“I don’t want you hanging up your blade and keeping faithful to my memory! If you hang up your blade, how would you protect yourself?” Shen Zhuxi said crossly. “And besides — I am not going to die young!”

Li Wu immediately said: “You want to stay by my side for a thousand years.”

Pure and utter nonsense!

But this playful back-and-forth dissolved the awkwardness that had lingered in Shen Zhuxi after those candid revelations of the heart.

The air in the tent loosened into something comfortable and light.

Li Wu gathered up the scattered gold and silver, tucked the jewelry case under one arm, and extended his other hand toward her.

“Come on. Let’s head back.”

“What about Fan Sanniang?”

“She went to Jiu Niang’s tent tonight.”

Li Wu tilted his chin up, his outstretched hand still hovering in the air.

Shen Zhuxi’s gaze wandered sideways. She tugged bashfully at the hem of her skirt. After a moment, she looked up — Li Wu’s hand was still there, patient and steady, waiting in the air.

Like a thief making a furtive move, she thrust her hand into his palm in one quick motion, her face burning as if it might burst into flame at any instant.

Li Wu closed his hand firmly around hers and led her out of the dim tent.

Above, stars and moon shone together in the sky. Below, their two slanting shadows fell as one across the ground.

Shen Zhuxi’s embroidered shoes pressed over the uneven ground, crunching over small stones and soil. Beneath the low curtain of night, crickets called in a scattered, restless rhythm — here a sound, there a sound — like her own gaze, drifting without direction, wandering everywhere without settling, yet never once drawing close to the one place it truly wished to rest.

Her steps were small, like herself. Li Wu had long legs and long strides, yet he kept always to her pace.

She suddenly thought of the very first time they had walked side by side.

She had hurried to keep up with Li Wu’s broad strides. He noticed quickly. After that, she never had to hurry after him again — not even once.

He always waited patiently for her.

Even when his mouth was full of complaints and bluster, he always waited, with quiet gentleness, for her.

Shen Zhuxi stole a glance upward, her gaze drifting to the side — and was immediately caught by a pair of eyes that had been waiting there for some time.

Li Wu had been watching her for who knew how long. The moment she finally turned to look back, he broke into a wide grin, bright and full of spirit.

Even the heavens full of stars seemed to dim before that brilliant, confident expression.

Silvery moonlight draped over both of them like shimmering gauze woven of starlight, pooling where their fingers were interlaced.

Shen Zhuxi’s chest felt tight and breathless, her heart pounding out of rhythm, and all the blood in her body rushed out of control toward her face.

She fled in a flustered panic from Li Wu’s gaze, walking stiffly ahead, her mind a thick, muddled haze — like syrup slowly bubbling on a fire, sluggish and clouded, yet so sweetly numbing it made her dizzy.

Heavenly Mother above — was she going to die young after all?

What else could explain why her heart was beating so fast? Why she kept feeling as though she couldn’t quite catch her breath?

“I’m starting to believe in fate,” Li Wu said suddenly.

Shen Zhuxi looked up and saw his contemplative expression.

“Why?”

“The meaning of ‘fortune comes round in turns’ is…” Li Wu said. “I suffered so much in the first half of my life because Heaven arranged for me to meet you in the second half.”

Shen Zhuxi looked at him blankly. “I’m not as wonderful as you think…”

Li Wu looked at her for a long moment before speaking:

“You’re the only one who doesn’t know how wonderful you are.”

“I really am not as good as you say!” Shen Zhuxi said quickly, shaking her head.

A fear rose from somewhere inside her — a fear that Li Wu, like everyone else before him, was seeing not her real self, but the version of her he had constructed in his own imagination.

And to meet that expectation, she would have to carve herself into shape again, bloody and raw.

She looked steadily into Li Wu’s eyes, distress and uncertainty warping her voice:

“I can’t do needlework. I know nothing of cooking. I can’t tell one crop from another. I trust people too easily. I act on impulse when I know nothing and only end up causing everyone trouble… I’m no good at anything. I can’t even control my own tears —”

Shen Zhuxi’s tears fell, drop after drop, crystal-clear pearls clinging to her lashes, rising and falling with each sweep of her thick, long lashes — like a scattering of brilliant fragments catching the light.

