The night was clear and the wind cold, gusting again and again against the doors and windows with a low, howling sound.

Wrapped up in such intimacy with Zhang Xingjian, Shen Qingwu’s mind kept circling through thoughts entirely unsuited to the moment, wondering how things had truly come to this point.

Perhaps she really did feel something for him.

Perhaps she really did feel some quiet grievance.

Perhaps she really did miss him.

Shen Qingwu couldn’t tell anymore.

All she knew was that when she pressed herself against him, tilting his chin up to kiss him, her breath ran hot, and a tingling sensation spread through her blood from her fingertips. The combined pull of emotion and body left her eyes reddened, her breathing ragged.

Zhang Xingjian tilted his head back, one hand resting loosely at her waist.

He leaned his upper body away, trying to evade her.

His voice came out hoarse. “Good Wutong… stop, please, don’t do this.”

Shen Qingwu never listened to him.

She’d drugged him, and now she was stoking the fire in him besides. She was possessed of a reckless, devil-may-care spirit, unconcerned with what tomorrow might bring—

No matter what, she had to bring Zhang Xingjian down.

Once he’d found release, once he was exhausted, once he’d fallen asleep—that would be her chance to slip away.

Apart from that, she found she simply couldn’t bring herself to hurt him.

Shen Qingwu used every method she could think of to press herself against him.

Wrapping around him, embracing him, kissing his throat, tugging at his collar…

The atmosphere in the room grew more and more heated.

Loose strands of hair brushed between their lips and against their cheeks. The refined, elegant young man, after being subjected to her reckless advances, found his eyes moist, his lips flushed red. He turned his face aside, gasping, the hand at her waist trembling faintly as he fought for control…

Shen Qingwu thought to herself: I like this.

She meant to keep going.

But just as her hand slipped inside his collar, Zhang Xingjian’s own hand moved, unhurried, up from her waist, employing his own methods. Light and soft, he caressed her through her half-open robe, matching the rise and fall of her breath…

Shen Qingwu’s body shuddered, her mind blanking for an instant.

And in that very moment, Zhang Xingjian wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tightly into his embrace.

He raised his hand and struck two points against her chest, sealing her acupoints.

Shen Qingwu could have used her internal energy to break through the sealed points, but that would take time—and besides, she didn’t believe Zhang Xingjian would actually hurt her.

He merely held her, leaning against her neck, catching his breath, steadying himself. She could clearly feel the heat and urgency, the disarray in him, and yet he forced himself to hold it back.

Once his breathing had eased somewhat, he pulled back a little, reaching up to brush her flushed cheek.

Zhang Xingjian smoothed the loose hair from her face and asked gently, “What’s wrong? Why are you acting like this toward me? Why so worked up?”

Shen Qingwu stared at him, dazed.

In that instant, her nose stung with sudden emotion.

—He hadn’t taken her willful “madness” at face value.

Zhang Xingjian even reached out to check her temperature, studying her unfocused eyes… Slowly, he said, “You put something in the wine—not just for me, but for yourself too. Why drug yourself as well?”

He said softly, “Give me the answer, Wutong.”

Shen Qingwu looked at him for a long moment before saying, “No particular reason. I just wanted to do something pleasant with you.”

He paused, his gaze flickering like rippling water.

He asked, “Really?”

Shen Qingwu heard her own voice come out hoarse and detached. “Really.”

She saw him go still for a moment, delight stirring in his eyes.

Zhang Xingjian pulled her close, smiling. “…Then I’ll take you at your word.”—

He carried her to the bed. Still unable to move from the sealed points, Shen Qingwu was laid down against the bedding.

Shen Qingwu put everything else out of her mind and quietly worked her internal energy against the sealed points on her body.

The light before her eyes dimmed slightly; she looked up and saw Zhang Xingjian draw closed the pale green curtains embroidered with magnolia blossoms.

A warmth settled inside the curtained bed as he leaned down and kissed her gently.

