“If Third Young Lady Xue is unwilling to apologize, then you may remove your hairpin and depart, as an act of apology.”

Remove the hairpin!?

Xue Xiwen’s chest heaved with fury.

He was raving mad!

No one could tread upon the Xue family’s dignity in front of the public.

She raised her whip, about to strike him.

“Xiwen!”

From afar, Tan Xun, seeing this scene, shouted loudly.

But Xue Xiwen did not stop. The whip sliced through the air—yet it was caught fast in a blood-marked hand.

The onlookers all frowned.

These people had just been saved by Pei Zhaoye earlier; now, seeing Xue Xiwen raise a whip to strike, everyone felt a surge of disgust toward the Xue family.

Tan Xun hurried forward, his expression showing slight surprise when he saw Pei Zhaoye and, behind him, Lizhu.

“What are you doing!”

Xue Xiwen tried to pull her whip back, but it would not move an inch. On the contrary, Pei Zhaoye gave a small tug and the whip slipped cleanly from her grasp.

Xue Xiwen said, “Cousin, go quickly to my house and tell my father—have him send men here at once…”

Tan Xun had already heard the whole story on his way there.

He grabbed Xue Xiwen’s arm and said in a low voice:

“How many men do you want your father to send? A hundred? Or a thousand? Xiwen, he is the refugee commander personally appointed by Princess Qinghe. Standing behind him is Princess Qinghe herself—does your family truly have no wish to live?”

Xue Xiwen’s pupils shrank sharply, her expression seeming to shatter right down the middle.

“You’re saying wha—”

Tan Xun turned around.

Facing Lizhu, the noble youth in a white fox-fur robe bowed his head and saluted.

“Greetings to Princess Qinghe.”

The crowd awoke as if from a dream and all fell to their knees.

Snow had fallen through the night; at the east gate, it had piled three feet deep. Lizhu gazed steadily at Tan Xun’s figure.

His appearance at this moment—was it to help Xue Xiwen, or because he could not bear to see her winning the hearts of the Jiangzhou gentry today?

“…Rise.”

The crowd stood up. The fear on Xue Xiwen’s and her maidservants’ faces had not yet faded.

So this was Princess Qinghe?

She looked both like and unlike the weak, timid woman from rumor.

So pale.

Such large eyes.

Her hair so black and smooth.

What had she eaten to grow like this? Why did she look like that? So annoying—she really wanted to kick her straight into a snowdrift.

Lizhu felt a chill along her back.

“What are you staring at? Your eyes are practically dripping poison.”

Pei Zhaoye, still watching her, said evenly: “Have you decided? Remove your hairpin, or apologize.”

Xue Xiwen tugged at Tan Xun’s sleeve from behind.

Thinking of how his mother most adored this cousin, Tan Xun couldn’t help softening.

He said, “My cousin was reckless and willful and has caused everyone trouble. She is young and ignorant—Xun will apologize in her stead…”

The whip in Pei Zhaoye’s hand tapped lightly against the carriage body.

Not too hard, not too soft—just enough to cut Tan Xun off.

“What’s your relation to her? Do you have the right to apologize on her behalf?”

He fixed his eyes on Xue Xiwen.

“Remove your hairpin, or apologize.”

Tan Xun frowned. “General Pei, must you press the matter so far?”

Pei Zhaoye’s expression carried a trace of a smile.

“Indeed—Third Young Lady Xue, after injuring so many people, it’s only an apology we’re asking for. Is that so difficult? Must you make it this way?”

All around, the crowd fell silent, eyes fixed upon them.

No one spoke, yet beneath the stillness there was a stirring undercurrent.

Xue Xiwen took a deep breath.

She removed her earrings, several hairpins, and finally the golden buyao, then flung them backward into the snow.

She gave Lizhu a cold smile. “Princess, are you satisfied now?”

Without waiting for a reply, Xue Xiwen turned away, her face expressionless.

Tan Xun looked toward Lizhu, as if he wanted to speak.

