Investigating how Shen Qingwu saved Zhang Xingjian was not complicated.
A ten-mile round trip, a few questions, a few markers, a few key eyewitnesses willing to speak.
The only novelty of this task was that Zhang Xingjian himself was investigating. In the past, he had always delegated these mundane tasks to his servants, considering such work beneath his attention.
Changlin followed Zhang Xingjian, hesitant to speak, questions building like pressure in his chest.
At this moment, dawn had broken, painting the world in gentle gold. Standing before a small well at the entrance of a dilapidated village at the foot of a mountain, Zhang Xingjian gently wiped the dust and fallen leaves from the well's rim with careful, almost reverent movements.
Thin, golden sunlight fell on his long, lowered eyelashes, creating shadows against his pale skin.
His expression was calm and serene, a smile playing on his lips, as if recalling the fleeting, beautiful, and illusory scenery he had witnessed during his brief moment of lucidity—a memory both precious and painful.
Now that it was confirmed that Shen Qingwu had indeed saved her husband, then—Changlin stepped forward cautiously. "Third Brother…"
Zhang Xingjian said, "Let's investigate what kind of person Shen Qingwu is."
Changlin was surprised and puzzled, his brow furrowing. "Is that necessary?"
Zhang Xingjian turned his head and smiled, the expression enigmatic. "Do you think saving me was an easy thing?"
Changlin fell silent, understanding dawning. Yes, a person as shrewd and extremely cold as her husband wouldn't easily give others the opportunity to save him. To become his savior, by chance, was by no means easy—it required either extraordinary courage or remarkable circumstance.
So Changlin followed Zhang Xingjian back to Tokyo, and went with Zhang Xingjian through the streets and alleys to find out what kind of person the second daughter of the Shen family was—piecing together her story from gossip and truth.
The neighbors gossiped with varying degrees of malice and pity:
"Shen Qingwu, the second daughter of the Shen family, is a real troublemaker. From childhood to adulthood, wherever there's a fight in Tokyo, she's there to join in. I don't know how a little girl can be so combative."
"Hmph, we don't know her! She almost drowned my brother! If the Shen family hadn't apologized, we would have gone to the Dali Temple to sue her for murder!"
"That girl, so young, so spirited… but she never seems to know what she should or shouldn't do, always getting into trouble."
"Don't say that… sigh, she's a pitiful child."
Zhang Xingjian pieced together Shen Qingwu's upbringing like a puzzle whose picture grew sadder with each piece:
She was born into a concubine's womb, destroying the deep love between the master and his mother—blamed for a sin not her own. After the concubine died, the master was cowardly, and the mistress disliked her, treating her as nothing more than an inconvenient reminder.
At three years old, Shen Qingwu got lost on the streets of Tokyo, and only her brother found her—everyone else had stopped looking.
Later, she learned martial arts, but it was all on her own; no one in the Shen family properly taught her. The better her martial arts talent, the more trouble she caused with whatever she did, and the more people avoided her—excellence becoming another curse.
She was stubborn, taciturn, and eccentric; the older she got, the less likable she became. She tried to get along with her siblings, but after being teased a few times, she became a loner, ignoring everyone—protection through isolation.
Now, Shen Qingwu had caused quite a few troubles, big and small, in Tokyo. Some thought she was impulsive, others pitied her for being uneducated and unsupervised—
Changlin sighed softly, the sound carrying unexpected sympathy.
Zhang Xingjian turned his head. "Why are you sighing?"
Changlin spoke carefully. "I initially thought she was very ill-mannered for making a fool of herself and putting my husband in such a difficult position. Now, it seems she's not so bad. Perhaps she didn't intentionally embarrass my husband. Doesn't my husband sympathize with her?"
Zhang Xingjian raised an eyebrow, something dangerous flickering in his eyes.
He chuckled, the sound without warmth. "I envy her; she's always been lucky."
Changlin frowned in confusion. "...Lucky in what way?"
Zhang Xingjian said simply, "Some people sympathize with her."
