Five days later, Qingli found herself waking up at dawn and climbing the ladder and climbing over the wall once again.
After, Qingli found herself walking along the same forest path.
Entirely by coincidence.
At least, that was the explanation she had repeated to herself since leaving the capital.
She needed more medicinal herbs, and the route she had chosen simply happened to pass near the abandoned shrine.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
There was certainly no other reason.
Qingli ignored the fact that she had spent considerably more time preparing her appearance that morning than she normally did.
Or that she had checked three separate times to make sure the jade crane pendant was safely tucked beneath her sleeve.
Qingli adjusted the basket hanging from her arm and continued walking until the familiar grove came into view, her steps slowed unconsciously.
The spring morning was beautiful as warm sunlight filtered through the trees, casting shifting patterns across the forest floor.
The peach blossoms were in full bloom now, their branches heavy with delicate pink flowers that danced in the breeze.
Petals drifted lazily through the air, turning the entire mountainside into something that felt almost unreal.
The abandoned shrine stood exactly where she remembered it.
Silent.
Still.
Untouched.
No sign that anyone had visited recently.
What had she expected?
The stranger had been traveling somewhere important.
He had clearly come from a powerful background.
Men like him did not linger in forgotten mountain shrines.
He had left.
That was the natural conclusion to their brief encounter.
And yet…
A small, unreasonable disappointment settled quietly inside her chest.
Before it could grow, Qingli shook her head, lowered her gaze, and continued walking.
Then—
“You came back.”
The familiar voice shattered her thoughts instantly.
Qingli stopped so abruptly that her basket nearly slipped from her hands.
Her heart gave a violent leap, and for a moment, she simply froze.
Then slowly, she lifted her head, and her breath caught in her throat.
There, seated on one of the thick branches of the peach blossom tree overlooking the shrine, was the stranger.
Alive.
Healthy.
And watching her.
Sunlight filtered through the flowering branches above him, scattering golden light across his dark robes.
Without blood staining his clothing and exhaustion hollowing his features, he looked entirely different from the man she had dragged into the shrine five days earlier.
Stronger.
Healthier.
More dangerous.
And impossibly handsome.
Pink petals drifted around him as the breeze stirred the branches overhead, and for a brief moment, the sight was so unexpected that Qingli could only stare.
The stranger tilted his head slightly as his eyes gleamed with unmistakable amusement.
“You look surprised.”
Qingli blinked.
“I thought you weren’t going to come back.”
The words escaped before she could stop them, and the amusement in his expression deepened immediately.
“Ah.”
He leaned comfortably against the trunk behind him.
“So, you were looking for me.”
“I was not.”
The denial came far too quickly, which caused the stranger’s eyebrows to rise.
Qingli immediately regretted speaking.
A quiet laugh drifted down from the tree.
Low.
Warm.
Qingli looked away, her face turning a light shade of pink, and that only made him more certain.
After a moment, he pushed himself off the branch and, before Qingli could react, dropped lightly from the tree.
His feet touched the ground without making a sound.
The movement was effortless, so graceful, far too graceful for someone who had nearly died less than a week ago.
Qingli frowned immediately.
“You shouldn’t be moving like that.”
The stranger looked down at himself.
“Like what?”
“Jumping out of trees.”
His eyes brightened.
“Is that a medical diagnosis?”
“It is now.”
The answer startled a laugh out of him.
The sound seemed to linger between the trees, and Qingli found herself smiling despite her annoyance.
“You were stabbed.”
“I remember.”
“You were poisoned.”
“I remember that too.”
“You lost enough blood to concern me.”
“That part I also remember.”
Qingli folded her arms.
“Then why are you behaving as though none of that happened?”
The stranger studied her for a moment, and there was something unexpectedly soft in his gaze.
“Because I’m feeling much better.”
The answer should not have pleased her as much as it did, yet relief immediately loosened something inside her chest.
Only after realizing that did she become annoyed with herself.
The stranger noticed everything, and his smile became suspiciously knowing.
Fortunately, his attention shifted toward the basket hanging from her arm.
“Picking herbs again?”
Qingli glanced down.
“Yes.”
His gaze dropped briefly toward her sleeve.
More specifically, toward the place where the jade pendant rested hidden beneath the fabric.
“You kept it.”
The observation was quiet.
Yet something about the way he said it made Qingli’s heartbeat stumble unexpectedly adn her fingers instinctively brushed the pendant beneath her sleeve.
A small movement.
One he noticed immediately.
