The mountain path was rugged and uneven as the three of them set out again.

Yang Su felt that after last night’s rain, the relationship between Shen Qingwu and Zhang Xingjian had grown even stranger.

Before, Shen Qingwu had simply ignored Zhang Xingjian; now, it wasn’t just that she ignored him—she practically avoided him altogether.

Shen Qingwu seemed determined to stick close to Yang Su every single moment.

Every time Yang Su glanced back, he found Zhang San Lang, walking behind them with his cane, staring fixedly at their Wuwu. And whenever their eyes met, the look in Zhang Xingjian’s was distinctly… subtle.

Yang Su nudged Shen Qingwu with his elbow.

Shen Qingwu, reluctant, glanced at him.

Yang Su said: “What did you do to him? I feel like the way he looks at me is full of calculation. It’s like…”

Like he was a pig awaiting slaughter, being readied for the pot at any moment.

The feeling was deeply unpleasant.

Shen Qingwu gazed intently at the fresh green of the mountains after the rain, utterly absorbed: “Mm…”

Yang Su said: “Mm what? You know the reason, don’t you? Tell me.”

But how was Shen Qingwu supposed to explain it?

At the thought of Zhang Xingjian, a strange, giddy happiness mixed with embarrassment welled up in her chest—

He kept saying, over and over, that he loved her, that he adored her.

A year ago, his declarations of love had driven her to fury.

But even now, a year later, he still said the same thing… and every time he said it, he spoke it as though it were a plain, given fact—something Shen Qingwu, obviously, ought to already know.

But Shen Qingwu was someone who doubted others’ hearts, who didn’t trust in people’s sincerity. She didn’t believe in genuine affection, didn’t believe in feelings, trusted no one except her comrades on the battlefield. And her guard against Zhang Xingjian, in particular, ran far deeper than against anyone else… and yet this very man, whom she trusted least of all, kept saying “I still love you,” “everything I’ve ever schemed toward you has been to marry you,” “you don’t have to marry me, I’m willing to wait.”

What kind of feeling was this?

No one had ever treated her this way before, no one had ever pursued her so relentlessly. What was Shen Qingwu, what did Shen Qingwu possess, that would make Zhang Xingjian set aside everything that had happened before, just to come back to her side?

She’d thought… it had all ended, a year ago.

Yang Su nudged her: “Say something?”

Shen Qingwu coughed.

Before Yang Su could even show concern, Zhang Xingjian, walking behind them, held out a water flask: “Would you like some water? Is your injury acting up?”

Yang Su: “…”

It made him look like some clueless brute incapable of consideration.

Yang Su said, with great sincerity: “I have some medicine too, actually.”

Eager to prove himself useful, Yang Su rummaged through his sleeve. The cloth-wrapped ointment he pulled out had already turned to powder after yesterday’s rain.

Yang Su and Shen Qingwu exchanged a glance, neither saying a word.

Zhang Xingjian said mildly: “Have some water?”

Shen Qingwu declined.

Nor did she turn to look at Zhang Xingjian: “I’ll rest a moment, I’ll be fine.”

So the three of them stopped along the road.

While Yang Su stood guard, Shen Qingwu channeled her internal energy to check on her own injuries.

As she circulated her energy through her meridians, she found that while the flesh wounds were manageable, some of the internal damage—the strain on her heart and lungs—accumulated over years, along with what she’d suffered this past year, had never had proper time to heal, and would probably need to be slowly nursed over time.

But she had no such time.

She was a tool for fighting.

Once she returned to Yizhou and reported back to Li Linggo, she’d likely be sent right back into battle before long.

It didn’t matter. Shen Qingwu felt she could push through.

She wouldn’t die from it—that much reassured her.

Shen Qingwu opened her eyes, and Yang Su asked at once: “How is it?”

She nodded to him, indicating she was fine, and Yang Su relaxed.

Zhang Xingjian, who had been watching them from a few paces away the entire time, now approached, his eyes on Shen Qingwu: “We need to go into the city, see a doctor.”

Shen Qingwu was about to refuse when Zhang Xingjian added, calm and even: “It’s not as dangerous as you might think, going into the city now. If we disguise ourselves a little, we should be able to avoid the pursuers.

“Dongjing is in an uproar right now, and the court will be searching everywhere for the best physicians in the realm to treat the young emperor’s wounds. Every skilled doctor across the land will be summoned by the court, which means, right now, more than usual, the finest physicians will be concentrated in one place. If we’re careful, and do a bit of discreet asking around in the city, we should be able to find a competent doctor to take a look at you.”

