What followed was a full day of pursuit and slaughter—that was his real duty now.

However skilled Qiu Jun was, how could he stand against wave after wave of imperial guards?

By dusk, after a full day, at the edge of a small village outside the town, Qiu Jun and Shen Qingye had run out of road. And even at this desperate moment, the swordsman had not abandoned her.

The guards closed in on the village, step by step.

Watching from his horse, Shen Jie felt a strange, absurd sense of unreality wash over him: as if all of this were simply Shen Qingye eloping with some nameless swordsman, and he’d brought troops to catch the pair of lovers.

How laughable.

His voice came out hoarse: “Qingye. Come with us.”

Shen Qingye stood supporting the injured Qiu Jun, who stood ramrod straight, his face utterly blank. Her beautiful eyes were full of sorrow as she looked from him to the guards closing in on every side.

She let go of his hand and stepped forward.

He caught her wrist.

“My task isn’t finished,” he said flatly.

She said softly, “Never mind…”

She turned back to him, a faint smile in her eyes. “Qiu Jun, thank you. I’ll remember you… if you ever have the chance, come find me in Dongjing.”

“Whatever you’re owed,” she said gently, “come to the Shen family in Dongjing and collect it.”

The guards, growing impatient, called out, “Fifth Young Lady, have some self-respect!”

They closed in further. Shen Jie said nothing. Qiu Jun held her still, refusing to let go, and Shen Qingye, head bowed, began prying his fingers from her wrist one by one.

In that tense, crowded moment, applause rang out from somewhere above.

Everyone looked up, bewildered.

A cool, clear woman’s voice reached them: “Is this a scene of forcing a good woman into marriage? And here I thought His Majesty had already ended the selection of consorts?”

That voice…

Atop the high wall stood Shen Qingwu, arms crossed.

After so long unseen, this long-vanished woman general stood tall and unshaken, her rain hat flying in the wind. In a pale blue-and-white dress and short jacket, her bearing was unexpectedly elegant, almost like a beautiful lady of leisure—so much so that no one recognized her at first…

Then she pulled off her hat, revealing her face.

Shen Jie’s eyes lit up: “Qingwu!”

Shen Qingye’s bright eyes lifted: “Sister!”

The guards reacted a beat late: “Second… Second Young Lady Shen? General?!”

Every one of them tightened their grip on their weapons, bracing as if for a formidable enemy. They had all heard of this woman general’s reputation in battle, but they’d assumed she’d left Yizhou for good, had no attachment to the Shen family, and wouldn’t get involved in their affairs.

The guards forced a laugh. “When did the general return?”

“Just now,” Shen Qingwu said.

The guards tried to warn her off. “General, best not to interfere. Since you’ve returned, you should report back to camp, not—”

She said, flat and cool, “I have reported.”

A warm, cultured male voice sounded behind her: “This commander invites Fifth Young Lady Shen to be a guest at our camp. I trust none of you will object?”

Behind Shen Qingwu, a procession had arrived.

Not a military column—there were ornate carriages, fine horses—and the refined young man stepping down from one of them was none other than the commander of Yizhou, Bo Rong.

The guards had never seen the Yizhou commander before, and murmured among themselves, unsure how this scene was meant to play out.

But the woman who stepped down from the perfumed carriage, leaning on Bo Rong’s arm, made them all drop to their knees at once.

With hair dark as clouds and a face like a blossom, she truly was heaven’s favored daughter.

Smiling faintly, she asked them, “Does the young Emperor want Fifth Young Lady Shen brought into the palace? Go back and tell him I’ve kept her with me. If he has objections, he can bring them to me directly.”

The guards exchanged glances, and in the presence of a princess, dared not say another word.

Three months later, Bo Rong returned to the Yizhou army, and while his return lifted the spirits of the entire force, the mood was subtly different than before.

The calm before the storm.

Bo Rong sat in his command tent, reviewing the paperwork that had piled up in his long absence. He was inspecting weapons, quietly checking through a chest, when he heard a knock at the tent flap outside.

“It’s me,” said Shen Qingwu.

Bo Rong paused for a moment, then smiled faintly.

Shen Qingwu, knocking? Waiting outside for him to say “come in” before entering?

He answered slowly, and she lifted the tent flap and stepped inside.

Seeing that she was still dressed as a woman, his gaze flickered slightly.

