After all, it was a misplaced devotion.

How should a love story be written? What methods should be used to portray the entanglements of love and hate between characters, and their undying devotion?

In romance tales prior to the Tang Dynasty, authors rarely exerted effort in describing how the protagonists fell in love or how their feelings evolved. Instead, they relied on external obstacles to highlight the bond between the two individuals.

For example, in *Southeast Fly the Peacocks*, the obstacle facing a married couple was the male protagonist's mother, whose interference led to a forced separation and ultimately their tragic, simultaneous deaths.

In the yet-unwritten *Butterfly Lovers*, it superficially appears that a class disparity caused the couple's social incompatibility, preventing them from uniting; but in the final analysis, the root cause was still parental opposition.

Even in mythological legends such as the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl, the trope was manifested in the same way.

It is easy to imagine that parents equaling obstacles is quite common in contemporary love stories—so much so that it has become standard configuration. Very few people spend meticulous ink on depicting how the two protagonists came to know each other and what transpired between them.

Influenced by the mature writing techniques of modern romance novels, Xu Chengyue provided a detailed description of the emotions between the hero and heroine when designing her plot, vividly portraying the emotional tug-of-war between them.

Furthermore, she rarely used external obstacles, relying almost entirely on the internal conflicts between the two protagonists.

In particular, the chosen themes naturally possessed conflict and drama, allowing the plotlines revolving around the main thread to flow effortlessly from her fingertips.

She drafted the outline in a flash.

No sooner had she finished the outline than Xia He sneaked over, hesitating and shuffling her feet.

Feigning casualness, she asked, "Young Mistress, what is this new story about?"

"Guess?" Xu Chengyue blinked with a mischievous twinkle, deliberately withholding the answer.

"You are wicked, Young Mistress, deliberately making fun of this maid," Xia He pouted coquettishly.

Normally a straightforward person who detested pretense, she had abandoned all pride just to satisfy her curiosity.

Shaking off the goosebumps on her arms, Xu Chengyue replied, "Alright, I yield to you. It's basically a love story about her chasing him, him fleeing, and neither of them being able to escape."

It would have been better had she remained silent, but her explanation only left Xia He more bewildered. "What chase, what flee, what unable to escape?"

"It's a bit complicated and perhaps hard to understand. You'll know once I finish writing it." Xu Chengyue feigned deep thought, though she was inwardly convulsed with amusement.

She had no idea where her perverse penchant for teasing others came from.

Could it be that she was inherently a troublemaker at heart?

***

If one were to ask who was the happiest person after Xu Chengyue published a new book, it was undoubtedly her readership.

Everyone rejoiced, calling upon friends and companions to purchase copies, relying on this morsel of "sustenance" to get through the bitter winter months.

Those waiting in line outside the bookstore whispered among themselves in the crowd.

"What kind of work do you suppose Master Yueming has written this time? What sort of story is it?"

"How could I possibly guess? If it were the old days, I might have expected another palace scandal, but since Master Yueming wrote about a village girl last time, I truly cannot guess this time."

"Speaking of which, I still feel rather regretful about the ending of the last book. That eldest young master of the Han family seemed like a fine man; why didn't she accept him? Is wandering outside as a cook really more appealing than becoming the mistress of a prominent clan?"

"Indeed, I find it a pity too. Had she married the eldest Han young master, she would have flown up to the branches and become a phoenix long ago."

As soon as these words were spoken, they immediately drew agreement from the surrounding crowd.

This phenomenon was hardly surprising because, at present, the chasm between aristocratic families and commoners was like a natural moat. One's birth basically determined their entire life, and the sole channel for upward mobility relied on the imperial examinations.

However, studying for the imperial examinations required many years of schooling—something ordinary families simply could not afford. Moreover, numerous knowledge classics were monopolized by great aristocratic clans, making it extremely difficult for ordinary people to rise.

Even with supreme talent and the capability to become an official through the exams, thus elevating one's family status, officials of humble origins still suffered cold glares and ridicule from the aristocracy.

Therefore, Wang Lianhui's forfeiture of the opportunity to ascend social strata was incomprehensible to the crowd. They could not fathom her ideals and pursuits; leading lives dominated by the daily necessities of firewood, rice, oil, and salt, they possessed no concept of "ideals."

Naturally, one could not entirely blame them. Constrained by the development of the era and the monopoly on knowledge which prevented its external circulation, it was extremely difficult for the thoughts of the common folk to be enlightened under such circumstances.

Ideals could only exist in the mouths of the upper nobility, who recited sorrowful poems and odes with affected melancholy.

"You lot are worrying over matters that are none of your concern! She was doing wonderfully whether she married or not, and she even left her name in history. How many people yearn for that and never attain it!"

"Leaving one's name in history is illusory; living well oneself is what's real. As the saying goes, 'As a person drinks water, only they know whether it is cold or hot'?"

The group waiting in line began to argue over this topic.

Seeing that the queue had slowly inched forward to the entrance of the bookstore, they finally ceased their bickering.

***

The Duke of Zheng leaned lazily against his armrest, a lumbar pillow he had looted from his daughter, Zheng Sanniang, propped behind his waist. Beside the books on his desk sat a cup of fragrant tea.

One had to admit, this little girl Sanniang truly knew how to enjoy life.

Once he assumed the posture, the feeling was entirely different—at least he no longer suffered from lower back pain after sitting for half the day, as he used to.

He instructed his servants, "All of you withdraw, and do not let anyone enter to disturb me."

This, too, was a trick his daughter had taught him, claiming that one attained a much greater sense of immersion when reading alone.

The Duke of Zheng was generally a rough military man, yet his daughter read with far more refinement and sophistication than he, so he gladly accepted her suggestion.

