After class, Shen Yue fell into step beside Shen Miao with a bright smile. "Miss Yi invited elder sister and me to her home today, so I won't be riding back with you. Fifth sister, you go ahead."
Yi Peilan and Shen Yue had grown close on their own. That they would extend the invitation to each other and ignore Shen Miao entirely was nothing new. Shen Miao gave a short reply and thought nothing of it.
The Shen family had been unusually attentive toward her lately. She knew what that meant. They were scheming something. She couldn't be bothered to engage with it — there were more important matters at hand.
The carriage home cut through the busiest stretch of Dingjing City. Gu Yu lifted the curtain and peered out. "We're coming up on the Osmanthus Archway. You love those shortbread cakes, miss. Let me run and grab some."
"Go on." Shen Miao smiled.
After Gu Yu slipped out, Jingzhe pulled the curtain aside and glanced at the street. Then she went still. Shen Miao followed her gaze.
Beside the Osmanthus Archway, a crowd had gathered outside a pawnshop. A clerk's voice cut above the noise, sharp with impatience: "Ten taels of silver, take it or leave it. It's just a sword. Don't make this difficult."
"Looks like the deal fell through," Jingzhe said.
Shen Miao understood the situation at a glance. Pawnshops always lowballed. The seller found the price insulting but couldn't afford to walk away — and so neither side moved.
"Nothing worth watching." Jingzhe reached for the curtain.
A moment later, Gu Yu returned clutching two paper bags. Jingzhe pulled the curtain back to let her in, and in that brief opening, Shen Miao's eyes caught the man from the crowd.
He had turned his back on the pawnshop and was walking away, a sword still tucked under his arm. His shoulders carried the quiet heaviness of a man who had just lost an argument he couldn't afford to lose.
"Wait."
Shen Miao studied him. Plain clothes. Unremarkable face. Young. There was nothing to distinguish him from a thousand other men on this street — and yet something about him made her go very still.
Where did she know him from?
The young man stopped walking. He stood in the middle of the road and stared down at the sword in his arms. Then he exhaled, turned around, and walked back toward the pawnshop. His jaw was set. He had made his decision.
"Gu Yu." The words left Shen Miao's mouth before she had fully thought them through. "Get down. Stop him. Tell him I want the sword."
Gu Yu and Jingzhe both stared at her.
"Now."
The sharpness in her voice settled it. Gu Yu dropped from the carriage without another word and crossed the street toward the young man.
He had just taken his first step through the pawnshop door when he heard her behind him.
"A moment, please."
He turned. A maidservant stood there, composed and polite. "Were you about to pawn that sword?"
"I was," he said, making no effort to hide it.
"My mistress would like to buy it from you. She's prepared to offer a fair price."
He looked at her carefully. Her expression was genuine. Still, he shook his head. "The sword isn't decorative — it's a fighting blade. Heavy, and sharper than it looks. If your mistress wants something for show, a weapons shop would serve her better." He meant no offense. He simply could not imagine why a young noblewoman would want a sword like this, and he had no interest in seeing someone hurt by his carelessness.
Gu Yu felt her apprehension ease. Here was a man who needed money badly enough to pawn his most prized possession, and he was still thinking about the buyer's safety. That said something. She had been uncertain about this errand from the start, but at least the man seemed decent.
"My mistress is quite serious," she said, her tone warming. "Would you step aside so we can speak properly?"
He glanced back at the pawnshop. Then, with the resigned look of a man with no better options, he nodded. "All right."
Gu Yu led him to a quiet side lane where the carriage waited. She leaned close to the door. "Miss. He's here."
The young man stopped in front of the carriage. He hesitated, then pressed his fists together in a respectful bow. "Miss, I meant what I said. This blade isn't suited for a woman. It's too heavy, too sharp. It would be easy to hurt yourself with —"
"What's your name?"
The voice from inside the carriage was young, but it carried a weight that had no business belonging to someone young. It was the voice of a person who had stood at great heights and survived great falls. For a moment, he couldn't guess her age at all.
"Mo Qing," he said, after a pause. "My name is Mo Qing."
Silence.
Then the voice again, slower this time: "The sword doesn't interest me. A piece of iron is a piece of iron. It means nothing to me."
Mo Qing felt a flash of anger move through him. He looked up. "Then what is the point of this, miss? The blade may not be beautiful, but it was forged by a master and has been with me for years. If you brought me here only to insult it —"
He turned to leave.
A sigh drifted out through the carriage curtain. It was a small sound, almost nothing — but it carried something in it that made his chest tighten for reasons he could not name.
"Mo Qing." Her voice was quiet. "You're short on money, aren't you."
He stopped.
It wasn't a question. And when she said his name — just his name, in that tone — something stirred in him. A feeling he couldn't identify, familiar and strange at once. His feet refused to move.
"Your sword is worth nothing to me," she continued. "But your swordsmanship? That is worth a hundred gold pieces. A thousand."
Mo Qing shook his head, frowning. "You flatter me. I'm an ordinary man." But something cold moved through him. How could she possibly know?
"A hero brought low by poverty," she said. "Selling the sword that has been at your side for years. A man with your skill deserves better than this."
The curtain parted.
A girl in violet stepped down from the carriage. Her face was young — delicate, even — but there was a rare authority in the set of her brows, an effortless quality of command that did not match her age.
She looked at him, and something in her eyes softened.
"Mo Qing." She smiled, calm and certain. "Would you sell your skills to the Shen military household?"
Her gaze held a warmth she could not quite suppress — the quiet joy of seeing someone she had missed, someone she had not expected to find again.
Mo Qing. My head guard from a past life.
It's good to see you.