But after glancing at Xue Xiwen’s departing back, he hesitated a moment, then held back his steps and said to the crowd:

“Today’s matter—I will report truthfully to my family. Xiwen will be properly punished. Everyone, I sincerely apologize.”

After all, he was the son of the current Minister of State Affairs.

The crowd returned his bow with perfunctory politeness.

The carriage slowly departed from the east gate.

He was still that same person—always shielding his family, caring nothing for right or wrong, willing to bear humiliation himself.

To have such a man as family was a blessing; but if one were to marry him, one would merely be placed within his circle of his own, not truly as family.

Lizhu watched the carriage disappear.

Once they were gone, the tense atmosphere at the east gate eased instantly.

The young girl who had nearly been struck by Xue Xiwen’s whip had only just dried her tears. Together with several other frightened ladies, she stepped forward, gave her name, and bowed to thank the princess.

Only then did Lizhu learn that the girl was a daughter of the Xie family—a lineage of classical scholars.

“…Xie Ji is your third uncle? Truly?”

The girl, named Xie Junzhu, smiled and nodded.

Seeing that Lizhu seemed particularly interested in her third uncle, she blushed and ventured shyly:

“Princess… if it would not offend you, would you be willing to visit the Xie residence someday, so that we may properly express our gratitude for today…”

“Willing, willing, very willing!”

Lizhu grasped her hand, repeating “willing” several times, almost eager to go with her right then and there.

It was said that Xie Ji’s household contained thousands of books, even rare ancient manuscripts not found in the Imperial Archives. Scholars across the realm revered him, how could she not be interested?

While Lizhu was surrounded by a few young ladies on one side, on the other, Pei Zhaoye was also encircled by several noble youths of about his age—among them, the very one he had pulled from beneath the overturned carriage.

“…Brother, with such a physique, you must train diligently on ordinary days, yes? That kick just now truly had the force to shake heaven and earth…”

“More than that—General Pei’s arm strength as well… you are called General Pei, yes? That crazed horse nearly crushed my skull; I thought my life was over, but General Pei leapt across from another horse and subdued it in an instant—what a close call…”

“Nowadays in Nanyong, literature prospers while martial valor declines. For one as gifted and valiant as General Pei—such men are rare in the world. Perhaps in time, he may become a famous general to rival General Tan Zhuyun himself…”

Pei Zhaoye’s lashes trembled slightly.

For a martial man, none disliked being compared with Tan Zhuyun.

In Nanyong, that was the highest form of praise a warrior could receive.

Unfortunately—

Given Pei Zhaoye’s background, saying he might one day rival Tan Zhuyun was, in truth, a particularly cutting irony.

These men didn’t know that. They only sighed with admiration.

Why was it that all the great generals already had patrons?

In these war-torn times, if they could befriend a man of such natural strength and have him serve under them, how secure they would feel.

“—Ah, speaking of arm strength, might we touch General Pei’s arm?”

Lizhu, who had been speaking with Xie Junzhu, turned her head.

What were they doing?

Why were they putting their hands all over her husband?

Those few had not noticed her gaze at all, still marveling enviously at his build:

“Solid.”

“Thick.”

“A real man.”

Lizhu: “……”

She wrinkled her nose in displeasure.

This farce did not disperse until noon; once the injured were tended, everyone returned home.

“—How could you let them put their hands all over you!”

On the way back, Lizhu called Pei Zhaoye into her carriage under the pretext of treating his wounds.

Pei Zhaoye lowered his eyes, watching as Lizhu bandaged him.

Truthfully, for mere bruises and scrapes, there was no need for bandages at all—and her bandaging was not good in the slightest.

But he didn’t resist, letting her wrap and unwrap, again and again.

“Has Your Highness’s memory gone astray, or is it me? I seem to recall only one person hammering my arm, how did that become everyone touching all over me?”

Pei Zhaoye couldn’t quite hold back a laugh.

Xue Xiwen had tried to buy him, and she had praised the woman’s taste.

These few shameless men—she really took them quite seriously.

“And besides,” Pei Zhaoye added lazily, “wasn’t it Your Highness who repeatedly reminded me to treat these noble young masters with a bit more courtesy?”

