Zhang Xingjian’s arrival brought fresh troops with him.

The new soldiers stood dark and dense in the rain, lightning flashing, thunder rolling, the smell of blood thick in the killing air—the whole camp had become a small battlefield.

But of course Zhang Xingjian had no intention of slaughtering every soldier who had followed Kong Ye.

His generals and officers dismounted in the rain and shouted, “Surrender and you will not be killed!”

“Look closely—this is an imperial edict! His Majesty commands: the traitor Kong Ye drove a wedge between His Majesty and the Princess, and did the Princess great harm. Now that His Majesty has learned of Kong Ye’s crimes, he is filled with grief and rage. Kong Ye is stripped of his post as Chancellor, and Zhang Xingjian shall act in His Majesty’s place to clean up this mess, serving as acting Chancellor!”

“Surrender now, and come pay respects to Chancellor Zhang!”

The cries rang out unbroken through the rain, the officers’ voices hoarse, carrying across the entire camp through the downpour. Those who resisted were made examples of, and more and more soldiers raised their hands in surrender, dropping their weapons.

The Shen-led troops watched in confusion as the elegant young man walked toward them through the rain.

Zhang Xingjian, Chancellor?

They remembered that the Shen and Zhang families had once been bound by marriage. But after the Zhang family’s downfall, that engagement had been broken off—and now the Shen family was sending Shen Qingye to the young Emperor instead… yet here Zhang Xingjian was again.

Did the Emperor mean for Zhang Xingjian to bring Shen Qingye back to Dongjing?

He had vanished for months, and now suddenly returned—could it be for her sake? Did he still carry old feelings for the Fifth Young Lady of the Shen family?

The officer being held at swordpoint, kneeling in the mud, turned this over quickly in his mind. As a member of the Shen clan himself, he thought he’d worked out Zhang Xingjian’s intentions. And now that Zhang Xingjian was Chancellor…

He struggled to speak, fawning: “Chancellor Zhang, my surname is Shen! Our whole family always said you’d make a fine Chancellor, we’re willing to—”

Before he could finish currying favor, Zhang Xingjian, hat still on, walked straight past him.

He was walking toward Kong Ye, who lay trembling in a pool of blood, glaring up at him with furious eyes.

Zhang Xingjian crouched down, removed his hat, revealing his pale, composed face.

Ever mild-mannered, he offered Kong Ye a polite, courteous smile. “Chancellor Kong. Safe travels on your way. I’ll take care of what comes next.”

Gasping, Kong Ye seized Zhang Xingjian’s hand with sudden force, his clouded eyes shaking wildly. “You actually got the Emperor—got him to issue an edict? You’re really the Chancellor now? You actually… how did you convince him? How could you possibly have convinced him!

“You’re a Zhang!”

Zhang Xingjian smiled faintly. “I’m not so remarkable. While the two of you were fighting this war too quietly to announce it to the world, I made a trip back to Dongjing. As for convincing His Majesty—you know him well, Chancellor Kong. He never rises early unless there’s profit in it. He wasn’t hard to persuade at all.

“I simply told him how chaotic the current situation had become, told him I could resolve it for him. A little talking, and he nodded along.”

The light in Kong Ye’s eyes began to scatter.

Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth as he laughed bitterly, again and again.

He had always known the young Emperor would abandon him, had always known the man was fickle as grass in the wind—he just hadn’t expected it to happen so fast, so fast… If only the Emperor had held out a little longer.

As though he could read his thoughts, Zhang Xingjian said calmly, “He couldn’t have held out. The Princess has the whole Yizhou army behind her—was he going to drag all of Great Zhou into war?”

Wasn’t that exactly why Kong Ye and the others had fought this war so secretly in the first place—to avoid dragging the whole of Great Zhou into it?

Cold seized Kong Ye’s whole body, his empty eyes drifting up toward the endless grey rain.

In his final moment, he suddenly gripped Zhang Xingjian’s wrist with what strength remained. Zhang Xingjian looked down to see a long scratch of blood across the back of his hand.

