The wind and sand really had been too strong.

After that “missed shot” episode, the wind kept churning up dust for a while longer before everyone’s vision cleared.

Zhang Xingjian had already returned the bow to the weapons rack.

He smiled at the general accompanying him. “The wind’s too strong. Not suited for archery.”

The general nodded solemnly.

The soldiers training nearby had craned their necks in anticipation, only to get this as the outcome.

The elegant, refined young noble from the Eastern Capital had genuinely had his archery interrupted by the wind — but in the soldiers’ hearts, they preferred to take it as proof that this young man really was as frail and feeble as he looked—

“So what if the wind’s strong? This is nothing. And he still can’t shoot? If our general were here, no matter how strong the wind, she’d hit the mark every time!”

“Exactly! Look, isn’t General Shen sitting right over there? If General Shen came and shot, the wind wouldn’t affect her at all.”

Zhang Xingjian put the bow back and glanced once more at Shen Qingwu not far away.

The general accompanying him noticed that the Chancellor had now glanced at General Shen several times, quite unobtrusively.

Hm. It had been General Shen who’d brought this Chancellor Zhang to see the princess. There were also rumors circulating in the camp that back when General Shen was still the Shen family’s second daughter, she’d had some unclear entanglement with this Chancellor Zhang…

The general mulled this over for a moment, then called out loudly to Shen Qingwu. “General Shen!”

Over on the railing, General Shen didn’t so much as stir, still chatting animatedly with the young soldier.

Unruffled, Zhang Xingjian listened as the general raised his voice further. “General Shen, come demonstrate the proper archery stance for the men!”

He was, in fact, following Li Linge’s orders, eager to show off the strength of their army in front of Zhang Xingjian.

This happened to suit Zhang Xingjian’s purposes as well — missing the shot was fine, missing the shot didn’t matter; if it got Shen Qingwu to come over, even without a word exchanged, a few glances would be enough.

But the soldier sitting beside Shen Qingwu stood up and called back loudly, “General Liu, General Shen says — the wind’s too strong, and she’s injured, so it’s inconvenient for her to use her internal energy, and inconvenient to shoot. General Shen says you should go demonstrate for the men yourself!”

The general: “…”

He looked sheepish, thoroughly embarrassed.

Shen Qingwu rarely gave him any face. He’d been walking alongside Zhang Xingjian, feeling for a moment as though his own standing had risen above its usual place — and Shen Qingwu’s refusal knocked him straight back down to earth.

The general muttered, “No respect for discipline at all! If Marshal Bo were here, he’d certainly have words with her!”

Unfortunately, the Yizhou army currently had no marshal, and Shen Qingwu was already one of the highest-ranking generals among them. Above Shen Qingwu, only Li Linge could summon her at will.

Zhang Xingjian’s eyes flickered.

Seeing that the general couldn’t get Shen Qingwu to come over, and that the soldier had even relayed her message for her, his suspicions deepened further: why wouldn’t she come? Even setting aside the pretense of not being close to him, wasn’t such deliberate avoidance itself suspicious?

Zhang Xingjian smiled at the general accompanying him. “I’ve met General Shen a few times before. Since she’s here, it would be polite to greet her.”

The general had nothing to say.

The general thought to himself: rumor in the camp has it that General Shen only took up with our princess after cutting things off cleanly with you! It takes real nerve to go up to her after that.

But then, a man who could rise to Chancellor probably did have thick enough skin.

Zhang Xingjian, who couldn’t even land a single arrow, nonetheless walked toward the other end of the training grounds with perfect composure, every bit the picture of a man preparing to strike up an acquaintance with Shen Qingwu.

As Zhang Xingjian drew near, he heard the soldier, back turned to him, confirming with Shen Qingwu: “So this jade pendant, I really get to keep it? The general really gave it to me? Really because she saw how hard I train and wanted to reward me?”

The soldier was practically giddy over his superior’s reward, when a refined, gentle male voice spoke up from behind him: “What jade pendant?”

Shen Qingwu: “…”

She sat motionless on the railing, very seriously sunning herself, staring up at the sun. In her heart she prayed she’d guessed wrong, that Zhang Xingjian wouldn’t come over before she’d figured out how to admit fault.

