Kong Ye had come to Yizhou on the young Emperor’s orders, with the stated purpose of personally bringing Shen Qingye back to court.

Privately, he hoped it would widen the rift between the Zhang family and the Emperor, freeing the young monarch from the Princess’s influence and letting Kong Ye become the sole voice of authority under heaven.

But then, but then…

His men brought back word that Princess Ande herself was in Yizhou!

She had indeed appeared in Yizhou after leaving the capital. But Kong Ye had later heard that Li Linggeh had left Yizhou together with Bo Rong, off touring the mountains and rivers nearby.

Naturally, Kong Ye didn’t believe the two of them had any real interest in sightseeing—but he had assumed the Princess was no longer in Yizhou.

Now it turned out she was still there, and had taken Shen Qingye besides. If she sent a scolding letter back to the capital, how would the young Emperor respond? He would surely be frightened into submission by his sister; once the two of them reconciled, the Emperor might well turn around and blame Kong Ye for mishandling things, for driving a wedge between brother and sister.

Deep into the night, candlelight flickering, Kong Ye paced back and forth in his quarters, eyes bloodshot, unable to sleep.

As he wracked his mind over what to do, a retainer outside announced: “My lord, that person’s letter… has arrived again.”

Kong Ye’s eyes narrowed, gleaming.

He threw open the door and snatched the rolled-up note from the retainer’s hand. From it he read exactly what he’d hoped for:

Join forces against Li Linggeh. Ensure she cannot return to court, cannot influence the young Emperor.

The other party wanted Li Linggeh gone; Kong Ye wanted to prop up the young Emperor… a perfect trade.

The confusion on Kong Ye’s face lasted only an instant. Even as he privately scorned this display of shallow, indulgent sentiment, he readily agreed to a plan that so clearly benefited him.

Satisfied, Kong Ye sent a letter that very night to the young Emperor in the capital, urging his fastest riders to ensure it reached him by dusk the following day.

The facts were the same, but Kong Ye chose to frame them differently:

He would tell the Emperor that the Princess was furious over the matter of Shen Qingye, that she believed the Emperor was no longer obedient to her. That she intended to return to court at once, and might well be discussing the matter of deposing him with the ministers.

The ministers might not agree—but the young Emperor’s conduct these past six months had already disappointed a great many people. If the Princess raised the matter now, and installed a new puppet from among the imperial clan… what would become of Li Mingshu?

Kong Ye warned the Emperor that this woman, the Princess, was always patient and full of schemes, and must be guarded against.

In his letter, Kong Ye also worked in a tearful appeal, hinting that the Princess’s years of “care” for the Emperor had, in truth, been a form of control—that the Emperor’s every restriction traced back to her vengeance. Though they were brother and sister, when it came to choosing between family and love, the Princess had shouldered the blame for years, letting the world believe she alone had wiped out the Zhang clan…

Did the Princess truly harbor no resentment in her heart?

Would she really go on satisfying the Emperor’s every wish, again and again?

Kong Ye went to sleep with his mind unsettled, anxiously awaiting the letter’s effect. He spent the whole next day parched, sitting in his chambers drinking cup after cup of tea, his heart pounding as he waited for the Emperor’s response.

A day later, eyes bloodshot from exhaustion, dozing in his room, Kong Ye finally received the Emperor’s reply, delivered by the fastest riders.

Li Mingshu had written only a single line: What does the Chancellor think I should do?

Holding the letter, stroking his beard, Kong Ye suddenly burst into laughter—laughter so abrupt it startled the messenger who’d delivered it.

His voice rose, impassioned: “I understand! I know exactly what to do!”

He turned, eyes blazing with renewed vigor, and gave the order to his retainers: “Secretly gather troops from the surrounding provinces. Say that the commander of Yizhou has joined forces with the Princess in rebellion—that the Princess, in order to stop His Majesty’s coronation, has kidnapped Fifth Young Lady Shen. We serve His Majesty, and we swear to eliminate this threat on his behalf!”

