Chapter 27
Chapter 27
Si Yan’s breathing was hopelessly unsteady. His gaze heated her cheeks until even the bases of her ears were scarlet.
She could no longer bear eyes so frank and burning.
Any longer, and she would melt beneath them.
Closing her eyes as though conceding defeat, she buried her face deep against his neck.
When her nose brushed his skin, she distinctly felt his throat move.
“Qingqing.” His voice was low and hoarse, its lingering last note seductive.
She drew several deep breaths, trying to calm herself before answering.
She had seen his methods in her dream, experienced them too, yet when it came to reality, she was still terribly nervous.
Jiang Youze lowered his eyes to her profile.
His back blocked most of the candlelight, leaving only a soft, fuzzy edge of light around her ear.
Her lashes trembled fiercely. Her breath fell into the hollow of his neck, warming and dampening the skin.
“If you’re truly afraid, we won’t go on.”
Si Yan said nothing. She only buried her face more deeply against his neck.
Her small hand quietly caught his robe, giving her answer without words.
Jiang Youze understood everything in her heart at once.
He gathered her closer, locked her in his arms, and rested his chin on her head.
He had imagined this before. Dreamed of it several times too.
The scenes in those dreams had always been indistinct and burning, impossible to see clearly, as though through mist.
But the sweetness of this moment was real, so real it set his heart alight.
He lowered his gaze and quietly watched the young woman in his arms.
Her brows drew together slightly. Her quick breaths brushed his Adam’s apple with soft warmth.
Merely this…
And she could not bear it?
Yet what he wanted… went far beyond this.
“Qingqing…”
His gentle voice, wrapped in burning affection, slipped through her ear into her heart.
She lifted her head from his neck and looked at him through tear-blurred eyes, murmuring a single indistinct word.
In the past, when she secretly held his hand, she had only ever held two of his fingers.
At the sight of her so endearingly vulnerable, Jiang Youze’s last shred of reason collapsed.
His voice held tenderness, but also a stubbornness that would not yield.
“Be good, Qingqing. Don’t be afraid.”
All the love and obsession he had restrained for years broke free at this moment.
A faint scent of sweat and rose essence filled the air, mingling into something addictive.
The candles burned quietly on their stand, their wicks occasionally crackling, tears of wax running down their sides.
Buried in his arms, Si Yan could think of nothing at all.
Beside her ear, his heart beat fast and hard. Something within it was growing madly.
Only Jiang Youze knew what it was.
Possessiveness. Satisfaction. The certainty that from now on, this person belonged only to him.
He let it drown him completely, then poured it into her as though possessed.
By the time the room fell utterly quiet, the moon had moved from the east side of the window lattice to the west.
Si Yan’s eyes were half closed, unwiped tears clinging to her lashes. She could no longer hold on to the slightest wakefulness.
Just as her lids were about to fall shut, fingertips gleaming in the candlelight passed through her vision.
His dark, deep eyes narrowed. A satisfied curve lifted his lips as he lightly kissed the warm, damp fingertips.
A weak nasal sound escaped her. She wanted to open her mouth and curse him.
Bastard!
Scoundrel!
Was this all a Eunuch Secretary of the Directorate of Ceremonial aspired to?
But she was too tired. Before she could speak, darkness swallowed her completely.
Just then, the candle burned out too. Jiang Youze turned his head slightly toward the stand.
His brow creased. Undisguised displeasure crossed his face.
It had burned down far too quickly.
Ruining the mood. Next time, he would have to replace it with a bigger candle.
He gently drew his numbed arm from beneath her neck, sat up, and rolled his shoulders twice.
Looking at the night outside, he saw that it was only the fourth watch. Dawn was still some way off.
His gaze left the window and returned to the person on the bed.
Her hair lay across half the pillow in a black spill, a few strands clinging to the corner of her mouth.
He brushed them aside, his fingertips passing over her cheek.
Very well.
The night was long. There was no need to sleep.
The next day, a knock woke Si Yan.
“Miss Si? Miss Si?”
That was not Jihe’s voice. It sounded like Cuiwei, Xue Yushu’s personal maid.
She squinted toward the daylight outside. A bad feeling rose in her heart.
She had overslept.
Not by a little. Outrageously late.
Then she heard Jihe hurrying to open the door and speaking with Cuiwei.
“Her Highness sent me to ask whether Miss Si is unwell. Why hasn’t she come to lessons?”
Frantic inside but reasonably composed on the surface, Jihe found an excuse to put her off.
After Cuiwei left, she knocked on the main room’s door, panic undisguised in her voice.
“Miss, are you awake?”
Si Yan pushed herself upright, ignored the discomfort in her body, and put on the underbodice from beside the bed.
As she fastened the ties behind her, they rubbed painfully against her skin. She silently cursed that bastard.
She put on her inner robe, got out of bed, and opened the door.
Jihe stood outside with a copper basin. Her outer robe’s ties were crooked, and her hair was only half combed.