“It would have been rude to throw away a gift.”
The stranger’s expression softened.
“Mm.”
The simple sound carried an unreasonable amount of satisfaction, and Qingli pretended not to notice.
However, to her annoyance, it didn’t work.
Somehow, they ended up sitting beneath the peach blossom tree.
At first, the conversation was cautious.
Polite.
The kind exchanged between two people who knew almost nothing about one another.
Yet the longer they spoke, the easier it became.
The stranger asked strange questions.
Questions that seemed to have little purpose beyond satisfying his curiosity.
“What books do you read?”
“Medical texts.”
His expression became doubtful.
“Only medical texts?”
“…And poetry.”
“There it is.”
Qingli rolled her eyes.
“What about you?”
“I read military strategy.”
“That sounds terribly boring.”
He looked genuinely offended.
“It is not.”
“It sounds exactly as boring as medicine sounds to you.”
The stranger considered that.
“Fair point.”
A little later he asked, “Would you rather live in the mountains or the capital?”
“The mountains.”
The answer came instantly.
No hesitation.
No uncertainty.
The stranger noticed.
“You didn’t even think about it.”
Qingli looked out across the grove, as the wind carried petals through the air, and the mountains that stretched endlessly in the distance.
“I’ve never liked crowded places.”
A shadow flickered briefly through her expression, so quickly most people would have missed it.
The stranger did not.
“Then why live in the capital?”
The question slipped out before he could stop it, and Qingli fell silent.
For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t answer.
Then she smiled faintly.
A sad smile.
One that never quite reached her eyes.
“Because sometimes where you live isn’t your choice.”
Wondering.
Wanting to ask more.
Yet, somehow sensing he shouldn’t, he changed the subject instead.
And Qingli was grateful for it.
The hours passed far too quickly.
The sun gradually sank lower in the sky, bathing the grove in shades of gold and amber.
Neither noticed how much time had passed until the shadows began lengthening beneath the trees.
Eventually, Qingli stood.
Reluctantly.
She brushed petals from her dress and lifted her basket.
“I should return.”
The words felt heavier than they should have.
Jiarong rose as well, and something shifted in his expression, as though he disliked the thought of her leaving.
Yet he merely nodded.
“The roads will be crowded soon.”
Qingli looked at him, and the question escaped before she could stop herself.
“Will you come back?”
The moment the words left her lips, her eyes widened.
Silence followed.
The stranger looked genuinely surprised.
For the first time since meeting him, she had caught him completely off guard.
For several moments he simply stared.
Then slowly—
Very slowly—
He smiled.
Not one of the small, amused smiles she had seen before or the teasing smirks, but a real smile.
The kind that is warm and unguarded.
The kind of smile that transformed his entire face.
Qingli’s breath caught as she stared up at him.
“Yes,” he said softly.
His eyes never left hers.
“I think I will.”
The breeze stirred between them as peach blossoms drifted through the golden light, and as Qingli turned toward the road leading back to the capital, she realized something she had never experienced before.
For the first time in her carefully controlled, lonely life…
There was something she was genuinely looking forward to.
Five days later, Qingli found herself standing beneath the western courtyard wall before dawn.
Again.
The realization should have troubled her more than it did and Lan Yue certainly would have had plenty to say about it.
Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—Lan Yue was still asleep.
At least Qingli hoped she was.
The young woman adjusted the basket hanging from her arm and glanced once over her shoulder.
The western courtyard lay silent in the darkness.
No lanterns.
No servants.
No movement.
Satisfied, Qingli gathered her skirts and climbed over the wall with the ease of someone who had become entirely too practiced at escaping her own home.
The moment her feet touched the ground on the opposite side, she immediately started walking.
Quickly.
Before she could reconsider.
This time, her excuse was considerably weaker, and she had spent nearly an hour the previous evening convincing herself that she simply wanted to collect medicinal plants that grew deeper within the mountains.
The fact that those particular plants could have been gathered almost anywhere else was a detail she chose to ignore.
Entirely.
The eastern horizon was only beginning to brighten when she reached the forest.
Morning mist drifted between the trees, wrapping the mountains in a veil of pale silver.
Dew clung to the grass beneath her feet, while birds gradually began their dawn chorus from the branches overhead.
The world felt peaceful.
Quiet.
Untouched.
As Qingli followed the familiar path, her pace unconsciously quickened.
The deeper she ventured into the forest, the more familiar everything became.
The winding trail.
The old shrine.
The scent of peach blossoms carried by the breeze.