Changlin, who had just sympathized with Shen Qingwu, choked on the implication, but after his lord's teasing remark, he resumed his nonchalant demeanor, understanding the lesson.
Zhang Xingjian strolled leisurely down the long street, his long hem swaying slightly, exuding elegance that drew eyes. Changlin followed, hearing Zhang Xingjian ask, "Shen Qingwu must be quite famous in Tokyo, right?"
Changlin replied honestly, "All bad reputations."
Zhang Xingjian said thoughtfully, "She can do whatever she wants freely; what's wrong with that?"
Then, as if muttering to himself, he said, "No wonder I've never heard of her."
—So it was all bad reputations, the kind whispered rather than celebrated.
In those years when he was confined to the Zhang family's old mansion, never leaving it, in those years when he was studying like a frog in a well, perhaps Shen Qingwu was sitting on the low wall of a street in the marketplace, swinging her legs, eating candy, and playing with a knife, watching all this with innocent yet worldly eyes.
That was the vast sky and clouds that Zhang Xingjian could never see, even as he stood beneath the old house wall, his neck aching from craning upward toward freedom.
He and she grew up in completely different environments—two worlds that should never have touched.
Shen Qingye was having trouble sleeping.
She hadn't heard from her cousin for two days, and her anxiety grew as she asked for answers but received none, only evasive silence.
On her way to the main house to pay her respects to her mother, Shen Qingye made an excuse to have her maid and nanny fetch her medicine and cloak. Once the maids were gone, she lifted her skirt, concealing her wildly beating heart beneath layers of silk, and went to find out where Shen Qingwu was being held.
Though frail, she was clever and quick-witted, and soon heard the news she wanted to hear.
But she overheard some alarming news outside a bamboo grove that made her blood run cold:
"Damn it, Shen Erniang is too good at fighting! We've starved her for two days, and even when we pounced on her, we couldn't subdue her. If it weren't for that clever guy who hit her from behind with a brick, we wouldn't have been able to catch her."
"As expected, Madam has foresight and knows how to deal with Shen Qingwu. It's just that she's too stubborn, refusing to give up on Zhang Sanlang no matter what. That Zhang Sanlang is just a pretty boy, I don't think he's anything special, why is she so hung up on him?"
"Who cares? She's always like this anyway. Let's beat her until she gives in."
Several servants discussed the recent lesson they had given Shen Qingwu, their voices a mixture of excitement and anxiety—enjoying their power over someone usually untouchable.
Finally, one of them hesitated, reality intruding. "Based on past experience, Shen Qingwu won't back down. In the past, it was always Madam who had no choice, the master who intervened, and the eldest son who spoke up for her that she let Erniang go... This time, the Zhang family's reputation is involved, Madam won't back down, will she?"
The others became uneasy, fear replacing bravado.
They swallowed hard. "Are they going to beat Shen Qingwu to death?"
They left, leaving Shen Qingye standing alone outside the bamboo grove, covering her mouth in disbelief, holding back her tears with desperate effort.
She thought the Shen family just generally disliked her cousin; she hadn't realized her aunt and uncle cared so little for her. Family honor and interests mattered far more than her cousin; she and her cousin were mere ants in that hierarchy, easily crushed. Didn't anyone care about her cousin's life?
The servants' unbridled gossip about their master behind her back could only be because of her cousin's lowly status—so low they felt no fear of consequences.
Her once-powerful cousin, who had traveled thousands of miles to bring her back to Tokyo and protected her all the way, was now being beaten, insulted, and bullied in her own home?
Shen Qingye stood in the bleak autumn wind, her face pale, feeling the approaching autumn's desolation and the impending winter's chill seeping into her bones.
Tears clung to her eyelashes, forming a thin layer of frost in the cold air.
The young woman closed her eyes and pleaded to the heavens: "Father, Mother, if you have spirits in heaven, can you tell me what to do? How can I protect my cousin, and protect myself?"
