Upon hearing that Tao Wenkan would be departing in three days, Shao Zhen remembered that she had not yet finished embroidering his nightclothes, and spent the entire day rushing to complete the work.
For the past two days, Tao Wenkan had been summoned by the emperor to the palace to discuss battle strategy, lodging within the imperial grounds without returning home to rest.
This, in turn, made it convenient for Shao Zhen to stay up late burning the midnight oil over her needlework—had he known, he would certainly have forbidden her from harming her health this way.
At the thought of Tao Wenkan, a shimmering tenderness rippled through her eyes.
In the past, whenever she embroidered, it was either to supplement the family income or as punishment meted out by Madam Cui. This was the first time she was devoting her efforts to someone she loved, doing so willingly and without expecting anything in return.
Though she now lived a life of plenty, she still adhered to her old principle of frugality—never wasting what could be saved. With her husband away, she kept only two lamps lit: one by the table and one by the bed.
Outside, a hook-like crescent moon hung high in the sky. Inside, the red candle on the table shed tears of blood-like wax. Seeing her so exhausted that she paused from time to time to rub her eyes, Xiaowen gently urged, "Why not let me take over, madam? Please go rest for a while."
Shao Zhen shook her head, her tone leaving no room for argument. "I want to do this myself."
Every stitch and thread was a sincere prayer for her husband's safety.
She cared not whether he returned in triumph or defeat—only that he came back unharmed.
Xiaowen knew that although her mistress appeared delicate, once she set her mind on something, no one could easily sway her.
All she could do was trim the candle wick and sit quietly by her side, offering silent companionship to soothe the anxiety and unease in her heart.
Perhaps due to haste, or perhaps worry, Shao Zhen pricked her fingers with the needle time and again. The pain of a needle piercing the fingertip, connected to the heart, was not easy to bear, yet she merely wiped away the crimson beads of blood and continued threading the needle.
At last, she managed to finish just in time on the final day. When Xiaowen applied medicinal ointment to her fingertips, her eyes brimmed with heartfelt distress.
Shao Zhen smiled nonchalantly and packed the two finished nightgowns into Tao Wenkan's travel bundle.
That afternoon, at the hour of Shen (3–5 PM), Tao Wenkan, who had been away for two days and nights, finally returned.
The moment he drew near, he swept his arm around her waist, capturing her lips with scorching breath, expressing his urgent longing through his actions.
Seeing the two masters like thunder meeting fire, unable to spare even a moment, Xiaowen covered her mouth with a smile and left, thoughtfully closing the door behind her.
He lifted her onto the dressing table. In their haste, a hairpin was brushed aside and fell to the floor with a crisp clatter. These were ornaments Tao Wenkan had personally bought for her—ones she would carefully wipe clean after wearing and store properly in her vanity case.
Shao Zhen immediately moved to pick it up, but Tao Wenkan gave her no chance to be distracted. His tall frame pressed between her knees, and his long, well-defined fingers threaded through her hair, soft and silky as clouds and mist.
The young woman cast aside her usual shyness and obediently parted her lips.
Her sleeves slipped down, folding like blooming lotus petals, revealing a stretch of snow-white arm.
Only when her lips were sucked until they tingled with a numbing ache did Tao Wenkan regain his composure and pull back from her.
"Did Zhen'er miss me?" He raised his hand and traced her lips with his thumb, as if applying a layer of bright red rouge.
The fierce desire pooled in his eyes scorched the young woman's cheeks from across the distance.
Shao Zhen cast him a shy, timid glance before quickly averting her gaze.
They had not even done anything yet, but her heart was already racing beyond control, half her body trembling with a tingling numbness.
"I did. I missed you very much, my lord." Having finally mustered the courage to speak her true feelings, the next moment she buried her face into his chest in embarrassment.
She was always ashamed to utter such direct and saccharine words.
And Tao Wenkan always delighted in coaxing her to break free of those restraints, waiting with composure for her to overcome her shyness and offer him her heart.
With her rosy cheek pressed against his warm, broad chest, Shao Zhen could clearly hear his heartbeat.
Thump, thump—just like hers, racing like a thousand galloping horses.
"Zhen'er."
The man's voice was hoarse, as if he had reached the very limit of his endurance.
Before Shao Zhen could react, he tilted her chin up and pressed another deep, weighty kiss upon her lips.
"I missed you too."
