Shen Qingwu asked Zhang Xingjian, “Does it still hurt? Has it been hurting the whole time?”

Leaning down, she gripped his shoulder, gazing at his somewhat pallid face.

Zhang Xingjian’s lashes lifted lightly, the light in his eyes flickering.

His robe hung loose, his hair dark as ink, half-reclined on the small couch, the half-open window behind him, ancient trees green beyond it, lightning flashing now and then, thunder rolling.

Against that ravaged, storm-torn sky, Zhang Xingjian’s presence, to Shen Qingwu’s eyes, held a beauty at once devastating and magnificent, fine and delicate.

Fragile as he was, exquisite as he was, indifferent as he was—still composed and graceful even as he endured such intense pain.

She watched him without blinking, knowing her own blood was rising to a boil because of it, knowing that every trembling shudder of his body after each crash of thunder, the cold sweat at his neck, acted on her like the most potent aphrodisiac.

She needed no drug to stir her desire.

Zhang Xingjian himself was that drug.

Zhang Xingjian could see that fixation in her eyes.

He liked that, in her eyes, there was nothing but him.

And so, slowly, Zhang Xingjian reached out to embrace her, to wind his fingers through her hair.

His voice, clear but hoarse, was utterly honest. “It hurts. It’s been hurting the whole time, hurting so much I could die. If you leave, I’ll be heartbroken on top of it… one wound on another, and I don’t think I’ll survive it.”

Shen Qingwu said, unmoved, “You’re playing the pitiful, clingy act again.”

Light rippled in Zhang Xingjian’s eyes.

He seemed to be telling the truth and joking at once. “Acting pitiful is for the hunt. If it’s a useful tool, why not use it?”

Testing her, his fingers wound through her slightly stiff, damp hair.

Coil after coil around his fine fingers.

Zhang Xingjian gazed at Shen Qingwu. “Body, face, temperament, bearing—whatever can be used, I’ll use it. But I’ve reached the end of my options now, and I don’t know how much it works on you… can I really win you over this way?”

Shen Qingwu said, “You can.”

He froze, and she reached out swiftly, pulling loose the sash from his half-shed robe. Before Zhang Xingjian could react, she swiftly and effortlessly bound his hand with the sash, tying it to the armrest of the wooden couch, knotted tight.

Zhang Xingjian gazed at her, and when she looked back, he blinked.

A knowing smile flickered in his eyes.

Zhang Xingjian said, “You really do like tying me up, don’t you?”

Shen Qingwu said, perfectly serious, “I’ve heard that one extreme sensation can override another. Aren’t you in a great deal of pain? I thought—if what we do is intense enough, maybe it’ll override the pain in your body, ease it a little. What do you think?”

Her heart pounded.

Seeing him look this delectable, this willing to give up resistance, that reckless thrill inside her surged wildly.

She always wanted to torment him.

Zhang Xingjian lowered his face, smiling.

He said, “What’s wrong with you.”

His gaze fell to his own hand, bound to the armrest, then back to the hand she rested on his shoulder. She was clearly eager for this, and yet, afraid of hurting him, afraid he might dislike it, she still felt the need to ask first.

Compared to before—compared to a long time ago—Shen Qingwu really had come a long way.

Zhang Xingjian asked, “Why do you think one kind of stimulation can override another?”

Shen Qingwu said, “I have experience with it.”

Zhang Xingjian paused.

He said, slowly, “Experience from being with other men?”

Shen Qingwu said, “…”

Shen Qingwu said, “When I was badly wounded in the army, sometimes when the pain was unbearable, I’d cut a few more lines into my arm. When one spot hurts badly enough, you forget about the other. My experience isn’t wrong.”

Zhang Xingjian stared at her, stunned.

He thought of all those scars, large and small, on her body that he could never quite account for, thought of how there always seemed to be a few more each time they met. He’d always been puzzled—why, even when he’d heard of no particularly brutal battles, her wounds kept increasing.

So this was the reason.

Zhang Xingjian’s bound fingers trembled against the armrest, his heart clenching sharply, and once again he felt that regret sharp enough to swallow him whole.

That pain, for one instant, truly did overpower whatever effect the heavenly thunder had on him.

Zhang Xingjian murmured, “I never should have let you go into the army.”

Shen Qingwu said, “No, you did the right thing. I belong in the army. Through some twist of fate, we actually ended up choosing the path that was best for me.”

Zhang Xingjian knew she meant it.