Shen Qingwu never admitted fault to anyone.

She was under a great deal of pressure, and had agonized over it for a long time.

And of course Zhang Xingjian just had to come over.

The moment Zhang Xingjian asked the soldier about it, Shen Qingwu’s head began to ache.

The soldier turned around, showing off his reward to the general and the young lord behind him with baffled excitement. “General Shen gave it to me to play with… General Shen said this piece was carved wrong, ruined jade, and told me to take it.”

Zhang Xingjian glanced at the pendant.

His brow furrowed slightly.

The carving strength wasn’t bad — cut deep and firm — but it was all pitted and uneven, impossible to tell what it depicted. Where had Shen Qingwu gotten hold of a ruined piece of jade…

Wait.

Zhang Xingjian stared fixedly at the messily carved stone.

He had the vague sense that the level of draftsmanship looked like something drawn by a six-year-old holding a brush for the first time — badly done, in a way that felt strangely, particularly familiar…

Zhang Xingjian said, “Let me see the pendant.”

His tone was mild but brooked no refusal. The soldier was about to hand it over when a sudden force struck from behind — a kick to his back that sent him stumbling sideways two steps.

Fumbling to keep his balance, the soldier failed to hand the pendant to Zhang Xingjian.

Startled, he turned around to see Shen Qingwu had leapt down from the railing, dusting off her hands.

Shen Qingwu said to the soldier, “You’ve rested long enough, haven’t you? Get back to training.”

The soldier had no choice but to go.

Zhang Xingjian withdrew his pale, elegant hand, his eyes flickering.

He said nothing, but the general accompanying him was nearly furious at Shen Qingwu’s rudeness. “Shen Qingwu, how dare you! This is our honored guest! What’s wrong with an honored guest wanting to look at a jade pendant? Do you even have any regard for the rest of us?”

Shen Qingwu’s gaze lingered on Zhang Xingjian for only an instant, dark and indifferent.

She inclined her head. “Greetings to the honored guest.”

Before Zhang Xingjian could speak, Shen Qingwu said, “Take your time looking around the grounds. The princess has given me a task, so I’ll be off.”

She turned and walked away, effortlessly composed.

The general accompanying Zhang Xingjian could only offer an awkward explanation. “Our General Shen, well, she’s a bit blunt by nature… we military types are all like that, pretty simple people, no ill intentions really, General Shen just has a particularly odd temperament… she absolutely didn’t mean any disrespect toward you!”

But privately the general thought: given the tangled rumors I’ve heard about the two of you, the fact that General Shen didn’t just draw her blade and cut you down already counts as remarkable restraint on her part.

The general said, “Let’s go take a look somewhere else.”

The important thing was not to provoke that little death star, Shen Qingwu.

Zhang Xingjian said he’d defer to his host’s wishes—

But privately, a seed of suspicion had already been planted in Zhang Xingjian’s mind.

Why wouldn’t Shen Qingwu let him see the pendant?

Could it really be, as he suspected, that she had carved it herself? She’d carved that piece of jade with her own hands, and instead of giving it to him, she’d given it to some random soldier?

What was so special about that soldier?

Zhang Xingjian turned his face slightly toward one of his loyal retainers, giving a small nod to signal him over, to have him look into it—

Investigations within the army camp were difficult, watched from every direction.

But since Zhang Xingjian was only looking into an utterly ordinary soldier, by evening he still had his answer.

The conclusion, however, was — the man really was about as ordinary as a soldier could be.

If pressed to name any strong points, it would be that he was somewhat quick-witted, warm toward others, tall in stature, and had a solidly muscular build…

Zhang Xingjian, who had always been sharp-minded, sank into a long spell of bewilderment.

Did he himself not have those qualities?—

What depressed Zhang Xingjian further was that Shen Qingwu proved to be far too good at following orders.

Having agreed they’d keep their distance, she made absolutely certain he never saw her.

Zhang Xingjian had spent several days in the camp, several days trading veiled threats and probes with Li Linge, coming close to open conflict once or twice… yet he had never once managed to run into Shen Qingwu face to face.

Zhang Xingjian couldn’t help but think back to something from long ago—

Back then, when Shen Qingwu said she wouldn’t speak to him, she truly wouldn’t speak to him.

