Shen Qingwu silently opened her mouth, letting Zhang Xingjian’s finger withdraw.

She looked down and saw his finger, glistening from having been in her mouth, damp and faintly indecent.

It made her uneasy.

And the way Zhang Xingjian lowered his eyes to look at her—

That flickering fire, half-hidden, carried so much longing and stirred-up interest.

When he didn’t bother to hide his feelings, that desire would swell—just as it did now.

The way he looked at her in that moment made her feel that he wanted her, that he wanted to kiss her.

But Zhang Xingjian didn’t do it.

Just as Shen Qingwu felt a pang of disappointment, she saw him pull a handkerchief from inside his robe and wipe his hand with it.

Catching her gaze, Zhang Xingjian’s eyes curved, and he gave the handkerchief in his hand a little shake.

Zhang Xingjian said, “Do you see what this is?”

Shen Qingwu lay on the bed, too lazy to move. From her angle she could only see a snow-white handkerchief resting in his hand. But her thoughts had wandered, distracted—what she wished, more than anything, was that she herself were that handkerchief.

Shen Qingwu guessed carelessly, “A handkerchief? Don’t tell me one of your admirers gave it to you. Plenty of young ladies adore you, I already know that, no need to say more.”

Zhang Xingjian said, with a hidden meaning, “I don’t know either whether the person who gave me this handkerchief admires me.”

Shen Qingwu had spoken carelessly, since she didn’t think a man as difficult as Zhang Xingjian would spare a second glance for any young lady. But the way he said it made her pay attention after all.

Shen Qingwu stared at the handkerchief in his hand for a long moment.

Shen Qingwu said, “…Did Shen Qingye give it to you?”

She had heard from the princess that after “Qin Yueye” finished her task, she’d never made contact with them again. Likely “Qin Yueye” was mired deep in the schemes of Dongjing, her lines of communication cut off by Zhang Xingjian as well.

Since Shen Qingwu had assassinated the young emperor and left Dongjing, she’d heard no news of Shen Qingye at all.

But that didn’t stop her from believing that Shen Qingye was a beauty, Zhang Xingjian’s former fiancée, the delicate and lovely young lady who had once spent day and night at his side.

Zhang Xingjian said nothing.

He had nothing to say to this blockhead.

He spread his palm open and brought it close to her eyes, letting her see the handkerchief.

Shen Qingwu took the handkerchief from his hand and sat up from the couch. Sitting cross-legged, she turned it over and over, and at last, in the corner, she found a character embroidered in iron-hook and silver-stroke style: “Shen.”

Shen Qingwu couldn’t help but feel a little dazed.

Her needlework was poor, and she had no interest in it. This handkerchief was probably the last one she had ever embroidered with any care.

At sixteen, she had used it as a token, left with Zhang Yuelu, who at the time lay unconscious, waiting to be treated.

Later, when Zhang Yuelu hadn’t known her true identity, he had even used a handkerchief to test her.

But she had searched his body then—there had been no handkerchief on him at all.

Shen Qingwu looked silently at the handkerchief in her hand.

Zhang Xingjian said, “This is the real token of our bond. You gave it to me—will you deny it?”

Had she and he not already reconciled, Shen Qingwu would surely have been furious. But now… she pressed down the faint melancholy in her heart and said, calm and composed:

“After I took you out of Dongjing, I searched your body. You didn’t have this handkerchief on you then.”

Zhang Xingjian watched her, smiling. “Why do you keep searching my body?”

Shen Qingwu snorted.

Zhang Xingjian smiled. “When we left the capital, the handkerchief truly wasn’t on me. But afterward, didn’t I make contact with my men? When I sent Chang Lin out of the capital, I had him bring the handkerchief to me.”

Shen Qingwu said, “A hundred thousand li away, and you ran who knows how many horses to death, all for a handkerchief!”

Zhang Xingjian said shamelessly, “I don’t care, I wanted it.”

Shen Qingwu shot him a look.

He said, joking, “At the time I thought, if I couldn’t win back Wutong’s heart, I’d hold onto the handkerchief and make you take responsibility for me—cry and make a scene and threaten to hang myself, cling to you no matter what. You’re so hard-hearted, and yet so possessive of your own things, so domineering. You were bound to come demanding your handkerchief back… and that would naturally give me my chance.”

Shen Qingwu was speechless.

She didn’t know what to say to that.

She silently handed the handkerchief back to him. “You really are… full of tricks.”

Zhang Xingjian sighed.