With his last breath, Kong Ye spat venom into his ear:

“Don’t think you’ve beaten me! There’s so much you still don’t know—your own brother, your own brother…”

Zhang Xingjian’s eyes went still.

But of course Kong Ye never finished the sentence—he only sneered up at this favored son of heaven. After all these years fighting him, all these years as the Zhang family’s enemy, he’d never imagined that even after his opponent changed from Zhang Rong to Zhang Xingjian, he still couldn’t win.

Zhang men. Zhang men!

What did it matter if Zhang Xingjian killed him now!

With pure venom, Kong Ye left his final words: “You Zhang men are all madmen.”

And with that, he breathed his last.

Calmly, Zhang Xingjian reached down and pried the dead man’s fingers from his wrist. He rose, turning to face the soldiers in the camp—some kneeling, some still standing.

He began issuing his orders: “Search Kong Ye’s quarters and study. Bring me anything with writing on it. Kong Ye drove a wedge between His Majesty and the Princess—this constitutes treason. Any of you who return to the right path now have the chance to earn merit.

“Raise the white flag. End this battle. Send a letter of peace to the other side. Tell the Princess, tell Bo Rong, that I speak for the central court and wish to negotiate. His Majesty never intended the Princess harm—all of this was Kong Ye’s doing. His Majesty has sent me in his place, to welcome the Princess back to court.

“This absurd war, if it continues, will only cost more innocent lives. If the Princess truly cares for the common people, she should end it. For the sake of the realm, I ask her to accept negotiation.”

He nodded to an officer. “That’s the gist of it—draft the peace letter for me. Armies at war do not kill envoys; tell them that. And tell them I will go to the Yizhou camp myself, at once, to request an audience with Marshal Bo and the Princess.”

The officers nodded readily.

The war had been Kong Ye’s doing, driven by the Shen family’s hunger for merit. The common soldiers below had no idea what those above them were truly scheming. They didn’t understand why the Princess needed to die, why the Fifth Young Lady Shen needed to be Empress… what did any of that have to do with ordinary people?

They didn’t care whether Kong Ye or Zhang Xingjian held the chancellorship. Whoever earned their trust, they would follow.

Still, among the men receiving orders, one showed a flicker of hesitation.

Reading his expression, Zhang Xingjian asked mildly, “What is it?”

The general asked, “If we raise the white flag, will they actually stop? I’ve heard the general leading their forces this time is Shen Qingwu… that woman isn’t like anyone else. On the battlefield, she fights like she’s lost her mind.”

Shen Qingwu.

A faint tremor passed through Zhang Xingjian’s glassy eyes.

The arm beneath his sleeve throbbed with pain at the mere sound of her name.

The Miao girl stayed by his side day after day, needling him just to keep him standing, keep him lucid. The needles kept multiplying, and yet he could feel the pain growing harder and harder to suppress.

His tone remained even. “She’s mad, not stupid. Does she not understand plain speech? Just carry out my orders as given.”

He turned away, sending them off to the battlefield, intending to search Kong Ye’s quarters for clues himself. Kong Ye’s dying words had planted a seed of doubt in him; he couldn’t simply let it go.

But after two steps, he stopped.

The sky hung gray and heavy, rain falling like a curtain, mist drifting thick, the mountain forest like something out of a painting.

The retainer following him asked, “Third Young Master?”

Zhang Xingjian’s jaw tightened by degrees, his hand curling slowly into a fist beneath his sleeve.

He turned and walked in the direction the soldiers had dispersed.

His eyes had gone dark. “I’m going to see Shen Qingwu.”

The retainers said nothing.

The battlefield was no children’s game—once you stepped onto it, it was a fight to the death.

Shen Jie had never once imagined that the enemy he’d face one day would be his own sister, Shen Qingwu.

He’d never imagined that the little girl once locked in a dark room, the one who’d had to steal glances just to learn martial arts, would one day command thousands of troops, would earn a commander’s trust, and would meet him on the battlefield as an equal adversary!

Shen Jie had been raised from childhood on military discipline, trained in strategy and tactics.

