The stench of blood from the pier skirmish lingered in the wind of Fengtian City for a long time before it finally dispersed. Shen Yanci's name became one that inspired both awe and fear on every street corner. People called him a born military genius—his marksmanship peerless, his strikes swift as lightning. Yet they also said his temperament was cold as eternal ice, his eyes filled only with slaughter, not warmth.
By the time these whispers reached the Military Governor's Mansion, Shen Yanci was in his study reading a military treatise. Sunlight filtered through the lattice window onto the pages, casting light on his delicate yet stern profile. His eyelashes threw a faint shadow beneath his eyes, veiling the complex emotions swirling in his gaze.
"Young Master, folks out there are calling you the 'Handsome Yama'," Uncle Fu said as he carried in a cup of tea. He eyed the un-dried sweat at Shen Yanci's temples—he had just returned from the drill ground, still carrying a faint scent of gunpowder. "They say at your young age, your methods are even sharper than the Governor's."
Shen Yanci turned a page, his voice flat and unchanging. "Let them talk."
He cared not for how others saw him. Whether "Handsome Yama" or "cold-blooded slayer", such titles were nothing more than armor for surviving this chaotic world. Yet occasionally, when his finger brushed the character for benevolence on the page, he would think of Su Wan's clear eyes, and the warmth of her fingertips as she had gripped his wrist.
That faint warmth was like a fine needle, easily piercing his tough armor and pricking his heart until it ached.
"Oh, and Miss Su is in the kitchen," Uncle Fu set down the teacup, his tone laced with cautious probing. "She said she's simmering pork rib soup for you, with angelica and wolfberry to nourish your qi and blood."
Shen Yanci's page-turning paused. He did not reply, but his gaze drifted involuntarily toward the window. In the direction of the east wing, the branches of the crabapple tree were faintly visible, its pink-and-white petals falling softly, like a silent snowfall.
In the end, he closed the book and rose to walk toward the kitchen. His steps were unhurried, yet carried a certainty even he did not notice—he knew she would be waiting for him.
In front of the kitchen stove, Su Wan stood on tiptoe, sprinkling some seasoning into the clay pot. A faint smudge of ash marked her light green linen dress, and the firelight flushed her cheeks soft pink, like warm rouge. Hearing footsteps, she turned around. When she saw it was Shen Yanci, her eyes lit up instantly, as if starlight had fallen into them.
"You're here." She wiped her hands with a smile, still holding a soup ladle. "The soup will be ready soon. Another quarter-hour, and the herbs will steep fully into the broth."
Shen Yanci lingered in the doorway, watching her busy figure. The kitchen's warm cooking smoke curled around her, softening her outline yet making her seem more vivid than usual—like a painting steeped in warm water. He suddenly thought this homely warmth smelled better than gunpowder from the drill ground, and more comforting than the ink fragrance in his study.
"You don't have to keep making things like this for me," he spoke, his voice softer than usual. "I lack for nothing in nourishment."
"It's not the same," Su Wan filled a bowl of freshly stewed white fungus soup and handed it to him, steam curling upward. "This is made by my own hand, with care. You're always out fighting—you need to build up your strength."
Her tone was natural, as if speaking of the most ordinary thing, yet it made Shen Yanci's heart jolt violently. The words with care fell like a stone into his heart's lake, sending ripples spreading outward, warming him to his very bones.
He took the bowl, his fingertips brushing hers—warm from the stove. "Thank you," he murmured. He scooped a spoonful into his mouth; the sweet, clear flavor melted on his tongue, mixed with the softness of lotus seeds, soothing his tight chest.
"Is it good?" Su Wan looked up at him with wide eyes, like a child waiting for praise.
Shen Yanci nodded, saying nothing, yet drinking faster than usual. He could feel her gaze on his face—curious, yet cautiously concerned, like a small beast afraid to startle him.
"At the pier… is everything over now?" She hesitated a long while before asking softly, "Auntie told me it was very dangerous."
Shen Yanci's spoon paused. He lifted his eyes to her. There was no fear in her gaze, only pure worry, as if fearing for a neighbor's boy late coming home. "It's over," he said simply, omitting all blood and corpses. "Everything has been dealt with."
"That's a relief." Su Wan let out a breath, a genuine smile blooming on her face. "I knew you'd come back safe."
Shen Yanci stared at her smile, and suddenly felt that the meaning of fighting through storms of bullets was not only for the Shen family, for his father—but also to keep this smile shining brightly.
He set down the empty bowl and turned to leave. As he reached the door, he heard Su Wan call after him: "I'll send the soup to your study when it's done. Make sure you drink it while it's hot."
"Mm," he answered, his steps lighter now, as if a thousand-pound burden had been lifted.
Shen Xiaoshan seemed to turn a blind eye to the growing closeness between Shen Yanci and Su Wan.
