Rain hung from the eaves through the night. Beneath a few dim, ornate lanterns, Madam Shen received Zhang Xingjian in a warmly lit chamber.

She went through the usual routine, praising the Zhang family’s third son’s outstanding character; Zhang Xingjian responded politely. After a few rounds of pleasantries, they finally arrived at the matter at hand.

Madam Shen dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief and sighed, struggling to mask the fury she felt toward Shen Qingwu. “It’s a failure of our own upbringing in the Shen household. That unworthy girl has made such a mess of things that all of Bianjing is laughing at both our families. To think we’ve troubled Third Young Master to come here in person.”

Zhang Xingjian responded pleasantly, “You give it too much weight, Madam. Once our two families become kin by marriage, helping and understanding one another is only natural. There’s no trouble in it at all.”

This pleased Madam Shen even further.

She leaned forward. “I understand Third Young Master sent word through Qingye, saying you have some way to make our Qingwu take back her words. What did you mean by that?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “I’m rather embarrassed to admit it—nothing more than some petty threats, not exactly honorable methods.”

Madam Shen’s face fell with disappointment at once. “Then I’m afraid your hopes will be dashed. Third Young Master may not realize this, but our Qingwu is as stubborn and unyielding as a rock—she listens to no one, heeds no one, does whatever she pleases. Even the Shen family cannot control her.”

Zhang Xingjian said nothing. He simply drew a handkerchief from his sleeve.

The handkerchief was plain and unadorned, save for a single character—”Shen”—embroidered in one corner. The needlework itself was nothing remarkable, but the character had been rendered with a bold, forceful hand, sharp as iron hooks and silver strokes—not something an ordinary young lady could have produced.

Madam Shen turned the handkerchief over and over in her hands, utterly baffled.

Zhang Xingjian said, “This was given to me by the one who saved my life.”

Madam Shen stammered, “Ah—so it was Qingye who embroidered this. Yes, that’s certainly her handwriting…”

Zhang Xingjian didn’t correct her, only smiled faintly. That mild, gracious smile of his left Madam Shen strangely flustered and embarrassed. She listened as he continued, calm and unhurried:

“I’ve heard that the Shen family’s Second Miss is quite the martial spirit. Someone like that would surely have no interest in embroidering handkerchiefs, and certainly wouldn’t spend her time on needlework as a matter of habit. This handkerchief, then, was most likely embroidered under pressure from someone close to her—someone she couldn’t refuse.

“For someone as stubborn as Second Miss Shen to listen to anyone at all, that person must matter to her a great deal.”

Madam Shen fell deep into thought.

She genuinely didn’t know who among the household Shen Qingwu was close to—but Zhang Xingjian’s words had already given her a clear direction to investigate. Once she identified that person, she could easily force Shen Qingwu into submission.

Just as Madam Shen was about to give orders, she heard Zhang Xingjian add, mild and unhurried as ever, “There’s something else I’ve heard, too—that Second Miss Shen’s mother died young, and she grew up largely on her own. As a matter of common feeling, her mother must matter a great deal to her as well.”

Madam Shen turned and studied this handsome, refined young man standing composed beneath the candlelight for a long moment.

While Madam Shen made her arrangements, out in the vast, rain-soaked night, Shen Qingwu wandered along the banks of the Bian River in Bianjing, uncertain where to go.

Bianjing observed no curfew; the city at night was often even livelier and more bustling than during the day. Tonight’s stillness could only be blamed on this sudden, violent downpour.

Standing beneath a bridge, Shen Qingwu watched eaves pass by one after another, umbrellas flowing past like a stream, a few scattered pedestrians quickly vanishing from sight. Everyone had somewhere to go. Only she didn’t know where to head.

She’d only left because Shen Qingye, in tears, had begged her to. What she was supposed to do now that she had left, she had no idea.

After thinking it over for a while, Shen Qingwu considered going to find Zhang Xingjian. Everyone said she wasn’t worthy of him, but at this point she still didn’t understand quite how vast that gulf between them really was.

