Mo Qing frowned at the girl before him.
She had a faint dimple when she spoke, and she spoke plainly, without the bored cruelty he had come to expect from the wealthy. He had known noble families who bought men the way they bought horses, and he had braced himself for that look. It never came. What he found instead in her eyes was something quieter: a measured relief, and something close to respect.
It unsettled him enough that the words left his mouth before he could stop them.
"Have we met somewhere, miss?"
Shen Miao's answer was soft. "No."
"Then why—"
"You carry yourself well," she said. "Good bearing, good martial form. A man with a future, by all appearances. And yet you're selling a sword you've clearly carried for years. That isn't vanity you're parting with — that's last resort." She paused. "You need money now, but money alone won't solve what comes after. I am the legitimate daughter of General Shen. When my father returns to the capital at year's end, I can introduce you. It would be a waste to let skill like yours go to ruin."
Mo Qing went still.
General Shen. Shen Xin. The name landed like a stone dropped in still water. Every soldier in the land knew that name — a reassurance on the battlefield, a promise that the line would hold. To serve under a general like that, to build something that mattered...
He felt his blood run hot.
Still. The rumors in Dingjing City painted Shen Miao as a fool — a pampered, empty-headed daughter of a famous house. The Golden Chrysanthemum Banquet had raised a few eyebrows, but few had witnessed it firsthand. Rumors were unreliable things.
Even so.
"If the young miss is truly willing to make that introduction," Mo Qing said, "I won't refuse it. When the time comes, I'll repay the favor properly."
He was a direct man. He didn't dress things up.
Shen Miao smiled slightly. She drew a silver ingot from her sleeve and tossed it to him without ceremony.
"I don't want repayment in gratitude and promises," she said. "Consider it payment — you're selling me your skills. My father doesn't return until year's end. Between now and then, you'll come back to Shen Mansion with me. Your official role will be household guard. Your actual role is to protect me, in secret."
The words settled over Mo Qing with unexpected weight. He had heard enough about powerful families to know the difference between how they appeared and how they operated. That she was already thinking about her own safety — that she felt the need to — told him something. She was Shen Xin's daughter, and yet the ground beneath her was not solid.
He didn't ask. It wasn't his place, and questions of that kind rarely helped. He simply pressed his fist to his palm and bowed.
"At the young miss's command."
"Take the silver and handle your affairs first," Shen Miao said. "Within three days, come to Shen Mansion. I'll have arrangements made."
He bowed again and left.
Gu Yu and Jingzhe watched him go, their brows drawn together. Jingzhe spoke first.
"Miss, we know nothing about this man. If he means harm and we bring him inside the mansion..."
Shen Miao was already walking toward the carriage. "What is there to fear? A man like that is cleaner than anyone currently living in our courtyard."
The West Courtyard was full of eyes belonging to the Second and Third Houses. She had almost no one she could trust. Mo Qing, for all his rough edges and wandering ways, was not a stranger to her — not really.
She settled into the carriage and let out a quiet breath.
A rebirth, and still fate found ways to arrange things. She hadn't expected to cross paths with Mo Qing here, not like this, not this early.
In her past life, Mo Qing had risen to become Commander of the Imperial Guard — recommended by her father, unmatched in martial skill. During the years she had spent in Qin as a political hostage, he had been her shield. Without him, she would not have come home whole. He had been loyal to Shen Xin, and by extension to her, and it had cost him everything. After her return to Mingqi, Lady Mei had moved against him with calculated patience — fabricated a charge, something about impropriety with a palace woman — and Fu Xiuyi, who had long wanted to purge her father's people, had been waiting for exactly that opening. Shen Miao had fought it with everything she had. It hadn't been enough. She had watched Mo Qing die for a crime that had never happened.
Now he was here, reduced and struggling, and that same quality she had always known in him — that bone-deep loyalty, that refusal to bend — was written all over him. His current circumstances made him easier to bring close. She wasn't proud of the calculation, but she understood it.
The visit to Wolong Temple in three days was coming. She had been turning over her options. With Mo Qing, she had one more.
Back at Shen Mansion, with Shen Yue and Shen Qing away visiting the Yi family, the West Courtyard was quiet. Shen Miao had barely stepped inside when Gui Mama came shuffling forward, all smiles.
"You're back, miss! I had the kitchen prepare a sweet soup — would you like some?"
"Yes," Shen Miao said simply.
Gui Mama's smile widened. These past weeks, the girl had stared through her like she was furniture. A pleasant response felt like a small victory, and she hurried off to fetch the bowl before anything could change.
When she returned, Shen Miao was resting in her room. Gui Mama set the bowl carefully on the table.
"Everything for the Wolong Temple visit in three days is prepared, miss. Is there anything else you need?"
The Old Madam had arranged it some time ago — an incense-burning trip to the temple to pray for the family's peace, led by Ren Wanyun, with the three young misses in attendance. Gui Mama had been managing the preparations with an unusual amount of enthusiasm.
Shen Miao glanced at her, tone light. "You seem very eager about this."
Gui Mama faltered. "You so rarely leave the courtyard, miss. Naturally I want things done properly."
"With you along, I'm sure they will be." Shen Miao smiled.
It was a small smile, unhurried, unreadable. Gui Mama felt it settle over her like a weight she couldn't name.
"The Second Mistress has arranged everything well," Gui Mama said, steadying herself. "It will all go smoothly."
"Then please pass my thanks to my Second Aunt." Shen Miao nodded once. "You may go."
Gui Mama exhaled as she stepped outside. Something about the girl had shifted in ways she couldn't quite pin down — a stillness, a composure that hadn't been there before. It pressed on her in ways the old careless Shen Miao never had. But once she was clear of the doorway, she straightened her back, cast a contemptuous glance at the room behind her, and murmured under her breath, too low for anyone to hear:
"Three more days. Then we'll see who has reason to be so proud."
Inside the room, Shen Miao stood at the window. She lifted the bowl of sweet soup, walked to the sill, and tilted it. The soup soaked quietly into the soil beneath the bougainvillea.
"Are we really going to Wolong Temple?" Bailu asked carefully.
"Yes."
In her past life, it was around this time that she had overheard the maids at Rongjing Hall whispering. She had learned the Old Madam intended to marry her to Prince Yu. The night before the Wolong Temple trip, she had run — fled to Prince Ding's mansion and offered herself as a consort. It had been a mistake. But in its blundering way, it had steered her away from something worse.
This time, she would not run. She would not hide.
She would go to Wolong Temple and watch whoever had set the stage make fools of themselves on it.