He remained as strict as ever—daily drills, copying texts, and military discussions never slackened. Yet occasionally at the dinner table, when he watched Su Wan place food onto Shen Yanci's plate, the corner of his mouth would twitch upward almost imperceptibly, as if eternal ice had finally cracked open a seam.
That afternoon, Shen Xiaoshan sent Shen Yanci to deliver a new shipment of firearms to the garrison outside the city. Before his departure, he watched Shen Yanci inspect the guns and said abruptly: "Be careful on the road. I hear remnants of Brigade Commander Feng are still roaming outside the city."
"Yes," Shen Yanci placed the last gun into the case, his voice steady. "This son will be cautious."
"Take this." Shen Xiaoshan pulled a small Browning pistol from his desk drawer. Its body inlaid with tiny gemstones glinted softly in the sun. "This was your mother's, for my self-defense back then. Small, easy to carry."
Shen Yanci's finger touched the gun's cold metal surface, as if it still held the faint warmth of his mother. He looked up at his father; Shen Xiaoshan's gaze drifted, as if looking through him at someone else. "Keep it," his voice grew hoarse. "Protect yourself… and also… protect those you ought to protect."
The last words were spoken softly, yet struck Shen Yanci's heart like a heavy hammer. He gripped the pistol tightly and murmured: "This son understands."
As he walked out of the main hall, Su Wan was standing under the corridor holding a cloth bundle. When she saw him, she hurried over. "Shen Yanci, I packed some food for your trip."
Inside the bundle were several pieces of beef jerky wrapped in oil paper, plus a small bag of almonds—things that kept well and staved off hunger. "You might run into danger on the road. Eat more meat to keep your strength up." Her tone carried the tone of someone seeing off a traveling family member. "And this."
She pulled a small peace talisman from her pocket, tied with a red string, stitched with a lopsided character for safety. "I got this for you. It keeps you safe. Carry it with you."
Shen Yanci stared at the talisman. The bright red string stung his eyes, making them prickle. He took the bundle and talisman, tucking the latter carefully into his inner pocket—where he also kept the candy wrapper from the orange drop she had given him before, worn thin from constant rubbing.
"I'm leaving," he said, his voice slightly hoarse.
"Mm. Come back soon." Su Wan looked at him, her eyes glistening like water. "I'll make your favorite sesame rice cakes and wait for you."
Shen Yanci said no more, turning to leave with his guard unit. Sunlight fell over him, stretching his shadow long. The peace talisman pressed against his chest, warm as a tiny sun tucked inside his clothes.
He knew exactly who his father had meant by those you ought to protect.
The journey to deliver the guns was far from peaceful.
No sooner had they left Fengtian City's borders than they encountered remnants of Brigade Commander Feng's men. Around thirty in total, mounted on horses and armed with guns—clearly lying in wait.
"Young Master, what do we do?" The guard captain reined in his horse, his face pale. The enemy outnumbered them, and they were on an open official road with nowhere to hide.
Shen Yanci's gaze turned icy in an instant, sharp as a blade tempered in frost. He touched the pistol at his waist, then pressed the peace talisman in his inner pocket, his voice steady as a mountain: "Don't be afraid. Charge with me."
He spurred his horse forward first, his rifle shooting accurately at the leader's mount. The man screamed and fell, throwing the bandits into disarray. Seeing this, the guards charged after him. Gunfire erupted across the wilderness, scattering flocks of birds in alarm.
Shen Yanci's marksmanship remained ruthless and precise. Every bullet found its mark, aimed straight for vital spots. He moved like a black bolt of lightning, weaving through the horses. When his rifle ran out of bullets, he drew the Browning his father had given him. The small gun was deadly in his hands, one shot, one kill, no hesitation.
In the thick of battle, a stray bullet grazed his cheek, tearing a streak of blood. He paid it no mind, simply turning to shoot the gunman off his horse. The smell of blood mixed with dust filled his nose, yet it only sharpened his clarity—he could not die. He still had to go back and eat the sesame rice cakes Su Wan had made for him.
Half an hour later, the fighting ended. Bodies and dead horses littered the official road, blood flowing like a red serpent. Shen Yanci's military boots squelched in the pooling blood. Sweat mixed with grime dripped down his bloodstained face, yet his eyes blazed bright.
"Count our men and clean up the battlefield," he told the captain, his voice hoarse but carrying unshakable authority.
When inspecting the guns, he found the crate of new rifles unharmed and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. As he turned, he suddenly spotted a dark figure twitch in the grass not far away. Shen Yanci's eyes hardened, and he raised his gun to fire.
Bang!
The bullet hit the ground at the figure's feet, kicking up dust. The person screamed and rolled out—a boy in coarse cloth, no older than thirteen or fourteen, clutching a rusted knife.
