Su Fuying looked at him. Was he so certain she would pass the Northern Capital examinations?
“I cannot say I already know the city—but since we have come so far, we may as well walk about and see what there is to see.”
Seeing her quiet disappointment, Song Bo patted her shoulder gently. He paused, then spoke low and steady. “If you take me as your husband, life will never be calm. And Northern Capital—we shall return here, again and again.”
Su Fuying understood. Neither spoke further. They walked on, side by side, along the street. Young men cycled past. Groups of girls chatted excitedly about the examinations. Small boys wandered through the lanes crying their newspapers. Such peace, she thought—how long could it last?
Su Fuying stayed one night in Northern Capital. At dawn she set out for River Capital, to sit her final examinations. Song Bo had been called away before sunrise by the Northern Military Governor Ding Kaijie and could not see her off. He had, however, sent another man—Pang Wenshan, steady, quiet, and reliable, much like Shi Chang. Tong Da was capable but too lively; Song Bo had worried. With Pang Wenshan also at her side, she would be well protected.
The papers at River Capital held no difficulty for her. Over three days she found herself restless and impatient—until, walking out after the final exam, she saw Song Bo waiting there. Her heart leapt, unaccountably glad.
“You—how is it you are here?”
Song Bo opened the car door for her. “Matters in Northern Capital are concluded. I came to bring you home to Haishi.”
He had deliberately taken the long way round, though the direct route was shorter. River Capital itself lay close to Haishi; they spent one more day exploring the city together.
River Capital lived up to its name—misty waters, humpbacked bridges, and willow-fringed lanes. It was less a city than a sprawling market. Vendors sold everything beneath the sun. One shop displayed traditional embroidered skirts with overlapping panels—garments Su Fuying had always longed to wear, but which Su Hanhai had forbidden her as old-fashioned and unfit for a modern woman. Now she bought several, and Song Bo let her, smiling.
That evening they heard word of a Lotus Lantern Festival by West Lake, hosted by the distant Academy. All who attended must wear traditional dress. Su Fuying longed to see the lanterns—and longed also to see Song Bo in long scholar robes.
She dressed in a high-collared blouse and a flowing embroidered skirt. Her hair she pinned simply with a jade hairpin. Even in Western dress she carried an air of quiet learning; in these clothes, grace and refinement shone from her. Gentlemen turned to look wherever she passed.
And Song Bo—tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome—stood waiting in his silk robe, drawing admiring glances from every lady and maiden who passed. Beauty, it seemed, could still stop the world.
That evening became a memory they would both revisit long afterward. Lanterns glowed in thousands along the lakeshore. Riddles hung from the pavilions. Street vendors had set up stalls along the water. The lake teemed with life, bright and untouched by the ruin she had seen elsewhere—as though war had never touched this place at all. Song Bo seemed lighter, too. The quiet lanes reminded him of his childhood. For a few hours he could set aside rank and duty and dread, and simply be at peace.
They released lanterns together, guessed riddles, wandered beneath the bridges, listened to ballads, ate candied hawthorns, and watched the moon rise. Su Fuying had never known such ease, such pure, unshadowed joy.
Happiness, she would learn, was always brief.
On the journey back to Haishi, they were ambushed.
Song Bo threw himself over her, shielding her behind the automobile. Gunfire cracked, deafening. Tong Da, Pang Wenshan, and Song Bo returned fire—but the attackers had chosen their ground and their moment with care.
Su Fuying looked at Song Bo. He was not afraid. Calm and precise, he fired through the pauses in the enemy’s advance. Su Fuying drew a deep breath, slipped the jade bangle from her wrist, and pressed the hidden catch.
Song Bo wrenched open the automobile’s trunk, lifted the lining, and pulled out a pistol and ammunition. He loaded it, handed it to her, and spoke sharply. “Stay low. Keep behind cover.”
Even as he spoke, a man rushed from beside the car. Song Bo fired once—true and straight. More came. There was no time to reload; the defenders drew their knives and fought hand to hand.
Su Fuying’s bangle snapped open into a slender, razor-sharp blade—a weapon she had once prepared against Su Qingwan. Now it served her own defense. Song Bo and the others were fully engaged; the attackers, seeing a woman alone, turned toward her.
Song Bo saw them close. He fought with terrible, driving force, clearing a path toward her. A man seized him from behind. Without flinching, without turning, Song Bo fired backward and dropped him. He reached her just as her attacker lunged.
Su Fuying held the pistol in her left hand. As the man flinched from the gun, she drove her blade home with her right. He fell, stricken, blood spilling.
Song Bo stared, stunned for an instant—then seized her wrist and pulled her back.
Strangely, Su Fuying felt no fear. As she looked down at what she had done, she felt only a fierce, clear resolve: her life was her own. No one would ever again be allowed to harm her.
Song Bo looked at her, her face splashed with red, and thought her terror-stricken. But Su Fuying knew: this was the moment her life truly began.
Song Bo kept her close. Tong Da and Pang Wenshan formed a protective ring. Seeing this, the attackers concentrated their fury upon her. Song Bo stepped directly between her and their fire. A bullet grazed his arm; blood soaked through his sleeve.
Then heavy trucks rumbled into view—Song Bo’s reserves. He had not traveled with one escort column, but two, the second shadowing them unseen. The ambush collapsed.
Su Fuying was returned to the Su household. Song Bo departed to secure the scene and hunt down those responsible. She laid her things aside and stared at her right hand, still seeming to feel the weight of the blade.
A knock came at the door. “Miss Su—an invitation from Commander Sun’s residence has arrived.”
Su Fuying tightened her fingers. “Bring it in.”
Sun Yingzhe was one of the Southern Faction’s commanders, though his strength was far inferior to Song Bo’s. He commanded two corps; Song Bo commanded five. His formations were smaller, his men fewer. Rank upon rank, the disparity widened. Sun Yingzhe was powerful—but Song Bo held the true power of the South.