The retainer caught the key word: “Secretly?”

“That’s right,” Kong Ye said. “This news must not get out. No grand mobilization, no letting the whole realm know… I’ll join forces with the Shen family, and quietly move troops in from Longyou. Of the two great border armies of Great Zhou, only the Longyou forces stand a chance against the Yizhou army.

“Fortunately, the central court never approved provisions for Yizhou before the new year. This rebellion of theirs should be put down quickly enough.”

Kong Ye lowered his eyes and read the Emperor’s single line again, confirming what he meant.

This Li Mingshu…

Kong Ye sneered inwardly.

He had known this young Emperor for over a decade now. No one understood better than he did the man’s long list of vices, and his particular brand of “cunning” at critical moments.

Just as the world believed the Princess had killed the Zhang clan, when in truth it had been the young Emperor’s doing—this time, too, he would never openly move against Yizhou, would never openly declare he wanted the Princess dead, would never openly denounce her.

He would simply let those working for him guess at his true meaning.

Raised by Li Linggeh, Li Mingshu had grown up foolish, lecherous, greedy, vain, uninterested in real governance and devoted only to pleasure—yet carrying within him a cold, calculating cunning all his own.

He was terrified of his sister, though on the surface he never stopped praising her, singing of how good she was to him, how well she cared for him—because he was so much younger than her, he lived in constant fear she might depose him and install someone else in his place. He didn’t want her back at court. Once he learned she knew about Shen Qingye, he began to fear her continued existence and wanted her dead—but he would never say so outright. He would only ask Kong Ye—

“What do you think I should do?”

The villain would be Kong Ye, the minister; the innocent party, the sovereign supposedly held hostage by his own subject.

Whether it was the matter of the Zhang clan more than a decade ago, or this current scheme against the Princess, the young Emperor’s stance never changed.

He always left himself an escape route—

If, by some chance, Li Linggeh survived, if she made it back to the capital alive, if the ministers there all rallied behind her… then the Emperor could throw himself weeping at his sister’s feet and plead: “It was all Kong Ye forcing my hand! Sister, I never wanted to hurt you—I never gave any such order, it was all Kong Ye’s own doing, Kong Ye who coerced me…”

Kong Ye understood this shallow calculation of Li Mingshu’s perfectly well.

He sneered again and again—and yet was still willing to take up the blade once more for this foolish young ruler.

From the moment Kong Ye had chosen to back the Emperor, he had committed to doing whatever the Emperor needed. His family’s honor and his own were now bound together; even knowing he might be discarded the moment things went wrong…

But then, the whole of court politics had always been a gamble.

Kong Ye had gambled correctly once before—and the result had been the Zhang family’s downfall and the Kong family’s rise. Now he was gambling again, and if he won this time, the whole realm would answer to him alone.

Such boundless power—who in this world, man or woman, wouldn’t bow before it, wouldn’t want it for themselves?

And so, a “rebellion” broke out in Yizhou.

Only Yizhou itself truly knew of it; the surrounding provinces had some vague sense of it, but the capital knew nothing, and the realm at large knew nothing at all.

Kong Ye persuaded the Shen family to send troops, persuaded them to grit their teeth and pull forces from Longyou to surround Yizhou, forcing the Yizhou army to kill Li Linggeh and return Shen Qingye to the central court. Shen Qingye had become the young Emperor’s cherished “Empress-to-be,” and for the sake of the family’s future, the Shen clan gritted its teeth and climbed aboard Kong Ye’s ship.

Kong Ye issued Yizhou an ultimatum: hand over Shen Qingye, and do not interfere with the young Emperor’s coronation.

The Princess, predictably, ignored it entirely.

And so Kong Ye and the Shen family marched out with clear consciences, to meet the Yizhou army in battle.

The two border armies of Great Zhou had never once clashed before—and now, meeting here in Yizhou, they did so in secrecy, hidden from the eyes of the realm. There was something almost absurd about it.