"Don't kill me! Don't kill me!" The boy trembled violently, kneeling and kowtowing repeatedly. "I didn't mean it! They forced me! I just wanted to live…"
Shen Yanci's finger rested on the trigger. One light squeeze, and this potential threat would be gone forever. That was his rule on the battlefield—never leave survivors, to avoid future trouble. But as he looked into the boy's terrified eyes, he suddenly thought of himself as a child—living cautiously under his father's strictness, afraid to speak a wrong word or make a wrong move.
His finger loosened. In the end, he lowered his gun. "Get out of here," he said coldly. "Don't show yourself here again."
The boy froze, seemingly unable to believe he was spared. Then he scrambled away on hands and knees, vanishing quickly into the distant woods.
The captain approached, confused. "Young Master, letting a tiger return to the mountains…"
"He's just a child," Shen Yanci cut him off, his voice flat yet unwavering. "In this chaotic world, everyone just wants to live."
He turned and walked back. Sunlight fell over his bloodstained figure, stretching it long. He suddenly realized he was no longer just the slaughtering "Handsome Yama". Su Wan's gentleness was like spring rain, moistening things silently, causing the frozen soil in his heart to sprout tiny green shoots.
By the time he returned to the Military Governor's Mansion, dusk had fallen.
Instead of first seeing his father, Shen Yanci headed straight for his own courtyard. As he reached the gate, he saw Su Wan standing under the corridor holding a food container. She had clearly waited a long time; a thin layer of night dew had settled on the stone slabs beneath her feet.
"You're back!" Her eyes lit up instantly like lamps in the dark night. She hurried over, looking him up and down. "Are you all right? Did you get hurt?"
Her gaze fell on the cut on his cheek, and tears immediately welled in her eyes. She reached out to touch it, yet feared hurting him, her fingertips hovering mid-air, trembling slightly.
"Just a scratch." Shen Yanci took her wrist. Her hands were cold, having stood too long in the corridor. "Don't worry."
His palm was warm, carrying the faint scent of gunpowder and blood, yet it calmed Su Wan inexplicably. She sniffled, holding back her tears, and held out the food container. "The rice cakes are still warm. I kept them heated on the stove. Try some quickly."
Shen Yanci took the container and opened it. Inside were several sesame rice cakes, covered in thick sesame seeds, their aroma rich and inviting. He picked one up and bit into it. The soft, glutinous cake carried the nutty fragrance of sesame, perfectly sweet—just like her smile, soothing his tight chest.
"Is it good?" Su Wan looked at him, and the tears in her eyes finally spilled over, falling like broken pearls.
Shen Yanci lifted his hand, awkwardly brushing the tears from her cheek with his thumb. Her skin was soft, like fine silk, cool and damp. "It's good," he said softly, with a tenderness he did not recognize. "Don't wait this late again. You'll catch cold."
Su Wan's face flushed instantly, pink as clouds dyed by the setting sun. She lowered her head, her voice barely a whisper: "I… I was worried about you."
Shen Yanci's heart felt full—warm, swollen. He stared at her reddened earlobe, her fingers twisting the hem of her dress, the unshed tears in her eyes, and suddenly thought all the slaughter, all the bloodshed, had been worth it.
He stretched out his arm and gently pulled her into his embrace.
Su Wan's body froze completely, as if spellbound, her breath catching. His chest was firm, carrying a faint gunpowder scent, yet incredibly warm—making her want to lean closer without thinking.
"Su Wan," Shen Yanci's voice sounded above her head, slightly hoarse. "From now on, I'll protect you."
Su Wan said nothing, only buried her face in his chest and nodded gently. Yet her tears flowed even faster, as if pouring out all the worry and fear of these days.
Night wind blew, crabapple petals falling softly around them, covering the pair like gentle rain. Inside the main hall in the distance, Shen Xiaoshan stood by the window, watching the embracing figures under the west courtyard corridor. The teacup in his hand trembled slightly, a drop of tea spilling onto his aged hand, burning him into a small flinch.
He was growing old, after all. And his son had grown up—found someone he wanted to guard, and gained the strength to do so.
Perhaps this was what Wanqing would have wanted to see: watching her child find his own warmth, no longer living his whole life in cold bloodshed as he had.
Shen Xiaoshan set down the teacup and turned toward the inner chamber. His back looked slightly stooped in the candlelight, yet carried a relieved lightness.
The two still held each other under the corridor, moonlight draping over them like silver gauze. Shen Yanci looked down at the woman in his arms, breathing in the crabapple blossom scent in her hair, and suddenly thought that even in this cold, chaotic world, because of her, it was worth looking forward to.
His guarded heart, at this moment, crumbled completely. And the quietly growing tide of passion surged violently, threatening to drown him entirely.
He knew that from this moment on, he was no longer alone. Beneath his armor, he had a soft weakness worth protecting; within his iron blood, a warmth worth cherishing.
And this warmth would be his strongest armor in this chaotic world—and his softest home.