Their breath came hot and quick—both of them drugged, and at the first touch, it was like parched earth finally meeting rain; the pull between their bodies made them tremble down to the bone. If Shen Qingwu had been able to move, she would surely have pinned him down and had her way with him at once.

But he only kept kissing her, over and over.

Zhang Xingjian asked, “Is something troubling you, or are you in a bad mood, and this is how you’re venting it? You can tell me. I’ll help you.”

Shen Qingwu closed her eyes. “I just want your body, that’s all.”

Zhang Xingjian’s eyes curved with a smile. “Is that so? Then I’m happy too.”

He came to kiss her again, gentle and unhurried as a flowing stream, nothing like her—every time she did anything, it was fierce, as if there were no tomorrow, as if she meant to leave her very life on the bed, as if every encounter might be her last.

She was like a fugitive on the run.

In the gap when his breath drifted away from her lips, Shen Qingwu turned her face aside and rasped, “And then what?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “What do you mean, ‘and then’?”

He said, “I just wanted to kiss you, that’s all.”

Shen Qingwu: “…”

Her breath came fast, blood rushing to her face, her whole body caught in a fierce struggle of desire, desperately needing release—and he only wanted to kiss her? Did the drug simply have no effect on him?

Amid her haze, Shen Qingwu caught a flicker of frustration in Zhang Xingjian’s eyes.

He murmured against her breath, his lips at her mouth, complaining, “Next time, don’t use the drug. You don’t need it for me to do this with you.”

A deep flush colored Zhang Xingjian’s face. Seeing her eyes glazed and unfocused, he studied her for a moment, then let his hand drift down to her waist. After a moment’s hesitation, he began to undo her sash, his fingers working out of sight.

Water and fire moved slowly together, surging like tides beneath the night sky.

A sharp, urgent sound escaped Shen Qingwu—”Mm”—and dragged her back from her daze.

She looked at him, startled.

His wide sleeve blocked her view; his hand had vanished from sight, fully hidden by the candlelight and the bedding… When she came back to her senses, there was a faint trace of embarrassment in his eyes.

Zhang Xingjian explained, “I could see you were desperate. I could help you—what do you think?”

Shen Qingwu: “…”

She’d wanted to bring Zhang Xingjian down, not be brought down by him.

Fighting the urge, fighting the struggle between reason and the trembling delight of feeling, Shen Qingwu forced her internal energy against the sealed points while, on the surface, she remained cold. “I don’t need it. I don’t want it.”

Zhang Xingjian looked at her, his hand resting near her leg going still.

He asked, “My technique isn’t good enough?”

Shen Qingwu ground out through her teeth, “Right! You’re no good at anything, you scoundrel… don’t try anything more. I, I…”

Swallowing her humiliation, she lowered her voice, her mood sinking. “…Just kissing is fine.”

The young man’s lips returned to hers, drifting again like spring water across her forehead, her brows, her cheeks.

She felt the loss of not being able to indulge herself with such a handsome man in front of her; and yet, under his tenderness, she drank the poisoned wine anyway, unable to stop herself.

In that haze, Shen Qingwu heard Zhang Xingjian murmur, “Wutong, I’m truly happy… does this drugging mean you’re hinting that you want to make up with me?”

Shen Qingwu answered vaguely.

She heard her own voice come out slurred. “Truly not going any further?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “…The physician said you’re injured, and shouldn’t engage in strenuous activity.”

Shen Qingwu fell into a long silence.

She couldn’t help but ask, “Is this strenuous activity?”

His robes lay half-undone on the bed, wide and cloud-like, candlelight filtering through the curtains to cast a warm hue across his brow.

His eyes curved. “Hm? Doesn’t it count?”

He coaxed her gently. “Just bear with it a little longer… if you truly want to… we can ask the physician again tomorrow.”

A jolt of clarity struck Shen Qingwu, pulling her back from the tangle of romantic feeling: if she and Yang Su failed to destroy the government’s plan tonight, tomorrow the physicians would pass smoothly over that bridge, unobstructed, all the way to the capital.

