“Miss Wang — have you also come to the cloth merchant to have new clothes made?” Shen Zhuxi greeted her with a warm smile.

Wang Shiyong came to a stop before the two of them and said with a faint smile:

“With the Dragon Boat Festival drawing near, I’ve prepared some rice dumplings to send to our estate outside of town. I did not expect to run into you both here — quite a fortunate coincidence.”

Chunguǒ, standing behind her, chimed in, “Our young miss has new clothes made, the cloth merchant and the dressmaker’s shop bring everything to her door for her to choose—”

“Chunguǒ.”

A single quiet word from Wang Shiyong, and Chunguǒ fell silent, though not without reluctance.

“My maidservant is unmannerly — please do not take offense, Madam Li,” Wang Shiyong said, dipping slightly toward Shen Zhuxi.

Before Shen Zhuxi could respond, Li Wu had already spoken. “A maidservant’s lack of manners is naturally the fault of her mistress. If there is any offense to be taken, it is to be taken with you. Since you are apparently capable of remaining within the inner quarters and never stepping foot outside, how is it you have not spent some of that time teaching your maidservant some manners?”

Wang Shiyong’s smile wavered on the verge of collapse.

“…Master Li is right. Chunguǒ — apologize to Madam Li at once.”

Chunguǒ, visibly resentful, bent her knees in a quick and perfunctory curtsy. “…Madam Li, Chunguǒ spoke out of turn — I offer my apologies.”

Shen Zhuxi had not taken it to heart in the slightest to begin with, so she simply smiled and said nothing.

“These past few days, everyone in the neighborhood has been talking about the great deed Master Li has accomplished. I have not had the opportunity until now to offer my thanks in person. My father, and the people of Xuzhou, have long suffered harassment from Jinzhu Stronghold. Your swift and decisive action in wiping it out has benefited my father and all the people living in the surrounding area.”

Wang Shiyong smiled gracefully, lowered her head to show a length of pale neck, and slowly curtsied toward Li Wu.

“At such a young age, Master Li has attained such achievements — no wonder my father praised you as an impressive talent of the younger generation. In particular, the strategy of using the advantage of weather and terrain, employing igniting oil to lure the mountain bandits into trapping themselves — even now, thinking back on it, one cannot help but admire it.”

“True — it was a good plan,” Li Wu said, turning to look at Shen Zhuxi. “Who did you hear it from?”

“From… a broadly learned scholar,” Shen Zhuxi said, carefully skirting the truth.

“A broadly learned scholar? Not a broadly learned dog?” Li Wu said, cutting right to the heart of it.

“…Whatever you say.”

She just hoped he would not ask her, in front of everyone, whether “the broadly learned dog” or “I” was more important.

Wang Shiyong, watching the two of them exchange glances, found that her smile had finally faded entirely.

“Not only is Master Li accomplished at a young age, he is also a man of deep feeling and devotion.” Her expression grew somber. “Once, it was all I hoped for — to find someone whose heart had room for only me. It is only that… after what happened, I fear that hope may be nothing more than a luxury now.”

“Ah,” said Li Wu.

Wang Shiyong froze. Behind her, Chunguǒ froze as well, and then turned to stare at Li Wu with a look of fury and disbelief.

He paid it no notice whatsoever, glanced up at the sun — now hanging directly overhead — and said:

“The hour is getting on. Miss Wang, you should head home and get some rest. My wife and I still need to go to the entertainment quarter to watch a performance — we’ll take our leave first—”

Before Wang Shiyong had a chance to react, Li Wu had already taken Shen Zhuxi’s hand and strode away at a brisk pace.

The two of them disappeared down the street, and Wang Shiyong remained standing where she was, motionless.

“Young miss… they’ve gone,” Chunguǒ said, watching her with hesitation.

“He just said… he was taking her to the entertainment quarter to watch a performance?”

“Yes,” Chunguǒ said, and then, watching Wang Shiyong’s expression, added, “For a woman to go out in public like that to such places — what a shameless lack of propriety!”

“He doesn’t mind at all?” Wang Shiyong said, her gaze distant and dazed. “How could he be willing to take his wife somewhere like that?”

“What would someone who grew up an orphan know about proper conduct?” Chunguǒ said with thinly veiled contempt.

“Do you remember?” Wang Shiyong said softly. “When I was little, I sneaked out with my cousin to watch a performance. When I came back, Father nearly beat me to death…”

“…Chunguǒ remembers,” Chunguǒ said, meaning to comfort her. “The master was doing it for your own good, young miss.”