He tucked the handkerchief back into his robe. All of this, front to back, had only been his way of claiming credit before Shen Qingwu, letting her know how much he cared for her.

Bit by bit he was dismantling her guarded heart, bit by bit testing how much she loved him—

While Shen Qingwu sat on the couch troubled by desire, Zhang Xingjian put the needle and thread back in its box. She was awake now, so naturally he wouldn’t waste their time together sewing.

The bed in the army tent was quite low; Shen Qingwu sat on it while Zhang Xingjian leaned against the bedside, sitting on the footstool, his face tilted up—which happened to let him meet her lowered gaze.

Zhang Xingjian’s face was turned up before her.

Zhang Xingjian privately believed that letting her look at his face improved the odds of his getting through to her.

Zhang Xingjian smiled brightly. “You’ve been busy these past few days?”

Shen Qingwu said, “Of course.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Then why did you turn and walk away the moment you saw me this afternoon?”

Shen Qingwu’s heart skipped.

A wariness rose in her, though her expression stayed calm. “Wasn’t it you who said, in the camp, we should pretend our relationship isn’t good?”

Zhang Xingjian was startled.

He said, “…But isn’t it hard for two people who like each other to hide their feelings? You don’t seem to have that trouble at all.”

Shen Qingwu answered without a flicker, “How do you know it’s hard to hide? I hide it very well. If someone can’t hide it well, that just means they haven’t tried hard enough.”

Zhang Xingjian said nothing.

Shen Qingwu tried to twist her way out of it. “And how do you know other people find it hard to hide? Do you speak from experience? Perhaps so many women adore you that you’ve gained plenty of practice.”

Zhang Xingjian, of course, had no intention of discussing that with her.

The two sparred back and forth, neither giving ground.

Zhang Xingjian said, “Whether I have experience or not—don’t you already know? It’s simply human nature, easy enough to work out with a little thought. It’s not that I haven’t tried; it’s only that I’m apparently not as cold-hearted as you—several times we crossed paths in camp, and you wouldn’t even look at me.”

Zhang Xingjian frowned, his suspicion halting and uncertain. “Wutong, are you… avoiding me?”

Naturally, Shen Qingwu denied it. “No.”

Someone as unpracticed at lying as she was had been trained by Zhang Xingjian into someone who could lie without changing expression—what a shame.

Zhang Xingjian thought it over and decided not to press the matter. He’d only half-suspected, without certainty. Since she said no, then no it was.

Besides, her coming to find him tonight had already dispelled that little knot of gloom in him.

Zhang Xingjian brightened, tilting his face up to chat idly with her. “You walked too fast when you ran into me at the drill ground today—you didn’t see it, but I spent the whole afternoon practicing archery.”

Shen Qingwu thought of that target he could never hit.

Shen Qingwu said nothing, her expression solemn.

Zhang Xingjian smiled. “Unfortunately my archery really isn’t very good. I’m sure it’s a laughingstock.”

Shen Qingwu comforted him. “Everyone has their own strengths. I’ve told you before, there’s no need to compare yourself to others.”

Zhang Xingjian lowered his face, his long lashes casting a shadow like a screen over those clear, beautiful eyes.

He put on a look of mock sorrow. “This afternoon I shot ten arrows. Nine hit the bullseye dead center. But one landed about two grains of rice from the center. Ah, my skill really is lacking.”

Had an ordinary person been present, they would have realized that “two grains of rice” was far too fine a margin to fuss over.

But Shen Qingwu was no ordinary person.

Shen Qingwu nodded, comforting him. “That is a bit lacking, but keep working hard, and one day you’ll surely hit ten for ten.”

Zhang Xingjian said nothing.

He lifted his face and repeated himself. “Of the ten arrows, nine hit. The one that missed—it was because I heard them call out ‘Shen Qingwu,’ and I thought you’d come, and my mind wandered for just a moment, that’s the only reason it went off.”

Shen Qingwu said, baffled, “So that’s exactly why I’m telling you to work harder.”

Zhang Xingjian gritted his teeth. “I already hit nine out of ten!”

Shen Qingwu said, “Wasn’t there one that missed?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “That was because my mind wandered.”

Shen Qingwu said, “And your mind wandering didn’t cause a miss?”

Zhang Xingjian said nothing.

He was nearly driven mad by her stubbornness, by how nothing seemed to get through to her.

He had been secretly showing off, hinting that he was a man of martial skill, no less capable than anyone else in the camp—but Shen Qingwu fixated only on the one arrow that had missed. She didn’t think him impressive; she didn’t think him formidable or grand at all…

Shen Qingwu tasted something not quite right in this and leaned in close to him. “Zhang Yuelu, what exactly do you mean by this?”