That wouldn’t do.

Zhang Xingjian showed no sign of taking things further—he was still holding himself back against the drug’s effects… how was she supposed to maneuver around him?

As she thought this through, she felt him kiss her cheek again.

Zhang Xingjian said softly, “Wutong, I’m truly happy.”

He’d already said this once before.

Yet he said it again. “You have me in your heart, and you’re willing to try accepting me. Though I don’t like the method you used, it doesn’t really matter. It’s just… there doesn’t need to be only this one thing between us.”

His hair fell against her face.

He said, “Whatever’s troubling you, whatever difficulties you’re facing, you can talk to me about them. I want to be the one you love, not just a partner in bed.”

Even now, Shen Qingwu still didn’t quite register what he was saying.

Not until his hand and lips both went still.

That handsome young man, his face flushed, sweat beading on his brow, said to her, “Is there really nothing troubling you that you’d like to tell me?”

Everything has its limits, once or twice, but not a third time.

This was already the third time he’d said it.

Lying on the bed, Shen Qingwu stared at him blankly, her gaze slowly turning cold.

She asked, “What are you referring to?”

As she spoke, she finally broke through the sealed points within her body. But she kept up the pretense of being unable to move, probing him carefully.

Zhang Xingjian looked at her.

There was a trace of a smile in his eyes.

But it was a faint smile, mocking, tinged with sorrow.

Zhang Xingjian leaned over her and, with something like tenderness, breathed another man’s name: “Yang Su.”

—What was Yang Su doing right now?

You wanted to send me away, willing even to drug yourself, all to have a night with me.

Zhang Xingjian asked, “Do you like me, or are you using me, or are you numbing me for the sake of another man?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “I can let it go… as long as you tell me.”

Tell him?

In an instant, Shen Qingwu realized that Zhang Xingjian understood everything.

He knew exactly what she and Yang Su had been whispering about all this time. He knew who she’d given her missing earring to. He knew exactly why she’d been so unusually eager and hurried tonight…

He’d gone along with her intentions without ever calling her out.

Because—

Zhang Xingjian said, “I’ve been waiting for you to trust me, waiting for you to be willing to share your troubles with me.”

Trust?

Shen Qingwu suddenly flipped over and leapt up. Drawing no weapon, she pinned his shoulder down with a sweep of her hand, forcing him onto his back. He raised his hands to resist, but his strength was no match for hers, and after a few exchanges, it was Zhang Xingjian who found himself pressed down onto the bed, unable to move.

The drug still hadn’t worn off in either of them.

Every touch of their bodies against each other was sharply, unbearably vivid.

Who could resist that?

As she pushed him down, Shen Qingwu couldn’t help but catch his breath between his parted, reddened lips, trying to ease the persistent heat in her chest.

Beneath her, he too was thoroughly disheveled, his hands seized and pinned against the pillow.

Shen Qingwu pressed him. “Trust you?

“What talk is there of trust between us?”

She demanded, “You knew about my plan with Yang Su, knew what we were up to, and you didn’t stop us, just watched coldly from the side… Tell me! What is your real purpose!”

Zhang Xingjian said, “To protect you. Do you believe that?”

Protect her…

She had assassinated the young emperor.

The entire court had troops out hunting her down.

Zhang Xingjian had said there was no need to panic—the ministers’ more urgent priority was saving the young emperor. But regardless of whether the young emperor lived or died, someone had to be held accountable, someone had to answer for it…

If Zhang Xingjian meant to protect Shen Qingwu, then who would be the one to answer in her place?

Yang Su?!

Shen Qingwu’s eyes flared red instantly, fury surging up. “You mean to kill Yang Su? Have him die in my place?! You’re the chancellor of Great Zhou, and you’ve followed us this whole way, talking about fetching physicians, treating my injuries… your real purpose was to kill Yang Su?”

Her hand, resting at his shoulder, trembled with force. “Was your plan already in motion from the very moment you left the capital with me?”

