News that Brigade Commander Feng's remaining forces had been completely wiped out spread like a stone dropped into the lake of Fengtian City, stirring endless ripples. Privately, the townsfolk whispered that although the Military Governor's son was young, his methods were even crueler than his father's. The stench of blood from the kiln, they said, lingered for three full days.
When these words reached the governor's mansion, Shen Yanci was in the training field, disassembling a gun. His movements were quick and precise; parts flickered in his palm, quickly becoming a pile of cold metal, then reassembling moments later. The gun body was polished bright, reflecting his expressionless face.
"Young Master, everyone out there is talking about your skill," Guard Xiao Li leaned over, admiration bright on his face. "They say you never miss a shot—better than our best marksmen in the guard."
Shen Yanci clipped the pistol back to his waist, his voice flat. "Practice your shooting. Mindless gossip is none of your concern."
Xiao Li fell silent awkwardly, yet could not help but glance at him again. Ever since returning from the kiln, the young master had grown even colder. His gaze was like a blade tempered in ice, chilling anyone it fell upon. Strangely, though, whenever he passed the garden, his steps would unconsciously slow, as if waiting for something.
Shen Yanci was waiting.
He knew Su Wan came to water the flowers at this hour every day, carrying a small brass kettle, moving among the blooms in her pale green dress like a busy bee. He never approached her, only stood a few crabapple trees away, watching her bend to water the roses, stretch on tiptoe for higher branches, and let sunlight fall in golden fragments over her hair.
This had become his only secret softness amid a life of iron and blood. Like a layer of cotton lining a scabbard, separating him from the cold metal, holding a faint, hidden warmth.
"Shen Yanci."
A clear voice came from behind. Shen Yanci's shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. When he turned, his face had already returned to its usual coldness.
Su Wan stood a few paces behind him, still holding her kettle, her skirt dotted with soil, as if she had just come from the flower bed. "I saved something for you." She set the kettle on the nearby stone table, pulled an oil-paper wrap from her apron pocket, and held it out. "It's the same rice cakes you bought last time. I learned to make them from the kitchen staff. Would you like to try some?"
Shen Yanci looked at the wrap, on which a tiny plum blossom was hand-stitched. He did not take it immediately, only met her eyes. "I told you before, you don't need to make these for me."
"But you bought rice cakes that day," Su Wan replied naturally, as if not hearing his distance. "I guessed you liked them. Besides, you helped us so much. I had to do something to thank you."
She was referring to that night. Since then, her gaze toward him had carried a careful respect, yet never lost its pure kindness. Her hand remained steady as she offered the food, her eyes still bright as stars.
Shen Yanci fell silent for a moment, then finally took the wrap. His fingertips brushed hers, still slightly damp from the kettle, warm. "Thanks." With those two words, he turned and left, walking faster than usual, almost fleeing.
Su Wan watched his retreating back, still gripping the kettle's handle until her knuckles whitened. She could feel his deliberate distance, as if separated by an invisible wall of ice. Yet she could not understand why he would protect them amid a hail of bullets, yet would not even accept a simple rice cake with good grace.
"That's just how he is," her aunt said, appearing behind her with a sigh. "Children of the Shen family don't have much warmth to spare. You should keep your distance, dear, lest you bring trouble upon yourself."
Su Wan said nothing, only stared in the direction Shen Yanci had vanished, her chest tight and heavy. She thought of his bloodstained face, his cruelty when pulling the trigger, and his back now holding the rice cakes. Suddenly, she suspected that beneath his cold shell lay not unyielding hardness, but fear of being burned.
Shen Xiaoshan seemed deeply satisfied with Shen Yanci's "growth."
He began letting Shen Yanci sit in on military affairs, listening as he discussed campaigns with his adjutants, watching him mark maps. Shen Yanci learned quickly; his understanding of military strategy occasionally surprised even Shen Xiaoshan. Yet he never spoke unless called upon, and when he did, he stated only the essentials in the briefest terms, precise as his shooting.
"Feng is dead, but the forces behind him remain," Shen Xiaoshan said that evening, pointing to a red dot on the map. "They control the west city docks, and our weapons shipments keep going wrong. What would you do?"
Shen Yanci's gaze settled on the dot, his fingertips tapping the table in a steady rhythm. "Send a team disguised as merchants to sneak into the docks after dark and locate the weapons stockpile," he said calmly, his composure beyond his years. "Attack at three in the morning. Blow up the warehouse with explosives, seal all exits, and leave no survivors."