Zhang Xingjian glanced at her lazily.

Being the sort of man who preferred indirection, having to say things plainly felt utterly deflating—”I only meant to say I’m quite impressive. I wanted to hear you praise me.”

Shen Qingwu said nothing.

She thought about it for a long while, and suddenly understood the seventeen or eighteen twists and turns of his meaning.

Heavens.

He truly was a troublesome man.

And yet… so entertaining.

Shen Qingwu thought it over, then poked Zhang Xingjian’s shoulder.

Zhang Xingjian looked up, listless. “Forget it, I shouldn’t have pushed for it—when have you ever had a considerate heart…”

His words stopped.

Because the General Shen who had poked his shoulder leaned in, bringing her face close to his, putting on an expression of great astonishment—

Eyes wide, lips parted slightly, pupils dilated, the dark gleaming light in them reflecting nothing but Zhang Xingjian.

Her breath mingled with his, mere inches apart.

In that instant of her feigned astonishment, the hair on Zhang Xingjian’s body stood on end, his blood surging backward. He couldn’t put words to the feeling—he only knew that his whole body had begun to burn, his heart pounding wildly, and the fondness he held for her had begun to slip past his control…

Such an adorable Shen Qingwu, trying so hard to please him!

Zhang Xingjian stiffened, leaning back slightly, but Shen Qingwu gripped his shoulder and wouldn’t let him retreat.

She held the astonished expression for a long moment before finally hearing Zhang Xingjian’s hoarse verdict: “You truly can’t make an expression like that. Your face is so stiff—clearly you don’t smile often, always wearing that cold face that frightens people.”

Shen Qingwu glared at him.

But even as he said it so coldly, his eyes curved, smiling as he looked at her.

That blazing fondness in his eyes began, once again, to stir an itch in her heart—

Shen Qingwu coughed once—

From outside came the night watchman’s call: “The hour of the rat has come, second shift, change over—”

The soldiers on guard duty began their shift change. Inside the tent, Shen Qingwu blinked and told herself it was time to leave.

Her little “look”—it hadn’t set off his suspicion about the jade pendant. That alone told her she was in luck. Staying any longer, who knew what might happen…

Shen Qingwu’s gaze flickered. “I—I should sleep.”

Zhang Xingjian, sitting on the ground, watched her without speaking.

His hand curled around her sleeve, silent.

Shen Qingwu said quietly, “Tomorrow I still have to report my task, to give my account to Her Highness. I snuck back here—the soldiers who followed me will certainly come looking for me once they return… You’re safe here, and now that I’m at ease, I should go.”

Zhang Xingjian’s lashes trembled once.

He lowered his head and said nothing, his face fine and lovely; with his face bowed, only his lashes could be seen clearly, so long, so thick… making him look like some delicately bred young gentleman raised deep within an inner chamber.

Shen Qingwu climbed off the bed with some difficulty and began putting on her boots.

Just as she was about to stand, a hand reached from behind her.

Zhang Xingjian said, low, “Don’t go.”

His arm wrapped around Shen Qingwu’s waist, and she, her resolve none too firm to begin with, found herself turning without meaning to at his embrace.

The instant he pulled her waist against him, Shen Qingwu cupped his face and kissed his soft lips.

He, of course, did not refuse.

The two of them, one seated, one kneeling, kissed like that. Shen Qingwu tried to hold her feelings and her strength in check, thinking she mustn’t hurt him, thinking she would kiss him just a little and then leave.

Just a little, and then leave…

Lips and tongue brushing, again and again, breath catching and swallowing—why was it so sweet?

The veins on the back of Shen Qingwu’s hand trembled once.

Before she lost control of her feelings entirely, trembling, lingering, she held her breath between the two of them, not daring to touch any longer.

Shen Qingwu said softly, “I really do have to go now.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Don’t you like me enough?”

Shen Qingwu, sunk in desire, hadn’t caught his meaning. Dazed, she said, “What?”

Zhang Xingjian’s voice was hoarse and low. “You weren’t like this before… the way you are now… so light, so lacking in warmth—is it because you’re forcing yourself to be with me, rather than doing it from the heart?”

Shen Qingwu said, “I’m light?”

He blinked.

Shen Qingwu said, “I lack warmth?”

His face flushed red, but the way he blinked was utterly innocent.

He held her by the waist and said something so heartless it nearly drove her to fury.

Shen Qingwu’s composure had only ever been held within a certain limit.