How could Shen Qingwu possibly compare?

He’d even imagined what he would do if she lost, if she were taken prisoner—would he have to defy the Chancellor and secretly let her go? But if he did, how would he explain it to the men behind him?

Only once he was actually on the battlefield did he realize he’d been overthinking things.

An army’s morale rode on its commander, and the arrangement of troops fell to that commander’s own hand. Shen Qingwu might drift through ordinary life in a fog, but the battlefield was her board, her home ground—

Whichever piece you played, black or white, she would answer with one of her own.

Fearless of death, fearless of life, she had always been fierce by nature—that streak of madness and wildness in her bones made enemies tremble before her.

And that was without even counting what Bo Rong had taught her.

Years and years of teaching—teaching her strategy, teaching her to duel, teaching her to lure enemies in, teaching her tactics.

She was no longer that little girl locked in a dark room, waiting for her brother to come save her.

She had learned to break down that door herself, to kick through the walls that hemmed her in. She had walked out, step by step, onto a road soaked in blood, never once looking back, going further and further.

Clang—

A long blade struck a horse’s leg, blood spraying. The leg buckled, and the horse crashed down, throwing Shen Jie tumbling across the ground, the cold wind of pursuit at his back.

He scrambled up out of the mud, thrusting his spear up to block, sparks bursting before his eyes as the weapons clashed.

Beyond the sparks were Shen Qingwu’s eyes, cold as ice and snow.

Like him, she wore a commander’s armor, her face streaked with blood, her eyes showing not a trace of fear—only coldness.

Years of unbroken battle had made her a proper soldier.

No longer just a lone fighter, no longer just recklessly trading blows with mismatched moves. Having mastered real technique, she pressed Shen Jie hard, and in their duel, it was he who began falling behind.

Gritting his teeth, he said, “Shen Qingwu!”

His other hand swept up in a wide arc; as she blocked it, he flipped and leapt, spear thrusting toward her. She met his charge, her blade flashing bright as day, flecked with rain.

He said, “The Princess has become the rebels’ figurehead, the Yizhou army has become rebel troops—the court will hunt you down sooner or later! The Longyou army has already moved. The rest of Great Zhou’s forces will learn of this war eventually.

“Whatever the Emperor wants, what can you possibly do to resist it? There’s no future in following Bo Rong… just admit defeat, come home with me. I’ll plead your case with Father…”

She turned her face, dodging his fierce strike.

She never wasted words while fighting. As he babbled on, trying to talk her into surrender, she said nothing at all, focused only on pressing her advantage.

Amid the clash of thousands of soldiers, the corpses mixing with the rain and mud on the ground—who had time to pause and listen to Shen Jie’s chatter?

After thirty or forty exchanges, her blade came to rest against his throat. Pinned to the ground, this valiant woman general dislocated his arm with a single strike of her elbow, leaving him unable to move.

Pressing the flat of her blade against him, she finally spoke. “Brother. Why not admit defeat? I’ll plead with Bo Rong to spare your life—if you pledge loyalty to the Princess.”

Gasping for breath, Shen Jie’s eyes flickered for an instant with shame, fury, and ruthless resolve.

He shouted and tried to break free; she struck down with her palm, pinning him again.

Rain clung to her lashes.

Her face, filthy with mud and blood, showed nothing but cold ruthlessness even in her eyes—only those lashes gave Shen Jie a glimpse of the timid, helpless girl she’d once been.

He caught his breath heavily.

She said, “You think I’m humiliating you? You have your pride—don’t I have mine?

“The one you always used to look down on and pity is now the one showing you mercy, and you can’t stand it? You meant well, I’m sure—but I mean well too. If you can urge me to surrender, why can’t I urge you?

“Brother, you and I are the same—you’re a general. So am I.”

“After all these years as a general, how dare you still underestimate me?

“On a battlefield,” she said, “who cares about being brother and sister?”

She had captured the enemy commander—the battle was as good as half won. As she and Shen Jie remained locked in a standoff, she considered simply knocking him unconscious—when she heard drums.