She hadn’t gotten far through the streets and alleys of Bianjing before Shen Zhuo, with a group of men, blocked her path at the mouth of an alley.

Shen Zhuo dismounted, his expression troubled, almost strange—he’d assumed that after such a disaster, his foolish sister would flee Bianjing outright. Why hadn’t she left the city yet?

Was he really going to be forced to move against her?

Shen Zhuo’s heart churned with bitterness and conflict, though Shen Qingwu had no idea of it. Standing in the rain, her mind was clear and calm; seeing her brother and the guards and servants behind him, she understood at once they had come to deal with her.

Warily, Shen Qingwu tightened her grip on the dagger hanging at her waist. She had given this dagger to Shen Qingye for self-protection; when Qingye had helped her escape, she’d returned it.

Shen Qingwu assessed the numbers arrayed against her, the terrain, thinking through how she might get away.

Shen Zhuo walked toward her, step by step, through the night rain. Shen Qingwu stood perfectly still.

As he drew close, just as she was preparing to draw her dagger, she heard him murmur quietly by her ear: “Qingwu, leave Bianjing first. I’ll figure out the rest, as your brother.”

Shen Qingwu lifted her face slightly.

One of the guards behind Shen Zhuo overheard the exchange between brother and sister and immediately called out sharply, “Eldest Young Master, don’t forget what you promised Madam! If you can’t bring yourself to act, then step aside—”

Shen Zhuo said, “I’d like to see who dares lay a hand on my sister!”

He drew his sword in a flash, turning to face the guards behind him. Unlike his sister, he had trained in martial arts since childhood and had been tempered by real battle; the sudden, fierce intensity radiating from him made the guards behind him instinctively step back.

But they didn’t retreat. They were the Shen family’s men—not Shen Zhuo’s.

Shen Zhuo tilted his head back slightly and said, briefly, “Qingwu. Go.”

Shen Qingwu wasn’t one to hesitate. Her cold, hardened heart didn’t register this as any great sacrifice on her brother’s part. She genuinely couldn’t work out exactly what was happening tonight, but instinct told her plainly enough: if others meant to strike her down and she couldn’t win, then of course she should run.

Without hesitation, Shen Qingwu turned and leapt for the wall.

Her foot had barely touched the top when she caught a flash of cold light through the night rain. She twisted her body sharply, spinning in midair, as a long arrow streaked toward her like a rainbow of steel.

Thwack— With a sharp whistle, the arrow buried itself in the ground as Shen Qingwu was forced back, dropping to one knee, dagger already drawn in her hand.

She lifted her sharp, cold brows and looked around—every wall, every tree, lined with Shen family warriors.

Shen Zhuo cried out, “Qingwu!”

Madam Shen’s voice rang out, perfectly timed: “Shen Qingwu, thinking of running, are you? This matter isn’t settled—where exactly do you think you’re going?”

Shen Zhuo cried urgently, “Mother—”

He froze.

The guards parted, clearing a path for the carriage behind them. Stepping down from it was not only Madam Shen, but also a young man like something out of a painting.

Once he stepped down, an attendant hurried to hold an umbrella over him. The wind and rain scattered lightly around them, dampening Madam Shen’s sleeves with scattered droplets, while he remained composed and unruffled, his bearing impeccable.

He nodded a greeting toward Shen Zhuo.

Shen Zhuo said, slowly, word by word: “Zhang Sanlang.”

At that very moment, back at the old Zhang estate, the flicker of a candle startled Zhang Wenbi awake from where she’d dozed off, arm propped against the table.

Waking, she listened to the rain outside and asked the maid keeping watch whether her brother had returned yet.

The maid said, “It’s already the second watch. My lord hasn’t come home since he left two nights ago.”

Zhang Wenbi lowered her eyes, uneasy beyond words.

As a boy, her brother had leaned against her knee to read; she had worried he’d never amount to anything, and had always been strict with him. Grown now, he was rarely home, and when he did return, she often found herself scolding him still—one moment worried he might fall in with bad influences out in the world, the next worried he might be injured somewhere and simply not tell her.