“Who said you’re no good at anything?”

Li Wu stopped walking. Pulled along by him, Shen Zhuxi stopped too.

“You can read and write. You understand music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. No matter what you read, you can recite it back from memory after a single look. You have an eye for quality. You know how to bargain. Your heart is kind — you were born to privilege, yet you see all people as equals. Diao’er likes you, Que’er likes you, everyone likes you. And I like you.”

“And what about me? I’m a beggar-child who doesn’t even know who his parents were. Low-born, with no fixed home, making my way step by step through knife-edge dealings and trickery and deceit. If not for you, I still couldn’t write my own name in full.”

Li Wu wiped the tears from the corner of her eye and said softly: “I know your embroidered figures look more like ghosts than people. I know you can burn down a kitchen trying to boil an egg. You cry easily, you act on impulse, you’re too quick to trust — I know all of it. But set against everything that shines in you, what do those small faults amount to? I have faults by the basketful. Have you ever despised me for them?”

Through her tears, Shen Zhuxi shook her head fiercely.

All his nonsense and bluster — hadn’t she quietly put up with all of it?

Had Li Wu, without her knowing, given her just as much in patience and acceptance?

“No one is good at everything.”

Li Wu tightened his grip on her hand and led her onward.

“I’m glad we have the flaws we have,” he said.

“Why?” Shen Zhuxi asked, still dazed.

“Have you ever played with tangram puzzles?”

“Of course I have,” Shen Zhuxi said in surprise.

More than played with them — she had been quite good at them.

“Only things with gaps can fit together,” Li Wu said, turning to look at her seriously. “So it doesn’t matter that you’re imperfect. As long as together, we make something complete — that’s enough.”

Only things with gaps can fit together.

Li Wu’s words rang deep within Shen Zhuxi’s heart. He had already looked away, but she was still gazing at him.

A crescent moon hung high in the sky, spilling silver light across the ground.

Li Wu walked in that silver radiance — and outshone it entirely.

Heavenly Mother above — could she ask the immortals in heaven on her behalf — were all the loneliness and cold indifference she had endured in the first half of her life also Heaven’s arrangement, so that she might meet Li Wu in the second half?

“…I want to become better,” she murmured after a long silence.

Low as the hum of a mosquito — and still Li Wu caught it.

He looked down at her and said: “I’ve thought the same.”

“When?”

“From the moment we bowed to Heaven and Earth at our wedding, I’ve been thinking it —” Li Wu’s gaze was bright and burning as he looked at her. “There is a brilliant pearl in the sky that I dearly want. What must I do to have her?”

Under his ardent gaze, Shen Zhuxi’s heart pounded like a drum. She dropped her eyes shyly, fleeing the intensity of his look.

“…Pluck her down?” she said quietly.

“Plucking her down would be no fun —” Li Wu held her hand tight. “I would soar up there myself, and shine alongside her.”

Green mountains cradled a crescent moon; moonlight poured freely across the earth.

In this year, in this season, time moved as if on a wind-borne tide of endless, beautiful days.

Shen Zhuxi closed her eyes of her own accord and offered a silent prayer to the invisible hand of fate — hoping that the road she walked with Li Wu could go on a little longer, a little further.

Better still — if they were not careful, they might find themselves walking it all the way to white hair.

……

By the time the distant cock crowed, the Qingfeng Army had long since broken camp and moved out.

When the army reached the outskirts of Xiangzhou, they were met by a city fully on war alert. The rebel leaders holding Xiangzhou were supremely confident in their defensive capabilities — but what they did not know was that before they received word and sealed the city, Li Wu had already sent San Hu to infiltrate the city in advance, taking advantage of Xiangzhou’s then-lax and chaotic defenses.

After the Qingfeng Army made camp outside the walls, San Hu opened the city gates that very night, launching a coordinated surprise assault from within and without.

The Qingfeng banner flew from the city walls. Some residents cowered at home in fear; others took courage in hand, picked up weapons, and walked out their doors to help the Qingfeng Army cut down the rebels.

Every one of those bold souls, without exception, wore a dried lotus leaf painted with the image of a qingfeng bird pinned to the most visible spot on their clothing.