Shen Jie heard them too.

His face changed completely.

Shen Qingwu looked up in surprise as well—as a general, she knew the standard signals well enough.

That drum rhythm meant—surrender?

Through the thick curtain of rain, she looked toward the enemy camp. She saw white flags rising in rows, saw several officers riding into the battlefield waving them:

“Cease fire! Cease fire! We surrender—request an audience with the Princess!”

She pressed her lips together, distinctly unwilling.

She’d been on the verge of winning—and now, a ceasefire? The one she was about to defeat… was still Shen family, still the Shen family’s own troops!

While she wrestled between reason and feeling, she never expected that Shen Jie would find the humiliation even harder to bear than she did.

Furious, he shouted, “A commander in the field does not take orders from afar! I am the commander here—I never called for a ceasefire, and no one is permitted to stop!”

Rage overpowered reason, and with a sudden burst of strength, he swung a heavy fist straight at her jaw. Caught off guard, she took the blow full-force. He scrambled up as she staggered back; once she’d steadied herself, she touched the blood at her jaw and lip.

She fixed him with a dark stare.

Glaring back, he bellowed, “Fight!”

Slowly, she began to smile.

Softly, she said, “Who’s anything like you?”

…Who among the Shens would defy a direct military order like this?

Shen Jie froze, rain running down his face, a thick mist rising in his eyes.

He thought, for a moment, that he heard the crying of a little girl from years ago—heard her stubbornly gripping his sleeve: “Brother, I want to learn martial arts too.”

Brother, brother…

Layer upon layer of that word faded into the distance, and what rang in his ears now was her cold, present voice—“Shen Jie, who’s anything like you?”

Heaven’s favored son, mingling with the mud and ants beneath his feet—who won, who lost, wasn’t something you could know until you’d actually walked the road yourself.

The rain fell like a flood. Standing tall and straight, Shen Qingwu called out, “The enemy has surrendered! Our men, heed the order—surrender means no killing!”

In the chaos, Shen Jie stood frozen, silent, slowly losing himself.

She shifted strategy, turning to deal with the enemy’s surrender properly. She had to guard against the possibility of a false surrender, a trap to lure them in—such things weren’t unheard of in war.

Still, the killing did visibly soften.

Among the dense ranks of soldiers, some on Shen Jie’s side still refused to yield, determined to fight to the death against her men. At that point, her side showed no mercy.

And in the midst of that chaos, as she turned, her eyes suddenly caught a flash of blue-grey robes—

Zhang Xingjian stood on the battlefield, watching the endless clash of blades and bows between friend and foe.

He had come to observe the battle himself, and saw that even after the white flag had been sent out, the fighting continued. Calmly, he gave the order: “Watch for them turning on us even now—we’ve surrendered, but they may not accept it. If the enemy strikes to kill, we cannot simply stand and wait to die…”

Whoosh—

A black-feathered arrow shot out of the rain, its sound swallowed by the roar of the downpour. It flew swift and true, spinning straight toward Zhang Xingjian.

By the time it had closed most of the distance, the general beside him finally heard it: “Chancellor Zhang, look out—”

The general lunged forward, meaning to throw himself in the arrow’s path.

But before he could reach him, a long blade came flying from somewhere unseen and struck the powerful arrow down out of the air.

Zhang Xingjian stood frozen as someone slammed into him from the side, sending him stumbling backward, knocking him to the ground.

More arrows came flying.

The person who’d tackled him rolled with him through the mud twice before the surrounding guards finally reacted, scrambling to find the archer.

Choking on rainwater, Zhang Xingjian coughed and looked up.

He was in Shen Qingwu’s arms—she knelt over him, shielding him completely.

The instant he saw her, the soul-binding gu, which had been flaring violently inside him, went still. Settled. Obedient.

The feeling was so much like the illusion of love.

He lowered his head, coughing, burying his face against her neck, closing his eyes to rest for a moment.

The rain fell in sheets, drumming down hard.

Beneath the grey, clouded sky, she held him—held him long and close, shielding him from the danger of the battlefield.

