Generals and officials, the forces of one side and the other — all were struck with shock as they looked at Fu Xuanmiao on the city battlements.

The man renowned for his virtue — the realm’s greatest gentleman — had his right hand firmly locked around the throat of the last surviving princess of the Great Yan imperial line.

Shen Zhuxi’s windpipe was being compressed from outside, as though a hundred ants were crawling through her throat — not only was breathing difficult, but there was also an unbearable itching pain. She summoned every last ounce of her strength, her two hands prying desperately at the right hand around her neck, but Fu Xuanmiao’s grip did not budge.

His unhurried voice came from behind her:

“…I told you — your ambition would always be held back by personal feeling.”

“You want to use the lives of the officials’ family members in Jianzhou to force me to capitulate. Had the one doing this been Chunyu An, perhaps I might have truly let him have his way. But you —” Fu Xuanmiao paused. A flash of contempt passed through his bottomless black eyes. “Could you really go through with it?”

Li Wu raised one corner of his lips in a cold sneer: “Guess whether, for the sake of getting my own woman back, this old man could go through with it.”

A faint ripple of whispers arose from the officials behind Fu Xuanmiao.

“Then you guess as well — could I go through with it?”

The large hand around Shen Zhuxi’s neck tightened gradually, and she could not help but show an expression of pain.

“Get your filthy paw off her!” Li Wu roared.

“If you want me to release her — you will have to fall on your own sword before both armies.”

“Your father is dead!” Li Wu broke into a torrent of curses. “What a dream you’re having — why don’t you fall on your own sword and show me first?”

“Then let us stake everything on this. We shall see who gets what they want in the end.” Fu Xuanmiao said.

“You —”

Fu Xuanmiao, dressed in dark robes, stood on the city battlements against the cold wind, staring coldly down at Li Wu in his silver armor below. The torches blazed behind him, stretching in a ribbon of fire.

The narrow, wan band of moonlight fell between them like a cold, razor-sharp dagger, cleaving the world in two.

“Fu Xuanmiao, how can you be such a shameless bastard —” Li Wu cursed.

Beside him, Li Kun, as if the volume were not yet loud enough, bellowed the final two words at full force:

“Shameless!”

“How can I compare to you?” Fu Xuanmiao said coldly. “In terms of the number of lives used as stakes — I concede defeat.”

He tightened his grip around Shen Zhuxi’s neck and looked down at Li Wu:

“You come from a base background, coarse and crude — yet there are those who believe you possess noble character. I want to let her see whether you truly are what she imagines you to be.”

“What do you want?” Li Wu said.

“I merely want to watch you make the choice that everyone knows how to make.” Fu Xuanmiao said. “You need only step back — and it is your head that falls. Step forward — and the throne is yours for the taking. All you need to give up is one woman of ambiguous standing. Once you sit upon the throne, why worry that beautiful company will not be yours in abundance?”

“But none of them would be Shen Zhuxi.” Li Wu said, without a moment’s hesitation.

His gaze moved from Fu Xuanmiao to Shen Zhuxi’s face ahead.

“I want only Shen Zhuxi.”

“Since you want her —”

Fu Xuanmiao’s face was as still as deep water. His right hand, tightening with Li Wu’s every word, brought an expression of unmistakable pain to Shen Zhuxi’s face.

“Then fall on your sword.” He said. “Once you have done so, as long as the rest of your people see fit to return to their positions, I can act as though none of this ever happened. The dogs and chickens that follow you — I can spare their lives as well —”

A force — not large, not small — came from behind. Shen Zhuxi, along with the hand still locked unmovingly around her neck, stumbled two steps forward and struck the parapet. A dull pain spread through her body.

Above and below the city wall, a collective sharp intake of breath rang out.

Half of Shen Zhuxi’s body was now suspended outside the city wall. She heard Fu Xuanmiao say from behind her:

“Otherwise, let us see… who is the one who keeps their word.”

Below the city wall, only silence — broken only by Li Kun’s booming, bewildered question ringing out:

“Fall on your sword? Can you fall on a kiss instead — I could… kiss my elbow, I can manage that…”

All at once, Shen Zhuxi began to struggle violently. Ignoring the pressure on her windpipe, she kicked back hard several times. In the instant Fu Xuanmiao’s grip instinctively slackened from the impact, she wore an expression of absolute resolve, and with tremendous force, drove her face downward.

“You fool!” Li Wu’s face drained of color below the wall.

Fu Xuanmiao’s expression changed drastically. Fear — a thing that had never before broken through that composed and self-possessed face — tore through it now. He rushed forward in a single stride, his right hand gripping her jaw, his left pressing hard against her throat, forcing her to pull back her tongue. She broke into a fit of continuous coughing.

“…To die for him — you would rather die?” Fu Xuanmiao forced each word out from between his teeth, one by one.

Shen Zhuxi bent over, coughing relentlessly from the physical pain, coughing until tears fell — but her gaze, full of hatred, still struck with force at Fu Xuanmiao, who stood dazed and blank, looking as though he had lost a piece of his soul.

“Shen Zhuxi! Don’t do anything reckless!” Li Wu called out urgently from below.

