Chapter 5: Divisions in the Dark

“Car headlights…” she whispered to him, her voice like a lover’s, “So they can be used as cover.”

Those beams of light were truly wonderful; they blinded the enemy and allowed concealment.

“Never seen them before?” he asked with a smile.

She hummed in agreement, a first for her—witnessing a standoff at night.

“I’ll tell you all about it tonight.”

Xie Wuqing didn’t linger. Turning his back to the fence, he walked deeper into the concession.
“Where’s the car?”

She pointed to the right-hand intersection, the earlier charade making her feel awkward for a moment. But she quickly reassured herself, treating it as a conversation between old classmates; in this new era, such an embrace might be possible with an exceptionally enthusiastic classmate…

He never looked back. She noticed the headlights still outside the concession; his men must be worried and unwilling to leave.
“I didn’t mean for you to come,” she said, assuming it would be the man who answered the phone. “You’re in a very special situation right now, all alone in the concession; no one can protect you.”

He didn’t seem to care.

The old men kept him here to silence his father. If he died, they would lose their restraint and incur a blood feud—not worthwhile. Therefore, they would protect him. As for demons lurking in the shadows, hoping to strike, they wouldn’t have time; entering and leaving the French Concession was now extremely difficult.

“Others might not be able to solve your predicament,” he told her. “It’s most convenient for me to come.”

“One Xie Wuqing is a whole regiment?” she teased, feeling closer to him because he had come at such risk.

Xie Wuqing shook his head, turned to meet her eyes, and said, “At least worth a division.”

She laughed.

“Let’s find a place to stay first,” he said.

He walked beside her, always maintaining a distance of one person, politely defining boundaries.

Uncle Mao was waiting anxiously and was surprised to see her appear with Xie Wuqing. He Wei said softly, “No one can go out tonight, we need to find a hotel.”

Uncle Mao understood and opened the car door.

Inside, away from the cold and prying eyes, she relaxed and asked about his arm.
“How did you get this injury? Is it serious? Weren’t you going to see your sweetheart? How did you get hurt?”

“It’s just a minor injury, an accident,” he said simply, unwilling to elaborate.

“Go to the best hotel in the French Concession,” Xie Wuqing instructed Uncle Mao. “Make sure to book a couple’s room.”

Uncle Mao nearly lost his grip on the wheel, but quickly understood. He glanced at the famous only son in the rearview mirror…

They booked two rooms on the same floor: one for her and Xie Wuqing, the other for the crates and He family members. The key was to stay together and prevent accidents.

The French hotel’s interior was far more romantic than the British concession’s. Gold-embossed furniture, a gilded clock, crystal chandeliers, dark-gold curtains with long tassels, and a bed so large it could sleep four. In the corner, a deep purple velvet sofa embroidered with a golden rose. Xie Wuqing sat there immediately, not moving elsewhere.

Partly to avoid suspicion, partly to avoid letting her sense his body heat. His fever was intense, aches spreading, pain from wounds suppressing it. He had just had necrotic tissue removed and was in agony.

He Wei had fruit and tea brought.

Seeing he didn’t move, she poured him tea.
“This furniture looks like it’s from the last century.”

“Even earlier,” he replied. “Like the tastes of Louis XVI.”

She looked at him in surprise.

“Did you think I only knew how to fight?” He leaned back, left arm on the sofa, gazing at her. “You’re still at the age of eating candied hawthorns, and I’ve already studied the overthrow of monarchies. To understand why they fell, you must first understand their extravagance. Monarchies centralized power, using the wealth of nations to create palace furnishings—common to both China and the West.”

She smiled, teasing softly, “Do you only know that Beijing has candied hawthorns? After this matter is settled, I’ll take you to eat your way through the entire city of Beijing.”

He nodded slightly, laughing softly.
“Thank you, Second Miss He.”

He had said this before at the He residence, but now it was more relaxed.

“Come here,” he said suddenly.

She realized he was serious, walked over, and sat on the bed’s edge, facing him.

“Many things are hard to ask over the phone,” he said softly. “And even if they ask, you might not be willing to tell.”

He was right.

“What goods do you want to take out?” he asked directly.

She hesitated.

“Although we have a special permit, to take them out, the crates need to be opened. I believe you don’t dare to open them,” he said. “If you dared, you wouldn’t need my help.”

Still silent, she listened as he continued:
“To get this batch out, it needs to be broken down and taken in batches. Starting now, there’s time. But first, you need to tell me what’s in the crates.”

