Shen Zhuxi had planted the strange flowers she had picked up in the back garden, beneath the decorative rockery.

Strangely, when she instructed the manservant to plant the flowers, both those doing the planting and those passing by wore peculiar expressions.

“Do you know what kind of flower this is?” Shen Zhuxi asked the maidservant attending her. “I’ve never seen anything so unusual before — the blooms look like little furry balls, and the color is such a fresh, lovely green. How can a flower this distinctive have no name at all?”

“This servant isn’t entirely sure, either…” The maidservant’s eyes darted away.

“Do you know?” Shen Zhuxi asked the manservant crouching on the ground.

The manservant planting the flowers mumbled vaguely, “My family deals in cooking oil, so I don’t know very much about flowers and plants…”

Not knowing its name didn’t matter — from now on, this would be its home. She would take good care of it and let it grow strong and flourishing.

Others may not want it, but she did.

Shen Zhuxi looked at its wilted appearance and worried it might not adjust well to being transplanted into new soil. She was just wondering whether she ought to follow the palace’s method for cultivating peonies and build it a small shelter to keep off the rain, when Li Wu returned.

She put that thought aside at once and went to the front courtyard to welcome him.

That infuriating man was insufferably petty — if he came home and she was there but didn’t come to greet him, he would immediately start making noise. Out of consideration for everything he put himself through for this household, Shen Zhuxi made the concession each time of going out in person to welcome him — a princess condescending to greet him at the door.

This was something she must never let the Crown Prince find out about. If he did, Li Wu would surely lose his worthless life.

When Shen Zhuxi reached the front courtyard, Li Wu and Li Que were discussing something with grave expressions. When they saw her come out, the conversation stopped naturally. Li Kun, who had been sitting to the side busily cracking open and finishing off an entire plate of melon seeds, spotted her and called out immediately, “The little pig is here — time to eat the little pig…”

Li Wu said, “I brought home a roasted suckling pig. Have you ever eaten one?”

Shen Zhuxi: “…”

The delicacies she had tasted in her lifetime numbered more than the bowls of rice he had ever eaten. The question was an insult to someone of her noble blood.

“Not one from Xiangyang,” Shen Zhuxi said, sidestepping deftly.

“Perfect — you can try something new today then,” Li Wu said.

“Have you eaten one yourself?” Shen Zhuxi asked out of curiosity.

“No.”

“You want to try something new?”

“This is what Elder Brother bought from the roasted pork shop across from Sui’s Chicken Restaurant,” Li Que said with a smile, cutting in. “Elder Brother saw Miss Sui standing at the shop entrance calling in customers, and without a moment’s thought walked straight into the roasted pork shop across the street. Miss Sui was so furious she rolled her eyes so far back they nearly disappeared.”

“Childish,” Shen Zhuxi said, looking at Li Wu.

“I do as I please,” Li Wu said, chin tilted upward. “What about it — is Madame Sui going to come beat me?”

…That infuriating man. Sometimes he really did deserve a beating.

Shen Zhuxi couldn’t help but wonder: how had he managed to maintain such an insufferable personality all the way to adulthood without anyone correcting him?

When the roasted suckling pig was brought to the table, Shen Zhuxi couldn’t help but admit that this was indeed a roasting establishment worthy of going toe-to-toe with Sui’s Chicken Restaurant. The suckling pig had a crispy skin and tender meat — it preserved the pure, natural flavor of the pork while keeping the enhancement of the spices within just the right measure. The taste was exceptional enough to surprise even Li Wu, who had bought it on a whim.

The four of them sat around the table together. Aside from the addition of some silent, responsive wooden figures who would answer when spoken to, the quiet, warm routine of their days felt not so different from life back in Yutou Town.

After the evening meal, Shen Zhuxi sat at the writing desk, brushed a short letter to report that she was well, sealed it, and entrusted a manservant to take it to the courier station and send it off.

She hoped that when Jiu Niang received her letter, she would find it in her heart to forgive her for leaving without a word — given the circumstances.

That night, Shen Zhuxi fell into a hazy half-sleep and was roused by the sound of rain rushing off the eaves.

At first, she lay peacefully and listened to the rain in the night. Just as she was on the verge of drifting back to sleep, Shen Zhuxi suddenly remembered the strange flower she had transplanted only the day before — and snapped fully awake with a start.

That flower had looked half-dead when she first put it in the ground. If it was rained on all night like this, what chance would it have of surviving?

In a rush of anxious urgency, she threw off the bedding and rolled out of bed. As she stepped over Li Wu, she accidentally trod on some part of him she couldn’t identify, provoking a screech from him worthy of a pig being slaughtered.

“Sorry!” Shen Zhuxi had no time to check if he was hurt, and dashed outside in her embroidered shoes.

The spot where she had planted the strange flower the day before was wrapped in darkness. The autumn rain was popping and pattering like crackling beans against the rockery, the ground, and the leaves of grass.

The maidservant on night watch came hurrying over. Shen Zhuxi had no time to explain — she told her to go fetch a lantern and a sheet of oilcloth.