A flash of approval appeared in Shen Xiaoshan's eyes. "Ruthless enough. Do as you say. This mission is yours."
"Yes, Father." Shen Yanci's reply was still brief, yet something stirred inside him. This was the first time his father had entrusted him with such an important task—not target practice, not copying books, but real, deadly military duty.
He turned to leave, but Shen Xiaoshan called him back.
"Wait."
Shen Yanci paused, waiting.
"That girl Su is a good girl," Shen Xiaoshan's voice drifted vaguely, as if speaking to thin air. "But remember this: your life belongs to the Shen family. You cannot have weaknesses."
Shen Yanci's back tensed instantly, as if doused in ice water. He did not turn, only answered quietly, "I understand, Father."
When he stepped out of the main hall, moonlight stretched his shadow long and thin, like a cold serpent. He knew what his father feared—feared he would become a weakness others could exploit against the Shen family, just as his mother once had. Yet deep down, he knew Su Wan was not a weakness. She was… a attachment he dared not examine too closely.
Passing the east wing, he saw a lamp still burning inside, the faint silhouette of Su Wan at her desk, probably reading. Shen Yanci lingered in the dark for a moment, then turned toward his own courtyard, his steps heavy as lead.
He could not grow closer to her. For the Shen family, for his father, and to keep her from being dragged into this blood-soaked chaos.
The day before the dock mission, Shen Yanci was in his study organizing maps, his fingers tracing the west city streets as he mentally rehearsed the operation. A faint medicinal scent drifted through the window, cool with mint.
He frowned, walked to the window, and pushed it open a crack. He saw Su Wan crouching under the corridor, grinding something in a stone mortar with a pestle, her expression focused, fine sweat beading on her forehead.
"What are you doing?" he asked involuntarily, his voice rough in a way he did not recognize.
Su Wan jumped, looked up, and saw him. Surprise flickered across her face, then a smile. "I'm making mint ointment. Last time I saw your arm wasn't healing well, so I added some blood-activating herbs. It should help."
Shen Yanci stared at her herb-stained fingertips. Something sharp and bitter twisted in his chest. "I don't need it," he said harshly. "I have a mission tomorrow. Don't bother me."
The smile froze on Su Wan's face. The light in her eyes dimmed, like a candle snuffed by the wind. "I… I only wanted to thank you," she whispered, hurt. "At the kiln that day… were you hurt? I thought you limped a little when you came back…"
Shen Yanci's heart clenched. He thought he had hidden it well—a graze from a stray bullet on his lower leg, tightly wrapped in bandages. Yet she had noticed anyway.
"It's none of your business." He slammed the window shut, sealing away her lonely figure and the faint herbal scent.
The study fell completely silent, save for his heavy breathing. Shen Yanci leaned against the window, his forehead pressed against the cold glass. Moonlight seeped through the crack, falling on his face, cold as tears.
He knew he had spoken too cruelly. But he had to. He was going into a life-or-death fight. The closer someone was to him, the more dangerous it became. Su Wan belonged in the sunlight, watering flowers, reading, making rice cakes—not dragged into gunfire, living in fear.
That night, Shen Yanci slept poorly. His dreams were filled with dockside gunshots and fire, and Su Wan's tear-filled eyes, piercing his heart like fine needles.
At three in the morning, the docks were shrouded in thick mist, like a heavy white veil.
Shen Yanci and his guard lay in ambush behind cargo crates, guns loaded. The faint click of the safety being released cut sharply through the silence. A dull ache still throbbed in his lower leg, where he had applied Su Wan's mint ointment—he had not been able to resist. Soon after closing the window, he had quietly gone to the corridor and taken the jar of green paste back to his room.
The coolness of mint, mixed with a faint bitter herbal scent, seeped through the bandages into his skin, easing the pain considerably.
"Move out!"
At his low command, the guard charged like arrows loosed from bows. Gunfire instantly tore through the mist. The warehouse guards, caught off guard, resisted in panic and were quickly suppressed. Shen Yanci's shooting remained ruthless and accurate; bullets cut through the fog, claiming lives without fail.
Just as he thought the mission would end smoothly, a burst of intense gunfire erupted from deep inside the warehouse. Two guards at the front fell. Shen Yanci's eyes hardened—they had run into Feng's elite diehards.
"Cover!" he snapped, rolling behind a large oil drum. Bullets slammed into the metal with heavy thuds.