The Yizhou army found itself swept into this war half-blind.

Or rather—it was the generals who were half-blind. Their commander understood every twist and turn of the scheme perfectly well.

But that commander had chosen to work with the Princess. She told the soldiers the truth about Shen Qingye, told them everything the young Emperor had done these past six months, and asked them—

“Today it is only the forced abduction of one defenseless woman, to compel her into the palace. Before this, I warned him again and again, and still His Majesty would not be moved. His Majesty is under the control of treacherous men—should you, loyal soldiers, not follow me, join me in driving out these traitors and cleansing his side of corruption?”

Li Linggeh was a woman.

A woman, moreover, whose reputation was none too flattering.

The first time the Yizhou soldiers saw her, they thought her beautiful, dignified, every inch a princess. Seeing her again, hearing her speak in that slow, clear voice, delivering these rousing words meant to rally the troops, showing not a trace of timidity, her eyes bright and soft with conviction…

The soldiers began to think that the rumors about her must have been wrong, that the Princess had been misjudged. They followed her, they told themselves, to protect the Emperor.

It seemed there really were many remarkable women in this world.

There was Shen Qingwu, a woman general as valiant as any man; and here was the Princess, moved to tears by the wickedness of the young Emperor.

The soldiers were stirred, and willing to follow her—

All of it, nothing but tactics.

Winter passed into spring, ice and snow melted, and green swept across the land.

A touch of spring color had come even to the Yizhou army’s camp. Shen Qingwu leaned against a willow tree, its leaves swaying and stretching in the breeze. Arms crossed, she listened to Li Linggeh rallying the troops, winning them over one by one.

Shen Qingwu watched them all, indifferent.

The war had been going on for some time now, and she couldn’t avoid being sent out with the troops. She had only, after that conversation with Bo Rong, come to understand a little more of what Li Linggeh actually wanted.

Though his words still left her half-understanding at best.

But it was Bo Rong who’d said them.

She watched in silence as the wounded came and went through the camp, watched Li Linggeh bustle about, personally bringing medicine to the injured, comforting the soldiers.

Li Linggeh came to check on Shen Qingwu too.

But Shen Qingwu sat alone under her tent, clumsily tending to her own wounds. To Li Linggeh’s kindness, she answered coldly: “I don’t need it.”

Li Linggeh paused, then laughed silently to herself.

“Junior sister really is quite the character,” she said. “A match for any man. Once the fighting’s over, I really must share a cup of wine with you, to thank you for your help.”

Shen Qingwu looked up. “Junior sister?”

“Oh?” Li Linggeh said. “Didn’t Rong-ge tell you the whole story?”

Shen Qingwu lowered her head again, gripping a bandage between her teeth as she struggled to wind it around her injured arm. Her wounds had been healing slowly of late—she thought it must be the result of half a year of being coddled. In that time, she’d barely been hurt at all, and whenever she was, there had been Zhang Xingjian…

Unbidden, the image rose in her mind—his smiling face as he coaxed her to eat, to take her medicine, to change her clothes.

Her lashes trembled faintly.

She told herself not to think of it.

The feeling wasn’t unfamiliar.

A month apart, and she truly hadn’t meant to think of him—and yet he kept surfacing in her mind anyway. This kind of hallucination disgusted her, made her feel as though something in her was sick.

She thought, once the war was over, she’d go see a physician, find out what was wrong with her.

Except… when would the war ever end?

How far did Bo Rong intend to go, before he’d be satisfied enough to stop?

Li Linggeh crouched beside her, studying her for a long moment.

She sighed softly. “General Shen… may I follow Rong-ge’s lead and call you A’Wu? I wonder if you truly understand what we’re doing, understand the meaning behind it.

“Power, to you…”

Shen Qingwu cut her off flatly. “I don’t care.”

She kept her head down. “I don’t think you’re right… but I don’t think you’re wrong either. Bo Rong told me to do this, so I’m doing it. You don’t need to worry—I won’t betray you.”