The direct line of the Zhang family had grown so thin. All she had left now was Zhang Xingjian.

Zhang Wenbi pushed open the door. “Let’s pay a visit to the Shen residence.”

She wanted to know how her brother’s efforts to resolve the matter had gone.

Rain streamed down her face. Surrounded on all sides, Shen Qingwu lifted her rain-damp lashes and looked at the people around her.

Zhang Xingjian noticed her eyes—dark, clear, calm as a still river. Surrounded by so many armed guards, she showed not the slightest change in expression.

It was a natural gift for combat, one the Shen family had simply overlooked.

He would repay his rescuer—in a way far better than marrying him.

Zhang Xingjian watched the young woman intently through the curtain of rain. But the besieged Shen Qingwu, for her part, wasn’t looking at him at all.

Through the fine mist of rain, she watched as a white-haired old woman was pushed and shoved out of the carriage, stumbling as she stepped down. The old woman lifted her head and saw her.

The old woman’s voice trembled: “Second Miss…”

Something finally shifted in Shen Qingwu’s calm eyes—a flicker of anger rose, cold and sharp, aimed straight at Madam Shen. Even Madam Shen froze for a moment under that gaze.

Madam Shen said, displeased, “So this is how it’s been all these years—you’ve been keeping in touch with your dead mother’s old wet-nurse this whole time. Sending her money, letting her whisper in your ear, driving a wedge between you and this family. I always wondered why things kept going missing around the house. So it was you, stealing them to give to her.”

Shen Qingwu said flatly, “I didn’t steal anything.”

With Zhang Xingjian present, Madam Shen didn’t want outsiders witnessing such a petty exchange, so she let the pointless argument drop. She fixed her gaze on Shen Qingwu, her expression settling into calm resolve:

“We won’t dwell on the past. But this time is different—more serious than anything before. I can’t indulge you any longer. Qingwu, you will take back your words. Zhang Sanlang is your cousin’s betrothed. He and your cousin are devoted to each other. What business do you have inserting yourself between them?”

Shen Qingwu said, “None of my business.”

Madam Shen had already anticipated this stubborn refusal, but this time, she’d come prepared: “If you refuse, this old nurse here, and all ten members of her family, won’t survive the night. They’re servants of the Shen household—their lives are mine to dispose of as I see fit. Even if you took it before the magistrate, that’s all it would come down to.

“Whether this family sees tomorrow’s sunrise depends entirely on you.”

Shen Qingwu looked at Madam Shen, her eyes calm.

The old nurse dropped to her knees with a thud, trembling. “Second Miss, please, save my family. He’s just some young man, not worth all this. You don’t even really know him—I heard you only saved his life once, that’s all. Nurse has known you for so many years, you know that, don’t you!”

Kneeling there in the rain, she began listing, on and on, all the ways she’d doted on Shen Qingwu in years past, how she’d raised this unwanted child that the Shen family had never loved…

Old kindnesses, however small, were being trampled and twisted into something else entirely on this rainy night.

Shen Zhuo snapped from the side, “Enough!”

The old nurse covered her face and wept, still trying to crawl closer, her voice pleading desperately with Shen Qingwu.

The rain fell in fine, endless threads.

Beneath his umbrella, Zhang Xingjian’s calm gaze settled on the young woman’s face, gone slightly pale.

However skilled she was in combat, she was still young, after all—not equipped to handle this kind of dark, calculated manipulation.

Listening to the old nurse’s sobbing, Shen Qingwu lowered her eyes. Her grip on the dagger tightened and loosened by turns; a certain confusion rose within her.

Unconsciously, she turned her head to look at Zhang Xingjian through the curtain of rain.

Through the mist she couldn’t see him clearly, but that particular clean, luminous quality of his always set him apart from everyone else.

Shen Qingwu lowered her head again and saw the mud spattered across the toes of her shoes.

