HMHSE - 39

Shen Rong was drawing a map.

It was still the same map of the mine, but she had refined the details further. This was because she considered the unstable winds in that area, which had caused incidents before. Clearly marking it would be helpful for her brother when he went to Youzhou.

After returning from the teahouse, she had been particularly well-behaved, staying in her room and focusing on drawing the map. She only instructed Dong Lai to keep an eye on things outside, ensuring her parents wouldn’t discover that the man hadn’t left yet.

After marking the final spot, Zi Rui stepped forward: “Young Mistress, do you remember what Pei Shaoyong said?”

Shen Rong set down her brush and looked up: “What did he say?”

Zi Rui smiled: “So you don’t remember. Young Mistress must have forgotten that today is the Emperor’s birthday—the Tian Shou Festival.”

Shen Rong suddenly recalled. When she left the teahouse with Pei Shaoyong, he had mentioned it.

At the time, he had searched for her because Zi Rui had fabricated an excuse, saying she had lost something dear and gone to look for it nearby. Unsettled, he had followed her out.

Fortunately, his personality was open and unconcerned with trivial matters. Seeing Shen Rong return safely, he didn’t press further.

Before leaving, however, he expressed regret for not finishing what he wanted to say and suggested that in two days, during the Tian Shou Festival, they could go out together to watch the celebrations.

At the time, Shen Rong had been preoccupied with worrying about Shan Zong suddenly appearing and being discovered. Sitting in the carriage, her eyes darted frequently toward the window, barely paying attention. She had absentmindedly agreed.

She forgot about it afterward, until Zi Rui reminded her now.

Thinking it over, the Chang’an festivals were always grand and bustling, with crowds filling the streets. If Shan Zong was still around, it would be hard for him to be noticed. Feeling reassured, she responded: “I know—I’ll go.”

The Tian Shou Festival referred to the Emperor’s birthday.

On this day, everyone celebrated. The Emperor bestowed rewards upon his ministers and shared joy with the people.

However, the young Emperor seemed uninterested in extravagant celebrations. There was no grand banquet with civil and military officials, nor were regional ministers summoned to the capital to offer gifts. He simply granted everyone a day of leisure, keeping the festivities simple.

Even so, the bustling eastern market had already begun its nightly revelry.

Ten miles of long streets glittered with endless lanterns.

Shan Zong, carrying his sword, walked to the entrance of an inn. As he paused at the door, he glanced to both sides. The streets were crowded with passersby, but none familiar. He realized how absurd it was to think he might encounter that familiar figure again.

Chuckling at himself, he touched his lips, picked up his sword, and entered the building.

On the second floor, someone was already waiting in a private room.

Shan Zong lowered his head as he entered. Small tables were arranged, filled with wine and food. A cloying scent of powder lingered in the air, mingling with the opulence of Chang’an.

Pei Yuanling, dressed in a dark blue robe, sat behind one of the tables. Seeing Shan Zong arrive, he straightened: “I said I’d come find you later, but it took three or four invitations before you finally came.”

Shan Zong sat beside him, tossing his sword to the side, bending one leg, and resting a hand casually on his knee.

Pei Yuanling shook his head: “It’s been three years since we last met. You’ve changed a lot, but this defiant streak of yours remains unchanged.”

Shan Zong poured himself a cup of wine, his gaze lazy and indifferent: “Isn’t it the same old me? What’s changed?”

Pei Yuanling studied him carefully, still shaking his head: “You’ve changed—it’s just hard to put into words.”

They had known each other since youth. Pei Yuanling had witnessed Shan Zong at his most dazzling peak. Back then, though unruly, he radiated a commanding brilliance. Now, however, there was something indescribably different about him.

After some thought, Pei Yuanling finally understood. Smiling, he said: “That’s right—you’ve developed a sense of restraint.”

Shan Zong glanced at him.

Pei Yuanling squinted, his tone suggestive: “Don’t look at me like that. We’re both men, and we’ve known each other for years. I’ve seen everything along the way. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Before he could continue, a group of lavishly dressed noble youths burst in from the neighboring room, greeting Pei Yuanling enthusiastically.

“Lord Pei, we heard you were here and came to pay our respects.”

Pei Yuanling smiled and nodded graciously.

The group felt honored, exchanged introductions, and then returned to their room.

Just some ambitious youths from the Five Tombs district, eager to make connections. Pei Yuanling ignored them, turning back to study Shan Zong: “The young nobles of Chang’an see you in your Hu-style attire and fierce demeanor—none of them remember your former noble bearing. They only recognize me now.”