Zhang Xingjian struggled to breathe.

He let out a bitter laugh. “Wutong, my plans have always been shifting… nothing I’ve done has ever followed a fixed course. When you took me out of the capital… I was happy.”

Heaven only knew, when he’d sat there in that ruined temple and realized Shen Qingwu had abducted him, just how happy he’d been—

Wutong, not thinking clearly, had softened toward him.

Zhang Xingjian murmured, “You say you don’t know why you did something so foolish, bringing me out of the capital—I know. I’ll tell you why… you felt for me, you were afraid I’d get caught up in trouble over the young emperor’s assassination, over letting you go, afraid I’d be interrogated by the ministers and the young emperor.

“Softhearted Wutong couldn’t bear to see me suffer, so you brought me along with you…”

His eyes swam with a hazy mist, his face deeply flushed, his words drifting close to a murmur.

Shen Qingwu said, “Be quiet!”

She clapped a hand over his mouth. “Quiet, quiet, quiet!”

His cheeks were flushed a deep red, his awareness seeming to blur. He nuzzled against her palm, kissing it lightly, his breath hot and damp, making Shen Qingwu’s heart soften helplessly, sending waves of trembling through her.

Shen Qingwu abruptly pulled her hand back. He looked up at her, hazy, his eyes like glass, full of grievance.

The young man looked utterly forlorn. “In your eyes, there’s only Yang Su, isn’t there? Not the slightest bit of room for me?”

Shen Qingwu smacked his shoulder. “Don’t you dare play the victim!”

Zhang Xingjian went still.

In truth, he wasn’t playing anything—he genuinely envied Yang Su…

At times he envied Bo Rong, at times he envied Yang Su—love and longing in this life were such impossible things to untangle.

Zhang Xingjian closed his eyes. “It wasn’t to kill him. There’s another plan. I need to negotiate with the Princess, and I need leverage in hand for that.”

Shen Qingwu said, “Then why didn’t you just say so?!”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Did you ever give me the chance? Or, whatever I might have said… would you have believed me? You and Yang Su have been whispering behind my back this whole time—isn’t that suspicion that I’m deceiving you both?”

He laughed coldly, his gaze icy as he looked at her, venting. “Fine, I am deceiving you! I am full of schemes, I am exactly the villain you take me for—satisfied now?”

Shen Qingwu fell silent.

Bluntly, she said, “You’re just jealous, and making a scene about it!”

Zhang Xingjian faltered.

Shen Qingwu said, “I don’t have time to argue with you. But I know Zhang Sanlang is furious, and Zhang Sanlang wants revenge on me.

“I’m so hateful, and you’re so innocent—it’s all my fault, I forced you into all this against your will. We—”

The weight pinning him down suddenly vanished.

He reached out desperately, trying to grab her. “Wutong, come back! Don’t you dare fight with me! Don’t you dare throw me aside for another man—”

His eyes shone bright with feverish intensity, a bone-deep stubbornness refusing to let her go.

But love and longing had always been something he calculated and got wrong, again and again—something he wanted once and was cast aside for, again and again.

Just because he could see through all their scheming, did that make him the villain and them the righteous ones? Just because their planning was a legitimate strategy, did his own thinking make him “full of schemes”?

Why should Shen Qingwu prefer that fool Yang Su over clever Zhang Xingjian!

Shen Qingwu pushed the curtain aside and strode out swiftly, hastily straightening her sash and disheveled robes. The heat left over from the drug still lingered in her body, but she had more pressing matters that overrode its effects.

She pushed open the wooden door, and the cold wind rushed in.

The chill against her cheeks brought her back to clarity.

Shen Qingwu turned to look back at the pale green curtain, still fluttering, and saw Zhang Xingjian’s hand reach out from within it, his flushed, fair face carrying a hint of pallor.

Shen Qingwu said, “Zhang Yuelu, let’s each rely on our own strength!”

She strode off without a backward glance.

Unable to call her back, Zhang Xingjian scrambled off the bed and pushed open the door after her.