She would kill him.

And she would save him.

Again and again.

A thousand, ten thousand times over.

Zhang Xingjian was still brought to the rebel camp, to meet with Bo Rong and Li Linggeh.

She greeted him with a gentle smile, as though there had never been any conflict between them at all. He, in turn, said nothing of their old enmity—he had come this time in a spirit of peace.

Night had fallen, and the rain had not let up.

Seated in the command tent, he offered the pair behind the candlelight every ounce of sincerity he had to give:

“I’ve heard about the matter of Fifth Young Lady Shen. His Majesty hasn’t said much, but with the Shen family having sided with Kong Ye in driving a wedge between him and the Princess, her position has become rather delicate… If we wish to keep her from entering the palace, I’m sure a suitable pretext can be found.

“I returned to Dongjing and saw His Majesty myself. In private, he wept, saying he shouldn’t have listened to Kong Ye, shouldn’t have misjudged the Princess. She is, after all, his own elder sister—of course he wishes for her to return to court.

“If the Princess fears some trap awaits her in Dongjing, the Yizhou army may escort and protect her. My own family will also help smooth things over. His Majesty has returned to the right path; there is no irreconcilable grievance between him and the Princess.

“All of this was Kong Ye’s doing, driving a wedge between them. I ask the Princess to see the truth of it.”

Li Linggeh lowered her eyes, holding her teacup in a pale hand, blowing gently at the tea leaves floating on the surface.

She thought to herself: Zhang Xingjian was truly sparing no effort to defuse this crisis, giving her every answer she could want, quietly pushing her ambitions back down where they’d come from…

She looked up from behind her cup, studying his refined, gentle face.

A model of courtesy, brimming with sincerity. So harmless-seeming, so willing to bear humiliation for the greater good.

If she refused now… it would look as though she were the one plotting rebellion, harboring treacherous intent.

She smiled faintly, her voice soft. “Chancellor Zhang has worked so hard, troubled yourself to come all this way. Mingshu and I never truly had any quarrel between us—it was Kong Ye, all these years, trying to drive a wedge between brother and sister. Mingshu was led astray by him; it pained me, but there was nothing I could do.

“I’m grateful now, for the Chancellor’s mediation.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled. “Then tomorrow, the Princess will come down the mountain with me, and return to Dongjing.”

She smiled. “Very well.”

Her smile was light, and seemed, on the surface, entirely genuine.

He knew perfectly well she wasn’t satisfied—but hadn’t her whole strategy, dragging this out the way she had, been about winning public sympathy, winning the realm’s support?

Now that he’d dismantled her pretext, what could she do? If she’d truly wanted to become an infamous regicide, she wouldn’t have waited until now.

Still, he worried she might have other plans in mind.

He said, obliquely, “His Majesty is young and unwise. If he proves too difficult to guide… the imperial clan does have no shortage of young children.”

Bo Rong, eyes lowered, smiled silently to himself.

Li Linggeh feigned gentle, innocent surprise. “I’m not sure what the Chancellor means by that.”

Zhang Xingjian smiled and apologized.

Bo Rong showed no reaction at all, while he and Li Linggeh traded pleasant words, quietly probing each other’s limits, appearing to reach a settlement satisfactory to both sides.

He believed she had no further tricks up her sleeve.

He allowed himself to relax—just slightly.

He hesitated for a long moment.

“Hm?” she said. “Was there something else, Chancellor Zhang? I already told you, I’ll discuss it with Rong-ge and give you an answer tomorrow.”

“I’m in no hurry on that matter,” he said. “I… ahem. I’d like to see General Shen.”

She feigned puzzlement. “Shen Jie? That won’t do—he’s a prisoner of war.”

Calmly, gently, he said, “Shen Qingwu.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of genuine surprise.

She’d assumed he’d ask to see Shen Qingye—why Shen Qingwu instead? Unless… she thought back to the night she’d drugged him, the night Shen Qingwu had rescued him and carried him off…

Her eyes grew quiet, and she glanced briefly at Bo Rong beside her.