Li Linggeh fell silent.

Then she smiled faintly. “There’s still a great deal you haven’t seen, don’t understand. Never mind, then… since you won’t betray us, I won’t burden you with the rest. Whether or not you think my methods are underhanded, I intend to see this through.

“I’d like your support—not simply because Bo Rong ordered it.”

Li Linggeh paused, thinking to herself: winning hearts couldn’t rest on debts owed and commands given alone.

Everyone else around her was a man, and none of them could truly understand her. What she wanted—power—she pursued through deception, coaxing these men, one by one, into believing she wanted nothing more than to purge the sovereign’s corrupt advisors…

Only Bo Rong knew what she truly wanted. And the other person she genuinely hoped to win over was Shen Qingwu.

Li Linggeh had once worried that Bo Rong harbored feelings for Shen Qingwu.

But having spent time with her now, she understood Shen Qingwu wasn’t the type of woman Bo Rong would fall for. If anything, Li Linggeh wanted to draw her closer, wanted to make use of her… and the simple fact that Shen Qingwu was a woman put Li Linggeh even more at ease.

“When I have time,” Li Linggeh said gently, “I’ll sit down properly with A’Wu. For now, I have other matters to see to.”

Shen Qingwu, bent over her bandaging, didn’t respond.

In her mind, another Zhang Xingjian appeared, crouched beside her, coaxing her gently: “Rinse the wound with clean water first, then apply the medicine. Not that ointment—I’ve had a new one made for you, one that won’t leave scars. Doesn’t our Wutong want to avoid scarring?”

She told the vision, coldly: shut up.

The vision faded. The tent grew dim and quiet, the candle guttering out. After Li Linggeh left, only Shen Qingwu remained inside, alone.

An unprecedented loneliness and misery closed in around her.

She finished dressing her wounds and got herself properly clothed. Crawling out of the tent, she saw the moon had risen.

Sparse lanterns, a rousing military song. The song drew the soldiers together as one; standing beneath the moon, Shen Qingwu caught sight of Li Linggeh among them, personally handing out supplies and rations, kneeling before a low table to solemnly promise the soldiers that she would return to Dongjing, that she would repay the entire Yizhou army, that she would put an end to the young Emperor’s misrule.

Zhang Xingjian’s words surfaced in her memory: “If you want someone to follow you completely, you need endless patience with them day after day—give them whatever they want. After all, you’re coaxing them into dying for you.”

Such complicated schemes, and he made them sound so simple.

She thought—so now, Li Linggeh was doing the same, coaxing the whole Yizhou army into risking their lives, dying for her sake.

And Bo Rong?

Wasn’t he doing the same thing too?

Perhaps every politician in the world did exactly this.

Bored, uninterested in company, and aware they might march into battle again tomorrow, Shen Qingwu decided to turn in for the night. But as she turned, she noticed no light burning in front of the commander’s tent.

No light—yet a blurred figure sat there all the same.

Her eyesight was sharp enough that even she found it uncanny.

She considered it a moment, then walked over anyway, thinking she might ask Bo Rong a few more questions.

The young man seated before the commander’s tent, in his tall cap and wide sash, expression serene, was indeed Bo Rong.

But she was seeing a different side of him now—no soldiers around, no one watching, no need to perform for anyone. He simply sat quietly in the dark, gazing steadily toward the brightly lit part of camp.

Someone might have thought he was watching the soldiers. Someone else might have noticed he was really watching the Princess.

His eyes held a light like a river carrying starlight—gentle, still, expansive, enduring. A long, winding river of emotion, ordinarily hidden deep beneath the surface, only occasionally letting the smallest tip of it show, late at night when no one was watching.

Shen Qingwu’s steps stopped.

She stared, transfixed, at that expression on his face.

In the past, she might not have understood it. But now…

She had seen the way Zhang Xingjian had looked at her during the Lantern Festival. She knew what that look meant.

