Shen Zhuxi sat restlessly at Fan Sanniang’s home waiting for dawn. Every set of footsteps that passed the bamboo fence had her rushing to the door to wait in anticipation.

She was disappointed countless times, until at last one set of footsteps appeared beyond the fence that made her eyes light up.

There was only this one set of footsteps that would never make her wonder “is it Li Wu?” — in the very instant she heard it, her body had already rushed out of its own accord.

“Li Wu!”

Li Wu, who had just arrived at the gate, was startled. He stared wide-eyed: “What are you shrieking about? You want to scare me to death bef——”

The word “before marrying” never made it out, because Li Wu’s words took a turn in the face of the tears streaming from Shen Zhuxi’s eyes:

“I haven’t died yet — what are you crying for!”

Shen Zhuxi didn’t want to cry either, but these tears, like a cough, were not something she could suppress just because she willed it.

She raised both hands and used the backs of her hands to furiously wipe the tears streaming down her face.

“You kept not coming back. I thought… I thought…”

A familiar large warm hand came to rest on Shen Zhuxi’s face, and Li Wu also helped her wipe her tears.

His expression was resigned, but his tone was gentler than usual. Shen Zhuxi even caught a trace of tenderness in it.

“…You silly girl, aren’t I back now?”

Shen Zhuxi suddenly remembered something. Without bothering about the tears still on her face, she took out a round, smooth object from her person and, still hiccupping with sobs, said: “Here… for you.”

It was a plump, clean boiled egg. Li Wu paused for a moment, then reached out to take it.

“…You boiled this for me?”

“I…” Shen Zhuxi hiccupped, and blinked her rippling almond eyes at him. “I was worried you might get hicc… hurt, so I boiled an egg hicc… for you to help you recover.”

Li Wu had half a mind to pull this silly girl right into his arms. But he merely cleared his throat and put on an air of nonchalance:

“…Decent of you, I suppose.”

“You’ve finally come back.” Fan Sanniang came out from the house, stifling a yawn. Shen Zhuxi hurriedly and quietly put more distance between herself and Li Wu. Fan Sanniang, half in a dream, said: “Come on, take her home. This wife of yours has been waiting for you the whole night — not a moment of rest.”

“…This time, thank you.” Li Wu said.

“You and I still need to talk of thanks?” Fan Sanniang waved her hand and went back inside.

Shen Zhuxi was still watching Fan Sanniang’s retreating figure when Li Wu had already taken hold of her wrist: “Let’s go.”

She murmured a vague response and followed him toward home.

Li Wu’s hand held the fabric of her sleeve at the wrist, not crossing that line by an inch.

Shen Zhuxi’s gaze fell naturally on the broad back before her. Li Wu truly was a peculiar man — he appeared rough and careless on the surface, yet was in fact attentive and tolerant, and a man who took responsibility. At every critical moment, he always managed to make the right decisions that led those around him. So why was he willing to drag her along as a shield rather than take a wife?

If he were willing to marry, the woman he chose — if not the happiest wife in all of Great Yan — would at least be the happiest wife in all of Jinzhou…

How very strange.

She had never felt fortunate to be betrothed to the number one gentleman in the realm, yet here she was envying the future wife of some country bumpkin.

“What happened to Du Yanlong?” Shen Zhuxi asked.

“Sent him where he belongs.”

“Will he come back?”

“He won’t.”

Li Wu’s words worked like a dose of medicine, soothing Shen Zhuxi’s unease.

The egg she had carefully boiled was also carefully peeled in its entirety by Li Wu. Shen Zhuxi waited for him to put it in his own mouth — but to her surprise, he turned his hand and stuffed half of it into Shen Zhuxi’s mouth instead.

She stood there with half an egg in her mouth, looking at Li Wu in astonishment.

“Bite.” Li Wu said.

She instinctively obliged.

Li Wu ate the remaining half in one bite.

“You…” Shen Zhuxi was so taken aback she didn’t know what to say.

“We’ve been through hardship together — now it’s time to share good fortune.” Li Wu said.

That sounded perfectly reasonable at first hearing, but sharing a single egg — and specifically the half she had already bitten — didn’t quite seem right, did it?

Shen Zhuxi suspected she was judging a noble heart by petty standards, but was the corner of Li Wu’s mouth not curled just a touch too high?

Filled with all manner of doubts, Shen Zhuxi returned to her own yard — now a scene of wreckage.

Li Wu had Li Kun re-bury the weapons crate, while he himself kicked over the charred sections of the fence and swept all the ruined wood and debris into a pile.