She scaled the rooftops with ease, and within moments the night wind swallowed her from view.

Zhang Xingjian, his robes in disarray, chased out the door, one hand braced against a pillar as he fought to steady his burning, drug-heated breath. He drew a signal arrow from his robes and shot it into the sky—

The plains stretched wide, the forest trees shedding their leaves, the arrow streaking through the air like a falling star.

Beneath a heavy, overcast sky, Shen Qingwu leapt swiftly through the branches, racing toward the stone bridge outside the city.

A little while behind her, Zhang Xingjian mounted his horse and rode hard, leading a group of dozens of loyal retainers, likewise racing toward the stone bridge outside the city—

Beneath the stone bridge, a fierce battle raged.

Yang Su had spent days scouting the area beforehand. In the dead of night, before the soldiers and carriages arrived, he crept along the stone pillars beneath the bridge, planting barrels of incendiary powder one by one.

According to the information he’d gathered, the explosion would go off before anyone crossed, destroying the bridge. Afterward, when the soldiers discovered him and gave chase, Shen Qingwu would arrive to help, and the two of them would flee together.

But something in the plan went wrong.

He’d only just finished setting three of the pillars when Yang Su sensed danger.

He looked back warily, and from the low shrubs beyond the rushing waters on all sides, a dozen or so figures leapt out, charging straight at him, his heart sinking at the sight.

The moment he crossed blades with them, his heart sank further still: soldiers!

Not ordinary guards, not the sloppy, clumsy local militia—these figures emerging from the water moved with real skill, precise and well-trained, unmistakably military.

Which army had been mobilized?

This skirmish was only a prelude. Soon, torchlight drew near in force, the carriages carrying the physicians and their escorting soldiers approaching the stone bridge, illuminated by lantern light.

Yang Su hadn’t yet finished laying the fuses, and already the bridge was in grave danger!

Struggling to dodge the soldiers’ relentless attacks, Yang Su scrambled onto the bridge itself, shouting toward the approaching carriages and horsemen. “It’s dangerous here, retreat! Don’t come any closer!”

The soldiers on horseback spotted him.

They drew their blades in unison and charged at him on horseback.

Despite the soldiers ignoring the danger, the dozen or so carriages continued toward the stone bridge. As Yang Su tried to warn them off, the physicians pulled back the carriage curtains one after another, peering out at the rushing water below:

“What’s going on? What’s happening?”

A soldier rode past and answered sharply, “The assassin who struck the young emperor is up ahead—stay hidden, don’t come out!”

Yang Su’s heart went cold.

However skilled he was alone, how could he possibly fight off so many enemies? And these people wouldn’t even listen to his warnings, insisting the carriages keep moving forward.

Yang Su’s eyes flared red. “One more step and the bridge collapses—we’ll all die together!”

As the soldiers hesitated, one of the military men said, “Trust the enemy’s word? Kill him!”

As the fighting on the bridge reached its most intense point, Yang Su didn’t dare leave it—he feared that if he moved too far away, the soldiers would let the carriages onto the bridge. Trapped in such dangerous ground, at a clear disadvantage, Yang Su found himself surrounded.

A sword came flying from some unseen direction and struck him across the back. He spat blood and staggered several steps, swaying as dozens more closed in to strike him down.

At that critical moment, a rustle of leaves surged like a wave, and a figure cut through the air like a fierce arc of light, catching Yang Su by the back and hauling him away from the edge, just as he was about to topple toward the river.

This figure struck with tremendous force, snatching the blade from Yang Su’s hand and swinging it forward in a heavy blow that drove back a dozen or so attackers.

Yang Su looked up, overjoyed. “A’Wu!”

Yang Su said, “Something’s gone wrong…”

Shen Qingwu said, “I know. Get out of here—I’ll hold the line and follow behind you.”

Yang Su said, “But…”

The cold wind swept across the woman’s cheeks as she struck down another enemy with her blade. Shen Qingwu murmured, “The Shen family army?”