Shen Qingwu hadn’t originally wanted to, but the moment she heard that the realm’s finest physicians would all be gathered up to treat the young emperor’s injuries in Dongjing—

She immediately exchanged a look with Yang Su.

The two blockheads arrived at the same thought together: better if the young emperor died. Heaven forbid some miracle doctor manage to save him and ruin their plans.

Yang Su winked at Shen Qingwu: hurry up and nod, tell Zhang San Lang yes—we can use your injury as an excuse to stall for time.

Shen Qingwu: “…”

Zhang Xingjian watched, unmoved, as the two of them exchanged silent glances right under his nose.

As though he had no idea what they were plotting.

Zhang Xingjian smiled faintly and looked away, giving them time to think it over while he went to admire the mountain scenery.

Steeling herself, Shen Qingwu looked up, and the sight of that distant, lonely look in his eyes made her heart clench suddenly, like a needle pricking her.

She stared, momentarily stunned, wrapped in some inexplicable feeling. Before that feeling could fully surface, Zhang Xingjian had already turned back to face her, smiling.

His manner was mild: “Have you decided?”

Shen Qingwu’s lashes lowered slightly.

She said: “I remember you have a pawnshop… that can help you contact your people, pass along information. Why haven’t you used it this whole time?”

Zhang Xingjian fell silent for a moment.

He said: “There simply hasn’t been a need. What did you have in mind, Second Miss Shen?”

Shen Qingwu said: “Once we get into the city, could we ask your pawnshop for help—help us find the finest physician in the realm, to treat me… my whole body aches, so many places hurt terribly, and I’ve just been enduring it…”

She lied to his face clumsily, stumbling over her words.

Zhang Xingjian smiled.

Shen Qingwu was someone who couldn’t lie—when she lied, her eyes stared at him with utter seriousness, unwavering, as if she absolutely had to make him believe not a single word of it was false.

Zhang Xingjian understood their little scheme perfectly well.

They wanted the young emperor dead.

They wanted the court left leaderless, forced to bow before Li Linggo.

But was it really so simple for a woman to ascend the throne?

And would Li Linggo really make a better emperor than Li Mingshu?

They were thinking about this far too simply.

Still… whether the young emperor lived or died, Zhang Xingjian had a plan for either outcome. A truly clever person shouldn’t cling to only one fixed conclusion.

Shen Qingwu and the others hoped for the young emperor’s death, but Zhang Xingjian wanted to wait and see a while longer.

Only, agreeing to Shen Qingwu’s request was the easy part—Zhang Xingjian wasn’t some saint who granted favors for nothing.

Birds chirped through the mountains, sunlight draped over every cluster of treetops, hazy, like a golden mist.

Beneath that golden mist, Zhang Xingjian crouched down and asked Shen Qingwu with a smile: “You want to ask me to help you find the finest doctor available?”

Shen Qingwu said: “Is it difficult? Would it cause you a lot of trouble? If it’s too much bother, don’t worry about it.”

Yang Su quickly elbowed her.

Shen Qingwu didn’t so much as flinch.

She had her own private measure of things in her heart: she could do without Zhang Xingjian, could refuse him, could go the rest of her life without seeing him again. But she wanted him alive.

She had once hoped he’d sink into the mud… but now, slowly, she was coming to feel that if she gave him up, it would be for the best if he returned to the heavens where he belonged.

Zhang Xingjian could sense that faint trace of concern Shen Qingwu still held for him.

That faint trace alone was enough to make him happy.

Zhang Xingjian’s eyes curved: “It’s no trouble at all, but I do have a condition.”

Shen Qingwu said: “Say it, then.”

Zhang Xingjian dodged the question: “I’ll tell you when the time comes.”

He was afraid that if she insisted now, her stubbornness might make it impossible to carry out his condition later. So he took the opportunity to remind her first:

“If we’re going into the city, we’ll need to disguise ourselves, adopt different identities.”

Shen Qingwu blinked.

Yang Su blinked.

Watched by two pairs of utterly clueless eyes, Zhang Xingjian felt both exasperated and, oddly, a little envious of how well these two blockheads seemed to understand each other—blockheads truly did have plenty in common.

At the same time, Zhang Xingjian felt a flicker of nervousness.

He clenched a fist and gave a low cough.

Shen Qingwu noticed that beneath his dark hair, this handsome young man’s ears had gone red.

Zhang Xingjian said, perfectly serious: “I think posing as husband and wife would be best.”