But still… he said, aggrieved, “I should have kept you in Dongjing, tied you down as my wife, had everyone call you ‘Third Young Mistress’ day after day. That would have driven you mad!”

He said bitterly, “And I wouldn’t have cared!”

But Shen Qingwu already knew he couldn’t bear to. His weakness had fallen into her hands, and he was letting her see it, willingly.

Shen Qingwu gazed at him, slowly leaning her body against his.

She asked him, carefully, “So… may I?”

Zhang Xingjian said, laughing and scolding at once, “Still want to see me cry?”

Nervous and intent, Shen Qingwu answered simply, “Mm.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Then agree to two conditions of mine.”

Shen Qingwu said, “Go on.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “First—stop trying to leave.”

Shen Qingwu fell silent.

Zhang Xingjian said, “If I have Jiang Runiang come herself, apologize to you, make amends to you—will you stop trying to leave, and face this together with me?”

Shen Qingwu was quiet a moment longer before slowly nodding.

This was the most important thing of all, and now that she’d agreed, Zhang Xingjian felt his whole body relax, felt he’d made it through some great trial.

Shen Qingwu watched him, saw the spring-like warmth spreading across his brow, and for a moment felt a rush of endless tenderness.

Zhang Xingjian said, “The second condition is simple enough—you’ll surely agree. After you’ve had your fun with me, let me have my turn too.”

Shen Qingwu raised an eyebrow. “You want to see me cry too?”

Zhang Xingjian said with a smile, “I have some pride of my own.”

Shen Qingwu laughed despite herself. “Pride in bed?”

His eyes curved into a smile.

Shen Qingwu found herself mimicking the gesture.

She didn’t smile as often as he did, and when she did, most of the time it barely reached her face—the muscles would twitch trying to add expression, and it came out looking more like a cold smirk that could make a child cry.

But Zhang Xingjian never found her smile frightening.

Every time she smiled, he smiled along with her, perfectly in step.

Perhaps that was simply how it went between lovers—spending days and nights together, watching each other constantly, unconsciously picking up each other’s habits. So much quiet, unhurried time together, and neither of them had noticed the change, had been aware of it at all.

But time remembers every trace.

Until, at last, it carves the final answer into place—

Zhang Xingjian, playing along with Shen Qingwu, truly did let himself go, completely.

Sunk in this sea of passion, whatever spot on his body she wanted to stir, he went along with it willingly.

Shen Qingwu’s play wasn’t showy, but it was thorough, sharp, and never gentle.

Only Shen Qingwu could give him this particular, intense thrill, again and again.

Struggling, his wrist chafed red by the bindings, sitting up only to fall back again, utterly helpless, trapped by his own desire—the sight of him was truly enough to break one’s heart with tenderness.

He kept his eyes closed, breathing hard, and when at last she untied him, she saw the sheen of moisture on his flushed cheeks, on his lowered, closed lashes.

Zhang Xingjian opened his eyes; those eyes, always like glazed jade, now held a certain emptiness. It was the hollow left behind after desire had been filled to its limit—hair damp with sweat, sweat soaking the inside of his collar, the aftershocks leaving his body trembling faintly.

Shen Qingwu’s heart pounded with worry.

Terrified she’d played too rough with him.

She watched him quietly, and after he’d rested a good while, saw the light gradually gather in his eyes again. That light settled on her.

Zhang Xingjian’s voice had gone hoarse, edged with a smile. “Second Miss Shen, my turn now.”—

He was, of course, different from Shen Qingwu.

Where Shen Qingwu was commanding and domineering, he had more variety to him, gentler, more clinging methods.

Shen Qingwu hadn’t thought much of it beforehand.

But once she’d truly fallen into his hands, she too had to endure that particular agony of wanting and not quite getting.

This kind of thrill—letting him take the lead, listening to the rain with the window open, the kind where she only had to turn her face to glimpse the scene outside—left Shen Qingwu pressed against the faintly damp wall, neck tilted back, driven step by step by Zhang Xingjian to the base of the wall.

She sat with her legs spread, face flushed, eyes hazy, jaw set, refusing to beg.

But one glance at the young gentleman kneeling before her, leaning down, and she couldn’t help hooking her legs around his waist, rubbing gently against him—surely he understood what that meant.

Sweat beaded on Zhang Xingjian’s forehead, his eyes faintly damp and red, and he held back.

Shen Qingwu glanced at him, baffled: what was he holding back for?

Zhang Xingjian said with a smile, “Second Miss Shen, satisfied?”