Bo Rong, toward Li Linggeh, actually…

She stood frozen, and it was Bo Rong who turned toward the shadowed trees where she stood hidden, smiling faintly: “Since you’re here, why hide?”

She stepped out of the unlit grove.

She walked up to him, and since it was so quiet here, with no one else around, she found herself too weary to stand on ceremony and simply sat down.

Her loneliness had no one to share it with, and days of fighting had worn her down.

She drew her knees up, resting her chin on them, arms wrapped around her legs, and watched with him as the Princess mingled with the soldiers in the distance.

The night wind stirred loose strands of hair against her ear, again and again, and she let them cling to her cheek, unmoving.

Bo Rong glanced at her, smiling. “You’ve picked up quite a few womanly habits since you got back, A’Wu.”

Still staring fixedly toward Li Linggeh, Shen Qingwu asked abruptly, “Do you know she drugged him?”

Bo Rong paused.

She’d said “him” twice in a row, and for a moment he couldn’t place who she meant. It took him a moment to recall her manner of speech before he realized this stubborn woman meant Li Linggeh and Zhang Xingjian.

He smiled. “Something that happened in Dongjing? I didn’t know.”

She turned to look at him. “She used him as a substitute. She wanted to sleep with him. She keeps a number of male companions besides.”

He remained calm. “And?”

“I’m not passing judgment on him,” she said. “I just thought you should know.”

He smiled. “What difference would knowing make? Or not knowing?”

“I don’t think she deserves you,” Shen Qingwu said.

“Who said I want to be with her?”

She froze.

This time, she truly studied him, in earnest.

Ever since he’d told her that story she still didn’t quite understand, ever since she’d noticed the way he looked at Li Linggeh, so unlike anything else, ever since he’d overlooked all her transgressions and kept her by his side, ever since he’d taken in Shen Qingye, ever since he’d turned the Yizhou army into rebels…

She realized she had, perhaps, never truly understood Bo Rong at all.

She’d thought him an upright gentleman. Now she found his heart was a deep sea no one could cross.

And she’d thought the Princess…

“You Zhang men,” she said, “are all bastards.”

He looked at her.

“You treat feelings, love, as tools,” she said. “You don’t even glance at them—until you want one, and then you want everyone to bend to your will. You think you’re heaven’s favored sons, and everyone else is just dirt beneath your feet? Do you really think the world will always go your way?”

Sparks of light flickered in her eyes, strands of hair falling across her lips, her tone utterly cold. “I truly despise your arrogance, all your scheming, your smug self-assurance.”

Bo Rong looked stunned for a moment, then slowly began to laugh.

“Us?” he said. “Me and who? Has our A’Wu been bullied by someone?”

“Who could possibly bully me?”

She said nothing further.

Bo Rong tipped his head back, laughing without end.

She didn’t know how to respond—he was clearly doing things she didn’t believe were right, and yet even now his laughter was as bright and easy as sunlight, as dignified as any gentleman’s.

Maybe it was just his face.

Getting away with deceiving everyone, simply by being handsome.

She cursed him silently, and Bo Rong, his laughter subsiding, said quietly, “Arrogant people always pay a price eventually. What’s so hard to understand about that?”

She said nothing.

He gazed toward the lights, and said slowly, “A’Wu, do you think that everything I’m doing is because I want to be with Li Linggeh? That I love her to the point of madness, that I’d do anything for her? That I misjudged her for years, lost her for years, and now I want to make it up to her.

“Is that what you think?”

She was startled: wasn’t that the case?

He looked at her, gently.

“Whoever betrays me can go to hell,” he said.

Her face changed at once, her spine going rigid, staring at him in shock.

He watched her calmly. “I’ve met your sister, Shen Qingye. She told me some things—about you and my brother. That’s where I heard those words. And not only that—I also know about another oath you swore.

“Such a vicious oath you made—if you were ever unfortunate enough to end up with Zhang Xingjian, may you be struck by thunder and never be reborn.