Shen Zhuxi also picked up a broom and helped alongside.

Zhou Zhuang was no longer in the woodshed — only a pool of blood remained. Shen Zhuxi did not ask where he had gone. She only hoped that for the rest of her life she would never have to hear that name again. Just the thought of breathing the same air as him made her sick.

At sunrise, the golden-red sun scattered its light over all the earth. Everything was brimming with vigorous life, and Shen Zhuxi, a survivor of last night’s ordeal, felt all the more moved at the sight of the new dawn.

Someone else was moved as well.

Li Wu set down his broom and gazed with great solemnity at the sun slowly rising, then after a long moment, suddenly intoned with dramatic emphasis:

“A duck’s egg hangs in the sky above; the Jade Emperor’s belly is empty now.”

“If the Jade Emperor’s belly were not bare, why would a duck’s egg hang up there?”

“This poem — let it be called ‘Ode to the Sun.’ What do you think?”

Shen Zhuxi’s cheeks burned and her ears went hot. She pretended she hadn’t heard a word and put her head down to sweep furiously, wishing she could crawl into some crack in the ground.

“What do you think?” Li the Poet insisted on asking.

Dreadful! Terrifying! Demonic noise blown in from the depths of hell!

“It’s… it’s quite good…” Shen Zhuxi said with a stiff smile.

Li the Poet was very satisfied with her answer. The corner of his mouth soared, but he put on a show of modesty and shook his head: “…Still, ‘Lament of the Pig’s Trotter’ edges this one out.”

Shen Zhuxi kept her head down as she swept, living in fear of being asked again: “What do you think?”

As the sun rose, farmers began passing Li Wu’s home one after another, and upon seeing the charred yard, spoke up in concern.

Without so much as a twitch of his face, Li Wu spun a tale without a trace of guilt: “Last night I was grilling fish in the yard. Had a bit too much to drink and passed out. Woke up to this.”

This story was entirely in keeping with Li Wu’s carefree reputation — the questioners had not the slightest suspicion.

Li Que came back later and, after exchanging a few words with Li Wu in private, the two of them went out together and returned herding a group of large and small pigs.

“These are…” Shen Zhuxi had a guess.

“…Right.” Li Wu said. “The pigs that were sold along with the house next door. I got back the ones I could find.”

Li Wu did not say what he had found, but Shen Zhuxi had already guessed from the cloth sack he was carrying.

This time she no longer felt like vomiting — only sadness, an endless sadness.

“…Didn’t they suspect anything?”

“The parts that could be identified as human bone weren’t in the pigsty — they must have been thrown out somewhere. This afternoon, Li Qu’er and I will go search. We’ll do our best to see that she can be buried whole.”

“I’ll go with you.” Shen Zhuxi said immediately.

“You stay home.” Li Wu refused outright, then after a brief silence added: “We’re going to the mass grave… the yin energy there is heavy. Don’t come.”

Shen Zhuxi’s expression fell, but she did not insist.

In the afternoon, Li Wu and Li Que went out as promised, taking the group of hogs with them. They didn’t return until nightfall — the cloth sack was gone, and so were the pigs.

Shen Zhuxi did not ask where they had gone.

She hadn’t eaten much of anything all day. Now that the moon was above the treetops, she still had no appetite.

Not hungry, and unable to sleep. Shen Zhuxi lay in bed, and whether her eyes were open or closed, Sister-in-law Zhou’s face and voice kept floating before her.

Sister-in-law Zhou was beyond any doubt a good person, yet her end had been too brutal — it made Shen Zhuxi doubt whether the saying “good people are rewarded” had been, for all these hundreds of years, nothing more than a comforting lie people told themselves.

Karma is just, and retribution is certain. The one who killed Sister-in-law Zhou did indeed meet his retribution — but what of it? Could Sister-in-law Zhou, who had died so wretchedly, be brought back to life?

“Sister-in-law Zhou and Fan Sanniang were once the same kind of person.”

Li Wu’s voice suddenly came from beside her.

Shen Zhuxi turned her head and saw Li Wu, eyes open, looking up at the bed beams. His hands were folded behind his head, his expression clear and wakeful — he had not fallen asleep either.

“…Fan Sanniang?”

Li Wu gave a sound of affirmation from his nose.

“Her former husband did nothing all day but idle about, relying entirely on Fan Sanniang working as a cook outside to keep the household going. No matter where Fan Sanniang hid her money, her husband would find it. Whenever he found her secretly stashed savings, he would beat her badly, then swagger off and spend Fan Sanniang’s money in gambling dens and taverns.”