“Little piggy! Little piggy!” Li Kun, seeming to have grasped something as well, cried out her name with a voice that was on the verge of tears.

His voice seemed to come from very far away, reaching Shen Zhuxi’s ears as only a muffled, rumbling sound.

She stared unblinking at the man who had imprisoned and controlled her for half her life. Waves of intense hatred and pain crashed against her soul. His existence, his gaze, his words — all of it was like an invisible thread, winding tightly around her body, pulling her spirit, dragging her down toward the bottom of a bottomless swamp.

He wanted her to sink.

It was Li Wu who had lifted her toward the morning sun.

If she were ever to sink one day, it would only be because she wanted to lift him toward the sky.

Shen Zhuxi pressed her hands against the parapet and, without a moment’s hesitation, threw herself over the edge headfirst.

“Shen Zhuxi!”

“Xi’er!”

Heaven and earth spun before her. In the deep blue sky hung an enormous full moon.

The moonlight was clear and cold, sacred beyond measure — but looking closely at it now for the first time, she saw that the shining disc was pocked and cratered, covered in scars.

She stared at that moon in a daze.

The howling sound of rushing wind lasted only a brief moment before it stopped.

Shen Zhuxi heard a clear, sharp crack come from within Fu Xuanmiao’s outstretched arm.

He gripped her wrist with a face twisted in desperation — almost his entire body had fallen outside the city wall. Only because Yan Hui, having thrown herself flat against the parapet, had seized his ankle in a death grip, did he not fall along with her.

The veins stood out on Yan Hui’s face as she hauled Fu Xuanmiao back, and she roared at the generals and officials who stood there utterly frozen:

“Why aren’t you helping the Emperor?!”

The crowd came to their senses as if waking from a dream and surged forward.

Before long, both figures had been pulled back onto the battlements.

Shen Zhuxi’s face was drained of all color. Yan Hui and several other guards kept her under a fixed, relentless watch — not a single opening for her to exploit. Fu Xuanmiao stood a few steps away, staring at her with a vacant, lost expression. The left hand that had caught her hung at his side, motionless.

The bleached, blank moonlight had taken away every trace of color from his face.

Perhaps it was a long while. Perhaps it was only a short time.

Fu Xuanmiao opened his mouth, his voice barely above a mosquito’s hum: “…Go back.”

“Your Majesty… but what about them…” Yan Hui looked at the coalition army below with a troubled expression.

“Go back.” Fu Xuanmiao seemed to hear nothing. He repeated himself once more.

Shen Zhuxi was put back in the carriage.

Fu Xuanmiao leaned in the corner, silently staring at her profile — the resistance and hostility overflowing from every line of her face.

After dismounting from the carriage, Shen Zhuxi glanced at the two rows of guards closely surrounding her and walked back toward her place of confinement without looking behind her.

Behind her came the sound of Fu Xuanmiao’s footsteps.

She passed through the covered walkway, through the back courtyard, until she entered her own room — and still the footsteps behind her followed close.

She stepped quickly through the door and went to slam it shut behind her. But Fu Xuanmiao had already crossed the threshold, and to put distance between them, she was forced to retreat a large step.

He continued walking toward her. She retreated with each step he advanced, until at last she was backed against a corner of the wall.

Shen Zhuxi crouched in the corner, both arms wrapped tightly across her chest, every nerve stretched taut, guarding against the person in front of her with the vigilance of someone facing a deadly enemy.

But he only crouched down before her, reaching out with his right hand in an attempt to take her hand. When the pull failed, he redirected and laid his hand on her knees instead.

The three vivid red scars burned on the pale back of that hand, conspicuous as brands.

“Xi’er…”

The sound rising from his throat was low as a groan, carrying within it the remnant traces of a shattered heart.

“Xi’er…”

“Xi’er…” he murmured. “What would it take — for you to have a change of heart?”

Shen Zhuxi stared at him, forcing out her answer word by word: “It is absolutely impossible.”

“…Why can you not forgive me even once?” Fu Xuanmiao said, his voice hoarse.

“The noble ladies who once wished to marry you — even princesses — were too many to count.” Shen Zhuxi looked at him stubbornly. “Why did it have to be me?”

Why?

Yes — why?

The faint, wavering moonlight swayed with the movement of the bare branches outside the window. At some point unnoticed, the east had begun to grow pale, and only a sliver of a waning moon remained in the desolate sky.

The sound of the wind grew fainter and fainter, until it was swallowed by the silence.

“Because I knew…”

Fu Xuanmiao seemed to be holding something back. Every word he released came out with particular clarity and care.

“If…”

“If there were one person — who, after knowing the truth I have struggled so hard to hide… could still treat me exactly as before… if there were one person… who could accept everything about me — the side that is presentable, and the side that is not…” he said. “That person… could only be you.”

“Only you would be capable of it… only you… would be willing to try…”

In his hand there was no hand of hers to hold. His fingers could only clench against her knees.

“Xi’er…”

He lowered his head. His refined, gaunt face was hidden in the dim shadow of the moon, and his voice broke:

“…Is that merely wishful thinking on my part?”