The string she had kept taut snapped at his words.

Shen Qingwu’s eyes slowly turned cold, her feelings surging past reason, control slipping to her own stubbornness—

Shen Qingwu shoved Zhang Xingjian down.

He had been leaning against the bed; she pulled him straight onto it and pressed him beneath her. His head knocked against the wooden frame, and just as the pain registered, force pressed against his lips, and a searing breath forced its way in without reason.

He gave a low sound, his neck arching back.

Shen Qingwu gripped his chin with one hand.

Shen Qingwu said, her eyes like ice and snow, coldly, “You just like being bullied by me, don’t you?”

Zhang Xingjian had no time to answer; her forcefulness had already scattered his senses—

How could this not count as liking her?

Hadn’t he always liked precisely this—her unreasonableness?

So many times—

She had pressed against him unreasonably, in the dim, dust-hazed storeroom, close and intimate;

She had drugged him with brute force, ignoring his resistance, caring only about having him, savoring him;

She had clashed and sparred with him at every turn, chased down his carriage, fed him the “heart-bound gu” on a cliff’s edge, pushed him to leap off that cliff with her.

How could this not count as liking her?

Fondness piles up bit by bit, until at last it becomes a wildfire.

Zhang Xingjian, a man who by nature was reserved, forever restraining what he loved and wanted—the very thing he was driven, heedless of everything, to chase, was this lawless, reckless Shen Qingwu—

Sometimes he was glad for her gentleness and calm.

But more often, what he liked was her being rougher, less rational, a little wild.

That made him feel—that this was the wholehearted love that truly belonged to Shen Qingwu—

Besides, Zhang Xingjian vaguely felt that he and Shen Qingwu were, in this regard, remarkably well matched.

Otherwise… the very first time she had disguised herself as the princess and forced a kiss on him, he wouldn’t have been so thoroughly stirred.

During the time she’d held him captive, unwilling to fall to desire, he had in the end been driven by it all the same.

Wasn’t that precisely because he felt so much?

Every time she drew near, every breath of hers, roused in his body a tremor he couldn’t control.

Zhang Xingjian had once tried to suppress this bodily delight, but later he could no longer tell clearly—

Whether it was his heart, or his body, that liked Shen Qingwu more—

A drop of sweat fell onto Shen Qingwu’s neck.

It was sweat from the brow of the man beneath her.

The light in his eyes flickered faintly, his breath ragged and unsteady, his robe—never fastened all that tightly to begin with—now hanging loose from all their play. His long hair spread like scattered clouds across the pillow, dark as the night beyond the tent that could not be dispelled.

Too enthralling.

The candlelight flickered faintly.

She didn’t put it out, and so Zhang Xingjian’s face only grew redder, his breath more and more clouded.

He couldn’t bear this disarray, and yet he was drawn to it all the same… and Shen Qingwu meant to make him endure still more.

In his daze, Zhang Xingjian felt his fingers taken up one by one in her grip; she held his hand and pressed it to her own heart.

Shen Qingwu leaned over him, her robe—which he had once complained was so worn—hanging loosely half-fallen; Zhang Xingjian trembled once, lifting his eyes to watch her, watching as she held his hand, brushed it against her dark hair, let it touch her skin.

He stayed still as carved stone.

His fingers trembled like plucked strings.

The struggle in his eyes, and a pleasure like a needle too large, traveled from his fingertips, racing swiftly through his blood, moving this man to his very core.

Zhang Xingjian watched her, quietly.

He tried his best to hold back, but he was fast losing the ability to…

Shen Qingwu said, teasing, “Didn’t you always want to play? Why so timid now? Weren’t you the one who wanted to play with me—this little skill of yours isn’t quite enough, is it, Zhang Yuelu?”

Zhang Xingjian said, “…You really do know a great deal.”

Shen Qingwu coaxed him. “Don’t you know plenty yourself? Don’t you like it? Or were you simply scared into submission by your second sister… this is nothing, hardly anything at all.”

Zhang Xingjian laughed.

He said softly, “Right. Hardly anything at all.”

Drawn on by desire, his fingers moved gently, making her neck go stiff. The light in his eyes suddenly brightened, and all at once he wrapped his arms around her back, turned them over, and pressed her down onto the bed instead.

Shen Qingwu closed her eyes.

He leaned over her.

His breath was like fire.

She could feel how much he wanted this.

Shen Qingwu laughed softly, eyes shut. “Is this how you want it? This way you can’t see very well—you should listen to me instead.”