A slow, seething frustration rose within her, tangled with anxiety: Why should it be her who has to give up? Why couldn’t the one chosen be her? Why, just as hope seemed within reach, did it have to be torn away again?

Madam Shen’s voice rose sharply: “Shen Qingwu!”

Shen Qingwu looked up.

Madam Shen said, severe: “If you still refuse to take back your words, it won’t only be this nurse’s family whose lives are at stake—your mother’s grave will be removed from the Shen family burial grounds as well. Do you want your mother to become a homeless ghost, wandering with no resting place, even in death?”

This was exactly what Zhang Xingjian had taught her—the only two people Shen Qingwu truly cared about were her old nurse, and her mother.

Aside from these two, who else in this world could ever make Shen Qingwu bow her head?

It seemed like a long time passed, and yet somehow, also no time at all.

The rain grew heavier under the night sky, drumming down like a flood unleashed. The besieged young woman, her face cold and white, lifted a pair of eyes darker than the night itself.

Shen Qingwu began walking forward, step by step.

Madam Shen, startled, found herself stepping back, again and again.

Even Shen Zhuo seemed somewhat afraid of the aura radiating from his sister now. He said, low, “Qingwu, what are you doing? Don’t do anything you’ll regret—don’t hurt Mother!”

Something you’ll regret.

It seemed like her whole life, she’d always been the one doing something wrong.

But did that mean everyone else was always right?

Was it really true that no matter what anyone else did, it was fine—but no matter what she did, it was wrong?

Shen Qingwu stopped about ten feet from Madam Shen. The guards shielding her let out a breath of relief. There were moments, admittedly, when they were genuinely afraid of this grim, unpredictable Second Miss.

Shen Qingwu spoke. “Fine. I take it back.”

Madam Shen’s eyes lit up.

Beneath his umbrella, Zhang Xingjian’s lashes trembled faintly.

Zhang Wenbi’s carriage had stopped at the mouth of the alley. Her guards informed her that something was happening up ahead.

Once she understood what it was, she hurried out of the carriage, her maids scrambling to keep up as she rushed toward the scene.

In the darkness, the rain roared.

Zhang Wenbi heard every word the young woman in the alley spoke, clear as day—

“From tonight on, Shen Qingwu has nothing whatsoever to do with Zhang Xingjian. Shen Qingwu will never marry Zhang Xingjian. I can say these words here, and I will repeat them anywhere, over and over, and never take them back.

“If I am ever so unfortunate as to marry Zhang Xingjian, may I be struck by lightning and die a wretched death, may I fall into hell for eternity, never to be freed.”

Such a vicious oath left Zhang Wenbi stunned.

Standing at the mouth of the alley, from an angled distance, she saw her brother’s back, the crowd of people, the young woman surrounded in the center.

At that same moment, the dagger in Shen Qingwu’s hand spun out in a flash. Cries of alarm rang out; Madam Shen collapsed to the ground. Shen Qingwu, moving like a phantom, had Madam Shen restrained with one hand, while her other hand seized the weeping old nurse.

In the tense, frozen atmosphere, Shen Qingwu toyed with the dagger against Madam Shen’s throat, continuing in the same flat, indifferent tone: “But since you’ve forced such an oath from me, I want to make something clear too.

“Nurse—I’ve saved your life today. This is the last time. From now on, if anyone ever tries to use you against me again, I won’t care at all.

“Madam—you’ve used my dead mother against me for the last time as well. From now on, even if you burn my mother’s ashes and stir them into your soup, I won’t bow my head, won’t say another word.

“There is nothing left in this world that can be used to threaten me.

“Everything that’s happened tonight, I will remember. And I will pay it all back, a hundredfold, a thousandfold.”

Madam Shen trembled. “How dare you! Shen Qingwu, have you lost your mind, gone completely insane? What nonsense are you spouting?!”

Zhang Xingjian suddenly looked up, his eyes bright to an almost blinding degree, fixed on Shen Qingwu.

He wasn’t surprised that she’d yielded. He simply couldn’t look away from the sheer force of her, in this moment.