Shen Qingwu gave a perfunctory murmur of assent.

He pressed further. “Am I virile enough for you? Compared to the other men in your camp, would you call me strong, capable?”

Shen Qingwu’s eyebrows shot up.

She cursed him silently.

Her words, spoken aloud, were milder: “Is dangling desire in front of a woman really all the skill you’ve got?”

Zhang Xingjian said, unmoved, “As long as it’s enough.”

He said, “It seems Second Miss Shen doesn’t need me. I’ll just go, then.”

He made as if to leave; Shen Qingwu reached out at once, wrapping her arms around his waist and dragging him back. She wasn’t one for much talk, but with things this urgent, how could she let him just walk away?

Besides, looking down at his state, then up at his tightly clenched jaw, his flushed ears…

What exactly did he have to hold back for?!

Zhang Xingjian watched her, smiling, as Shen Qingwu simply held him, kissed him, stroked him, rubbed against him, touched him, and then looked up at him with dark eyes full of longing.

Zhang Xingjian’s resolve softened.

A stubborn young woman’s occasional show of weakness—how utterly disarming.

And at that moment, Zhang Xingjian was truly in excellent spirits.

He grew a little carried away.

He lost his usual composure and calm.

Even in bed, he indulged himself, teasing her freely: “Shen family’s Wutong, beg me.”

Shen Qingwu froze.

He kept smiling, not noticing the shift in her mood.

He laughed, light and teasing. “Go on, beg me.”

Shen Qingwu wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing close against him, both of them soaked and clinging together. Both their hearts pounded fiercely at once, and every so often a crash of thunder left her with a disoriented sense of not knowing quite what moment this even was.

Shen Qingwu pressed her lips to his ear, murmuring, “Sanlang, I don’t really beg people.”

Zhang Xingjian froze, dazed.

For one instant he grew clear-headed, wondering if he’d stumbled onto another one of her forbidden zones.

The last time, the matter of apologizing, had brought so many problems—and now he’d carelessly stepped into her second forbidden zone. Zhang Xingjian felt a sudden urge to retreat, a sudden fear rising in him.

He forced a laugh. “I was just talking nonsense, never mind…”

Shen Qingwu turned her face and pressed a hand over his mouth, not letting him finish.

She held him tightly, her whole body pressed against him like a serpent, and this closeness, without a hair’s breadth of distance, made Zhang Xingjian lower his eyes, studying her.

He thought, in his heart, that she truly was a beauty.

A beauty full of vitality, languid, commanding, utterly unrestrained. Shen Qingwu, leaning against him, breathing in the damp air against his neck, looked like a lioness who had never known her fill.

She might bare her claws at any moment; there was never a time you could fully control her.

Everyone else feared her.

Fortunately, he alone had discovered her beauty.

Zhang Xingjian quietly wrapped his arms around her bare, slender waist, drawing her completely into his embrace.

She was different from him.

He needed his clothes on; she didn’t care either way. This lovely, long-limbed body, covered in scars, was now, in this moment, willing to remove even the jade pendant Bo Rong had given her, the one she never took off.

That made Zhang Xingjian like her all the more.

As his thoughts wandered, Shen Qingwu rested her chin on his shoulder, eyes fixed on the rain outside the window.

She spoke to him slowly. “When I was young, I begged people a few times. It never ended well. I don’t like talking about the past, even with you—I don’t like repeating it over and over, as if I’m always complaining about my life…

“But I don’t think it was so hard back then.”

Zhang Xingjian said gently, “That’s because you never had it good, and never having tasted anything sweet, you don’t know what counts as bitter. Wutong, your heart is so empty.”

Shen Qingwu said, “Maybe. I don’t really know. Anyway… all these years, I’ve never begged anyone, and no one’s helped me, except—except him. That’s just how it’s been, all along. When you ask me to beg you, I’m genuinely stunned.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Then let’s not…”

Shen Qingwu said, flatly, “It counts.”

She turned her face to look at him, gazing at him earnestly.

Through him, her eyes seemed to look back at the past, at the man he used to be, at years gone by, at chance after chance missed. Through him, she watched, across time, as Zhang Xingjian’s figure grew clearer and clearer, drawing closer and closer to her—

Shen Qingwu smiled faintly.

Rare warmth crept into her voice. “But maybe it’s time I could change.”

She fell into silence, into a quiet struggle.

Zhang Xingjian couldn’t bear to watch her like this, and changed the subject. “Why exactly did you break the jade pendant I gave you?”

