She had always thought a man like Shi Ting must be afraid of nothing in heaven or on earth. The question was little more than something she had said on a whim, and she didn’t really expect to receive an answer.

Shi Ting pushed her forward at an unhurried pace, the wheelchair pressing through the grass and leaving two clear parallel tracks behind them.

His voice came from just above her head, low and steady like a plucked string, gently resonating against her eardrums.

“Being alone.” He looked out at the dense, lush woodland in the distance. “When you’ve been lonely long enough, you become afraid of being by yourself.”

Yan Qing was caught off guard. So — he was afraid of solitude.

“You studied abroad before, didn’t you?”

Shi Ting gave a low sound of affirmation. “I went overseas when I was five.”

“Five years old?” She tried to recall her own memories from that age — most of them were long gone. A child who could barely retain memories of his own early years, and yet he had already gone to a foreign country.

“There was one of the Shi family’s manservants who went with me. We rented a house together, quite far from the city center. Every time we went out, it was a very long walk.” Shi Ting looked back on those years as though the images were still vivid before him. “I attended school at a church. Because I couldn’t communicate due to the language barrier, my classmates wouldn’t play with me. I often sat alone in a corner, watching them run around and make noise. Sometimes I hoped they would notice me — that they might let me join in their games.”

A child of only five years old — far from home, without family, without friends, surrounded by a strange environment and strangers — how bleak and desperate his heart must have been.

“I went to and from school on my own. Even after I learned their language, it was still very hard to fit in.” Shi Ting sighed softly. “Back then I was afraid of being alone. I would often fantasize that a friend might fall from the sky — not someone to play with me, just someone to walk beside me, eat and sleep alongside me. That would have been enough.”

“And the manservant?”

Shi Ting said: “After we got there, he went off to gamble. I rarely saw him.”

“What happened later — did you eventually make friends?”

“I did, but that was already after I had grown up.” His childhood had been spent holding onto that loneliness — holding it for a full ten years.

It seemed that everyone had their own vulnerabilities, their own fears. Even someone like Shi Ting was not invincible — not unbreakable, not inexhaustible.

Yan Qing had never known her parents’ faces from childhood — she hadn’t even seen a photograph. But her Second Uncle and Second Aunt had raised her as though they were her own parents, and in all those years, whether in childhood or adulthood, they had never once shortchanged her.

Whatever other children had, she always had too — and often more. Her Second Uncle and Second Aunt had never had children of their own, because they had wanted to pour all their love into her.

She called them Uncle and Aunt, but in her heart she had long since treated them as her own parents.

Her childhood had been a happy one. Until the day Shen Liang killed her, she had led a life of smooth sailing and ease. But Shi Ting was different. From the age of five he had lived abroad, uncared for by either parent. He had matured earlier than his peers — which was why his mind was sharper than theirs, and his thinking quicker.

She found herself wanting to know what he had lived through during all those years overseas.

“I’ll go catch some insects.” Shi Ting stepped around to the front of the wheelchair. “You can find green bean caterpillars around here. They’re Da Laohu’s favorite.”

Green bean caterpillars were plump and tender, full of nutrition — not only a favorite of birds, but sometimes even served at the dinner table.

Yan Qing couldn’t help much, so she stayed in place and watched as Shi Ting methodically searched through the shrubbery.

It was difficult to picture it — the formidable Director of the Military Police Bureau conducting a painstaking sweep through the grass, searching not for evidence, but for a few insects.

By the time Shi Ting came back with insects pinched between his fingers, he found Yan Qing smiling.

“What are you smiling about?”

Yan Qing’s lips curved upward, her eyes holding a ripple of warmth. “Nothing in particular.”

“I used to eat these insects often.” Shi Ting fed the few fat, plump green caterpillars to Da Laohu. “During the war, when food supplies couldn’t keep up, I ate just about anything in the mountains I could find.”

“You fought in a war?” Yan Qing had never heard this before. Wasn’t he the Marshal’s son? Did the Marshal’s sons also go to the front lines — also endure cold and hunger?

“I took part in the Second Warlord War.” Shi Ting’s tone was entirely matter-of-fact, as though life and death on the battlefield were nothing more than passing clouds to him.

“Fight! Fight!” Da Laohu, having eaten its insects, began hopping and bounding about.

“Good morning, Yan Qing.”

“Good morning, Yan Qing.”

Yan Qing laughed. “You silly parrot — it’s already afternoon, and you’re still saying good morning.”

Da Laohu ate the last insect from Shi Ting’s hand, and fully revived, its beak began chattering away non-stop again.

At that moment, a white butterfly drifted past Yan Qing’s face — larger than an ordinary butterfly by a full measure, its wings fanning like a white spirit.

“A butterfly.” Yan Qing’s eyes lit up with delight, and she instinctively reached out her hand toward it. “How beautiful.”

The butterfly circled before her once and then fluttered gracefully away.

“Do you want to chase it?” Shi Ting asked.

“Yes!”

He circled around to the back and pushed her wheelchair forward, and together they went chasing the butterfly. The creature drifted and paused through the woodland, pausing here and there to linger on the flowers, which allowed Yan Qing to see its markings up close — perfectly symmetrical patterns on both wings, marvelous and intricate, as though crafted with the finest precision by a great artist of nature.

“Shi Ting, this way, this way!”

“Shi Ting, over there, over there!”

“Shi Ting, can you go faster?”