Shen Qingwu, startled for a moment, agreed readily: “What’s difficult about that? Is that your condition?”

Zhang Xingjian quickly said: “Of course not, my condition is something else… well, you’ll find out tomorrow.”

Shen Qingwu and Yang Su exchanged a bewildered glance—

That night, Zhang Xingjian insisted on staying at an inn.

Seeing his insistence, Shen Qingwu had nothing to say against it. Yang Su alone couldn’t hold out against both of them, and had no choice but to agree.

As they drew closer to town, inns naturally became more common. Zhang Xingjian reassured them that since they’d decided to enter the city, they were bound to run into government soldiers regardless. They simply needed to disguise themselves and avoid detection—no need for excessive panic.

Zhang Xingjian again requested three separate rooms.

Shen Qingwu and Yang Su searched every pocket and found not a single copper coin between them. Zhang Xingjian, unwilling to pawn off all the valuables he had on him, offered instead to wash dishes at the inn to settle the debt.

The innkeeper’s wife, taken by his refined, handsome looks, softened at once and agreed.

But then she chased off the kitchen help, lifted the curtain to the kitchen, and revealed to them a room stacked full of dirty dishes.

Zhang Xingjian’s smile stiffened slightly.

He sighed, rolling up his sleeves: “Very well.”

If it was dishes, then dishes it would be.

Shen Qingwu and Yang Su followed along dutifully. Shen Qingwu crouched down to help, but Zhang Xingjian stopped her.

Crouched beside the mountain of bowls and chopsticks, Zhang Xingjian looked up and smiled at her: “Second Miss Shen is injured, there’s no need for you to trouble yourself.”

Shen Qingwu froze for a moment.

Being cared for like this… this feeling… well.

She tilted her head back and looked up at the sky.

She felt happy.

Yang Su didn’t want to work either.

Yang Su spoke up eagerly: “What about me? I’m actually injured too, you know…”

Shen Qingwu snapped fiercely: “Yang Su, are you really going to let Zhang Yuelu do all the work alone? Aren’t we all staying at this inn together?”

Yang Su muttered: “I didn’t even want to stay here in the first place…”

Shen Qingwu said coldly: “I’m injured, and I need a good environment to recover properly. Do you really not care at all?”

Yang Su: “…”

It wasn’t that he’d forgotten—he simply had never gotten the impression that “Shen Qingwu is delicate and needs looking after.”

Yang Su sighed and resigned himself, crouching down to work.

Shen Qingwu stood behind Zhang Xingjian, watching the two men crouched before the dishes. Something in her felt unsettled, and it occurred to her that since she wasn’t required to help, she could simply leave.

She thought, with perfect confidence: this was Zhang Xingjian’s plan.

When it came to clever people’s advice, one naturally ought to listen.

Shen Qingwu said: “I’ll go, then?”

Zhang Xingjian said: “Wait a moment.”

Shen Qingwu said: “Do you actually want me to work after all?”

She crouched down, ready to help.

Zhang Xingjian blocked her with his arm, keeping her hands away from the water.

He smiled at her: “Two things.”

Shen Qingwu raised an eyebrow.

Zhang Xingjian’s face flushed for a moment.

He lowered his voice, so Yang Su wouldn’t hear: “I don’t know how to scrub a pot. Would my parasol tree teach me?”

As he spoke, his eyes flicked briefly toward Yang Su beside them. Yang Su was scrubbing away industriously, showing no reaction—apparently he hadn’t heard.

Zhang Xingjian felt reassured by that.

Shen Qingwu: “…”

Her heart softened at once, like a puff of soft cotton.

She thought this was rather funny.

She suppressed the sudden urge to be affectionate with him—how was it that Zhang Yuelu could be this entertaining?

A Zhang Yuelu who’d never so much as touched dishwater in his life, crouched here scrubbing pots and bowls—Shen Qingwu couldn’t take her eyes off him.

Shen Qingwu said quietly: “I’ll teach you.”

She reached out and took his hand, guiding it around the brush, showing him how to scrub the pot clean. She said little, relying mostly on gesture. He, too, stayed quiet, learning attentively, without deliberately dragging things out or trying to get closer to her.

Shen Qingwu felt a wave of relief inside.

She’d been so afraid he’d try some scheme on her again…

Zhang Xingjian asked quietly: “And then?”

Shen Qingwu had let her guard down around him.