Wang Shiyong said nothing more. She stood for a long moment gazing at the empty street, then turned and returned to the carriage.

On the busy, crowded street, Li Wu held Shen Zhuxi’s hand as they moved through the press of people.

Shen Zhuxi did her best to dodge the streams of passersby, then said hesitantly, “…We just left like that — is it really all right?”

“What’s not all right about it?”

“Miss Wang is the beloved daughter of your direct superior. You showed her no consideration at all — will she…” she trailed off.

“And I should be afraid she’ll whisper a few words in the wrong ear?” Li Wu said with no concern whatsoever. “She has a piece of evidence that could incriminate her in my hands. If anyone ought to be afraid, it should be her afraid of me blowing a great gust of wind — I am, after all, a man who successfully summoned the sickle.”

Shen Zhuxi’s brow twitched. “That would be the Wind God Feilián — not a sickle.”

“Sickle or Feilián — anything that blows wind is a good Lián.”

Shen Zhuxi hesitated a while, then swallowed the question sitting in her throat.

Miss Wang appeared to harbor feelings of a romantic nature toward him. Li Wu appeared not to have noticed — or perhaps he had, but was entirely indifferent.

Whether in looks, intelligence, or shrewdness, Li Qingman had surpassed her at every turn.

If Li Wu had not spared a glance for Li Qingman, it was only natural that he would not look at Miss Wang either.

He currently had his gaze fixed solely on her, but who could say how long that singular devotion would last?

Of the countless women who had ever been abandoned, was there a single one who had not believed, at the beginning, that she was the one he would never waver from?

People changed. Men especially.

She had never witnessed true devotion — so she did not believe it existed.

She did not trust men, and she did not trust Li Wu as a man. Rather than hoping for something that happened perhaps once in ten thousand cases, it was better not to hold any hope at all from the start. If he found another woman he was drawn to, she would be glad for him.

That was what she told herself.

And yet — why was it that the moment she imagined another woman one day taking her place, receiving everything she now had — sleeping beside Li Wu, receiving longevity noodles made by Li Wu’s own hands on a birthday, being given Li Wu’s encouragement in moments of helplessness and confusion — why did her heart clench with such wrenching pain, and a bitter ache surge straight to her eyes?

“Silly little Shen?”

A voice called her back to herself.

“What were you thinking about?” Li Wu looked down at her.

Shen Zhuxi smiled involuntarily.

She used the smile to push down the urge to cry, and said with studied nonchalance, “I was thinking that I should have looked around a bit more at the cloth merchant’s just now. It’s almost summer — you three brothers should also have a few lightweight outfits made to get through the heat.”

“What do men need so many clothes for?” Li Wu raised an eyebrow. “Never mind the two of them — Diao and Que are in the garrison rolling around in the dirt all day. You could give them a brand-new outfit and it would be rags in two days.”

“And you?” Shen Zhuxi asked.

“I’ll be rolling around with them, won’t I?” Li Wu said. “If you want them to give twelve parts of their strength, I have to first put in twelve and then some. These soldiers — honestly, they’re not so different from street rabble. The way to get them in line is the same.”

“Even many seasoned generals may not understand this. You are perhaps a natural-born military commander,” Shen Zhuxi said with admiration.

“Military commander — I am equally accomplished in both the literary and martial arts,” Li Wu said. “About summoning the sickle this time — I composed a poem called Summoning the Wind. Remember to copy it out for me. I intend to have it included in my collected works in the future… Do you remember it? If you don’t, I’ll recite it again…”

“I remember, I remember — I would not dare forget, and I cannot forget,” Shen Zhuxi said, shaking her head rapidly in alarm.

Li Wu’s expression settled into satisfaction. “Good.”

The two of them hailed a bullock cart by the roadside and rode it to the busiest entertainment quarter in Pengcheng County.

Men swinging great broadswords, conjurers performing sleight of hand, artists manipulating puppets in a puppet show — all manner of performers were at work in the lively, clamorous quarter.

Drifting through the air was an unidentifiable floral fragrance. Children selling flowers — seven or eight years of age — walked the streets with baskets of peach blossoms and crabapple branches, calling out their wares in loud voices.

Floral fragrance, the buttery smell of pastry from the confectionery shops, the freshly made noodles steaming from pots — all manner of scents wove together into the particular smell that belonged to a busy market street. At the corner of the road, a man selling maltose candy was using a small hammer and tack to chip sugar blocks from a pale yellow slab the size of a chopping board.