The maidservant went off to find them, and Shen Zhuxi stepped without hesitation into the curtain of rain.

By the faint light of the moon, she found the strange flower she had planted that morning. The downpour had bent its stem over, and its round, fuzzy head drooped toward the ground. Shen Zhuxi rushed to its side and crouched down, cupping her two hands together into a small shelter to shield it from the relentless rain.

The cool autumn rain, carrying just a hint of chill, struck her face and body one drop after another.

Her thin inner garment soaked through quickly, and rainwater dripped from her lashes.

“Shen Zhuxi! What are you doing out here now?!” A hand grabbed her forcefully, and Shen Zhuxi nearly pitched forward.

She had no time to turn around — she quickly raised her hands again to shield the flower.

“The oilcloth will be here any moment — just let me cover it for a little while!”

“You’ll fall ill!” Li Wu thundered.

“I won’t — I’ve always been very hardy… just a little longer, just a little…” Shen Zhuxi kept her eyes fixed on the flower, which had found a small patch of shelter under her cupped hands.

“Shen Zhuxi—”

Li Wu reached out to pull her away. She wrenched free with force and shouted, “Without me, it will die!”

“It’s just a scallion!” Li Wu roared in fury. “Just the flower of a scallion that grows everywhere — nobody even wants it as a gift! Is this worthless thing worth putting yourself at risk?!”

“I like it! I like it — whether it’s a peony or a scallion flower!”

A fierce surge of anguish rose in her chest, and Shen Zhuxi shook with anger.

What difference did it make, peony or scallion?

When the wind howled and the rain beat down, even the most worthless thing would be abandoned all the same.

Whether it was a scallion disguised as a peony, or a peony mistaken for a scallion — even if she spent every last ounce of her strength growing into the shape others wanted her to be, she would still end up abandoned in the end.

“You don’t want it — I do! It was thrown in the street, still clinging to a bit of soil, still trying to live — I will let it live! I will not abandon it!”

Her voice echoed through the rain-woven curtain of the night.

The strange flower slowly straightened again, its round, ball-shaped head swaying gently in the night wind — as if nodding its head to thank her.

Such an obedient little flower. Why would anyone have abandoned it?

Those who planted it were them. Those who pulled it from the earth and threw it away were also them.

Did they not know that in tossing it aside without a second thought, they were sending it to its death?

Did they not know that she, alone, could not survive in this vast and indifferent world?

Shen Zhuxi’s tears broke free against her will and spilled from her eyes.

She hated her own weakness.

How she wished she could become a figure of iron, untouched by fire or water. How she wished that overnight, she could grow into a great tree whose canopy stretched across the sky.

No one had ever taught her how.

She had grown up small and lonely in the deep palace, feeling her way forward one stumbling step at a time.

Her father, the Emperor, had flown into a rage when he found her secretly reading history texts in the imperial study, confining her to her quarters for seven days and ordering the palace attendants to place the only two books deemed appropriate for women on her desk — the Records of Exemplary Women and Precepts for Women.

Her Imperial Consort Mother had discovered her sneaking off to learn dance with the palace maids, burned her dance shoes, and beaten to death the palace maid who had made them for her.

It was after that when Fu Xuanmiao had sent over all manner of fine things — the four scholarly arts of zither, chess, calligraphy, and painting.

She had begun to bow in the most demure of ways, speak with the most self-deprecating of words, dress in the most muted of colors. The excess parts of herself had been, piece by piece, stripped away — by herself and by others alike.

And then — abandoned in the dark.

And yet, in the end, even this shell of a self that remained, this hollow woman still walking through the motions of life, was still cast aside in the end — clinging to a small handful of soil, falling from what had seemed like a glorious height in the clouds down to a street where people came and went and walked right over her.

No soil. No water. No hope. Anyone could trample over her.

Peony or scallion flower — what was the difference?

After the words poured unguarded from her lips, there was a long silence — only the sharp patter of rain filling the air.

And then the rain striking her body suddenly stopped.

Shen Zhuxi raised her head and stared in a daze at Li Wu, who had stripped off his outer robe and was holding it up above her.

He stood in the unbroken curtain of rain, both arms stretched wide, spreading the robe as far as he could to block the cold rain from falling on her head.

“Shen Zhuxi—” he said, his face set and grim. “I don’t care who has abandoned you before. You can forget all of them. Because I — I will never abandon you. Remember what I’m saying: if the sky falls and the earth breaks apart, you and I die together.”

The dense arrows of rain converged into a layered curtain of thousands upon thousands, yet here, where Shen Zhuxi stood, they were cut off entirely.

In the cold and lightless world, the only place untouched by rain was the place where she stood.

A peony fallen into the mortal world, become a lowly scallion flower.

For all the world to trample.

And then one man had picked it up, brought it back to his home, and given it new life.

He had no learning, no family name, no wealth. He kept the word “I” on his lips at all times and never stopped cursing. And yet he carried out her every request, crude and careful at once, volatile and tender at once, a harsh tongue concealing a soft heart.

He treated her with such goodness. How could she ever repay even a tenth of what she owed him?