Off to the side, Yang Su, sweating from scrubbing dishes all by himself, looked up and saw Shen Qingwu and Zhang Xingjian murmuring together. In the dim candlelight, Shen Qingwu’s expression was soft, Zhang Xingjian composed and elegant—an image that struck a distinct note of unfairness in Yang Su’s heart.

Yang Su said nothing.

Yang Su went back to scrubbing dishes, head down.

Meanwhile, having finished teaching Zhang Xingjian, Shen Qingwu withdrew her hand.

She rested her hands on her knees for a moment, about to take her leave, when she heard Zhang Xingjian, head still bowed, say: “The second thing.”

Shen Qingwu said, perfectly at ease: “What else do you want me to teach you? Go on.”

Being the teacher felt wonderful—she savored the feeling of having the upper hand over Zhang Xingjian for once.

He didn’t know everything, after all. There were things she was better at than him too.

Zhang Xingjian looked up.

His eyes, clear as a rippling river, glimmered with scattered light, striking amid the flickering candle flame in the darkness.

Zhang Xingjian’s voice was very soft: “The second thing is—my parasol tree, I love you.”

Shen Qingwu froze.

Crouched beside him, looking at him, she felt, for an instant, her whole body go weak, a numbness stirring through her blood, her heart pounding rapidly.

She stared at him blankly.

Zhang Xingjian’s eyes were simply too beautiful.

All of this was temptation.

Shen Qingwu’s hands, resting on her knees, clenched into fists, veins pulsing on the backs of her hands. She forced herself to suppress the inexplicable urge rising in her chest, forced herself to resist the impulse to push him down right there.

Shen Qingwu said, keeping her tone as even as she could: “Don’t I already know? Why bring it up?”

Zhang Xingjian’s eyes curved: “No, you don’t know—I have to tell you every single day, so you’ll remember it. You never believe me—if I say it often enough, maybe you’ll finally remember it?

“Maybe you’ll respond to it, too?”

Feeling stirred in his eyes.

He kept his desire and his affection carefully balanced—letting her see it, without frightening her away.

Shen Qingwu lowered her head, clenching her jaw.

Moving stiffly, arms and legs out of sync, she stood up and said, with feigned indifference: “Keep scrubbing, both of you. I’m going to sleep.”

Zhang Xingjian said gently: “Sweet dreams, Second Miss Shen.”

Yang Su said to Shen Qingwu, somewhat wounded: “Go on, then. I feel like the two of you are shutting me out.”

Shen Qingwu lifted the curtain and glanced back once at the two men inside.

Not knowing what to say, she said softly: “Goodnight.”

Letting the curtain fall, Shen Qingwu closed her eyes and leaned against the wall, trying to calm her racing heart—

The next day, Shen Qingwu was still asleep when she heard a knock at the door.

She woke instantly.

That familiar rhythm of knocking… it was Zhang Xingjian.

It seemed even a night of exhausting dishwashing hadn’t kept Zhang San Lang from getting up early. His self-discipline truly was formidable.

Shen Qingwu yawned, hopping out of bed to go answer the door. But halfway there, the cool breeze drifting in through the half-open window cleared her head somewhat.

She paused for a long moment.

Shen Qingwu went back to the bed, got dressed properly, and tied up her hair, no longer looking so disheveled.

She opened the door, and sure enough, it was Zhang Xingjian standing outside.

Only… he’d changed clothes.

A loose robe in blue-green and white, giving him an air of easy composure.

Where had he gotten new clothes?

Zhang Xingjian explained: “I bought some secondhand clothes from the innkeeper.”

He showed her the bundle of clothing in his arms: “I bought these from the innkeeper’s wife. They’re old clothes from when she was unmarried, but they’re perfectly clean—kept carefully folded away in a chest for over a decade. Wear them, my parasol tree.”

Shen Qingwu looked at the bundle in Zhang Xingjian’s arms.

Pink and white fabric, sashes tangled together—she couldn’t tell the exact style yet, but it was clearly a young woman’s clothing.

Shen Qingwu couldn’t help but think back to that stretch of time when she’d worn women’s clothing every single day.

She fell into a kind of daze.

Those days, those daily new garments, those days and nights spent constantly together with Zhang Xingjian… it hadn’t been so long ago, and yet it felt as distant as a dream.

And now, in this very moment, that dream seemed to be returning.

But Shen Qingwu wasn’t sure she wanted this dream.

She looked at Zhang Xingjian calmly, and didn’t take the clothes from him.

Zhang Xingjian said evenly: “This is the condition I wanted you to agree to yesterday. Change into women’s clothes—it’ll help us pass better as husband and wife. Otherwise, dressed the way you are now, you look far too much like that General Shen everyone’s talking about, the one who tried to assassinate the young emperor.

