Six years ago, the peace on this continent was shattered by the bugle call of the Gaoyang Kingdom’s army. The ruler of Gaoyang suddenly launched a massive land expansion campaign and, strangely enough, won every battle without fail. Even its neighbor—once on friendly terms with Gaoyang, the Liangqiu Kingdom—could not escape this calamity; countless cities fell one after another.

Three years ago, Emperor Ping Xuan of Liangqiu traveled to the border for negotiations but returned unsuccessful. On his way home, he was assassinated, and ten days later, Crown Princess Gu Yonghuang ascended the throne. Amid this series of upheavals, the people of Liangqiu were in a state of panic, fearing that their country would be destroyed by both internal strife and external aggression. Yet no one could have imagined that the new emperor was actually a brilliant military commander. She insisted on leading the imperial army into battle herself and, relying on the once-terrified Liangqiu soldiers, successfully halted Gaoyang’s invasion.

However, though the war had ended, the former balance and friendship between the two nations were gone forever. Vast tracts of land that had once belonged to Liangqiu now lay under Gaoyang’s rule, a fact that deeply wounded the hearts of every Liangqiu citizen.

Because of the subtle resistance and inner conflict among the people, a city belt known as Wushu gradually emerged between the two countries. Its residents either longed for Liangqiu or held deep ties to Gaoyang, yet all shared the same aversion to war.

Wushu, Xinxiang.

On an autumn afternoon, the air was dry, but the wind was damp and cold. Bright sunlight streamed down, bathing the newly opened shops along the street, prompting a lazy cat to scratch its recently filled belly before drifting back into sleep.

The shop signs were unremarkable—nothing special about the wood, no fancy decorations; such signs were common on the streets.

Yet upon closer inspection, one noticed a layer of dust covering the sign. After all, a sign is the face of a shop, perhaps even one of its most important features. What was the owner of Shuanglin Courtyard thinking?

Amid the bustling street, a striking young master approached Shuanglin Courtyard. He looked about sixteen, with rosy cheeks and lustrous lips. Though still growing, his petite frame perfectly complemented his youthful features, making him utterly adorable. He wore a narrow-sleeved round-collared robe embroidered with faint patterns, but the fabric was poor, clearly indicating a modest family background.

The young master glanced up at the dusty sign, his expression instantly darkening, then strode into the shop.

Beyond the entrance hall lay the main room, which was surprisingly large and airy, with furnishings that were quite peculiar. There were no porcelain decorations whatsoever; along the west wall stood several large shelves lined with jars of various sizes, from teacups to—well, wine barrels. Above them hung a calligraphy piece reading “Clear Sounds Resonate in the Empty Valley,” its brushwork slightly immature but nonetheless displaying a manly strength. To the east, rows of bookshelves packed tightly with books stood neatly in place, exuding an overwhelming sense of authority. And to the north, directly opposite the door, sat an old-fashioned, perhaps even a concubine’s couch, tilted precariously, upon which reclined a similarly tilted figure, leisurely reading a book in hand.

Before the young master had even entered, his voice echoed through the main room: “Qiu Huan, why haven’t you just died of laziness already!” Then he hurried inside, stomping his feet in a fit of indignation.

The person on the couch slowly set down the book, raised her head slightly to glance at the young master, and covered her mouth as she yawned: “Shang Rong, why are you here? And besides, you should be polite to your benefactor—you can’t just call them by name.”

Hearing this, the young master’s previously stern expression softened ever so slightly, only to straighten up again immediately.

“The shop sign is covered in dust, Qiu Fengze. Could you please, from time to time, when you happen to remember, take a moment to clean it?”

Qiu Huan hadn’t expected Shang Rong to storm in in such a furious mood over this trivial matter, and was momentarily taken aback. But she quickly tried to brush it off: “Haha, you know how I am! Besides, I’m a woman—leave the heavy chores to you. I’m sure you’ll do a great job!” She reached out to pat him on the shoulder in encouragement, but since her posture made it awkward, she ended up tapping him on the waist instead.

Shang Rong couldn’t help but laugh and shake her head at Qiu Huan’s attitude: “You still remember you’re a woman? Then stop wandering around dressed like a man all the time, will you? Yesterday, the little sister from the Yao family across the street even came asking if ‘my big brother’ was married!”

“And what did you say?” Qiu Huan was clearly very interested in this, her eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark.

“Thank you for your kindness, miss, but unfortunately ‘my big brother’ is already engaged!” she replied sharply.

“Pfft.” Qiu Huan rolled her eyes and reverted to her usual bored expression.

Speaking of Qiu Fengze, the owner of Shuanglin Courtyard, she has indeed become a hot topic in Xinxiang lately. She stands tall and slender, often dressed in white, radiating an elegant and dashing charm. Her features are exceptionally handsome—high nose bridge, finely drawn eyebrows and eyes, with phoenix-like eyes whose corners curve ever so slightly upward. When she smiles, her expression is incredibly gentle; even when she’s not smiling, her languid demeanor is irresistibly captivating, stirring the hearts of the local young ladies. Yet no one would have guessed that this handsome figure is actually a woman.

Seeing that Shang Rong had lost interest again, she didn’t know what else to say. Half a year ago, Shang Rong had saved her from being robbed, and out of gratitude, he had followed her ever since. Over the past six months, he’d come to understand her temperament quite well: she was often listless and indifferent, wearing men’s clothes simply for fun—three days as a man, two days as a woman—that was perfectly normal for her.

Meanwhile, as Qiu Huan and Shang Rong were locked in a staring contest, a customer walked in, clearly puzzled by their exchange, and spoke hesitantly: “Excuse me… do you sell jam here?”

By the way, despite its literary-sounding name, Shuanglin Courtyard doesn’t deal in the Four Treasures of the Study or precious jewelry and jade—it specializes in selling nothing more than humble jams and fruit wines, a rather unusual business.

End of Chapter 1: Wanran and Ling