Amidst the smacking sounds of their kiss, his low voice murmured, "I missed you so much I'm going mad."
It was not nighttime—the sky was still bright—yet the jade hooks holding back the bed curtains were released. Feeling the cold jade pressing against her skin, the young woman mumbled drowsily that it was cold.
Tao Wenkan looked down and saw the green jade pendant he had not yet had time to remove. It was the token of their union, the bond that had sealed their marriage.
Her unconscious gesture made his breath catch. He kissed her peach-blossom eyelids with the utmost reverence.
A seal. A brand.
He wished he could fold her seamlessly into his very being.
At some point, a sudden rain began to fall outside, drenching the white camellias. The plantain leaves beneath the eaves were battered by the pattering downpour, the clamor startling Shao Zhen into widening her spring-laden eyes.
In the dim corner, she caught sight of the old scar on his shoulder.
Had it been a few inches deeper, it might have damaged his vital organs and left him at death's door.
More than a year had passed, yet the scar still looked terrifying—like a stiffened, lifeless worm.
How much pain he must have endured then. Shao Zhen still remembered how, when the arrowhead was pulled out, sweat had poured down his temples and soaked his entire body.
This time, heading to Lucheng, the riotous refugees had already been blinded by bloodlust, losing all human conscience as they savagely ravaged their defenseless compatriots.
Facing such desperate outlaws, Tao Wenkan would surely return with a few more fresh wounds. Both were sons of noble families—some were so delicate they couldn't leave the house without a palanquin, while others had to risk their lives fighting on the front lines.
At the thought, Shao Zhen's eyes grew moist. Filled with boundless tenderness, she leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss upon his scar, her posture one of desperate devotion, as pious as a believer willingly offering herself as a sacrifice.
That kiss melted Tao Wenkan's heart into thick, flowing honey.
…
When it was over, Tao Wenkan held her in tender embrace and said unexpectedly, "Zhen-niang."
"Mhm." She answered softly, her voice thick with lingering affection.
"When I return from the campaign, let's have a child, shall we?"
Shao Zhen nestled against him with deep attachment and said yes.
Not long after she had entered the household, Madam Xu had been urging her to bear Tao Wenkan's child as soon as possible, to continue his bloodline. It was he who had spoken up for her, considering how much she had suffered in the Shao family, how frail her constitution was—she needed to be examined by a physician and carefully nurtured for a while before discussing bearing children.
He held her dearer than anything, and she naturally did not wish to disappoint him.
Hearing her words, the thoughts that had just settled in Tao Wenkan's mind came rushing back.
He knew it was likely because they would part tomorrow that Shao Zhen was more accommodating than ever, and so he grew bolder, brewing another storm of rain.
The next morning, Shao Zhen was awakened by the brilliant sun streaming through the gauze window. Before she even opened her eyes, she reached out and touched the empty brocade quilt beside her—only the depression left by his weight remained.
Her drowsiness instantly vanished. She sat up and called out, "Xiaowen!"
The moment she opened her mouth, she realized her voice seemed to be squeezed from her throat, hoarse beyond recognition.
Xiaowen, who had been waiting outside the door, heard the commotion and pushed it open. Seeing her mistress, who had risen late, wearing only an undergarment with two thin straps hanging behind her neck, her snow-white skin exposed to the light was marked with red plum blossoms, and the traces hidden beneath the brocade quilt were beyond counting.
Even though she was also a woman, seeing such a picturesque scene, she couldn't help but swallow.
She inappropriately recalled how last night Tao Wenkan had ordered hot water brought in three times.
Truly a military general—her mistress's slender arms and legs, how could they withstand such demands?
Shao Zhen, unaware of her thoughts, asked anxiously, "Where is my husband?"
"The general, out of consideration for your exhaustion last night and fearing that seeing him off would make you cry, told me not to wake you," Xiaowen quickly dispelled those stray thoughts and said, "By my estimate, he has already led the troops out of the city gates and left Bating."
So there was no way she could catch up to him now.
Shao Zhen lowered her eyes in dejection, thinking to herself, if she had known, she wouldn't have indulged him last night—then she would have had the strength to see him off.
But carrying her reluctance to part with him, she had also wanted to be close to him, cheek to cheek.
"Bring the washbasin in."
While Xiaowen was away, she inadvertently caught sight of the dense red marks on the back of her neck in the bronze mirror, and flushed with embarrassment, hurriedly dressed herself, not daring to look again.