Shen Qingwu lowered her eyes. “I didn’t do it on purpose. On the battlefield, blades and swords don’t discriminate—I didn’t deliberately lose it, it just broke.”

Zhang Xingjian said gently, “Then why didn’t you tell me sooner? I remember… when I first confessed my feelings to you, I brought up the pendant. And I brought it up again several times after… Wutong, you had countless chances to tell me the truth.”

Shen Qingwu nodded.

She admitted, “I did let chance after chance slip by.”

Zhang Xingjian said, “Why? Do I matter so little to you?”

Shen Qingwu said, “That’s not it.”

She pressed her lips together, trying hard to work through her own feelings. “Maybe it’s because it mattered too much, that I didn’t dare let you know… I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Zhang Xingjian froze.

Shen Qingwu looked up at him, reaching out tentatively to touch his face, her fingertip brushing his brow, the corner of his eye.

Zhang Xingjian stayed still.

Shen Qingwu said, “Even before things were good between us, I didn’t want to hurt you. You cared so much about that pendant, carved it with your own hands—I remember, too, all the careful hinting, all the asking around before you gave it to me, trying to find out whether I’d like it, whether I’d accept it…

“I’m not so foolish that I couldn’t see how much thought you put into it. Even when I was furious with you, even when I wanted nothing to do with you, I still felt… that I shouldn’t betray someone’s sincerity like that.”

She hadn’t wanted to see Zhang Xingjian look so utterly lost.

Hadn’t wanted to see him hurting.

Even when she resented him, when she held it against him, a heartbroken Zhang Xingjian brought her no satisfaction, no thrill of revenge.

Why was that?

Shen Qingwu turned it over in her mind.

Zhang Xingjian said, hoarse, “Fine. Then why did you give a pendant you’d carved yourself to some young soldier? You have no particular bond with him, he’s not even under your command—how could you give him something you carved with your own hands?”

—And not give it to me?

Shen Qingwu said, “That one was always meant for you.”

Zhang Xingjian froze.

His heart leapt.

But he didn’t dare believe it.

He murmured, “But you didn’t…”

Shen Qingwu said, “Because I didn’t want to give you a flawed piece.”

Zhang Xingjian’s eyes shot up to meet hers.

A thousand kinds of light shimmered in them, rippling like spring water, a dead pool stirred back to life.

Zhang Xingjian said, “…I don’t believe you.”

Even as he said he didn’t believe her, the hand gripping her waist tightened, bit by bit, hard enough that it began to hurt her. Even as he said he didn’t believe her, his eyes stayed fixed on her, brimming with such feeling, as though he wanted to pull her down a thousand times over, to kiss her, to merge completely with her…

Shen Qingwu began to laugh.

She leaned close to his ear, her voice calm, resonant, stirring wave upon wave within him: “Zhang Yuelu, I’m begging you.

“Begging you to… love me.”

He pushed her down onto the couch at once, her hair pinned beneath his elbow, her lips caught beneath his.

His half-dried robe brushed against Shen Qingwu’s cheek, and she knew—this was the first time he’d ever been this stirred—

But even this wasn’t enough.

Even the fierce, urgent joining of their bodies couldn’t settle everything.

For one instant, Zhang Xingjian truly felt nothing of the heavenly thunder’s power; his whole heart and body belonged to the wicked young woman in his arms. She had stolen his very soul, and he had surrendered to her completely—did she know that?

Zhang Xingjian didn’t say it aloud.

But Shen Qingwu knew.

Because as he held her, his body, once rigid and trembling, finally relaxed, Shen Qingwu rested her hand on his shoulder, wrapped her arm around his neck, and drew his face down close to her lips.

In a very low voice, close to his ear, she said the words he’d been waiting so long for—words he’d already stopped expecting to hear:

“I’m sorry.”

Zhang Xingjian’s body went rigid. He lowered his head to look at her, his eyes damp, misted over; he could barely make her out clearly, the woman in his arms tilting her face up, her own eyes just as shimmering with light.

Shen Qingwu said:

“These three words—I probably owed them to you a long time ago.

“These past couple of days, you were angry with me, you were unhappy, and even so, unhappy as you were, you still answered my questions, still talked to me whenever I pushed you to… and I’ve been thinking hard about it.

“It’s true, I never had a proper education, was never guided down a good path in life—everything I’ve learned, I had to figure out myself, through getting hurt, getting cheated, falling down, picking myself back up, until finally I understood.