“General Shen would never dress as a delicate woman in feminine clothing—but Second Miss Shen could.”

Shen Qingwu took the old clothes from him.

She bared her teeth at him and slammed the door shut: “Never again after this.”

Zhang Xingjian, holding back a smile, looked at the closed door and rubbed his nose.

Never again?

We’ll see about next time—

Downstairs, Yang Su and Zhang Xingjian sat across from each other, staring blankly at one another.

A few steamed buns, a bowl of hot porridge—Zhang Xingjian, without any particular affectation, simply ate very slowly. Yang Su, having demolished his breakfast in short order, had no idea what to do with himself.

One shouldn’t speak while eating.

He couldn’t very well interrupt Zhang San Lang’s breakfast, but sitting there with him in silence was genuinely tedious.

And it was right at this moment that Yang Su heard the sound of footsteps, “tap, tap,” approaching.

His eyes lit up, and he looked up: “A’Wu’s here… whoa!”

He shot to his feet, staring, utterly stunned.

Shen Qingwu wore pink and white robes, a tasseled sash tied at her waist. As she walked, the sash fluttered, her wide sleeves swaying gracefully. Her long hair was fixed with only the plainest of hairpins, and yet, walking down the stairs dressed like this, her waist slender, her figure tall and willowy, she was genuinely striking to behold.

Yang Su’s eyes caught the sunlight drifting through the air, the motes of dust suspended in the beam, and, beyond that dust, the lovely, delicate figure of a beautiful woman.

Time seemed to still, dreamlike and hazy.

Yang Su stammered: “Shen—Shen—Shen Qingwu!”

He flushed red all at once, then found himself utterly at a loss.

How had he never known Shen Qingwu could look this captivating?

How could she be wearing clothes like this… Yang Su turned his head, caught sight of Zhang Xingjian sitting nearby, drinking his tea, and suddenly understood.

Yang Su froze.

For a moment, his mind went blank, and he sensed something shifting beneath the surface—he knew, in that instant, that Shen Qingwu would never marry him.

That woman who had once saved his life in the snowy mountains, that battlefield companion he’d always joked with about facing life and death together…

Now that a certain person had arrived, she carried, in her entirety, an allure no one else had ever seen in her before.

She wasn’t only General Shen, the woman a man could entrust his life to—she was also… someone no one had ever noticed, someone no one had ever truly seen: Shen Qingwu herself.

A person spends their whole life searching for a place to belong, asking themselves who they really are. Shen Qingwu had said she couldn’t find home, said she wandered from place to place, just looking around.

If a person has no home, how are they different from wild grass?

Yang Su slowly sat back down.

He wanted to ask Shen Qingwu—have you found your home?

Shen Qingwu came down from upstairs and sat at their table. She looked at Yang Su: “Well? Does it look strange?”

She didn’t ask Zhang Xingjian.

Because Zhang Xingjian had kept his head lowered, drinking his tea, this whole time.

And because she already knew he wouldn’t find it strange at all.

With something weighing on his mind, Yang Su forced a smile at Shen Qingwu: “You look lovely.”

Shen Qingwu, for her part, didn’t much care whether it looked good or not.

In her own eyes, dressed like this, it surely wasn’t attractive at all… looking pretty was something else, some other kind of dressing up. What mattered more right now was getting into the city disguised.

Shen Qingwu grabbed a steamed bun off the table and stuffed it into her mouth.

Zhang Xingjian was about to stop her, meaning to ask the innkeeper to warm it first.

But when he looked up at her, he had to mask the way his heart skipped.

To avoid her noticing his reaction and being disgusted by it, he thought it best to look at her as little as possible.

Holding his teacup, using the tea as cover for his emotions, Zhang Xingjian heard Shen Qingwu tell Yang Su, distractedly: “You should change into something decent too. Aren’t we going into the city? You’ll be playing my husband.”

Zhang Xingjian’s head snapped up.

His eyes met Shen Qingwu’s.

Shen Qingwu was looking straight at him.

Cheeks puffed out, biting into her bun, she watched him, smiling with provocative delight: well? Got a problem with that?

One moment you’re taking me into the city, the next you’re giving me pretty clothes—hasn’t your whole purpose, from start to finish, been wanting to play my husband, wanting to hear me call you “husband,” wanting to blur the line between pretend and real?

Not happening.

I won’t give you what you want.