Shan Zong didn’t even glance at the group: “I didn’t come to Chang’an for them.”

Pei Yuanling grinned knowingly: “Of course not. You came for Arong. That’s why I said you’re exercising restraint. Am I wrong?”

Shan Zong gave him a sidelong glance, his face carrying a faint, ambiguous smile. He neither confirmed nor denied it.

Suddenly, a bright glow lit up outside the window. The common folk had released sky lanterns, resembling a galaxy stretching across the horizon.

Pei Yuanling pointed outside: “Today is the new Emperor’s birthday. You’re staying instead of leaving—are you really here just to watch the celebration?”

Shan Zong took a sip of wine, glancing at him: “I rarely leave Youzhou, so I decided to stay a few more days—that’s all.”

“Sounds like an excuse,” Pei Yuanling teased. “Clearly, you’re here to see someone. For instance, to watch a certain person.”

“Who?” He turned his head lazily toward the window, but his gaze froze.

In the bustling street below, someone descended from a carriage. A slender, striking figure in a trailing skirt caught his eye.

He chuckled softly, fingering his wine cup. So they had crossed paths again.

Then he noticed another figure behind her—a man.

Zi Rui, Dong Lai, and the Changsun family guards trailed far behind.

…

Shen Rong arrived as promised, meeting Pei Shaoyong halfway before coming here together.

Pei Shaoyong had heard from his elder brother, Pei Yuanling, that this was the liveliest place to witness the most spectacular celebrations in the city. Knowing Shen Rong hadn’t returned home in a long time, he assumed she would enjoy seeing it.

Ahead, foreign performers from the Western Regions were putting on magic shows. Pei Shaoyong called out to Shen Rong, who was walking ahead: “Arong, let’s take a look. It’s a good chance to talk.”

Shen Rong stopped and walked over with him.

A crowd had gathered. The foreign performers divided tasks between men and women. The men performed feats like balancing jars and swallowing fire, while the women held bowls for donations. During their acts, they awkwardly added phrases like “Long live His Majesty,” eliciting laughter and cheers from the spectators.

Shen Rong observed the dark-skinned, muscular foreigners and couldn’t help but recall Hu Eleven and Zhang Wei from the Youzhou military barracks. They resembled those centurions, making her chuckle.

Her thoughts inevitably drifted to that man , but she quickly remembered her mother’s words—to forget everything about Youzhou.

She pursed her lips and stopped watching.

Pei Shaoyong stood beside her, shielding her from the pressing crowd, ensuring no one jostled her. Catching a glimpse of her fleeting smile, he assumed the performance had amused her and smiled too: “Arong, while you’re in a good mood, I want to share some happy news.”

Shen Rong tilted her head: “What is it, Second Cousin?”

He had mentioned at the teahouse that he had unfinished words to say, likely referring to this. Recalling how abrupt the previous incident had been, she had neglected this cousin while hiding Shan Zong. To make amends, she slightly tilted her head, feigning attentiveness.

Pei Shaoyong shielded her from the crowd, unintentionally drawing closer. Seeing her tilted head, her black hair within reach, and catching a faint whiff of her fragrance, his heart stirred involuntarily.

“What is it?” Shen Rong waited for him to speak.

Pei Shaoyong snapped back to reality. His cheerful smile turned bashful, and his voice dropped: “I wanted to tell you—I rejected the marriage arrangement my family made for me. I plan to pursue scholarly achievements. What do you think, Arong?”

Amidst the noise, Shen Rong caught the gist of his words, frowned slightly, and shook her head: “This isn’t something you should ask me. It’s your decision—you should decide for yourself.”

It was his matter, and also the Pei family’s. There was no place for her, a mere cousin, to interfere.

Pei Shaoyong blurted out: “Of course I have to ask you—I did it for you…”

Suddenly, the crowd surged backward as the foreign performer spat fire. Shen Rong was pushed several steps away but steadied by Zi Rui behind her.

Upstairs, Pei Yuanling had already noticed where Shan Zong’s gaze lingered. Leaning against the window, he glanced down and smirked: “Did you see her?”

Shan Zong turned his gaze back: “Mm.”

Pei Yuanling thought it amusing how honest he was now, pointing downward: “See that? That’s my younger brother. He’s been looking for opportunities. He’s been rejecting marriage proposals and went through great lengths to bring her out today. You can guess what he’s thinking—I don’t need to spell it out.”

Shan Zong recognized him—the man from the teahouse that day. Pei Shaoyong, the second son of the Pei family.