Plainly, she had only just risen too.
She carried the basin inside with her head lowered, not daring to meet her mistress’s eyes.
Si Yan sat at the dressing table, wrung out a cloth herself, and laid it on her face, watching Jihe in the bronze mirror.
“How did you sleep so soundly?”
If she remembered rightly, this girl was usually a light sleeper.
Holding a comb, Jihe began to do her hair. Her cheeks reddened again, and she stammered for a long while.
“I… put cotton in my ears last night…”
Cotton?
Puzzled, Si Yan met Jihe’s eyes in the mirror. The maid looked ready to cry with embarrassment.
Remembering the utterly uncontrolled sounds she herself had made last night, Si Yan blushed too.
She tossed the cloth into the copper basin, splashing a few drops over the dressing table.
She coughed several times, unable to hide the awkwardness and shame in her voice.
“All right. Hurry and get me ready.”
As though pardoned, Jihe quickly lowered her head and concentrated on her mistress’s hair, not daring another word.
By the time they were ready and reached Yaohua Hall, they were nearly an hour late.
Xue Yushu sat in the seat of honor, looking displeased.
Shen Mingzhu watched as though anticipating a show. “What grand airs you’re putting on today, Miss Si.”
Ignoring her, Si Yan bowed properly, a courteous smile on her face.
“I caught a chill last night and rose a little late this morning. Please forgive me, Your Highness.”
Her voice was slightly hoarse, and tiredness lingered on her face. She did look ill.
Xue Yushu’s cold gaze traveled over her face.
It made Si Yan uneasy, but her smile did not shift.
She did not know whether Xue Yushu truly believed her or was considering something else.
“If you’re unwell, sit down.”
Xue Yushu looked away, covered her nose with her handkerchief, and waved her to her seat.
The female official gave no lecture that day. Instead, she asked each of them to compose a seven-character quatrain on the theme “Spring’s Return.”
She said the poems would be presented to the Upper Study for His Majesty to read, to assess the study companions’ talent.
At those words, the atmosphere in the hall changed subtly.
Shen Mingzhu set down her round fan. A smile spread from her lips to the corners of her eyes.
Zhao Huaining was rather nervous, twisting her handkerchief twice.
But after looking at Shen Mingzhu’s expression, she secretly relaxed again.
Song Qingyi and Liu Xiyue exchanged a look, both nervous and expectant.
This was their first chance to distinguish themselves since entering the palace. None wanted to miss it.
Seated by the window, Si Yan held her brush and wrote the two characters for “Spring’s Return” on the paper.
She stared at them for several breaths, dissatisfied with the way she had written “return.”
Jiang Youze would certainly have written that character better.
Even the emperor had praised his calligraphy. The Grand Secretariat’s draft decisions passed through his hands for endorsement in red ink.
She briefly closed her eyes, drew several deep breaths, then opened them and began to write.
One after another, the women finished and gave their work to the female official.
Si Yan thought she would be last, but Zhao Huaining was slower still.
Only as the incense burned to its end did she hurriedly put down her brush. She was flustered as she rose to submit her poem.
Turning, she knocked the ruler off the official’s desk and nearly cried with fright.
The official frowned but said nothing, only waving her back to her seat.
Zhao Huaining retreated, red-faced. Passing Xue Yushu, she gave a slight nod.
Once Si Yan had handed over her poem, she thought no more of it. She took Jihe through the Imperial Garden toward Haitang Courtyard.
The warm early-summer breeze brushed her face with the scent of flowers, making her sleepier still.
She would have to take a nap when she got back.
After everyone left, the female official carefully arranged the poems and sent them to the Grand Secretariat.
Blue smoke curled from a bronze brazier beneath the eaves. In the duty room, memorials were stacked half a person’s height on the desks.
Several ministers sat before them, heads bent over the documents delivered that day.
Occasionally, someone exchanged a few quiet words before silence returned.
A knock came at the door to the inner room. A palace eunuch stood there holding a brocade box.
“My lord, these are poems sent from the Fifth Princess’s quarters, for your inspection.”
The Senior Grand Secretary’s grizzled brows drew together. His lips moved.
Before he could speak, the man beside him spoke first.
“Poems?” Jiang Youze leaned against the back of his chair and tapped the table, his voice cool.
“Since when has the Grand Secretariat concerned itself with the princess’s affairs?”
The Senior Grand Secretary was wondering the same thing.
Ordinarily, such matters went directly to the Imperial Clan Court or the Directorate of Ceremonial.
They should never have been sent to the Grand Secretariat.
Holding the brocade box at the door, the eunuch bent at the waist and dared not raise his head. Fine beads of sweat appeared at his temples.
“It… It was Her Highness herself who ordered them brought here.”
Jiang Youze’s tapping finger paused.
The Senior Grand Secretary glanced at his expression, stroked his beard, and told the eunuch to come in.
“Put it on the table.”
As though granted a pardon, the eunuch set down the box and respectfully withdrew.