“Sir, Madam — the oilcloth and the lantern are here!” The maidservant came rushing over with two manservants. “Please come take shelter from the rain — we’ll handle what’s left out here.”

The two manservants plunged into the rain with the oilcloth, and in no time had erected a small shelter over the scallion flower.

Li Wu reached out his hand to Shen Zhuxi. This time, she did not refuse.

He had always taken hold of her wrist before. This time, he held her hand. Palm pressed against palm, and the warmth that spread through her was not only from the autumn rain.

Shen Zhuxi stared at Li Wu in stunned silence. He did not look at her, yet his grip tightened. Beneath the pale light of the moon, his resolute profile was still as a mountain, and his sharp, deep-set eyes shone like the light of a lantern on a ship sailing in the dark of night.

Her heart lurched violently in that moment.

She didn’t know why.

Whether it was for the brightness of his eyes, or for the rain that filled the sky all around them.

As if treading on soft, yielding cotton, she floated, a little dazed, as Li Wu led her back to the main bedchamber.

Attendants came and went like flowing water, bringing warm water and dry clothes. Shen Zhuxi changed behind the screen and came back out to find Li Wu leaning back in a chair at the table, drinking something. When he saw her emerge, he pushed a second bowl toward her.

“Ginger soup — drink it while it’s hot.”

One whiff was enough to make her stomach turn. But Li Wu pressed her relentlessly, insisting she drink down every last drop.

She was about to refuse, but her gaze fell on Li Wu’s hair, which was still wet. She fell silent.

“Are you going to drink it or not? If you won’t, I’ll pour it down your throat,” Li Wu said in a harsh tone.

“…I’ll drink it.”

Shen Zhuxi sat down, pinched her nose shut, and forced the steaming ginger soup down her throat in one determined gulp.

The moment she relaxed, the taste of ginger surged back up her throat. She swallowed it down again and again, barely managing not to run outside and retch.

“Madam, there are preserved fruits here,” said one of the maidservants, stepping forward with a small dish.

Shen Zhuxi picked up a piece of preserved fruit, paused, then turned and offered it to Li Wu.

Li Wu blanked. “…For me?”

“…Yes.”

Shen Zhuxi quickly pressed the preserved fruit into his hand, then took a second piece from the maidservant’s dish and put it in her own mouth.

A honey-sweet taste spread slowly through her mouth, washing away the sharp heat of the ginger soup. Across from her, Li Wu flashed her a grin for no apparent reason, and it made her smile involuntarily in return.

She had been soaked in autumn rain, and yet she wasn’t cold at all.

She hoped Li Wu felt the same.

Shen Zhuxi turned to the maidservant. “Bring a clean cloth.”

The maidservant came back quickly, and Shen Zhuxi took the cloth and held it out to Li Wu. “Dry your hair.”

Li Wu’s hands didn’t move. Instead, he tilted his head toward her.

“You do it.”

“Dry it yourself!” Shen Zhuxi said in surprise.

“No.”

“You…”

Shen Zhuxi hadn’t even finished turning to the maidservant when Li Wu shot a sweeping glare at every maidservant in the room. “All of you — get out.”

The attendants — some carrying basins of water, others holding bathing water — scattered in an instant, swift as wind.

“You do it,” Li Wu said again, bowing his head toward her.

Li Wu had suddenly transformed into the Insufferable Li, stubbornly insisting she do it herself.

Shen Zhuxi had no choice but to take the cloth and stand.

“…I’ve never dried someone else’s hair before. I might not do it well. You’re not allowed to blame me.”

“I won’t blame you, I won’t blame you,” Li Wu said in a light, quick tone.

Shen Zhuxi draped the cloth over his head and steeled herself to dry his long hair — dark and damp from the rain.

He had lowered his head to match her reach, revealing the back of his neck, where a phoenix tattoo rendered in vivid, lifelike ink traced across his skin. Shen Zhuxi recoiled as if burned and darted her eyes away.

Only to find herself, moments later, sneaking a glance back at the same spot.

Li Wu seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. He said with certainty, “Looks good, doesn’t it?”

Shen Zhuxi made a vague sound of agreement.

“What if you got one too?” Li Wu said.

A man with a tattoo — that might pass as unconventional flair. A woman with a tattoo was something unheard of — something shocking. Either the mark of criminal punishment, a descent into a life of ill repute, or the slave brand of an owner.

Shen Zhuxi knew Li Wu didn’t care about any of that, but she was not yet at the point of being able to ignore the eyes of others.

Not wanting to dampen his mood, she asked instead, “…What would it be of?”

“A duck,” Li Wu said, slapping his thigh in regret. “I’ve always wanted a duck tattoo. This time I’ll find you a reliable tattooist, and we’ll definitely—”

Shen Zhuxi deliberately brought the cloth down over his face and rubbed it around vigorously, cutting off whatever dreadful thing he was about to say.

“I don’t have the temperament for it. In this whole world, you’re the only one fit for a duck tattoo.”

“True…” Li Wu murmured. “Only I could… pah! Are you drying my hair or washing my face?!”

“Both, together.”