“How ruthless, A’Wu.”

He spoke, and laughed softly as he did.

She had no idea what he found funny.

Not until he said: “Do you know that I once swore an oath too? That in this life I would never love Li Linggeh, never be her husband, never have any connection to her whatsoever. If I broke that oath, may my parents never be reborn, may the one I love fall into hell for all eternity, may I be cut to a thousand pieces and die without even a grave.”

“You!” she said.

You made an oath that vicious?

He smiled at her. “A’Wu, I’m really no different from you. Whatever seriousness you put into your oath, I put into mine. Have you ever, even for a moment, wanted to forget it, wanted to take it back? I want to, often. But the day I swore that oath… it was the most serious moment of my entire life.”

That river of blood. That elderly man in his fifties, lying in a pool of it.

He truly had been consumed by hatred, truly had wanted revenge, truly had wanted to kill Li Linggeh, kill Li Mingshu.

However much he hated Li Linggeh, that was exactly how seriously he’d sworn.

Because the oath had been so serious, he didn’t dare break it.

“Sixteen years ago,” Bo Rong said, “at the age of twenty, I left Dongjing, with no fixed home, wandering the realm, exiling myself. Later I took on the identity of ‘Bo Rong.’ I won’t pretend I never thought of gaining military power, of turning back to seize Dongjing by force. I hated the young Emperor—but because Li Linggeh was the one I loved, I hated her even more.

“After I became a general, I slowly began to pull myself together. If I wanted revenge, I couldn’t afford to wallow. So I began investigating what had happened back then—until I uncovered the truth, the schemes behind my parents’ deaths.

“Tell me—how much must my parents have despised Linggeh, to force such an oath from me? Was it because she was a woman, because she harbored disloyal ambitions, because I sided with her… were they afraid the Zhang family would be used by the Princess, afraid the family would no longer be loyal for generations to come, afraid to face our ancestors in the afterlife… is that why they did this to me?”

Shen Qingwu lowered her head.

“After I learned the truth,” Bo Rong went on, “I traveled to many places.

“I went everywhere, asked the mountains and rivers, asked the ghosts and spirits, asked heaven and earth—what would it cost me, to be with Li Linggeh?”

He smiled at her. “I can’t get past what’s in my own heart. That’s a price I can’t pay. So rest easy, A’Wu—I will never be with Li Linggeh.

“Just as you should never be with Zhang Xingjian.”

She looked up at him, startled.

In that instant, she thought his smile looked terribly cold.

Who was he helping, really? He seemed more like someone sowing discord—someone walking toward his own ruin.

He leaned down toward her. “Don’t forget the oath you swore. Heaven and earth, gods and spirits, are all watching, A’Wu. Don’t end up where I’ve ended up.”

“Where are you ending up?” she said. “Aren’t you helping Li Linggeh? Haven’t you already broken your own oath?”

His smile turned strange, and he said, lightly, “So watch me, then—watch me get cut to pieces and die without a grave.

“Watch what happens to me, and let it be a warning to yourself—don’t end up like me.”

She slowly straightened. “You’re deceiving Li Linggeh, aren’t you? She thinks she’s succeeded, thinks you’ll be with her. I saw her smiling—she might really believe… Bo Rong, what exactly are you doing?”

“You’ve asked me that question many times already,” he said. “I’ve told you what I can tell you. What I can’t say wouldn’t do either of us any good to know. It’s my own affair, an ending of my own choosing. A’Wu, all you need to do is watch, from the side.

“Zhang Xingjian and I are the same kind of man. He was raised the same way I was, from childhood. Wenbi—my own younger sister—you know how much she respects me. And you said it yourself: the men of the Zhang family are all bastards, and feelings, love, are all just tools to us.”

He smiled at her. “That’s simply how the men in our family are—when we feel nothing, nothing matters to us at all. But the moment we do feel something, the consequences are more than most people can bear.