No matter how he tried to coax her, she wouldn’t make a sound.

If not for that lantern-collapse incident during the Lantern Festival that year, he’d never have gotten Shen Qingwu to open her mouth at all.

Now Zhang Xingjian felt a faint regret: he really had been thinking of Shen Qingwu, thinking of himself, believing it best that the two of them keep their distance in the camp — but he’d forgotten just how “obedient” Shen Qingwu could be when she actually chose to obey.

Over the past several days, at most he’d caught a glimpse of her back.

Arriving in a rush, leaving in a hurry.

He hadn’t gotten so much as a single glance from her.

This had been entirely his own plan, and now that it had come to this, it was he himself who had begun to regret it, to feel unwilling to accept it.

That day, Zhang Xingjian was once again at the training grounds watching the soldiers drill, accompanied by the general assigned to keep watch over him.

He picked up the bow and arrows he’d abandoned partway through days before, drew the bow, and fixed his eyes on the target.

The general cheered him on.

Whether or not this third young master of the Zhang family could hit the mark, his form alone was truly a sight to behold—

Like clouds drifting free of the peaks, like snow beyond compare.

The soldiers all silently cheered this young man’s bearing in their hearts. The arrow left Zhang Xingjian’s bowstring with a twang and flew straight into the bullseye.

The general immediately cheered for him. “Well done, Third Young Master!”

Zhang Xingjian remained utterly composed.

Mounted archery had never been his particular strength, but he was accomplished in both letters and arms. Ordinarily he wouldn’t have cared how others saw him, but on that earlier day the wind and sand had gotten in everyone’s eyes, and Zhang Xingjian was not about to let a single visit to the Yizhou army saddle him with a reputation for being “weak and feeble” — one that Shen Qingwu would hear repeated day after day.

Zhang Xingjian kept his eyes fixed on the bullseye not far off, shooting with real focus. And once he stopped embarrassing himself, the other soldiers lost interest in watching.

Zhang Xingjian found the sky clear and the air crisp, and thought that working up a little sweat with archery now and then was rather enjoyable.

He’d been at it for a while, his attention fully absorbed, when he suddenly heard the general behind him call out, “General Shen!”

Zhang Xingjian turned abruptly.

Robes billowing like clouds, a faint sheen of sweat on his face and brow, his figure slender and upright as jade or pine.

Fortunate indeed that this training ground held only men — had a few more lovely young women been present to see Zhang Xingjian looking like this, there was no telling how many hearts would have been lost.

Shen Qingwu approached from a distance, leading a dozen or so soldiers.

The instant she spotted the tall, elegant young man standing out above the crowd, she thought, in that same instant, of how good a figure like that would feel to hold.

The next moment, Zhang Xingjian turned halfway, looking in her direction.

Shen Qingwu immediately turned and led her soldiers off in another direction.

Zhang Xingjian froze—

As Shen Qingwu rounded the corner of a barracks building, she couldn’t help but steal one glance back over her shoulder as she turned.

And in that very glance, she saw Zhang Xingjian still standing exactly where he’d been.

Under the blazing sun, the light too fierce to see clearly, Shen Qingwu couldn’t quite make out the mingled loss and confusion in Zhang Xingjian’s eyes, but her heart gave a hot, sudden lurch at how good-looking he was.

Shen Qingwu pressed her lips together.

Because of the jade pendant, she still wasn’t ready to face him.

And because Zhang Xingjian had said they should keep their distance, she was faithfully carrying out his order.

But… in that instant, Shen Qingwu suddenly thought — she still wanted to see him anyway.

Though she feared him bringing up the pendant, though she knew that obeying a clever man’s orders was always the wisest course, the sight of Zhang Xingjian standing there on the training ground made something in her heart itch.

She thought: surely there’s no harm in sneaking a look at him?

Her martial skill was so good… though Zhang Xingjian had told her not to use her internal energy, a few steps around the camp was well within what she could manage without it.

She simply missed him.

Missed his face, his body, his smile… and that endlessly amusing way he had of talking—

Deep in the quiet night, a single candle flame kept company.

Zhang Xingjian, in a thin spring robe, knelt at his low desk, writing.