And then, finally—
The grove appeared.
Bathed in the soft golden light of dawn.
For a moment, Qingli simply stood there.
The sight was breathtaking as thousands of peach blossoms bloomed beneath the morning sun, their petals glowing like delicate pink silk.
The gentle breeze carried flowers through the air, creating the illusion of drifting clouds.
And sitting on the wooden bench beneath the largest peach tree was Shen Jiarong, or to her knowledge, the stranger.
Waiting.
As though he had known she would come, and the realization sent an unexpected flutter through her chest.
He looked up the moment she stepped into the grove.
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
Then the corners of his lips lifted.
Not into a teasing smile.
Not into amusement.
Something softer.
Warmer.
A smile reserved entirely for her.
“You came.”
The simple words made Qingli’s heart skip in a way she found deeply inconvenient.
She approached slowly, trying very hard to appear calm.
“I was in the area.”
The excuse sounded weak even to her own ears.
Jiarong’s expression became suspiciously amused.
“Of course you were.”
Qingli ignored him, and the smile in his eyes only grew.
“Then it’s fortunate I happened to be here as well.”
“You sound very proud of yourself.”
“A little.”
That earned him an eye roll and the sight made him laugh.
One that Qingli was beginning to realize she enjoyed hearing far too much.
When she reached the bench, he shifted slightly to make room for her, and without thinking, Qingli sat beside him.
Only after she did so did she realize how natural it felt.
Neither awkward.
Nor uncomfortable.
Merely…
right.
For a while, neither spoke.
The morning breeze stirred the peach blossoms overhead as petals drifted around them.
The peaceful silence felt strangely comfortable.
Eventually, Jiarong broke it.
“What excuse did you use this time?”
Qingli nearly choked.
“I did not use an excuse.”
His eyebrows rose as he was unconvinced by her reply.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Her confident answer only made him laugh, and Qingli found herself smiling despite her embarrassment.
The hours slipped away almost unnoticed, as they spoke of countless things.
Books.
Medicine.
The mountains.
The capital.
Childhood memories.
Favorite foods.
Dreams they had never spoken aloud to anyone else, and to Qingli’s surprise, Jiarong listened far more than he talked.
When she described the medicinal herbs growing throughout the mountains, he listened with genuine interest.
When she spoke about rare flowers blooming in spring, he asked questions.
When she described a book she had recently read, he remembered details she mentioned hours later.
No one had ever listened to her that carefully before, and it was both flattering and strangely dangerous.
In return, Jiarong told her stories.
Not enough to reveal who he truly was, but enough to reveal pieces of himself.
He spoke about traveling.
About responsibility.
About carrying expectations that sometimes felt impossibly heavy.
About wanting peace in a world that rarely allowed it.
Several times Qingli caught glimpses of loneliness hidden beneath his composed exterior.
A loneliness that felt oddly familiar.
By midday, they were sharing food from her basket beneath the shade of the peach trees.
By afternoon, they were debating whether poetry or military strategy was more useful.
“Poetry teaches people how to understand emotions.”
Jiarong looked skeptical.
“Military strategy keeps people alive.”
“Poetry also keeps people alive.”
“How?”
“It gives them something worth living for.”
The answer caught him off guard, and for several moments, he simply stared at her.
Then he quietly admitted:
“That’s unfairly difficult to argue against.”
Qingli looked far too pleased with herself, and Jiarong found it adorable.
As the afternoon wore on, the conversation grew easier.
More personal.
More honest.
At some point, Qingli stopped thinking of him as the stranger she had rescued.
And Jiarong stopped thinking of her as the mysterious healer from the mountains.
They became simply…
Qingli and Jiarong.
Two people sitting beneath a peach blossom tree.
Talking.
Laughing.
Enjoying each other’s company far more than either intended.
When the sun eventually began its descent toward the horizon, both of them noticed immediately.
And both of them were disappointed.
Neither said it aloud.
But they felt it.
The day had passed far too quickly, and neither was ready for it to end.
One moment, sunlight had been filtering through the peach blossoms overhead, painting the grove in shades of gold and pink.
The long shadows stretched across the grass, and the sky had begun to soften into the warm colors of approaching evening.
Neither Qingli nor Jiarong mentioned the time.
Both noticed it, but neither wanted to acknowledge it.
Eventually, however, reality could no longer be ignored.
Qingli glanced toward the horizon and sighed quietly.
“I should go.”
The words felt heavier than they should have, and Jiarong looked up from where he sat beside her on the bench.