“Who told us to be born with faces like this, to learn a lifetime of scheming? So, A’Wu—don’t let one of our family’s men steal your heart. Just keep being exactly who you are now, a fine general. That’s the best outcome for you.”

Watching his eyes, she felt herself grow colder by degrees.

She wasn’t clever, but he’d said it so many times over that she finally caught his meaning.

She said, stiffly, “Are you telling me not to be with Zhang Yuelu? Is this a threat?”

“Would you call it that?” he said gently. “Call it a warning, then—A’Wu, you’ve come back so changed, so many new habits. I imagine my brother is responsible for all of it. And yet I remember clearly—once you knelt in the rain, pitiful and desperate, begging me to take you into the army, because you had nowhere else to go.

“And now, here you are again—let me guess. Has my brother won you over?

“Don’t go soft. It’s all just tactics. The sun does it. So does the moon.”

Shen Qingwu did, in fact, believe that Zhang Xingjian had used every trick, every deception, in his pursuit of her—that his was a grave offense. She truly believed that since she’d once let go, she had no reason to pick it back up, no reason to bend to his every wish.

But hearing Bo Rong say it this way…

She couldn’t help but say, “He’s not like you.”

Eyes lowered, Bo Rong smiled faintly. “How is he different?”

He’s worse than you here, worse than you there, flawed in this way and that way too—these were the very words she’d said to Zhang Xingjian’s face, a thousand times over. She knew perfectly well that he and Bo Rong were entirely different people. But she didn’t want to say so now.

Why should she defend him?

Bo Rong went on. “If he likes you, he wants to marry you. He never once stops to consider whether someone with your temperament could actually fit into the Zhang household, could ever satisfy the Zhang family. The mistress of that household needs to meet standards you will never meet—needs to be capable, well-spoken, attentive to everyone, able to run the inner household, never distracting her husband’s attention, sensible and virtuous, and when necessary, willing to sacrifice herself for her husband’s ambitions.

“Shen Qingwu—which of those can you do? Not a single one.

“So what right does he have to say he loves you, to want to marry you? Marry you for what—to bring you into the Zhang household and have you tear the whole place apart? You don’t belong in Dongjing. You should be a free hawk, soaring where no one can follow.”

She had nothing to say.

Was that really what Zhang Xingjian thought?

Why did she feel… that it wasn’t?

Why did she feel… that Bo Rong was deceiving her?

Coaxing her into dying for him.

Those had been Zhang Xingjian’s own words.

A sudden alarm rose in her, and she looked up at Bo Rong, her eyes bright and cold.

She said, word by word: “What are you afraid of? You’ve spent the whole night talking about him. What are you afraid of?”

Bo Rong was silent.

After a long moment, he said, “Afraid you’ll lose your head, be blinded by love, and do something you’ll regret.”

“I won’t,” she said.

“I certainly hope not,” he said. “Just as a precaution. Never mind… A’Wu, let’s not dwell on unpleasant things. As for this whole affair, I don’t ask much of you. I only need you to stay close to Li Linggeh.”

She didn’t understand.

“And then?” she asked.

“Then,” he said, “you decide for yourself.”

“Is that an order?” she asked.

He laughed at himself. “An order…”

His smile turned self-mocking. “If it truly came to that, how could I possibly command you? Who could command you at all… A’Wu, this isn’t an order. It’s me leaning on the years I spent raising you, to press you into it.”

She stared at him, dazed.

He looked down at her, fondly, and rested a hand lightly on her shoulder.

Just as he had, the very first time they’d met.

“It’s pressure,” he said. “It’s a request. It’s a hope. A’Wu—please, say yes.”

“Alright,” she said.

“Truly?”

“I don’t know the weight of what you’re asking me to do—I’ll judge that for myself, when the time comes. I can’t promise what I’ll think then. All I can say is, I don’t go back on my word, I’ll answer for whatever I do, and I’m willing to pay whatever price comes with it.

“As long as it’s you asking—

“You taught me, took me in, protected me. Of course I’ll repay you.”