He pushed her first east, then west, and peals of bright laughter scattered across the grass in their wake.

When the butterfly finally flew beyond reach, she watched it go with reluctant, longing eyes.

As a child, she had chased butterflies through parks and meadows. She had long, strong legs then — she could run like a young deer.

But now her freedom was imprisoned in this wheelchair. Even chasing a butterfly had become a luxury.

“How are your legs doing?” The flash of sadness in her eyes made his heart clench sharply.

Yan Qing rested her hands on her legs and gently rubbed them for a moment. “Well, next time sutures are needed, at least I can feel them — no skipping the anesthetic.”

Through her persistent and unrelenting effort, the sensation in her legs was gradually returning. Even if she ultimately never stood again, she would be content.

“If there’s anything you need help with, just say the word.” Shi Ting’s voice was steady and certain. “Whatever you need, no matter how difficult it is to obtain, I can help you.”

A warmth spread through Yan Qing’s heart. She gave a quiet nod. “Alright.”

“By the way — has the Xu family case made any progress?”

“The lead has gone cold.” Shi Ting sighed. “It looks like we’ll have to take a longer view.”

“The killer is cunning and meticulous — committing two family massacres without leaving a trace.” Yan Qing felt a shadow of unease. “Do you think those two missing pieces of human skin might have had a treasure map on them?”

“A treasure map?”

“That’s how it always goes in martial arts novels.”

“Martial arts novels?”

Yan Qing shook her head. “Never mind, I was just guessing.”

She turned her wheelchair around to face Shi Ting directly. “Crouch down and turn around.”

He raised the end of his voice, surprised. “Pardon?”

“I want to look at your wound.”

“It’s nothing serious.”

“I don’t believe you.” Yan Qing pursed her lips. “Hurry up.”

Shi Ting had no choice. He crouched down in front of her and deftly undid the buttons of his uniform jacket and shirt, slipping them off his shoulders to bare the upper half of his back.

His back was well-defined, his skin a healthy tone, the lines of his shoulder blades perfect and striking.

And yet within that perfection there was an imperfection — the burn left behind a permanent scar. Burn scars were difficult to heal fully; some trace would always remain.

Yan Qing found it hard to imagine: had he not used his own body to shield her from the torch, that large swath of scarring might very well have been left on her own face, her own body.

“Does it still hurt?” Her voice trembled slightly, though she was doing her best to suppress it.

“It stopped hurting long ago. That ointment works very well.”

“Have you been applying it consistently?”

“Every day.” He paused for a moment. “In a few days, I’ll show you the empty bottle.”

Yan Qing was made to laugh by him, and the heaviness in her mood lifted somewhat. She watched him dress again, and said softly: “Shi Ting, thank you.”

His hands stilled for a moment, but quickly resumed. “You’re welcome.”

After returning from the city’s outskirts, Da Laohu was back in full, energetic form — except during meals, its beak kept up a constant stream of chatter.

Jing Zhi threatened it: if it kept chattering nonsense, she would seal its beak with tape.

Da Laohu hopped on its perch. “Chattering nonsense. Chattering nonsense.”

Jing Zhi rolled her eyes in exasperation.

“Miss.” Murong and A Xi came in together.

A Xi gave a small bow. “Sixth Miss, the Master requests your presence.”

“Father wants to see me?”

A Xi had received small kindnesses from Yan Qing on several occasions, and her attitude toward her had done a complete turnaround. Hearing her question, she gave a deliberate hint: “The Second Young Master of the Shi family has come.”

Shi Guang?

“Please take a moment to prepare, Sixth Miss. A Xi will go back ahead of you.”

“Thank you, A Xi.” Yan Qing exchanged a glance with Jing Zhi. Jing Zhi immediately brought out a small box and passed it to A Xi. A Xi declined many times before finally accepting it with a smile.

After A Xi left, Jing Zhi couldn’t help wondering aloud: “The Second Young Master of the Shi family has never come to our Yan Mansion before. Could he also be asking the Master for medicine?”

Yan Qing had a feeling that Shi Guang’s visit was far from simple — and was very likely connected to herself.

“Miss, if you don’t want to go, I’ll go tell the Master you’re not feeling well. The Master won’t force you.”

Murong disagreed. “Miss will eventually be marrying into the Shi family — she can’t go on avoiding him forever.”

“I’m on Director Shi’s side.” Jing Zhi gave a small sound of protest. “It’s just a verbal agreement — it’s not like they’ve registered their marriage. Miss has the right to choose for herself.”

“You foolish girl.” Murong shook her head helplessly. “That verbal agreement was made by the Marshal himself. Do you think it’s just an ordinary person’s casual joke? Unless the Marshal personally dissolves the engagement, who would dare break it? That would be openly slapping the Marshal in the face — showing him no respect. Would there still be any place for our Yan family to stand in Shun Cheng after that?”

Jing Zhi pursed her lips. “I still support Director Shi.”

Murong said nothing aloud — but as an observer of these past days, she had seen things more clearly than anyone else.

Director Shi had feelings for their Miss, and had put himself in harm’s way for her on more than one occasion. And their Miss clearly did not dislike Director Shi — quite the contrary, the two of them seemed to be kindred spirits, able to talk about anything without reservation.

But in this era, loving the right person and having a willing heart were never enough to guarantee a happy ending. The world was unpredictable, and what the future held — no one could say.

“Let’s go.” Yan Qing gave a quiet sigh. “There’s no running from this.”

—