For the briefest moment, disappointment flickered across his face but was gone almost instantly.
But not before Qingli saw it, and to her surprise, the sight made her feel strangely pleased.
“Before the city gates close?” he asked.
Qingli nodded her head, not wanting to disclose the real reason.
For a moment, neither spoke.
The easy warmth that had filled the day settled comfortably between them.
Neither wanted to leave, which had become painfully obvious.
Yet neither knew how to say it.
Eventually, Qingli stood, and petals fell from her skirts as she brushed them away.
Jiarong rose as well, and for several seconds they simply stood facing one another beneath the peach blossoms.
The silence felt different now.
Not awkward.
Not uncomfortable.
Just reluctant.
As though neither wanted to be the first to walk away.
Finally, Qingli smiled.
“I’ll see you later.”
The words slipped out naturally, as though future meetings had already become expected.
Jiarong’s gaze softened.
“Later?”
She immediately realized what she had said, and a faint blush appeared on her cheeks.
“Maybe.”
His smile widened.
“I prefer that.”
Qingli rolled her eyes while her own smile refused to disappear, and the sight made something warm settle inside Jiarong’s chest.
“Travel safely.”
“You too.”
For another moment, neither moved, then, with visible reluctance, Qingli turned and started down the path.
Jiarong remained where he was, watching as she walked further away from him.
Part of him wanted to call her back; however, he chose to keep his mouth shut.
She could feel his gaze on her back, and it took considerable effort not to turn around immediately.
She managed nearly halfway across the grove before curiosity won, and Qingli glanced over her shoulder.
Jiarong was still standing beneath the peach tree watching her, and the moment their eyes met, he smiled.
A real smile.
Warm enough to make her heart skip, Qingli quickly looked away and continued walking.
Though the smile remained on her lips for the entire journey home.
By the time the walls of Wen Residence came into view, dusk had begun to settle over the capital.
Qingli slipped through familiar side streets and quiet alleys before reaching the western courtyard.
The wall loomed before her.
A familiar obstacle.
One she had become entirely too skilled at climbing.
After making certain no one was nearby, she carefully scaled the wall and dropped lightly onto the other side.
The moment her feet touched the ground, she knew she wasn’t alone.
Qingli froze.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
She turned around.
Lan Yue stood several paces away with her arms crossed.
Waiting.
The maid looked neither surprised nor impressed.
She merely stared.
Long and hard.
Then she shook her head.
Once.
Twice.
A third time for emphasis.
“Again?”
The single word carried enough disappointment to shame an entire army.
Qingli winced.
“Yue’er…”
“Again?”
Lan Yue repeated.
The maid looked toward the wall.
Then toward Qingli.
Then back toward the wall.
As though hoping the explanation would somehow appear on its own.
It did not.
Qingli smiled weakly, and Lan Yue pointed dramatically.
“You disappeared before dawn.”
Qingli nodded.
“You climbed over the wall.”
Another nod.
“You spent the entire day in the mountains.”
“…Yes.”
Lan Yue inhaled deeply.
Very deeply.
The kind of breath people took before delivering a lecture.
Or committing murder.
Qingli wasn’t entirely certain which.
“And let me guess.”
The maid narrowed her eyes.
“You just happened to end up at the peach blossom grove.”
Qingli looked away.
That was answer enough that Lan Yue groaned loudly.
“Oh, this is bad.”
“It’s not bad.”
“It is absolutely bad.”
“It’s really not.”
“You went back to see him.”
Qingli opened her mouth, then closed it.
Lan Yue pointed triumphantly.
“Ha!”
“That isn’t—”
“You went back!”
“I was nearby.”
“You live on the opposite side of the capital.”
Qingli paused.
“…That’s not important.”
“It is extremely important.”
Lan Yue looked heavenward as though asking the ancestors for strength.
Then she lowered her gaze and stared directly at Qingli.
“So.”
The maid’s eyes gleamed dangerously.
“You spent the whole day with him, didn’t you?”
The faint color that appeared on Qingli’s cheeks was all the answer she needed, and Lan Yue immediately covered her face.
“Oh no.”
Qingli sighed.
“It wasn’t like that.”
“That’s exactly what people say before it’s like that.”
And as Lan Yue continued her dramatic complaints, Qingli found herself touching the jade pendant hidden beneath her sleeve.
Without realizing it.
Without meaning to.
A small smile appeared on her lips.
Unfortunately, Lan Yue saw that too.
The maid groaned even louder.
This was definitely becoming a problem.