A trace of sorrow rose in Bo Rong’s eyes.

He smiled faintly, but said nothing more.

“Good girl,” he said.

Rain poured down in sheets.

The war in Yizhou had turned against them.

The troops brought in from Longyou weren’t used to Yizhou’s terrain, and though reinforcements kept arriving, the more troops gathered, the greater the risk of drawing the attention of the surrounding provinces and the central court. Kong Ye, desperate to keep the young Emperor from turning on him, worked himself into a frenzy trying to suppress the Yizhou army.

The rain fell in torrents.

Kong Ye paced through the camp, pestering the general at his heels with questions: “Who’s leading their forces in this battle? Who’s leading ours? Can we win?”

The general answered with total confidence: “Our side is led by General Shen Jie! As for theirs… hmph, just some woman.”

Kong Ye froze. “A woman? Shen Qingwu?”

This general, also of the Shen clan, thumped his chest reassuringly. “Rest easy, my lord. That cousin of mine never studied a proper trade in her life—she only stole the title of general because she’s a woman playing at something she has no business in. Do you really think she’s anything like a real general?

“If the Princess hadn’t been protecting her all these years, how could she ever have become a general in the first place?

“This time, our Shen family troops will teach her exactly what a real battlefield looks like—it’s not some game a little woman like her can play!”

Kong Ye gave the general a complicated look.

He didn’t know much about warfare, but could a woman who’d spent years in the Yizhou army really be a complete fool at fighting? Would the commander of Yizhou keep sending a useless fool into battle again and again?

“Don’t take this lightly,” Kong Ye warned.

Before he could finish, the sound of hooves splashed through the rain.

A guard in a straw rain cape slid off his horse and ran toward them: “My lord, it’s bad! My lord, report—!”

Kong Ye spun to meet him.

Anxious over every shift in the battle, his heart raced. “What is it? Have we won or lost?”

Gasping for breath, the guard said, “Neither—it’s the Zhang family’s third son. He’s arrived with an imperial edict. Says something about overseeing the battle, says Zhang Xingjian is to be restored to his former post…”

Kong Ye’s pupils shrank: Zhang Xingjian!

He barked, “What nonsense is this, explain properly—”

Before he could finish, the general at his side suddenly shoved him aside, shouting, “My lord, look out!”

The rain-caped guard raised his head and thrust out a cold blade. Had the general not intervened, Kong Ye would surely have died on the spot.

Failing to strike his mark, the guard laughed coldly and, without pausing, turned his blade on the general instead.

“Assassin! To arms!” the general shouted.

The sound of countless hooves thundered in from beyond the camp.

The rain grew heavier, mist rising.

Sensing something was terribly wrong, Kong Ye stumbled around to flee. A long arrow split the air, hurtling toward him—

It spun through the rain, razor-sharp. One struck the ground beside his foot; he staggered, turned to look behind him.

A black arrowhead came flying.

It buried itself, straight and true, into his chest.

Kong Ye’s eyes went wide. His body swayed; still unwilling to give up, he tried to keep running. But then he saw the figure beyond the curtain of rain, and every drop of blood in his body ran cold.

Through the driving rain, countless unfamiliar guards had swept into the camp. The young man loosing arrow after arrow sat astride his horse, sleeves damp with rain.

Beneath the brim of his rain hat, he lifted his face—a fine, elegant jaw first, and then eyes bright as stars.

Standing in the rain, Zhang Xingjian looked as composed as moonlight itself, not the least bit disheveled, his sleeves flaring as he drew his bow, his stance perfectly clean, perfectly upright.

He looked at Kong Ye, nodded slowly, and studied the bloom of blood slowly spreading across the man’s chest.

He dismounted, bow still trained on Kong Ye, his bearing calm and refined. “Chancellor Kong. It’s been some time. I find myself having thought of you often.

“Consider this arrow repayment for my time in your prison—and this one, for your assassins sent after me. My apologies for any inconvenience, my lord.”