“My cargo,” she said softly, “is two people. Two boxes, containing two people. Living people.”

He showed no surprise.
“That’s the easiest way. Get them out and follow our car. Leave two of your men here; they can leave later.”

She shook her head.
“They’re not cooperating… they were forced, kidnapped, not on the ship voluntarily.”

He grew interested, silent, waiting.

She poured him tea, guilt in her voice. “Have some water. You look tired; you should have been asleep long ago. Did I wake you?”

He took the cup, silent.

She whispered, “Before my brother left, he entrusted me to someone. Now he’s my brother-in-law.”

Rumors had painted her as rebellious, unfilial. The Zhao family scandal was one of them. She explained the truth: Zhao Yingsheng had published articles criticizing warlords, angering powerful men. She had tried to save him, hiding him with eunuchs in the palace, spreading rumors to cover the truth, waiting for a chance to send him away.

But the eunuchs had tormented them. When she retrieved them, they refused to cooperate. She tied them up and forced them into trunks.

“Actually, it’s understandable,” she said softly. “I didn’t feel good myself either.”

He remained silent, drinking tea.

At midnight, he suddenly said:
“I can talk to them. Let’s talk now.”

His pass was for 5 a.m.—only four hours left. She called Uncle Mao to accompany him.

Half an hour later, she realized waiting wasn’t enough. She staged the room to look like a rendezvous, wetting towels, filling the tub, leaving her bathrobe out.

The door opened. Xie Wuqing entered, slightly drunk, carrying half a bottle of wine. He saw her in a white silk shirt, long hair loose, holding a bathrobe. His gaze lingered.
“Not asleep yet?” he asked low.

“You just got back…” she replied softly, with a hint of resentment.

He leaned against the doorframe, marveling at her responsiveness, then walked in and closed the door.

After a few quiet seconds, she asked nervously, “What did they say?”

“They said—” he began, picking up the bathrobe.

“Never mind, don’t say anymore,” she interrupted.

“I can never repay your life-saving grace,” he said, handing her the bathrobe. “I sincerely apologize for any offense I caused at the He residence.”

It was resolved.

She saw joy in his eyes.

“After Zhongmen, it’s easier to gain trust,” she said gratefully.

“The name Zhongmen is too heavy,” his voice hoarse. “At least you don’t have to watch your loved ones leave one by one.”

She didn’t press further.

He headed toward the bathroom. She stopped him.
“I left the bathrobe there; why are you taking it back?”

He understood.

Her face flushed. “I just hadn’t decided how to dispose of both.”

“I usually leave them in the bathroom,” he said honestly.

She pursed her lips, embarrassed. “Then it’s better to be by the bed.”

He chuckled, saying nothing.

She looked at the bed—no sofa, no escape. Lovers had no choice but to share the bed.

He went into the bathroom. Through the doorway, he washed his hands, stained with the tears of the two boys.

His enemies had long described him as a master of psychological warfare—cunning, ruthless, and unyielding. For someone like him, breaking down the defenses of two frightened children was effortless. Half of his words had been persuasion, coaxing them toward cooperation; the other half had been a reminder of his own heart, a general’s heart, forged in blood and sacrifice.

He was a man who had emerged from the Xinhai Revolution, deeply aware of the hardships endured to reach this point. Now, with concessions carved across the land and provinces locked in endless conflict, the road to China’s revival was still long.

Those who had come before had already turned to dust, paving the way for future generations. He remembered Huanghuagang, the martyrs whose blood had driven him to abandon everything and fight for the nation.

He Wei had already decided she would simply sit by the headboard for a few hours tonight, taking a short rest. But when Xie Wuqing came out, she suddenly felt embarrassed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she proactively turned off the bedside lamp. The curtains were drawn tightly, and the room plunged into complete darkness.

Afraid he wouldn’t find the bed, she quickly opened the lamp again. “Get into bed first, I’ll turn off the light.”

“It’s the same with or without light. I can find my way.”

She smiled faintly, turned off the lamp once more, and darkness swallowed the room. The thick carpet muffled every sound. Suddenly, the bed swayed slightly. She held her breath. The bed shook again, then fell silent.

“We’ll leave at 4:30,” his voice said, though it came not from the bed.

Her eyes adjusted to the dark. He wasn’t beside her. Turning, she found him seated on the velvet sofa in the corner.

Leaning back, eyes closed, his voice was hoarse but steady: “You sleep. I’ll watch over you.”