After dressing, Shao Zhen pushed open the window lattice. The rain had stopped. The white camellia that had bloomed only two days ago now had its petals curled up timidly after the night's battering, looking utterly disheveled.
Though her body was dry, the soreness didn't ease until the afternoon.
The vast residence, without its master, seemed to have suddenly taken away all her joy. Shao Zhen leaned against the railing, her heart feeling hollow. She didn't know why, but she had a nagging sense of foreboding.
The moment the thought surfaced, she shook her head and cast it aside.
Her Tao Lang would definitely, definitely be fine.
On the second day after Tao Wenkan's departure, a restless Shao Zhen took Xiaowen with her to Baoji Temple in the outskirts of Yingdu. The temple was secluded and tranquil, and spring came late in the foothills. Wearing thin robes as she walked through the bamboo grove, she couldn't help rubbing her shoulders.
Baoji Temple was renowned far and wide for its efficacy, and pilgrims came and went in an unending stream.
Shao Zhen climbed the stone steps, passed through the mountain gate, and first handed a bulging money pouch to a young novice, then followed someone into the Grand Buddha Hall.
She knelt beneath the golden statue of Shakyamuni seated in the center, closed her eyes, pressed her palms together before her chest, and prayed devoutly.
"Your faithful daughter Shao Zhen pays respects to the Buddha, praying only that the Buddha protect my husband's safety and well-being."
Shao Zhen had once heard people say that a person's fortune and blessings in life are fixed—sooner or later, they will all arrive.
Her first eighteen years had brought her no good fortune, until she met the finest husband, and her gray days gained color. She was willing to give him all the luck she had not yet used, to protect him and bring him home safely.
After silently finishing her prayer, she bowed her head and kowtowed three times.
The novice reminded her she could draw a fortune stick, but Shao Zhen dared not. If she truly drew an inauspicious prophecy, she could not bear it.
In front of the Grand Buddha Hall lay an open space, with a towering ancient tree planted at its center. Countless wooden plaques threaded with red silk hung from its branches. The young novice monk explained that these were the wishes written by pilgrims, though one had to spend a tael of silver to purchase a plaque and brush and ink.
A tael of silver was indeed no small sum.
But Shao Zhen, who would not even light a candle at night, unhesitatingly instructed Xiaowen to take out the silver and hand it over.
In her elegant, delicate handwriting, she wrote a prayer of blessing for Tao Wenkan, then gave a firm toss, successfully draping the red silk over a fairly high branch. A gentle breeze swept past, and the wooden plaques clinked against one another with a crisp sound, as if the merciful Buddha himself were answering her.
Having come all the way to the temple, Shao Zhen thought she might as well take a stroll up the back mountain.
Unfortunately, Xiaowen happened to have her period that day, and her lower belly ached faintly, leaving her without the strength to climb any higher. Shao Zhen told her to wait there and that she would go take a look on her own.
The mountain path was paved with blue stone slabs. It had rained the night before, and the lingering dampness painted the stone steps in varying shades of gray.
The toll of bells and chimes drifted lazily, echoing through the mountains, making the row of meditation courtyards behind seem all the more secluded and tranquil.
The peach blossoms at the foot of the mountain had withered a month ago, but up here they were blooming in full, brilliant splendor—layer upon layer of blossoms weighing down the treetops. From a distance, they looked like a puff of pink cloud. Unfortunately, a number of them had been beaten down by the rain, their fallen petals pitifully sinking into the mud, stripped of their former purity.
She was so absorbed in admiring the scenery on both sides of the path that she failed to notice the moss-covered stone steps beneath her feet.
The moment her foot slipped, Shao Zhen shut her eyes in fear, already anticipating that she would land flat on her face.
Unexpectedly, a hand steadied her firmly from behind at her waist. Her jutting shoulder blades collided with the broad expanse of a stranger's chest, the impact absorbed and softened.
Even through the fabric, she could feel the slight coolness of his palm and the prominent ridges of his knuckles.
At the same time, a cool, lingering scent of cedarwood enveloped her. Yet his body temperature was a stark contrast—the breath that fell upon the top of her head was low and scorching.
Utterly contradictory.
"Dong—dong—dong—"
In the next breath, the bell in the distance was struck, and by sheer coincidence, its toll fell perfectly in sync with the pounding of her heart.