He said, smiling, “A’Wu didn’t even take the time to change before coming to see me?”

She said, “Shen Qingye was taken away by the Princess. I don’t understand why the Princess was with you. I only just asked Yang Su and learned that not long after I left camp, you left together with her.

“Why would you do that? The Princess—the Princess… You told me to stay away from her, and yet you left with her yourself? And she, she…”

Shen Qingwu wanted to mention the matter of the Princess drugging Zhang Xingjian, but she fell silent, again and again—she didn’t want to speak of him to anyone.

She stared straight at Bo Rong instead. “I killed people.”

His expression remained calm.

Seated behind the small desk in the main tent, he watched her with the same gentle patience he’d always shown for her every outburst.

“I killed the men you sent,” she said.

He remained calm.

She kept her eyes fixed on him. “I killed the men you sent to watch me—to watch… him. Your men also had a Miao girl tied up—there’s a matter of a soul-binding gu involved, I don’t know if your men reported that to you. I’m just telling you—I killed those men too.

“Bo Rong. I’ve killed quite a lot of your people.”

He said, slowly, “It’s fine.”

He was endlessly tolerant of her: “A’Wu is back, and that’s what matters.”

She stepped forward, standing straight, only the thin, light fabric of her dress softening the sharp edge of her bearing for just an instant. “That’s it? Just ‘back is what matters’? No punishment, no reckoning, no questions about what happened to me?

“Do you not want to ask—or do you already know everything?”

She pointed toward the tent flap, her voice sharp. “What exactly are you doing?! Your man told me you would tell me everything. Will you?”

Compared to her anger, his calm was infuriating.

He said softly, “What do you think I’m doing?”

She was silent a moment, then said, “I think you shouldn’t be with the Princess. And the way you rescued Qingye today was strange too… That kind of reckless act, the kind that offends the court—that’s something I would do. Not you.

“I never imagined you’d show up, never imagined you’d get involved. This isn’t like you…”

“Go on,” he said gently.

“You’re driving a wedge between the young Emperor and the Princess. Step by step.”

Baffled, she said, “Why would you do that? Zhang… didn’t he say he was helping you? Don’t you want his help? Don’t you trust him? He’s your own younger brother… are you trying to kill him too?”

“I never meant to kill anyone,” Bo Rong said.

He went on, unhurried: “A’Wu, why don’t you calm down and let me tell you a story. Once you’ve heard it, you can tell me what I’m doing, and what I should do.”

She looked at him.

His voice, when he spoke, was quiet and distant:

“In a forest, there was a young tiger, and a young lion. When the old forest king died, the lion cub and the tiger cub fought over the throne. The family who had served the forest king for generations were foxes.

“Some of the foxes sided with the tiger cub, a smaller number with the lion cub. The lion cub wept to one particular fox, and that fox struck a deal with him—to help him become king.

“The most interesting part of this story is that the greatest enemy of the fox and the lion cub wasn’t the tiger cub at all—it was the fox’s own father. The fox’s father said, by the old rules, the tiger cub should be king; if you support the lion cub, be ready to be cast out of the family.

“The fox didn’t take it seriously. He was heaven’s own favored son, and everything had always gone his way.

“Then one day, the tiger cub suddenly moved to kill the fox’s parents. The fox, believing the tiger cub meant to wipe out the whole fox family, rushed to save them…

“Before they died, his parents forced him to swear an oath—never to help the lion cub become king, never to be with the lion cub.

“The tiger cub took the throne, and the lion cub was cast out. Later, the fox discovered something—the forest’s hidden guards had, in fact, been fully prepared all along; no one could actually have killed his parents. It had been a setup: his parents, loyal to the tiger cub, had staged it to force his hand—they hadn’t been killed by the tiger cub at all. They had taken their own lives.

“They used their lives to force him, used their deaths to turn the tide of a crisis.”

Bo Rong smiled at her. “This fox—do you think he’s tragic? Do you think he’s pathetic?

“Should he avenge his parents, or should he honor the vow he made to the lion cub? Was he one of the ones who caused his parents’ death—or were his parents the ones who ruined his whole life?

“Do you think that after years and years of searching for the truth, years and years of self-loathing—one day he suddenly discovers everything has another face entirely. That he can’t love, can’t hate, doesn’t even know who to blame.

“Tell me—what should he do?”