What he wrote were only notes on his demands in the negotiation with Li Linge, along with a few strategies for handling news from the Eastern Capital.

As the Young Emperor’s condition grew ever more dangerous, many officials in the Eastern Capital had begun harboring other intentions, quietly hoping to work against Zhang Xingjian, hoping to hold the new emperor hostage and command the lords in his name… all of this required Zhang Xingjian’s attention.

Such was the nature of an emperor.

Every move affecting everyone.

Even now, reduced to a wreck of a man who could barely wake, he still managed to plunge the realm into this state of paralysis, leaving Li Linge unable to act for fear of the consequences…

Zhang Xingjian turned it over in his mind.

Toward evening, one of his retainers had reported that Li Linge had sent Shen Qingwu out on a task — Shen Qingwu had led soldiers out of camp to the county magistrate’s residence. What the task specifically involved, the retainer had been unable to follow closely enough to learn.

Zhang Xingjian sighed.

He told the retainer to keep watch and inform him the moment General Shen returned to camp, then put out his own candle to sleep.

He wasn’t waiting for her.

He simply thought it best to stay alert in case anything changed. On Li Linge’s territory, every step had to be carefully weighed to reach the best possible outcome.

The candlelight flickered twice against the tent wall, and a gust of wind slipped in through a gap in the tent flap, tugging at the hem of Zhang Xingjian’s thin robe.

As he reached to gather the robe draped over him, the chill blowing in from the direction of the door grew sharper still, and the candle flame wavered more violently.

The wind stirred a few loose strands of his hair, brushing them against his cheek. Just as Zhang Xingjian was gathering his robe and watching the candlelight, there came a clatter — like something colliding, or like a sudden violent gust — the tent flap was thrown open, and a figure came in.

The candle dimmed for an instant, then flared bright again.

Travel-worn and windblown, Shen Qingwu ducked inside, and found herself looking straight into the eyes of Zhang Xingjian, seated at his desk.

Shen Qingwu froze.

She’d hurried the whole way here, sweat soaking her brow — for the sake of her own little scheme, she’d even had the soldiers with her take a roundabout route… She’d come in covered head to toe in dust and dirt, meaning only to sneak a look at Zhang Xingjian and feel satisfied. She hadn’t expected to find the candle blazing and Zhang Xingjian still hard at work.

Zhang Xingjian stared at her, stunned.

Shen Qingwu merely leaned against the felt tent-flap for a moment, dazed, before quickly composing herself.

There wasn’t really any difference between looking at someone asleep and looking at someone awake. She wasn’t up to anything wicked — why should she be afraid of Zhang Xingjian being awake?

Shen Qingwu’s gaze fixed on him.

Her eyes burned bright; beneath lashes dusted with sweat and grime, her eyes were clear and dark, and when she looked at someone with such focus, her entire gaze seemed to hold that person’s reflection. The depth of feeling in that focus was deeply pleasing to be on the receiving end of.

Zhang Xingjian was just about to speak.

Shen Qingwu pressed a finger beneath her lips. “Shh.”

She said, “I snuck over here.”

Zhang Xingjian, puzzled, pointed at her sleeve. Shen Qingwu looked down and saw loose threads fraying wildly at her cuff, along with a small bloodstain…

Shen Qingwu walked toward him. “There was a magistrate playing both sides, skimming some tax revenue. The princess was reviewing the numbers and thought something didn’t add up, so she sent me to look into it quietly. It didn’t take much effort — no skilled fighters there, just ordinary people.”

She added, emphatically, “I’ve been taking my medicine every day, and I didn’t use my internal energy on this task either. I haven’t broken your instructions.”

As she spoke, she’d already walked right up to him.

She looked down at him, growing more and more excited, feeling certain she’d made the right choice coming to see him tonight.

As she stood before him, the young man seated there caught the faint scent of wine clinging to her… He frowned. “You’ve been drinking?”

Shen Qingwu inwardly cursed her luck.

She’d always said Zhang Xingjian noticed everything, remembered everything down to the smallest detail.

She said, “Just had a few sips with the men. I’m not drunk, I’m perfectly clear-headed.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “You’re injured, you’re still in recovery, you can’t be drinking—”

Shen Qingwu toppled toward him with a thud.