She’d watched the Longyou Shen family’s martial forms since childhood; she hadn’t fully mastered them, but she’d picked up perhaps sixty or seventy percent.

Yang Su said loudly, “What?”

Shen Qingwu said, “Never mind. Go, now!”

Her cold eyes fixed on the enemies across the bridge, and she snapped at Yang Su, “Am I in command here, or are you? Do you listen to me, or do I listen to you?”—

Zhang Xingjian arrived on horseback to find Shen Qingwu alone, holding the bridge, standing firm and unyielding, as though single-handedly blocking a thousand-strong army.

The cold wind stirred the sleeves of his robe.

Under Shen Qingwu’s cover, Yang Su made his escape, darting toward the carriages, hoping to use them as cover.

Zhang Xingjian, still on horseback, raised his hand. “Move.”

Just as Yang Su set foot on the eaves of a carriage, it suddenly burst open. Several men leapt out from among the flying wood splinters, throwing a net toward him.

From atop the bridge, Shen Qingwu saw it all with perfect clarity.

She only had time to cry out, “Yang Su!”

Her warning came sharp and urgent, and Yang Su instinctively lurched back, narrowly dodging the net. But he’d already realized—some of these carriages, supposedly carrying physicians, held no physicians at all. They were soldiers, lying in wait to capture him.

The soldiers struck at Yang Su!

Yang Su, stunned, glared at Zhang Xingjian as he dismounted, gritting his teeth—

Zhang Yuelu, Zhang Yuelu!

What other choice was there now? Run, of course!

As Yang Su fought desperately against these soldiers, Zhang Xingjian ordered them to capture Yang Su alive, while directing the other soldiers to escort the real carriages carrying physicians away from the scene.

The fighting on the bridge split apart.

Zhang Xingjian said, “Don’t bother with the woman. Just capture the man.”

Both the soldiers and the officers followed his orders, and Zhang Xingjian didn’t so much as glance at Shen Qingwu on the bridge.

Seeing that he was single-mindedly determined to use Yang Su as leverage, how could Shen Qingwu accept that? She’d come to help, and the soldiers might not be able to defeat her, but if she dodged them one by one to chase after Yang Su, how could she help him at all?

Shen Qingwu stared at Zhang Xingjian’s tall, retreating figure.

She stood on the bridge, listening to the rushing water on all sides, the plants and trees lush and stirring in the night—

Shen Qingwu pressed her blade against the bridge surface and suddenly shouted, “I am Shen Qingwu! I am the one who assassinated the young emperor!”

Beneath the bridge, Zhang Xingjian spun around at once, staring in disbelief at the woman standing wild and defiant on the bridge above.

She stood there, utterly cold.

The soldiers and officers could no longer simply follow Zhang Xingjian’s word alone—they all knew about the attack on the young emperor.

The soldiers converged on Shen Qingwu from every direction. “She’s Shen Qingwu, she’s the assassin! Take her in!”

Zhang Xingjian’s face turned deathly pale.

He called out coldly, “Come back—”

But he had only borrowed these troops, mobilized soldiers from various quarters. The army didn’t answer solely to him, just as Shen Qingwu had never done as he’d hoped.

In the sudden chaos, Zhang Xingjian stood frozen for a long moment.

Then, abruptly, he snatched a sword from a nearby retainer and rushed toward the bridge.

He saw something, and his gaze suddenly tightened. “Wutong, get off the bridge—”—

The fighting on the bridge grew fierce.

Shen Qingwu fought with everything she had against a force several times larger than before. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Yang Su finally had some room to breathe, and she relaxed slightly.

She certainly couldn’t hold off this many enemies alone, especially with someone as formidable as Zhang Xingjian leading them.

Seeing that Yang Su had gained some ground, she scanned her surroundings amid the fighting, looking for a direction with fewer enemies to retreat toward.

And at that very moment, a deafening crack rang out—

“Boom!”—

Thunder rumbled suddenly across the horizon.