He didn’t respond, lowering his head to drink. The lamplight stretched his seated silhouette.

Pei Yuanling leaned closer, slapping his shoulder: “Do you know how envious we all were of you back then? Among the noble sons of the two capitals, who could compare to you? Born a natural military genius, the eldest legitimate son of the Shan family, favored by the imperial court—you were destined to become a frontier governor. Truly, the chosen one of heaven.”

Shen Rong continued drinking, as if listening to someone else’s story.

He went on: “Since childhood, Arong has been extraordinarily gifted—the brightest and hardest-to-reach pearl of the Changsun family. Back then, which of us Pei family youths didn’t dream of reaching for that distant cloud? But even with our familial ties, it didn’t matter. In the end, the Changsun family chose you because they wanted to give her the best. We all accepted it willingly.”

Pei Yuanling paused, hooking his arm around Shan Zong’s shoulder and laughing: “Do you think it was easy for you to marry her? For you, it seemed effortless, but in truth, you unknowingly fought for it. The Changsun family gave you their greatest treasure, and yet you discarded her—and abandoned everything, including your future with the Shan family. Why?”

Shan Zong swallowed a mouthful of wine, recalling scenes from the mountains and the journey. Memories flashed through his mind as he exhaled the alcohol-laden breath and smirked: “What exactly are you trying to say?”

Pei Yuanling stared at him, his smile fading. Leaning closer, he whispered: “Chongjun, tell me the truth—are you hiding something?”

Silence.

Finally, Shan Zong set down his wine cup: “So this was your real intention—to interrogate me.” Pushing aside the hand on his shoulder, he stood up, grabbing his sword and kicking Pei Yuanling lightly: “I should have left Chang’an sooner—I forgot how verbose you still are.”

Pei Yuanling stood up too. The group of youths from earlier approached again, laughing and holding porcelain pitchers. They invited Pei Yuanling to play drinking games and toss arrows into pots.

Uninterested, Pei Yuanling waved them off.

Only then did the group notice Shan Zong. Though he appeared to be a mere military officer in his rugged Hu-style attire—not fitting the image of a capital official—they assumed he had some connection to Pei Yuanling and didn’t dare offend him.

One of them grinned, handing over a feathered arrow: “Here, since you’re a friend of Lord Pei, show us your skills.”

Shan Zong accepted it, tossed it forcefully, grabbed his sword, and left.

The arrow struck the porcelain pot with a loud “clang” and fell to the ground. The crowd erupted in laughter, but soon gasped as the pot shattered unexpectedly.

Pei Yuanling watched Shan Zong leave through the doorway, sighing softly: “If they knew who he was, they wouldn’t dare provoke him like that.”

Shan Zong walked downstairs, cradling his sword in the crook of his arm, gazing ahead.

Among the crowd, that slender figure still stood.

A gust of wind blew toward him as he stepped forward.

“What were you saying earlier, Second Cousin?” Shen Rong asked Pei Shaoyong after regaining her balance with Zi Rui’s help.

The latter half of his words had been drowned out by cheers and applause, and she hadn’t heard clearly.

Pei Shaoyong was about to speak when another wave of cheering interrupted him, leaving him frustrated: “Let’s move somewhere quieter.”

But Shen Rong had already lost interest: “Never mind. Today’s a noisy occasion everywhere. Let’s just walk around a bit and head back.”

With that, she ducked her head, skillfully avoiding the crowd, and walked away.

Pei Shaoyong was momentarily speechless. Just as he was about to follow, a servant approached, informing him that his elder brother was nearby in an inn and had seen him, requesting his presence.

His heart tightened. He knew his elder brother was aware of his feelings, though the rest of the family wasn’t. He was likely going to be lectured. Seeing Shen Rong walk farther ahead, he instructed Zi Rui to follow her and went to meet Pei Yuanling first.

…

Shen Rong strolled through the bustling streets. Not far ahead, a merchant shop was scattering coins to celebrate the Emperor’s birthday, drawing crowds of people scrambling for the money.

Jostled slightly, she avoided the scene and detoured to the side.

Walking for a while, she suddenly felt someone following her. Glancing discreetly, she saw a sea of faces behind her but couldn’t pinpoint anyone specific.

Perhaps it was just one of the petty thieves Shan Zong had mentioned, taking advantage of the chaos to steal. With Dong Lai trailing behind, she wasn’t worried.

Continuing forward, she still felt the presence. The lamplight cast long shadows ahead, elongating her figure. Another shadow seemed to overlap hers.

Without a word, she deliberately headed toward a side alley.