Before he could finish speaking, he scrambled to his feet, arms flung open to catch her. Fortunately she’d gone out lightly dressed today, without her heavy armor, so when she fell against him, Zhang Xingjian managed to catch her and sit back down at the desk without being crushed.

Zhang Xingjian’s eyes flickered darkly.

The moment Shen Qingwu saw that look, she knew his mind was already turning over something. She felt a flicker of fear, but emboldened by her own inappropriate urges, she had no intention of leaving.

She’d only meant to take one look and go — but now that she actually saw him, she couldn’t bear to leave.

That was greed, plain and simple.

Before Zhang Xingjian could sort out the situation, the woman who’d fallen against him twisted around to face him. Her head came to rest on his knee; she turned her face up and reached out to wrap her arms around his waist. With Shen Qingwu’s sudden movement, the scholar’s robe draped over Zhang Xingjian’s shoulders slipped down, pooling beside him like a cloud.

Shen Qingwu breathed in his clean, clear scent.

She tightened her arms around his waist, unable to stop herself from stroking it, again and again.

Zhang Xingjian’s body went rigid.

He looked down. “Wutong…”

Shen Qingwu closed her eyes. “I’ve been traveling for so long, I’m so tired, and the moment I got back I snuck over to find you…”

Zhang Xingjian said, “…Find me for what?”

Shen Qingwu’s dark eyes didn’t waver. “I want to sleep.”

Zhang Xingjian’s ears turned red. “…”

He’d assumed she meant something else, but Shen Qingwu simply kept her arms around his waist, buried her face against him, closed her eyes, and was soon softly snoring.

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

…So she really was just tired, then?

Fair enough.

He felt only the faintest twinge of disappointment—

Zhang Xingjian carried Shen Qingwu to his own bed.

He leaned over the bed, adjusting her position, and pressed a few points on her body, at which her arms loosened their grip around his waist.

It took real effort for Zhang Xingjian to extract his waist from between her arms; he broke a sweat doing it.

He sighed, exasperated. “What sheer brute strength.”

What on earth had she been raised on?

Barely any flesh on her at all, and yet such strength…

He reached out and gave her waist a poke; in her sleep, perhaps ticklish, she shrank back slightly. Zhang Xingjian raised an eyebrow and smiled faintly.

He didn’t disturb her further, simply settling down on the floor, chin propped on his hand, gazing at her quietly.

At first his thoughts drifted to whether Li Linge had sent Shen Qingwu on this particular task to put on some show of “benevolence”… but little by little, his attention drifted back to Shen Qingwu herself.

He sighed, realizing he was blaming Li Linge for something that wasn’t really her fault—

Why did Shen Qingwu have to work herself so hard, running back and forth like this?

Covered head to toe in dust and dirt, always rushing to and from everywhere — why was she so eager about carrying out her duties?

He felt a small ache of sympathy for her.

He’d prepared so many fine, elegant clothes for her, and here in the camp she couldn’t wear a single one of them. Shen Qingwu had gone back to those drab, threadbare military robes, full of gaps and drafts — he could see, looking at the cuffs and sleeves, loose threads fraying everywhere…

She didn’t even have anyone to mend her clothes.

Zhang Xingjian gazed at her for a long while, and suddenly recalled something.

He remembered that the tent Li Linge had assigned him for rest had originally belonged to some general. There were things left behind in the tent that might still be of use — when Zhang Xingjian moved in, though he’d never touch another person’s belongings, he also hadn’t thrown anything out.

Now Zhang Xingjian rummaged through a chest tucked in the corner.

Lying on the bed, Shen Qingwu quietly opened one eye, sneaking a look at him.

Of course she couldn’t actually fall asleep.

A handsome man right beside her, after traveling all this way, her heart still racing from having snuck over just to see Zhang Xingjian… how could she possibly sleep?

She simply hadn’t yet worked out what to say about the jade pendant, hadn’t figured out what someone like her — who never admitted fault to anyone — was supposed to do about it.

Still, what was Zhang Xingjian dawdling over? Why wasn’t he coming over so she could properly hold him?