Racing toward the bridge, Zhang Xingjian’s steps faltered at the sound, his face going deathly pale. He staggered, turned his head aside, and spat out a mouthful of blood.

Gasping, his voice came out hoarse and sharp. “Wutong—”

The stone bridge exploded with a thunderous crash.

In the chaos, the soldiers helped each other retreat. They wanted Shen Qingwu dead, cornering her so she couldn’t escape. At the sound of the thunder, she looked up at the lightning splitting the sky, and in that instant, her footing gave way beneath her.

Thunder.

Zhang Xingjian would be afraid.

She glanced toward him and saw him collapsed on his knees, blood at the corner of his mouth, his face white as paper.

Something struck her back with brutal force, sending a sharp jolt of pain through her already-injured heart and lungs, and Shen Qingwu spat blood.

Stone shattered and flew in fragments as she tumbled, along with the collapsing bridge, into the churning river below—

The night was too dark to make out anything clearly. Shen Qingwu looked up at the lightning overhead—

It seemed that every time her heart softened, every time she wanted to be with Zhang Xingjian, thunder came to remind her.

The thunder reminded her: you’re breaking your vow.

You cannot be with Zhang Xingjian. If you insist on being with him… you’ll have to pay the price—

Zhang Yuelu…—

There were many times Shen Qingwu had envied Zhang Xingjian.

Not envying his good birth, not envying the endless attention he’d received since childhood, nor the way he’d grown into someone so accomplished, so gifted by fate.

She envied Zhang Xingjian’s “cleverness.”

He always seemed to know exactly what he disliked, what he liked, what he wanted to do, what path he meant to walk. Every decision he made, he seemed fully prepared for.

Win or lose, he saw everything with perfect clarity.

When he gave up on someone, he knew exactly what he was giving up. When he liked someone, he knew exactly what he liked about them. When he wanted to reconcile with someone, he knew exactly what price he’d have to pay for it.

Every thread connecting two people, every possible direction a relationship might take—he claimed to always know exactly what he was doing.

He called this level of awareness “clarity.”

Shen Qingwu called it “cleverness”—

Shen Qingwu also envied Zhang Xingjian’s “moderation.”

He never sought extreme methods, never demanded all-or-nothing outcomes, never insisted on charging headlong into a wall.

He was like a tolerant, gentle, cold moon.

You rarely saw violent shifts of emotion in him; he was skilled at restraint, fond of quiet observation, never willing to push a relationship from one extreme to another.

He always used the gentler, more understandable methods to coax and persuade people. He didn’t believe in vows or oaths, and the idea of “heaven striking him down” was only something he’d been forced to acknowledge because Shen Qingwu pressed him to.

Whatever vows he’d sworn, whatever words he’d said, whatever he’d done—he could always find another way to reinterpret it, then use that to win her over again.

But Shen Qingwu couldn’t do that.

Stubborn to the point of exasperation, she walked one path all the way to the end, ignoring everyone’s advice, full of the kind of quirks that made people want to tear their hair out.

Shen Qingwu truly believed in the vow she’d sworn at sixteen, and truly meant to keep it for the rest of her life.

If she were to break that vow—

She truly believed she’d end up bruised and broken for it—

Lately, Shen Qingwu often found herself thinking that Bo Rong had been right.

She and Bo Rong were perhaps the same kind of person, doomed to be tormented endlessly by a single vow.

The sun scorches itself, its embers slowly fading to nothing beneath its own blazing light; and then that scholartree, growing for years on the cliffside, unnoticed by anyone, suddenly finds itself, one day, surrounded by more people than it ever expected…

If Shen Qingwu chose to break her vow, what kind of ending would await her?—

She truly did long for the moon.

Longed for his gentleness, his calm, his coolness, his adaptability—

What, in the end, were feeling and love and desire?—

“Splash.”

As she fell into the water, someone dove down from above without a moment’s hesitation, chasing after her.

After the thunder came the rain at last, falling in a heavy, crackling downpour.