Shen Qingwu leaned against the wall, her eyes numbly closed, enduring the pain in her body with the practiced stillness of someone accustomed to suffering.
She had just fought with the servants of the Shen family, and a brick had hit her head, leaving her somewhat dazed, the world tilting. She was hungry and thirsty, and was now wondering why the brick hadn't knocked her unconscious.
If she had been unconscious, she wouldn't be hungry or thirsty. Oblivion seemed preferable to awareness.
"Tap, tap, tap."
Three knocks on the wall, deliberate and careful.
Shen Qingwu thought it was a hallucination: the servants had just come and couldn't possibly have returned. Her brother had also come that morning; he couldn't possibly be here now.
A weak, timid, and urgent voice came from outside: "Sister, Qingwu, are you in there?"
Shen Qingwu blinked and looked up. Only darkness; she couldn't see anything, her eyes not yet adjusted.
She was trying to figure out who the voice was…
Shen Qingye whispered from outside, her voice trembling. "Sister, are you badly injured? Are you really unwilling to change your mind, unwilling to take back what you said before?"
Shen Qingwu remembered: it was Shen Qingye.
She pursed her lips, thinking with dull cynicism: Is Shen Qingye also here to persuade her to change her mind? Everyone says Shen Qingye is kind and gentle, saying that she ruined Shen Qingye's marriage, Shen Qingye must hate her.
But Shen Qingwu thought to herself, I didn't steal him, I saved him, I did nothing wrong.
Let Shen Qingye think and say whatever she wants. If Shen Qingye is sarcastic and cynical like those servants, she'll just pretend she doesn't hear it and ignore it—another wall to build.
"Bang—"
The stone wall slowly turned, inching away with a grinding sound.
Shen Qingwu looked up in surprise, the blinding sunlight shining in from outside. She covered one eye with her hand. With her other eye, she saw Shen Qingye with one hand on a brick in the wall, looking at her with tears in her eyes and joy blooming across her face.
Shen Qingye was delighted, but hesitated for a moment when she saw the bloodstains on her body, and did not approach—shocked by the evidence of violence.
Shen Qingye said softly, "I felt there was a mechanism here, so I tried it, and I didn't expect it to actually open."
Shen Qingwu looked at her expressionlessly, waiting for the inevitable lecture.
After a moment, Shen Qingwu gradually adjusted to the sunlight and lowered her hands from her eyes. She wiped the blood from the back of her hands and absentmindedly announced to Shen Qingye, her voice flat and final:
"I just want to marry Zhang Xingjian, and I won't change my mind."
She paused.
Thinking of the "vast difference" others had mentioned—the insurmountable gap between them—
Shen Qingwu added, "It's Zhang Xingjian's business if he doesn't like me. It's also his business if he refuses to marry me. If you feel ashamed, that's your business. It has nothing to do with me."
She sat against the wall, her hands on her knees, the blood on her face, both indifferent and numb. This indifference gave her a strange and beautiful quality—like a statue carved from defiance. "I won't change my mind."
After a long pause, tears welled up in Shen Qingye's eyes, but then she smiled—unexpected and warm.
Shen Qingye gently leaned over, carefully avoiding her injuries, and hugged her with tender care. "If you don't want to change your address, then don't."
Shen Qingwu looked up in confusion, not understanding kindness.
She heard Shen Qingye's soft voice in her ear: "Sister, why don't you leave first?"
Shen Qingwu said blankly, "Leave?"
Shen Qingye said with quiet urgency, "Yes, I don't want you to be beaten to death."
Shen Qingwu said practically, "I don't know where to go, I have nowhere to go."
Shen Qingye looked up, tears streaming down her cheeks, her expression pitiful yet determined. "Sister, I beg you."
That evening, a torrential rain fell, pattering like a torrent, washing the world clean.
Everything was shrouded in mist, reality softened by water.
Zhang Xingjian came to visit the Shen family. He closed his umbrella and entered the house, revealing a handsome and gentle face beneath, water droplets clinging to his hair. He smiled and asked, "Has anything happened at your residence?"