Zhang Xingjian’s breath, muffled against her chest, was thick and clinging, laced with a trace of laughter. “I’m not that obedient.”—

And so, Shen Qingwu forgot whether she should go or stay.

She was already aware—tomorrow her subordinates would tease her for this—

But outside the tent, a death soldier knocked rhythmically at the flap.

Zhang Xingjian didn’t hear it; Shen Qingwu heard it but paid it no mind.

Not until a man’s voice came from outside: “My lord, are you still awake?”

The two inside the tent froze.

Shen Qingwu instantly sensed the weakness startled into Zhang Xingjian, and in that same instant, she felt a thrill of excitement. Just as he moved to pull back, she lazily reached out and held him in place, refusing to let him go, and used her long legs to rub against him lightly.

She locked her legs around his waist.

Zhang Xingjian abruptly turned his face aside, letting out a muffled, indistinct sound. The look in his eyes, caught in the candlelight, was too blurred to read clearly.

The veins on the back of his hand, pressed against the pillow, stood out and trembled.

His whole body felt as though it were being roasted over fire, and doused in water all at once.

Arousal and mortification arrived together, breeding a helpless shame; he resisted her mischief, trying to pull back, but Shen Qingwu abruptly rose, and their positions shifted once more.

She pinned his hands, pressed him against the wall, and kissed his soft, moist lips.

Shen Qingwu said softly, “Answer him.”

She said, half-smiling, “Why don’t you dare speak?”—

The sweat from Zhang Xingjian’s lashes fell onto her lips.

His eyes stayed fixed on her.

He said, “You wretch.”—

The death soldier outside said, “My lord?”

The atmosphere within the tent was far from ordinary, and the death soldier sensed something strange, unsure whether to leave or to barge in.

And the two within, clearly just as afraid of being discovered, forced themselves to speak calmly: “What is it?”

The death soldier let out a breath of relief.

He answered respectfully, “This subordinate discovered that General Shen has quietly returned to camp, and the soldiers who followed her have returned as well. But I lingered outside General Shen’s tent for a while and heard no sound. It seems General Shen isn’t in her own tent.”

The death soldier said, quite earnestly, “Shall this subordinate go look for her whereabouts?”—

The candlelight inside the tent fell against the wall.

The two entwined figures merged into one within its shifting shadow.

That whereabouts-unknown General Shen was, in fact, right there holding their lord, tormenting and toying with him in every way, teasing him until his lashes trembled and his composure fell entirely to pieces.

Zhang Xingjian’s eyes glistened, as if brimming with tears.

But that was only because of his arousal.

A man as beautiful as he naturally carried more moisture in his gaze than most. Once stirred, his eyes shimmered and rippled like a lake.

Shen Qingwu leaned in to kiss his eyes—

He shut them at once—

Zhang Xingjian said again, “Wretch.”—

The death soldier outside said, “My lord?”

After a few breaths, he finally heard his lord’s voice, somewhat hoarse but composed: “No need to look for her. Go and rest.”

The death soldier acknowledged and withdrew.

It was fortunate that the death soldiers Zhang Xingjian had trained never spoke out of turn, never pried into matters that weren’t theirs. Had that soldier lingered, said even a few words more, Zhang Xingjian inside the tent would hardly have been able to bear it—

As if wrung completely dry, Zhang Xingjian’s breath trembled as he lay against the pillow, trying to steady himself.

His fingers, resting on the bedding, trembled once.

Shen Qingwu thought that his mood, right now, must be very good indeed.

Shen Qingwu recalled what the young soldier had said—”fight at the head of the bed, make up by its foot.”

She suddenly realized that if she truly meant to own up to any fault, the moment of truth, right here between the sheets, might be the very best opportunity—

Shen Qingwu sat up above him.

She leaned down, her dark hair falling across his face.

His eyes were hazy, his face flushed like sunset clouds, his whole being entirely under her control.

Shen Qingwu murmured by his ear, “You’re very happy right now, aren’t you?”

Zhang Xingjian had sunk into a daze of confusion.

He nodded, muddled, holding her back, hoping she would bring him pleasure, and not torment him further.

And so, seizing the moment, Shen Qingwu leaned to his ear and said a few words—

In the next instant, Shen Qingwu was shoved off the bed—

She heard the young lord’s voice turn cold: “Get out.”—

Shen Qingwu thought, …

So much for fighting at the head of the bed and making up at its foot.

So much for all that passion and confusion.

Why had he suddenly come back to his senses?

All because she’d said, “I broke your jade pendant. I lost it”?