She looked at him without a trace of guilt, wanting to know whether he knew something she didn’t—did Zhang Xingjian and Shen Qingwu have some history between them?

Two people worlds apart.

Bo Rong, who had stayed silent throughout, finally looked up and smiled warmly at Zhang Xingjian. “A’Wu is standing guard outside. Go see her, if you’d like.”

A flicker of wariness rose in Zhang Xingjian.

Giving nothing away, saying nothing of what lay between them, he rose and bowed. “My thanks, Marshal Bo, for telling me.”

Shen Qingwu had escorted Zhang Xingjian back to camp, back to the mountain where they’d taken shelter.

He, representing the enemy commander, had gone to negotiate with Bo Rong. She turned and walked off at once, to attend to her own business.

From start to finish, neither of them had said a word to each other.

He had glanced her way more than once, but she wouldn’t even meet his eyes. He’d smiled to himself, helplessly, and said nothing.

By now, the others should be deep in negotiations.

Rain drizzled through the mountains, soldiers stood guard over the camp. Having finished checking the camp’s defenses, Shen Qingwu sat outside her tent, watching the rain, watching the lights scattered across the mountainside, watching the direction of the enemy camp.

Her mind kept drifting back to the sight of Zhang Xingjian on the battlefield.

He’d leaned against her, his shallow breath brushing her neck, sending a shiver of numbness through her whole body.

Slowly, she raised a hand to her own chest, feeling her heartbeat.

She’d always known she felt something for his body, for his face.

She just hadn’t expected that after so long apart… the moment she saw him again, her body had moved to protect him before her mind had even caught up, afraid the arrow would hit him.

Come to think of it—she’d been the one to order the ceasefire. So who had wanted Zhang Xingjian dead badly enough to try?

Could it have been Bo Rong?

Trying to kill him rather than let him reconcile with the Emperor?

She pressed her lips together, a mix of irritation and confusion rising in her.

“Sister.”

A soft, gentle voice cut through the tense atmosphere of the camp like a warm spring rain.

Sitting against a tree, Shen Qingwu looked up to see her lovely cousin standing a few paces away beneath an umbrella, with that skilled swordsman trailing behind her.

Shen Qingwu had never bothered with other people’s business, and so had no idea who Qiu Jun really was.

Seeing her sister, Shen Qingye’s eyes clouded with something like mist-veiled sorrow. She turned and gave Qiu Jun a small smile. “Would you let me speak with my sister alone?”

Once he’d left, she came and crouched beside Shen Qingwu, wanting to check her wounds.

Shen Qingwu got straight to the point. “You have something to say to me?”

“What makes you think that?”

“You’re a very sensible woman,” Shen Qingwu said.

Shen Qingye looked at her, startled.

Shen Qingwu kept her gaze on the rain beyond. “Since coming to camp, you’ve stayed close to that guard of yours, rarely come to see us. You never involve yourself in what we discuss. You’re afraid of being a burden, afraid of getting in our way. You think of yourself as a delicate woman who shouldn’t be underfoot in a military camp.

“So if you’ve come to see me tonight, on your own, there must be something you want to say.

“Say it plainly.”

Shen Qingye stared at her cousin for a long moment.

She murmured, “Your instincts really are sharp.”

The sorrow in her eyes didn’t fade. Even after being told to speak plainly, she hesitated a long while before finally saying: “There’s something I’ve been carrying for a long time, not knowing whether I should tell you.

“After Marshal Bo spoke with me… just now, he sent someone to find me, telling me to share this with you.

“I don’t know if it’s right to tell you. I’ve gone back and forth… Sister, do you still love Zhang Sanlang?”

Shen Qingwu looked at her.

“I don’t love him,” she said.

Shen Qingye lowered her eyes—

Zhang Xingjian, approaching, heard the question clearly, and heard Shen Qingwu’s ever-cold answer just as clearly.

In that instant, he understood exactly what Bo Rong intended.

He understood now why Bo Rong had so readily let him come see her—to destroy what little remained of the fragile bond between them.