Shen Zhuxi could hardly imagine that this loud, forthright woman had such a past.

“Did she not fight back?”

“Did Sister-in-law Zhou fight back?” Li Wu replied with a question.

“She did fight back, only…”

Only her resistance was far too insignificant. A single rebuke, a single refusal — that was the extent of Sister-in-law Zhou’s resistance.

“That wasn’t really fighting back — they were only deceiving themselves.” Li Wu said calmly. “They imagined that an iron-hearted man would suddenly turn over a new leaf. They imagined that a selfish wastrel would be moved by their cheap tolerance and concession… They couldn’t change the other person, so they could only deceive themselves — convince themselves that if they just endured, these days would eventually come to an end.”

Li Wu’s words were too profound for Shen Zhuxi at first, and for a long while she turned over the meaning behind them.

Li Wu had said Fan Sanniang and Sister-in-law Zhou were once the same kind of person — why “once”?

A flash of sudden insight struck Shen Zhuxi’s mind, leaving a deep chill along her spine.

“…How did Fan Sanniang’s husband die?”

“He got drunk, slipped, and fell into the river in winter. He drowned before he could freeze to death.”

Shen Zhuxi let out a breath of relief and banished the frightening image from her mind.

“I almost thought…”

Li Wu turned and covered her eyes with his hand.

“Stop straining your silly little head. Go to sleep — the later you stay up, the more of a silly girl you become.”

“You’re the silly one…” Shen Zhuxi muttered.

Strange as it was, Li Wu’s palm seemed to hold some kind of magic. Shen Zhuxi, who had not been the least bit sleepy, found herself drifting into slumber in the comfortable warmth before she even realized it.

In her dream, spring had just returned to the earth. The old routine had crumbled, and a new one was taking shape.

In the Zhou family’s courtyard, Sister-in-law Zhou smiled as she brought out trays of fruit and sweets to serve guests, warmth and enthusiasm all over her face. Sui Rui and Jiu Niang were at odds one moment and reconciled the next, while the women playing cards sat in a circle, bursting out now and again in cheers or complaints.

What a fine spring day it was.

Li Wu removed the hand that had been covering Shen Zhuxi’s eyes, and gently wiped away a tear that had slipped from the corner of her eye.

He held his fingertip up before him and let his lips lightly brush against the tear-dampened spot.

“Silly girl… don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

……

The autumn night was bleak, the moonlight cold and still.

A soft set of footsteps sounded outside the dilapidated duck pen.

Fan Sanniang appeared in the night, carrying a food box. She walked past the duck pen, past the plum tree, and all the way to the end of the narrow path. With nimble movements she stepped down the earthen slope on broken roof tiles, walked to the edge of the murmuring river, and sat down cross-legged.

Inside the food box was a flask of warm wine and a small cup. She took out the wine, poured a cup, let out a long sigh, and said quietly:

“More than ten years — I never thought there would come a day when I’d be back here.”

Fan Sanniang’s stout figure was a dark silhouette against the night. There was no one around, only the rustling wind along the riverbank and the wisps of steam rising from the cup.

“Sister-in-law Zhou is dead. If you meet her down below, you’ll know what happened. It was Zhou Zhuang — her worthless youngest son who killed her——”

The river rushed on, its surface shimmering with layer upon layer of silver light in the moonlight.

Fan Sanniang’s calm and reflective voice drifted through the silent night.

“She didn’t believe it would happen to her, just like the old me. She thought that besides enduring whatever came, a woman in this life had no other choice. But now I understand — completely understand. We do have choices.”

“Every time I think of you now, I feel deep regret…” she said softly. “Regret that when you came to my family’s home asking me to go back with you, I didn’t ask for a separation. Regret that when you got drunk and hit me until I lost a child, I didn’t take a knife and make you pay with your life.”

“The things I feared and worried about back then — looking back now, they amount to nothing. Without you, I live better, I live freer. Do you know… I have so many regrets… my deepest regret is that I didn’t kill you, you animal, with my own hands.”

She picked up the cup and drained it in one go, then tipped the remaining wine into the rushing river.

“…This was the thing you loved most when you were alive. Drink it. This is the first time, and the last time, I’ve come to see you.”

“After tonight, you are still a man who slipped and fell into the water, and I still never saw who pushed you into that river.”

“Even as a ghost, you will be a wandering, homeless spirit.”

“…You deserve no less.”

Fan Sanniang spat into the river, picked up the food box, and climbed back up the earthen slope.

She vanished in an instant into the vast, boundless night.