By sunrise, all of Xiangzhou’s city gates had been thrown open again. On the gates of the original prefectural government office in Xiangyang County — the seat of governance for Xiangzhou — the sign was replaced with one bearing the name of the Li Residence.

Shen Zhuxi moved into the Li Residence together with her osmanthus tree.

Sui’s Chicken Restaurant reopened for business as well. On opening day, the line stretched from the shop door all the way to the end of the street, and its rival for customers was the newly opened Ding’s Pastry Shop — which within just a few days had become the most sought-after pastry shop in Xiangyang.

By the time Shen Zhuxi’s osmanthus wine was sealed in its jars to age, Li Wu had also received a reply from Zhenchuan Military Commissioner Li Qia. Li Qia accepted his pledge of loyalty and appointed him Prefect of Xiangzhou, making him a member of the Zhenchuan Army.

The traitorous pseudo-Liao rebel forces that had torn Great Yan apart were also being steadily suppressed by the Yan armies, led principally by the Fu Family Army. The day of Great Yan’s restoration seemed no longer far off.

Everything was moving in a good direction.

Before anyone quite noticed, autumn winds had yellowed the last of the ginkgo leaves in the city. When the cold night wind blew, fragments of gold broke from the branches and went swirling through the air.

Ginkgo leaves spiraled and spun, drifting softly onto a bamboo couch.

Slender, tapered fingers slowly curled closed. A wide sleeve of pale blue fabric — patterned with clear autumn skies — fell, concealing knuckles that had gone white.

“…They married?”

The voice was low and soft, like a wisp of drifting mist — gone without a trace once the air had cleared.

Yan Hui did not dare look at his master’s expression. Heart in his throat, he ventured: “Your servant did not actually see the two of them, so it is possible the princess entered into this arrangement purely as a matter of convenience, and it may not be a true marriage.”

“Who is the other party?”

“…The other party is named Li Wu. He is twenty-two this year. He was a street beggar by origin, parents unknown. He spent years drifting through back alleys, engaging in dealings of the lowest sort. He later made his way to Xuzhou, where he was promoted by Wang Wenzhong to the position of Centurion of Pengcheng County, in gratitude for saving his life.”

Fu Xuanmiao said nothing. Yan Hui had no choice but to continue.

“Your servant tracked the princess continuously but lost her trail near Yingzhou.”

Yan Hui stated the conclusion, but deliberately glossed over the process of reaching it.

He had originally intended to return to Xuzhou to see if he could gather leads from Wang Wenzhong — only to learn, before he even entered Xuzhou territory, that rebel troops had raided and plundered the area, and Wang Wenzhong had died violently at his own doorstep. His family members had fled or perished, and by the time Yan Hui entered Xuzhou, there was not a single Wang family member to be found who knew anything.

To say this aloud — wouldn’t that be slapping his master in the face?

That two-faced schemer Wang Wenzhong had presented one face to the Emperor and to his master, and an entirely different one the moment their backs were turned. When his master had used one person against another, how could he have known that the Princess of Yue would end up entangled with the Wang family?

For the sake of a long life, it was wisest not to bring this up at all.

“Young Master — the Old Master has arrived.” A maidservant’s voice came from outside the door.

Yan Hui took the opportunity to excuse himself.

After Fu Ruzhi entered the room, he glanced at Yan Hui as he left, then shifted his gaze away and walked directly to stand before Fu Xuanmiao, who had risen to receive him.

“I heard there has been news of the Princess of Yue?”

Yan Hui slipped quietly out the door.

“To report to Father — yes, there has.” Fu Xuanmiao bowed with proper deference, his face composed and tranquil, not a flicker of anything unusual. “The Princess was in Xuzhou for a time, but her whereabouts are now unknown.”

“You must find out as soon as possible,” Fu Ruzhi said with a frown. “The Princess of Yue is a woman of delicate constitution. Living among common folk for so long, who knows what dangers she may have encountered. She and the late Emperor and the Noble Consort are the last blood of their line — if something were to befall her, I would have no face to meet those two in a hundred years…”

“Yes. Your son will redouble his efforts and find the Princess at the earliest possible moment.”

Fu Ruzhi pulled aside his robe and settled onto the couch, brushing the ginkgo leaf from the low table.

“You are aware that Xiangzhou has changed hands?”