The rhythmic clinking — ding, ding, ding — rang out like a piece of music through the entertainment quarter, ebbing and flowing amid the press of shoulders and elbows.

Li Wu took her hand naturally, his fingers threaded through hers, their two palms fitted snugly together.

“There are many people here — be careful not to get separated.”

A long while later, amid the mingled noise of all those sounds, came her answer — low as the hum of a mosquito.

“…Mm.”

The two of them entered the theater and paid the entrance fee of fifteen copper coins, then ordered a pot of tea and three small dishes of nuts and sweets.

On the stage, a performance of The Story of Yingying was underway. The beautiful and captivating Cui Yingying, born into a family of declining noble standing, was seduced by the impoverished scholar Zhang Sheng, and the two secretly pledged their lives to one another. Zhang Sheng went to sit the capital examinations, failed, and then, citing the excuse that “his moral virtue was insufficient to overcome the temptation of such an alluring woman, and he had no choice but to cut himself off from her,” he abandoned Yingying completely.

No one condemned Zhang Sheng for his heartlessness. Those revered Confucian scholars even praised him for being “skilled at correcting his own mistakes.”

Why were men so fickle?

Even her own mother — before the Emperor had issued a decree confining her to her quarters for six years — had once moved mountains and seas to build the Penglai Palace for her sake.

Were there truly steadfast, unwavering feelings in this world?

If there were, why had Yingying not found them? Why had her mother not found them? Why had every woman she had ever known failed to find them?

The line — long, plaintive, and lingering — “You who cast me aside, what will you say now? You who once held me so dear — will you not let that former tenderness turn to cherishing the one before you now?” — sent Shen Zhuxi’s tears spilling over.

“Yingying is so pitiable. Why do you men…”

She wiped her eyes and turned her head, wanting to share a few words with Li Wu.

Li Wu was sprawled in his rattan chair, fast asleep — and had been for who knew how long.

“…”

Shen Zhuxi’s tears froze in her eyes.

It had been Li Wu who suggested bringing her here to watch the performance, and it was also Li Wu who had fallen asleep halfway through.

She was now strongly suspecting that within the time of one cup of tea after the performance had begun, Li Wu had gone silent because his eyelids had drooped shut.

The noise of the audience leaving at the end roused Li Wu. He sat up, eyes bleary, and his wandering gaze was still working to take stock of the situation.

“Is it the intermission?” he asked.

“…It’s already over,” Shen Zhuxi said mournfully.

“Right, it’s over… Are you hungry? Let’s go eat braised pork knuckle,” Li Wu said, then noticed her expression and looked more carefully at her eyes. “Wait — can you cry by yourself just for fun?”

“Who was crying for fun!” Shen Zhuxi’s anger came surging up all at once. “You were asleep and have no idea what happened!”

“What happened?”

“An innocent woman was abandoned after being led astray!”

“Who? Where? Does she have any money?” said Li Wu.

“Don’t you find her pitiable?” Shen Zhuxi stared at him wide-eyed.

“Pitiable — if she came to me to deal with the heartless man, I’d give her a discount,” Li Wu said, pressing his hands against the rattan chair and looking around. “Where is she?”

“She was just up on the stage!” A deep, booming voice broke in.

Niuwang walked over from one of the seats in the back row, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“That Zhang Sheng — what an absolute wretch! He’s no kind of man at all! Just now, while they were up there on the stage, I nearly jumped up and beat that miserable dog senseless myself—” Niuwang pulled over a rattan chair and just invited himself to join their table.

He sniffed and took a breath, his broad, square face a portrait of sorrow.

“A shame Yingying never ran into me — I listen to my wife in everything. What kind of man doesn’t listen to his wife?!”

Niuwang’s halting, official-language-that-was-half-Sichuan-dialect took Shen Zhuxi a combination of guesswork and context to fully understand.

Li Wu, that tone-deaf man — Shen Zhuxi had been sitting through The Story of Yingying with a belly full of grievances, and now she had found a kindred spirit in Niuwang who felt exactly the same. This was practically meeting a soulmate.

The two of them immediately faced each other with tear-filled eyes, brimming with righteous indignation, and launched into a thorough denunciation of the heartless and faithless Zhang Sheng.

Li Wu: “?”

Li Wu, watching Shen Zhuxi sit there and strike up a lively conversation with another man right in front of him, made a firm decision to go back and ask Li Que about the background of this Zhang Sheng — this marriage-wrecker who was apparently doing damage to the harmony between him and his wife.