Shen Qingwu thought to herself, rather pleased with her own cleverness: once he got into bed, she could pretend to be too groggy with sleep to know what she was doing, and tangle herself up with him.

That day on the training grounds, the Zhang family’s third young master, slender and lovely as a willow in spring — how maddening he’d been.

If something happened in that hazy, half-asleep state… it wouldn’t be her fault for disobeying him, for failing to keep her distance.

She’d carried out his instructions most conscientiously, after all.

But sharing a bed and falling asleep together — that wasn’t her doing.

Shen Qingwu saw Zhang Xingjian in the corner get to his feet, and hastily closed her eyes again, continuing to feign sleep—

Zhang Xingjian said, “Wutong?”

Naturally, he couldn’t wake someone who was only pretending to sleep.

Zhang Xingjian sat at the edge of the bed, leaning down to pat her cheek gently. “Wutong?”

When she didn’t stir, he could only mutter to himself. “I have no choice. You can’t blame me for not discussing this with you first… I certainly can’t let you keep running around tomorrow in clothes like that.”

What he’d found in the chest in the corner was a box of needles and thread.

Zhang Xingjian steeled himself. “I’ve never done needlework, never mended clothes for anyone before… you’ll just have to make do.”

The feigning-sleep Shen Qingwu was thoroughly startled.

She felt her sleeve being lifted, heard soft rustling sounds without pause, felt him fumbling at something for a long while without a sound out of him.

Shen Qingwu quietly opened one eye, utterly astonished at what she saw:

The fine-featured young man sat at the edge of her bed, needle and thread in hand, studying the loose threads at her cuff with painstaking seriousness, focused entirely on mending her clothes—

Shen Qingwu: “…”

If the second young lady of the Zhang family knew of this, she would surely despise Shen Qingwu even more.

It wasn’t without reason that the whole Zhang household despised Shen Qingwu.

Their family’s beautifully bred, refined young master — a man who should be holding a writing brush or a sword — was instead holding a needle so fine it was nearly invisible, eyes wide in the candlelight, threading it through that impossibly small eye, mending her clothes.

Clumsy as it was, badly stitched as it was, with Zhang Xingjian undoing and redoing the same stitches over and over — he really was doing needlework.

He was doing the very thing Shen Qingwu had once, long ago, hoped he would do for her—

Mending her clothes—

But back then, Shen Qingwu had assumed that Zhang Xingjian, being so clever with his hands, would surely be skilled at needlework too.

Now she realized that wasn’t the case at all.

He was clumsy at it, no better than she was. And he had a stubborn streak — he’d been fussing over this one spot on her cuff for ages now, stitching and unpicking and stitching again, never satisfied.

Shen Qingwu thought that if he kept at this rate, she’d probably end up wearing rags tomorrow.

Shen Qingwu thought that if he kept at this rate, his sheer stubbornness would put her to sleep for real.

This wouldn’t do—

Whatever Zhang Xingjian did, he insisted on doing it as close to perfectly as possible.

He’d been raised that way since childhood, and he’d always had impeccable taste besides — there was no way he’d allow Shen Qingwu to run around in shabby, mismatched clothing, much less allow anything he mended himself to turn out worse than what she’d started with.

Zhang Xingjian focused intently on the mending, wrestling with the fabric, the needle simply refusing to cooperate.

The needle pricked his finger; he made no sound, but blood welled up instantly.

Just as he reached for a cloth to wipe it away, a hand shot out and caught his injured finger.

Shen Qingwu drew his finger into her mouth, her soft tongue gently licking over the wound—

Their eyes met—

Zhang Xingjian: “…”

Wasn’t she supposed to be asleep?

Shen Qingwu: “…”

She hadn’t meant anything by it.

She just couldn’t stand how fussy he was being — his finger bleeding, and he was still unhurriedly going to look for a cloth. By the time he found one, she figured, he’d probably have bled a river.

She’d acted on impulse, without thinking it through — his finger was already in her mouth before she knew it, and only when his eyes met hers did she realize what she’d done—

Shen Qingwu, finger still in her mouth, said with feigned composure, “Accident.”

Zhang Xingjian, voice hoarse, said, “Which part?”

—Pretending to sleep, an accident? Or provoking him, an accident?