He inspected the cover of the book. Previously, it bore only a few large characters, but this time it was somewhat more elaborate, complete with a background illustration.

The picture depicted a frontier pass.

City walls and strategic passes stretched continuously, battle flags fluttering in the wind upon beacon towers, and sand dunes winding into undulating arcs.

This was a scene the Duke of Zheng knew intimately! In his youth, he had been a general who fought across battlefields.

Could this book be a story about warfare?

Goodness gracious, it had actually ventured into his own professional territory.

The Duke of Zheng perked up, preparing to see whether this young man—no, young mistress—possessed any real skill.

If she made any errors or omissions, upholding an elder's attitude and considering her friendship with Sanniang, he would be quite happy to offer a few words of guidance.

The Duke of Zheng shifted his gaze to the text beside the illustration, which displayed the title: *Ultimately Mistaken Affection*.

Abrupt and devoid of context, what did that mean? The little girl was undoubtedly uttering clever nonsense again, though it seemed somewhat more serious than her previous book titles.

Ignoring the title, the Duke of Zheng opened to the frontispiece.

The opening page did not contain the main text; instead, a striking line of characters was inscribed squarely in the center.

——Readers of this book are advised to prepare their own handkerchiefs. Those suffering from cardiopulmonary ailments should read with caution.

Bizarre. What need was there for handkerchiefs? Was one forbidden to read a book simply because they were ill?

The Duke of Zheng turned the page and finally encountered the text.

The opening passage described a vast, snowy expanse beyond the frontier, mountain forests blanketed by heavy snow.

Then, a human figure appeared amidst the snow—a scholar carrying a bamboo crate.

The scholar, named Jiang Hexian, had ventured into the snowy wilderness to gather medicinal herbs for his critically ill father.

He walked with arduous steps, struggling through the deep snow.

Finally reaching his destination, he breathed a sigh of relief, found a tree branch, brushed away the snow on the ground, and searched for the herbs he desired.

Although the physician had warned that bitter winter conditions might prevent the herbs from growing, their family lacked surplus funds to purchase medicine, and he refused to surrender to despair, leaving him with no other choice.

The Duke of Zheng nodded in approval of his actions; he was a filial young man.

——Walking slowly, he suddenly heard the sounds of swords clashing echoing from ahead.

Ordinarily, he should have given the place a wide berth, but curiosity got the better of him, and he stealthily crept forward to look. At that moment, he had no inkling that this single glance would upend the rest of his life, leaving him with a mix of remorse and gratitude in the days to come.

How would it upend his life? Why remorse and gratitude? What had he seen?

The Duke of Zheng's curiosity was piqued as well.

——It was a young woman practicing swordsmanship in the snow. Her brows and eyes were stern, her expression cold and desolate, and she swung the sword in her hand without a trace of emotion.

The momentum of her blade was fiercely sharp, whipping up flurries of dancing snow from the ground.

Her movements were exceptionally swift, like an elf of the snow, yet every sword technique she executed carried a murderous intent. Jiang Hexian harbored no doubt that she could take a person's life in an instant.

Although the novel did not specifically describe the sword techniques or precise forms used by the woman, the atmosphere evoked through indirect portrayal left the Duke of Zheng thoroughly engrossed, making him yearn to shout out in praise.

In the past, he had wanted to train his daughter, Zheng Sanniang, into a Hua Mulan who could take her father's place in the military and become a female general of the Great Tang, so he had taught her martial arts from childhood.

Yet she—though not exactly delicate—would squat in a horse stance that looked quite authentic, but her limbs lacked coordination, stabbing herself first with her small wooden sword and tangling herself in a whip when she tried to use one.

After Zheng Sanniang suffered a few injuries, the Duke of Zheng was roundly scolded by his wife, causing him to beat a retreat and abandon the notion of a father-daughter duo marching off to war together.

There was no one to carry on his legacy! The Duke of Zheng sighed.

The sons of the Zheng family: *So I suppose we don't count as people...*

——Having finished her sword routine, the woman stood rigidly in the center of the snow-covered ground, only to collapse suddenly without warning.

Startled, Jiang Hexian rushed forward to check her breath; fortunately, she was still breathing.

He called out, "Lady, are you well?"

There was no response. Just as he prepared to reach for her arm and carry her out of the snow to find a physician, a chilling sensation grazed the side of his neck—a sword was pressed against his throat.

Ah, do not misunderstand! The fellow meant well; by all means, do not take his life!

The Duke of Zheng felt a surge of anxiety for Jiang Hexian's predicament.

——Su Qishan had long been aware that someone was spying on her, but sensing that the intruder posed no threat, she had not made a fuss.

It was simply that his meddling had disturbed the fleeting peace she sought to find in the snow.

Slowly opening her eyes, she intended to order this fellow to get lost immediately, but the face that met her gaze left her speechless.

Surprise immediately surfaced in her eyes, only to vanish the instant he spoke again, replaced by a bleak expression.

What was happening? Was it because this young man possessed a handsome face yet a grating voice? That couldn't be right; the book clearly stated his voice was like flowing mountain springs or colliding jade.

The Duke of Zheng pondered deeply, utterly failing to comprehend why the young woman's expression had shifted twice.

——Stammering, Jiang Hexian explained that he harbored no improper intentions, and had only approached to investigate upon seeing her suddenly collapse to the ground.

He had thought that once he made things clear, he could take his leave, but instead the young woman said, "Come to my estate and be my political strategist."

What kind of strategist could a young woman's estate possibly need, especially since she had not even tested his abilities? To put it bluntly, this statement was an invitation to become her kept male companion.

He had heard that many powerful noblewomen engaged in such practices, but he had never expected it to fall upon him one day.