The atmosphere was somewhat tense, the air thick with unspoken things.
The servant hurriedly said no, too quickly to be convincing.
Zhang Xingjian smiled and pretended not to know, playing the gracious guest.
When news of Zhang Sanlang's visit arrived, the matriarch of the Shen family was scolding her young and unruly daughter, Shen Qingye.
Shen Qingye, who had been pampered since arriving at the Shen family, was kneeling under the eaves, listening to the pitter-patter of the rain outside while enduring Madam Shen's angry rebuke—each word a lash.
It was because she had let Shen Qingwu go.
Shen Zhuo had led men to capture people all over Tokyo, fearing that the ill-mannered Shen Qingwu might do something detrimental to both families, completely ruining the marriage alliance between the Zhang and Shen families.
Madam Shen was furious, never expecting her seemingly weak daughter to disobey her. One scoundrel like Shen Qingwu was enough for the Shen family; was Shen Qingye also so disobedient? Would she too become uncontrollable?
Fortunately, Zhang Xingjian arrived, and Madam Shen managed to suppress her anger, allowing Shen Qingye to entertain the guest and let the two young people grow closer—maintain appearances.
Before leaving, Madam Shen warned Shen Qingye, her voice cold with command: "Don't speak carelessly. Qingye, don't disappoint me again."
Shen Qingye, her eyes red, wiped away her tears, put on makeup to hide the evidence of crying, and, despite her illness, went to the ancient pavilion by the lake in the backyard to receive Zhang Xingjian, the distinguished guest, on behalf of her master.
Across the rustling red leaves covering the lake, she saw the back of her beloved, standing against the candlelight in the pavilion. Amidst the vast expanse of mountains and water, the clouds obscuring the bright moon, his every gesture exuded divine grace and otherworldly beauty—too perfect to be real.
Hearing footsteps, Zhang Xingjian turned around.
His gentle smile paused slightly when he noticed the tear stains at the corners of Shen Qingye's eyes—evidence she hadn't hidden well enough.
Zhang Xingjian asked softly, "Shen Qingwu refuses to change her address?"
Shen Qingye was slightly taken aback by his directness.
Zhang Xingjian observed her with those too-perceptive eyes and said, "It seems there's more to it than that... She refuses to change her mind, why are you crying, my lady? Could it be that she ran away?"
He whispered, understanding dawning in his voice, "You let her go and got scolded?"
What a perceptive and intelligent young man he was—nothing escaped his notice.
Shen Qingye looked at him, silent for a long time. She struggled with whether she should ask this young man for help, tell him about her cousin's and her own difficulties, and beg for his assistance...
Zhang Xingjian lowered his eyes and said quietly, "You made the wrong choice."
He said, "There's a very simple way to make her change her mind. My lady Qingye, please inform her and take me to see Madam Shen. Just say... I have a way to make Shen Qingwu bow her head and resolve this matter."
He smiled, the expression beautiful and terrible. "Tell Madam that Shen Qingwu will never marry Zhang Xingjian."
Crossing the long pavilion and secluded lake, listening to the patter of the rain, Changlin remained silent, following her young man to see the matriarch of the Shen family.
As they rounded a corner, Changlin asked, unable to contain his curiosity any longer, "Young man, what are you going to do?"
Zhang Xingjian casually replied, "Guess."
Changlin turned to look at him and said softly, "If Second Sister Shen wants to marry you, why don't you grant her wish? It's not like you can't... Isn't she your savior? Didn't you say that saving you was difficult, and being your savior was not easy, so you should cherish it?"
Zhang Xingjian looked at him in surprise, as if the question itself were strange. "I do cherish it."
Before Changlin could argue, he looked up at the light mist and rain floating on the lake outside the corridor and asked with a smile that didn't reach his eyes:
"But is marrying someone like me a good thing? My savior shouldn't be punished by marrying me, right?"
The words hung in the rain-soaked air, a confession wrapped in a question—the truth he carried that no one else could see.
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