Lizhu was caught off guard. “…That doesn’t mean letting them touch you however they like.”

“Then whom does the princess permit to touch?”

He leaned against the carriage wall, asking though he already knew the answer.

Lizhu’s face flushed red, her head lowering as she refused to speak.

“Xue Xiwen?”

Lizhu shot him a glare, her voice low and teeth gritted:

“M-me! Only me! I can touch you bald if that makes you happy!”

She tried to sound fierce, but Pei Zhaoye only caught her hand and pressed it down.

“Go on then. Let me see how you’ll touch me bald.”

Lizhu: “……”

In her mind, she couldn’t help recalling those three words the men had used to describe him—

Solid. Thick. Real man.

Her fierceness lasted no more than three breaths before her face reddened from forehead to neck, all defiance collapsing at once.

The golden buyao rested against his chest, lightly pressing against him.

Looking at her expression, Pei Zhaoye’s heart softened.

“Ah, it’s snowing again,” came Danzhu’s voice from outside the window.

Xuan Ying laughed. “It’s the new year—it should snow. Auspicious snow brings a good harvest; it’s a fine omen.”

Lizhu turned her gaze toward the man beside her.

With the new year’s arrival, his birthday had come as well.

Because it was both the new year and Pei Zhaoye’s birthday, they borrowed the post station’s kitchen that evening to make a few dishes and celebrate together.

Gu Bing’an, who handled the accounts, took charge of purchasing the ingredients, and Pei Zhaoye went with him.

“You go on ahead,” Pei said. “I have something else to buy, I’ll be back later.”

Gu Bing’an suspected nothing.

An hour later, Pei Zhaoye returned to the post station empty-handed.

Gu Bing’an, ever observant, found it odd, but didn’t dwell on it.

After dinner, everyone gathered in Pei Zhaoye’s room for a simple coming-of-age ceremony.

As a former palace maid, Xuan Ying was well-versed in the procedures, while the ceremonial speech was personally written by Chang Jun. Danzhu, upon seeing it, sighed enviously:

“A palace lady doing your hair, an official’s son writing such flowery words for you—could I not hold another hairpin ceremony for myself? Just like this one?”

He said calmly, “No. You don’t have my kind of luck.”

Xuan Ying was struggling to bind his too-short hair into a topknot, and Pei Zhaoye turned to look at the princess beside him.

“Pei Zhaoye,” she said with a bright smile, “safe and sound, another year older—congratulations.”

Pei Zhaoye gazed into her eyes.

When she said those words, her eyes shimmered with a strange tenderness—bright and soft.

He suddenly felt that no ornate blessing, no beautifully written speech, could compare to that simple sentence from her lips.

That night, Pei Zhaoye received many birthday gifts.

Even the impoverished Yanshan Army had spent dearly to send him something resembling a whetstone as a present.

But Pei Zhaoye hadn’t hurried to open any of them.

When everyone had left, he carried the chest and kicked open Lizhu’s door with one foot.

“Now, may Shen Lizhu’s husband look at his gift?”

Lizhu: “……”

She looked toward those dark eyes of his, black as lacquer yet glimmering with something unspoken.

The doorway of the post-station room was narrow, his head just brushing the lintel; standing there, he nearly filled the entire entrance.

The hair on the back of Lizhu’s neck stood up—an inexplicable sense of being cornered.

“…W-what are you staring at me for? Go on, look, you can look now.”

The room was small, the candlelight faint. Pei Zhaoye closed the door, latched it, and set the chest down.

Lizhu wore a pair of soft indoor shoes; lifting the hem of her light, flowing skirt, she crouched beside the chest.

She seemed to have been waiting for this moment too—she lifted the lid in one breath.

Pei Zhaoye’s gaze, which had been fixed on her, shifted briefly to the contents inside.

Within the pear-wood chest, a suit of jet-black armor gleamed under the dim candlelight—cold, heavy, and sharp as ice.

It had been kept so well that it shone like a mirror, like a sword that had never yet tasted blood, lying quietly within its box, waiting for a hero to don it and meet the storm of battle.