“I’ve been watching you this whole time—watching how evenly you treated the Jiang father and daughter, how evenly you treated me. Even when you were sulking at me, you were never really unkind to me. Whenever you so much as glanced at Jiang Runiang, you’d always glance at me too, right after, as if you were afraid I couldn’t bear it.

“I really couldn’t bear it, but I was holding back, trying to figure out why. And now, I think I finally understand—

“For a very long time, I longed for you desperately. No one could talk me out of it, no one could stop me—I was determined to have you. Because you were the person I’d once thought, when I was young, I would have but never did. You were the one person… who didn’t like me, but didn’t like Shen Qingye either, didn’t like anyone from the Shen family, anyone from the Zhang family, at all.

“At sixteen, I already saw you as a cold moon. Back when I didn’t know anything about your schemes and plots, I only thought, how could this person be so heartless, so cruel, so unkind to me?

“The more he disliked me, the more I wanted to defy him. If he abandoned me, then I’d abandon him too.

“Later… I chased after you relentlessly, and yes, part of it really was spite. But part of it, too, was probably that I liked how fairly you treated everyone. You could dislike Shen Qingwu, but you shouldn’t have liked anyone else either. You fulfilled that longing in me…

“Impartial, loving no one, hating no one. I know I have too many flaws, and everyone’s feelings toward me get complicated because of it… and so, Zhang Yuelu’s fairness was exactly what I wanted.

“But these past two days, watching you with Jiang Runiang, and then watching you with me, I realized… I don’t want your fairness anymore. I’ve started to grow greedy. I’m trying to reach for the moon, and I want the bright moon to shine down on the gutter, want the moon to favor me above all else.”

Shen Qingwu’s eyes shimmered as she held the gaze of Zhang Xingjian, who leaned over her, calm and gentle.

His throat worked. “That’s not a gutter…”

Shen Qingwu pressed a finger to his lips, shaking her head, signaling him not to speak, to let her continue.

She didn’t communicate easily with others, didn’t lay her thoughts bare, clumsy with words, and the more she said, the more misunderstandings tended to grow. But before Zhang Xingjian, she needed to learn to speak, needed to let him hear her voice.

In this world, there ought to be one person who would listen carefully to what she had to say, who would see what she resisted, see what foolishness she got up to.

There ought to be one person who could look past all her muddled accounting and see her clearly for who she was, and say—”I like Wutong.”

Someone who said, again and again—”I like Wutong exactly as she is, with no need to change. I like every flaw and every strength in you. I accept all of you, completely.”

Zhang Xingjian, who favored her so, deserved to have her see his heart too.

Shen Qingwu’s eyes glistened, and she lay in his arms, her gaze not on him but adrift, unfocused.

Shen Qingwu said slowly, “I want you to favor me. And it seems—I’ve seen it now—that you truly have fallen from the sky, that you truly do favor me.

“I’m not so heartless that I couldn’t see your kindness toward me.

“But through all this long stretch of time, I stayed sunk in my own feelings, always struggling against myself, never once looking your way. Or rather, I did look at you, but I didn’t believe you and I walked the same road. I never made room for you in my life.

“I was so absorbed in my own stubborn longing for you, moved by myself and disgusted with myself in turns, growing fondness and then resentment. I couldn’t pull myself out of it, and in the process, I overlooked how much you cared for me.

“So… Zhang Yuelu, forgive me.

“Zhang Yuelu, don’t worry that your love will go unanswered. However much you love me, I’ll return it in full measure. Life is like a game of chess—from this moment on, for every move you make, I’ll make one to match.

“So don’t be sad, don’t be lost, don’t smile so forced, don’t keep saying ‘you don’t care about me.’ Words like that leave me at a loss too…”

Her fingers brushed his brow, his eyes.

Her words came out halting, stumbling, and his eyes slowly grew wet.

Zhang Xingjian said nothing. He lowered his head, cupped her chin, and kissed her, warm and fervent, utterly consumed.

Conquering ground, advancing on every front, unstoppable.

His warm fingers held her waist, his breath trembling against her lips: “Your heart, your heart…”

Wutong, have you already fallen in love with me?—

The wind sighed softly, the courtyard dimmed, and at some point, without a sound, the thunder and lightning had stopped.

Only withered leaves scattered across the courtyard now, the sky sinking toward evening.

The window closed, the two of them returned to the bed and drew the curtains closed, their hair tangling together, just as their fingers slowly, tightly intertwined—

In the end, Zhang Xingjian did shed tears.