The retainer following him saw his lord’s face turn ashen with grief in that single moment. On his own initiative, the man moved to confront Qiu Jun, meaning to protect his master by cutting off the sisters’ private conversation.

Zhang Xingjian raised a hand, stopping his retainer’s show of loyalty.

He looked up, at the thin, drifting rain, at the grey expanse of sky and earth.

It felt as though he’d been carried back to that autumn night in the rain, at nineteen.

The rain that had fallen so hard that year in the nineteenth year of Tianlong seemed to have never stopped—falling still, even now—

Zhang Xingjian smiled faintly, finding it, somehow, amusing. Almost funny.

The ending set in motion by that autumn rain sixteen years ago, after so many years lying dormant, was finally arriving—

Crouched beside her sister, Shen Qingye began, slowly, to tell the story Shen Qingwu had never known—the truth of that year, the twenty-third of Tianlong—

“It was Zhang Sanlang who came to my door that rainy night, looking for me. I took him to see our aunt.

“He admitted to me afterward that the idea to force you to leave had been his. He was the one who told our aunt that the only people you truly cared about were your birth mother and your nurse. If the two families wanted to arrange the marriage, wanted you to give in without a fight, they’d have to strike where it would hurt most.”

Shen Qingye lowered her head. “I never told you afterward—I assumed you’d want nothing more to do with Zhang Sanlang. I hoped you’d forget everything that happened, stop thinking of him at all.

“I didn’t want you to love him. I didn’t want you to hate him either. Both take too much out of a person—forgetting seemed best. I thought that would be the kindest outcome for you.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at her sister. “But… Marshal Bo said Zhang Sanlang loves you, and that you needed to know the truth of what happened back then.”

Shen Qingwu listened to the whole story, her face unmoved.

Leaning against the tree, her memory was inevitably dragged back to that year.

So it really had all been Zhang Xingjian’s design, from the start.

Of course. Who else but that scheming, clever mind of his would go to such lengths to plot against her? Working her over had been as easy as breathing, to him. Only she had spent all these years unable to let it go, growing more resentful the more she thought about it.

She couldn’t help doubting again what Chang Lin had told her—liking her, to the point of madness—liking what about her, exactly? Had Chang Lin gotten it wrong? How could Zhang Xingjian possibly want to marry her?

That night of fireworks at the Lantern Festival—had she misunderstood something there too?

How could there possibly be love in Zhang Xingjian’s eyes?

Shen Qingye looked at her. “Sister, are you very upset? I’m sorry.”

“I’m not upset,” Shen Qingwu answered.

She’d never expected anything from him to begin with.

All she felt now was how ridiculous it was—Zhang Xingjian, having second thoughts. How laughable.

She looked up at the sky.

She’d forgotten it had rained all day, was still pouring even now—no moon visible above, nothing for her to fix her eyes on.

She laughed faintly, carelessly.

Her wet hair clung to her face, her eyes dark and still.

Gazing at the moonless sky, she said, flatly, “The moon will never love me.”

A warm, clear male voice spoke close beside them: “Second Young Lady Shen. How do you know the moon will never love you?”

Both Shen sisters looked up together, to see Zhang Xingjian walking toward them through the thick rain beneath an umbrella, the dense forest behind him—elegant and graceful even in the downpour.

Ten thousand mountains laden with snow, and still the bright moon shines thin above them.

Shen Qingye, who’d just been speaking ill of him, looked uneasy, unsure how to compose herself.

She rose hastily to greet him properly. He, for once, forgot to return the courtesy—his gaze fixed entirely on the cold, motionless woman sitting beneath the tree.

He smiled, calm. “Shen Qingwu. The moon will never love you?”

Asked the same question again and again, irritation flared in her, and she looked up sharply, glaring at him with open hostility. “It won’t! What of it?”

He said, “Who is it that runs away? Who is it that refuses to admit anything? Who is it that never gives anyone the chance?

“You never admit anything, never ask anything—how is it supposed to love you?

“You’ve never once wanted it—so how could you possibly know the moon will never love you?”