A group of playful people passed by, leaving the surroundings quiet.

Reaching the alley entrance, Shen Rong suddenly turned around, facing the person behind her.

A call of “Dong Lai” formed on her lips but remained unspoken. Looking at the man half-illuminated by the flickering light, her gaze wavered: “What are you doing? Are you following me?”

No wonder Dong Lai hadn’t intervened yet.

Shan Zong stood before her. He had indeed followed her all along, even fending off the pressing crowd—a task her attendants could have handled.

He smirked: “Yes, consider it one last escort.”

Shen Rong found his words strange, more like a farewell than before. She glanced at him: “What do you mean, ‘one last escort’? Do you have business, or something to say?”

Shan Zong stared at her, silent.

Shen Rong took a step closer, her foot brushing against his riding boots. Up close, she could finally see his features against the lamplight—his eyes dark and unreadable.

“Still nothing?” She laughed softly: “I asked you once before when we neared Chang’an. Since it’s still nothing, then never mind.”

If there was nothing, why did he bother following her here? Was he toying with her?

She tried to move forward, but Shan Zong stood firm, irritating her. She pushed him: “Move.”

Her hand was suddenly seized. Startled, she heard Shan Zong ask: “What do you want me to say? Isn’t it just to humble myself before you? Is that it?” His voice was low, almost coaxing.

Shen Rong’s heart raced—he knew. Her wrist burned under his grip. Trapped, she deliberately leaned closer, tilting her head to stare at his jawline, her voice dropping unconsciously: “That’s entirely up to you.”

Shan Zong didn’t move, his chest pressed firmly against hers, warm and suffocating. She even thought of retreating slightly.

Suddenly, he asked: “Are you not afraid of regretting this?”

Shen Rong frowned. She would never regret it, muttering softly: “You’re the bad seed—you’ll be the one to regret it.”

How could she yield? He would never change.

Shan Zong heard her, tightening his grip on her hand and pulling her closer. “I’m the bad seed?” He chuckled lowly: “You haven’t seen what true badness looks like.”

Shen Rong no longer wanted to stay, pushing him forcefully: “I don’t need you to tell me!”

Shan Zong restrained her hands, gripping them tightly. Suddenly, he lowered his head, pressing his forehead against hers.

Shen Rong froze. His face was inches away, his breath brushing against her skin—slightly heavy, carrying a faint trace of alcohol.

“How do you want me to lower my head? Like this?”

She was startled.

The next moment, a searing heat pressed against her lips. Without warning, his mouth descended onto hers.

Shen Rong was momentarily stunned before instinctively trying to push him away. As soon as she moved, he pressed harder, using force to push her back two steps until her back hit the alley entrance.

His tall figure loomed over her, enveloping her completely.

Shan Zong crushed her lips, pressing down heavily, inch by inch, stealing her breath.

Her hand twitched involuntarily, but he immediately pinned it to her waist. Reaching behind her, he pulled her closer, burying his face and kissing her more fiercely.

For the first time, Shen Rong didn’t know how to react. Her lips were sealed, and by the time her face flushed red from lack of air, he finally eased up slightly, his breath hot against her ear as he chuckled softly: “Your lips aren’t as resistant as they seem.”

A sudden surge of emotion crashed through her chest. His lips pressed down again, still with force but slower, deliberately teasing and tracing the shape of her lips.

Outside, a wave of sky lanterns rose, bathing the scene in sudden brightness. The light illuminated the man before her.

Shen Rong tilted her head, her breathing ragged, her vision blurred. All she could see was his face, half-turned as he pressed against her lips.

Her waist was gripped by his palm, burning hot.

Finally, the lanterns ascended into the sky, plunging the surroundings back into darkness. Outside, Zi Rui’s anxious voice called: “Young Mistress?”

Shan Zong slowly released her, their lips parting at last.

Facing each other, their breaths intertwined—his rapid, hers erratic—as if an invisible thread bound them, tugging and snapping.

Neither spoke—they were beyond words.

Shan Zong withdrew his hand from her waist, his gaze still fixed on her. Shadow-like, he took one step back, then another, before turning and leaving.

Shen Rong nearly collapsed against the wall, one hand pressed to her chest. Her heartbeat thundered like a drum, relentless and impossible to calm.

She had never been this close to a man before. Her lips tingled, almost numb.

“Young Mistress,” Zi Rui entered, whispering: “Commander Shan has left.”

She wanted to ask if anything had happened but didn’t dare.

Shen Rong bit her lips—they were still scorching, refusing to cool. She said nothing.