Chapter 29
Chapter 29
Once only their own people remained in the hall, Xue Yushu could no longer restrain her anger.
She flung aside her round fan and swept the teacup off the table with a violent motion.
“Zhao Huaining, that idiot!”
Shen Mingzhu flinched, cold sweat beading her forehead.
The fingers gripping the chair back trembled, her nails digging into the gaps of its red sandalwood carving.
“Cousin, what do we do now? Will they name us…”
“Shut up!” Xue Yushu whipped her head around, her gaze cutting like a knife.
“Would any of this have happened if not for your rotten idea?”
Under that stare, a chill ran down Shen Mingzhu’s back. Her lips trembled twice. She swallowed whatever she had meant to say.
Xue Yushu looked away, drew a deep breath, and raised a hand to smooth her hair.
“Go back first. I’ll see my mother.”
Taking a palace maid’s hand, she headed out. Passing Shen Mingzhu, she paused.
“Remember. From this moment on, you know nothing.”
Shen Mingzhu nodded. Her legs were so weak she could barely stand. Only after a long while did she let her maid help her leave.
Meanwhile, Si Yan had returned to Haitang Courtyard.
Jihe carefully put away the rewards, excitement never leaving her face.
“Miss, what poem did you write? Even His Majesty praised it. I’d love to hear it too.”
Yes, Si Yan would also like to know what poem she had “written” to earn the emperor’s praise.
Knock, knock, knock.
Someone was at the courtyard gate.
Jihe ran to open it. Xiao Fuzi stood outside with yet another food carrier.
“Miss Si, His Excellency said you’ve had a fright today and sent me with a bowl of calming soup.”
Si Yan rose from the daybed and sat at the table. Taking the bowl from Jihe, she drank a mouthful.
Xiao Fuzi stood in the doorway, scratching the back of his head, his round face red.
“His Excellency also said he might come a little late tonight. If you’re sleepy, go to bed first. Don’t wait for him.”
Si Yan choked abruptly, coughing several times. The bases of her ears flamed.
What outrageous words!
How could he have the nerve to make a teenage boy deliver that message?
He might not be embarrassed, but she certainly was!
“Well… I’ll take my leave!”
Xiao Fuzi fled as soon as he spoke, even forgetting to shut the courtyard gate.
Jihe hurried out to bolt it. By the time she returned, she had composed her expression.
After nightfall, Si Yan left the window open as usual, changed into her nightclothes, and reclined on the daybed to wait.
She waited until deep into the night.
Her eyelids grew heavier. In the end, she did not even know when the candle went out.
Half asleep, she sensed light through her eyelids.
Then an arm slipped around her waist from behind.
A familiar presence, carrying the chill of night dew, gathered her entirely into his embrace.
Si Yan nestled against him, pressing her cheek to his chest.
Her voice was thick with sleep and an unconscious, coaxing softness. “What time is it…?”
“The midnight watch is over.”
Jiang Youze’s breath brushed the crown of her head. Its warm, tingling touch made her draw in her neck.
He lifted her chin, stroked her slightly parted lips with his fingertip, and bent to kiss her.
His lips were cold too, but soon took on her warmth.
“Didn’t I tell you not to wait?”
Si Yan turned her head aside. He followed, covering her mouth again without relenting.
She could only press a hand to his shoulder, putting a pitiful little distance between them.
“Wait. I have something to ask you.”
Jiang Youze caught her hand, laced their fingers, and pressed it to the pillow. He kissed the tip of her nose.
“A kiss first. Please?”
Si Yan looked at him through half-open eyes, stroking his cheek with her other hand.
“Why do you like kissing so much?”
Outside the imperial prison, at the Marquis of Yongning’s residence, and after she entered the palace,
it was always the first thing he did whenever he saw her.
As though he could never have enough.
Jiang Youze rubbed his cheek against her palm, intense emotion surging in his eyes.
How could he tell her?
That kiss outside the imperial prison, whose sweetness had left him craving more, had carried him through days and nights worse than death.
Whenever he felt he could go on no longer, that kiss rose in his mind.
A voice inside asked: don’t you want to kiss her once more? Are you content simply to die?
She is still out there. Still waiting for you. Can you accept that?
He could not!
He would not!
“Don’t you like it?”
His voice was muffled against her palm, tentative and cautious.
The question softened Si Yan’s heart.
Her fingers curled against his cheek, their tips accidentally brushing his earlobe.
How was she to answer?
If she said yes, how forward she would seem. If she said no, it would be too great a lie.
When she did not answer, Jiang Youze lowered his head and kissed her lips.
Drawing back, he found her eyes already closed, a faint blush on her cheeks and pink even in her earlobes.
His mouth curved. He gathered her hand against his chest and kissed her deeply again.
Si Yan had not quite shaken off her sleepiness. Under his forceful kiss, her head grew dizzier still.
And he showed no sign of stopping.
Only when she gave a displeased nasal whimper did he reluctantly withdraw.
His finger hooked the tie of her nightclothes and pulled. Then he reached behind her and untied her underbodice as well.
“Now you can ask.”
His tone was perfectly proper. His hand was anything but.
Si Yan gave a soft sound and lifted her face to him, desire and reproach in her eyes.
“How can I ask like this?”
But he was not looking at her. His eyes were lowered to his own hand, his fingers making gentle rolling motions.
As though handling a priceless piece of porcelain, cherishing it yet unable to stop stroking it again and again.
His voice grew huskier, his throat moving. “I’m listening.”
Listening?
Was this what he called listening?
Si Yan bit her red, swollen lip and glared at him for a long while. At last, she conceded defeat.
Never mind. This was simply how he was.
He seemed infinitely gentle, but with something he loved, he became forceful, unable to let go.
She let her body relax and buried her face against his shoulder, her voice threaded with faint breaths.
“Zhao Huaining’s… poem… What happened?”
Jiang Youze had beautiful hands, his fingers long and well-proportioned, their joints subtle rather than prominent.
But now, something even lovelier lay in his hand.
Whiter than his hands, finer and smoother than the best silk.
His gaze rested on it, dark and intent, though his tone was casual.
“I only made her reap what she’d sown.”