This was her coming-of-age gift to him—

A brand-new suit of iron armor.

She patted the contents lightly, then turned back, her eyes bright.

“I want to see it. Put it on—let me see, alright?”

Pei Zhaoye looked at her, his eyes deep and dark.

“Alright.”

He went behind the folding screen and changed into the armor.

It wasn’t his first time wearing one.

At least, not in his heart.

The first time was when he heard his mother tell stories of Tan Zhuyun opening new lands and driving out the Rong and Di tribes.

The second time was when he learned that Tan Zhuyun was his grandfather.

In his youth, his dreams were filled with clashing armor and loyal, blood-stained hearts. Later, the weapons shattered at the Tan family gates, and the blood ran dry on the road fleeing Luoyang.

He had thought he would never again see that version of himself.

Pei Zhaoye stepped out from behind the screen.

She looked up, and in the laughter glimmering in her eyes, he saw a completely transparent, genuine emotion—clear from inside to out.

“So handsome… how could it suit you so well?”

Lizhu had never seen him dressed in armor before.

In their past life, he had been the commander stationed behind the lines, not required to fight personally.

So whenever he departed from Luoyang, the Pei Zhaoye she saw was always that refined, scholarly figure.

Only later did she learn that when battle turned desperate, he would ignore his advisers and don his armor to lead on the front lines himself.

At that time, Lizhu thought he was merely being reckless.

She never realized—that man standing between life and death at the border might have been his truest self.

And she had almost never had the chance to see him.

“…You sold your beloved golden buyao just to buy this for me?”

Pei Zhaoye took the glittering ornament from his breast.

Lizhu’s eyes widened slightly. “How did you… That person spent seven hundred gold to buy it from me! How could you take it back?”

“You sold yours, I robbed mine. No conflict.”

Lizhu sighed helplessly. “…But you’re not a bandit now, you’re a great general.”

He gazed at her for a long moment, then suddenly let out a quiet sigh.

“But right now, I don’t want to be a great general.”

His broad, heated hands cupped her face; his fingers slid past her ears into her hair.

“Right now, I only want to be the consort of Princess Qinghe—the husband of Shen Lizhu. Will the princess allow it?”

Her long lashes fluttered.

“I will.”

Her expression carried the faint bewilderment of someone asked a question far too serious, far too silly.

“From the first time I saw you, I already would.”

He pressed his forehead against hers, his dark eyes deep as a bottomless vortex.

Which him was it that she was willing to love?

He and that version of him that was Pei Yinzhi were like two tributaries diverging from the same river.

Pei Zhaoye did not know what they had experienced, did not know how they had met and encountered each other. He could only glimpse those fragmented pieces in dreams, and to this day, he did not understand why she had fallen in love with him.

He was stealing the fruit they had watered together and matured through the four seasons.

However, Pei Zhaoye did not intend to return it.

Nor did he feel remorseful.

Because, he would give her more, more, whether it was ultimate sex, or ultimate power.

What she wanted, what she deserved, what she could not bear to do—

He would tear and fight for it on her behalf.

Kisses fell on Lizhu’s nose tip and forehead.

Different from the usual kisses full of desire, Lizhu closed her eyes. The kisses were like fine, cool snowflakes, blowing one after another against her face, melting upon touch.

Her thick eyelashes fluttered slightly, a trace of confusion in her eyes.

She didn’t know if it was her illusion, but Lizhu seemed to feel that Pei Zhaoye’s entire body was unusually tense at this moment, so much so that even his bones seemed to be rattling and trembling.

Yet, the kisses were like a young deer drinking water.

One after another, gently bumping against her cheeks.

“Take it off for me,” he said softly, “It’s too hard, it’s presseding me a little painful.”

Lizhu, dazed and confused, lowered her head to feel for the fastenings on his armor.

“How could it press? Does it not fit?”

“Usually it fits, at this time… here, not necessarily.”

Lizhu’s movements paused as she looked toward the direction he indicated.

His eyes overflowed with tenderness, his fingertips caressing her delicate face:

“Quickly, after taking it off, I will take you to a place.”