Mid-stalemate, he suddenly saw a shadow charging toward him with a pack of explosives, shouting about dying together. Shen Yanci's heart sank. The drum held kerosene. If it ignited, the entire dock would be blown to pieces.
Without thinking, he grabbed a nearby dagger and hurled it. The blade sliced through the mist, piercing the man's wrist. The explosives crashed to the ground with a boom but did not detonate—the fuse had been severed by earlier gunfire.
Shen Yanci exhaled in relief, ready to order the charge—when another figure circled from the side, aiming a gun directly at his back. He had no time to dodge. He could only watch as the man pulled the trigger.
Bang!
When the shot rang out, Shen Yanci felt no pain. He turned and saw Xiao Li standing in front of him, a bloody hole in his chest. The guard stared at him in disbelief, blood frothing from his mouth, staining his uniform.
"Young Master… run…" Xiao Li's voice was barely a whisper. Then he collapsed, eyes still wide open, staring up at the misty sky.
Something snapped inside Shen Yanci. His eyes reddened. He lifted Xiao Li's body, his fingers touching still-warm skin, and the thread holding his composure snapped completely.
"Kill them! Leave none alive!"
He roared and charged, a wolf driven mad. When his pistol ran out of bullets, he drew his dagger, stabbing repeatedly into enemy chests. Blood soaked his uniform, his face, his eyes—yet his gaze burned with raging fury.
When the last enemy fell, Shen Yanci leaned on his dagger, chest heaving like a wounded beast. Morning light broke through the mist, falling on his bloodstained face, revealing the red in his eyes… and a trace of unspoken confusion.
Was this the cruelty he had sought? A victory bought with a brother's life—what kind of victory was that?
He thought of Xiao Li's admiring smile, Su Wan's hand holding rice cakes, his father's warning about having no weaknesses. Suddenly, he felt cold all over, as if dropped into an ice cellar.
By the time he returned to the governor's mansion, the sky was bright.
Shen Yanci did not go to see Shen Xiaoshan. He went straight to his courtyard, locked himself inside, and peeled off his blood-caked uniform, revealing the bandaged leg. The coolness of the mint ointment still lingered, yet it could not chase away the chill in his heart.
When a knock came, he assumed it was a guard and snapped, "Get out."
"It's me." Su Wan's voice came through the door, cautious and tentative. "I made chicken soup for you, with herbs to restore your energy. Would… would you like some?"
Shen Yanci froze. He could picture her standing outside with a thermos, worry in her eyes, like a small dog afraid of being chased away.
He stayed silent for so long that Su Wan thought he would not answer and turned to leave—until a hoarse voice came from inside.
"Come in."
Su Wan pushed the door open. A thick, coppery scent of blood hit her, making her frown. Shen Yanci sat on the bed with his back to her, his shoulders slightly hunched, like a wounded animal.
She set the soup on the table and said softly, "I'll leave it here. Please drink it." She turned to go, but he called her name.
"Su Wan."
Shen Yanci turned around. The blood on his face was cleaned away, yet he could not hide his red-rimmed eyes and exhaustion. "Why are you so good to me?" His voice was quiet, lost. "I'm covered in blood. I don't deserve it."
Su Wan looked at him, then stepped forward, pulled a clean handkerchief from her pocket, and gently wiped a streak of blood from behind his ear. "Blood is cold, but the heart is warm," she said softly, like a spring breeze. "You protected everyone. That makes you worthy of being treated well."
Her fingertips were warm. When they touched his skin, a faint current ran through him. Shen Yanci looked into her clear eyes—no fear, no disgust, only pure understanding… and care.
He suddenly reached out and gently took her wrist. It was slender. Through her thin sleeve, he could feel her heartbeat, skittish as a rabbit's, yet she did not pull away.
"Don't be too kind to me," Shen Yanci whispered, almost pleading. "I'm afraid… I'll want more."
Su Wan's face flushed instantly, bright as sunset clouds. She said nothing, only let him hold her, her fingers curling slightly, yet with quiet, unspoken tolerance.
Sunlight streamed through the window, falling over their clasped hands like golden powder. The stench of blood in the air faded, replaced by the aroma of chicken soup… and a quietly growing warmth called bond.
Shen Yanci knew he had finally crossed the line. Yet the moment he held her wrist, he suddenly thought: perhaps having a weakness was not so bad after all. At least in this cold, chaotic world, he had someone he would fight to protect with everything he had.
And that someone, with her gentle warmth, was slowly melting the ice beneath his iron exterior. Making him believe that even with blood on his hands, warmth could still bloom in his heart.