I won’t let you lead me around by the nose!—

Zhang Xingjian smiled.

He went on drinking his tea—

That night, before they turned in, just as Shen Qingwu was about to close her door, Zhang Xingjian stood outside it.

His daily confession: “My parasol tree, I love you.”

Shen Qingwu, hearing it, acted as if she hadn’t. She let out a small huff, not even looking at him: “I know.”

As she went to close the door, Zhang Xingjian raised a hand to block it.

Shen Qingwu said: “I’m not letting you into this room!”

Zhang Xingjian smiled: “Oh? You think I want to come into your room?”

Shen Qingwu said: “You think I’m a fool? You, you and your, your… your wicked intentions haven’t died at all, of course I know that!”

Zhang Xingjian laughed.

Shen Qingwu said: “What’s so funny!”

Zhang Xingjian, smiling pleasantly: “Nothing else on my mind… I just came to ask, are you truly determined to pose as husband and wife with Yang Su? Have you really decided?”

Hearing him bring this up, Shen Qingwu suddenly found herself in high spirits.

She flung the door wide open, standing in the doorway, determined to provoke him.

She said: “That’s right. I think Yang Su and I are close in age, similar in bearing, and honestly look like we belong to the same sort of people. If Yang Su and I pose as husband and wife, people are sure to believe it, unlike if it were you and me—people would keep pestering us, asking ‘really? Really?’

“I don’t want to be questioned like that constantly.”

Zhang Xingjian said: “I understand. So how have you arranged for me, then?”

Shen Qingwu glanced at him.

She looked away quickly: “You—with that frail, delicate look of yours… you can just be our family accountant. A married couple traveling with an accountant in tow isn’t that strange, is it?”

Zhang Xingjian nodded: “Mm, not strange at all.”

Shen Qingwu laughed: “Is there anything else you wanted to say?”

Her heart was racing, her gaze bright and fixed on him.

She genuinely enjoyed teasing him, enjoyed provoking him, enjoyed watching him grow exasperated.

Shen Qingwu thought to herself: hurry up and get angry, hurry up and lose your patience! Hurry up and storm off because of me, hurry up and stop shaking my resolve!

Zhang Xingjian sighed.

His beautiful eyes dimmed, losing their light.

Just as she’d hoped, he put on a look of helpless resignation: “It seems you like Yang Su more than you like me.”

Shen Qingwu lifted her chin: “That’s right.”

Zhang Xingjian said, calm and detached: “I understand now. You don’t want me, you want someone else. There’s no room for me in your heart—you only want to torment me.”

Shen Qingwu: “…”

Zhang Xingjian said: “Then have it your way. Don’t worry about me—after all, my parasol tree cares far more about Master Yang.

“Just let me be alone. When I’m sad, I’ll sit alone before a guttering candle; when I’m happy, I’ll have no one to share it with.

“I can take care of myself, without troubling your heart. It’s nothing, really—no one caring whether I’m happy or sad, my good intentions mistaken for ill will, everyone else joyfully paired off while I hide in some corner, picking through the scraps no one else wants.”

Shen Qingwu: “…”

Her eyes flickered, her lashes trembling, and she began to feel uneasy, began fighting the urge to laugh. Her crossed arms unfolded on their own, and she took two steps forward.

Shen Qingwu said: “Um…”

Zhang Xingjian retreated two steps, waving a hand, his expression perfectly composed, signaling that she needn’t feel sorry for him.

Zhang Xingjian said, eyes downcast, full of self-pity: “I was never a likable person to begin with, always the extra one in a group of three. I’ve taken up too much of my parasol tree’s time, wasted too much of her energy—I’ve been too inconsiderate.

“Go be with Master Yang.

“It’s only natural for pretense to become reality eventually. No need to think of me—I’ll take good care of myself.”

He turned and walked toward the room beside hers, closing the door while Shen Qingwu stood frozen in place. Before shutting it, he glanced at her once, a flicker of sorrow rippling through his shimmering eyes.

Shen Qingwu: “…”

Zhang Xingjian sighed and closed the door: “Wishing you both happiness. Goodbye.”

Shen Qingwu took a few steps after him, then stopped.

She began to hesitate, began to feel lost, began to waver, and a thought forced its way in—

He really was interesting.

He was clearly putting on an act!

But what if he really meant to leave?

Surely he was just teasing her, surely he was joking, wasn’t he?

The way his lips had parted and closed as he spoke, red lips and white teeth, so handsome… she found herself wanting to pin him down, to kiss him…

Shen Qingwu, stop this!