Everyone’s eyes turned toward him. Xing Muzheng, expressionless, slowly picked up his chopsticks again, took a piece of fish, chewed it thoroughly, and only then, under everyone’s gaze, said slowly, “Do as Madam says. You can squeeze together a bit more and free up another room.”
Apart from the baffled Granny Zhou, everyone else looked at each other. They snuck glances at Qian Jiaoniang and Xing Muzheng, who had gone back to eating calmly. Weren’t these two known for never sharing a bed? Why were they suddenly going to be in the same room tonight?
Hongjuan was nudged from behind by Ah Da and finally snapped out of it. “Then I’ll take Madam’s bedding to the master’s room.”
Xing Muzheng said, “No need. Give Madam’s bedding to Granny Zhou. She and I can share one quilt.”
There was another moment of silence. Qian Jiaoniang’s chopsticks paused for just an instant before she nodded. “It’ll be cold at night—give Granny an extra thick layer.”
Granny Zhou quickly waved her hands, saying it wasn’t necessary, but since the masters had spoken, Hongjuan naturally followed orders. Ah Da nearly skipped off to tell Suier to prepare extra hot water for the evening. Suier, puzzled, asked why. Ah Da winked mysteriously. “You’ll see soon enough.”
After dinner, Qian Jiaoniang still hadn’t seen Xing Pingchun, so she went to his room herself. Shanzha told her he was already asleep. She glanced at the tightly closed bed curtains, nodded, and turned away.
She went next to Granny Zhou’s room. The old lady, worn out after such an eventful day, had already gone to bed early.
Qian Jiaoniang slowly walked back to her own room. Looking up, she saw Xing Muzheng sitting upright in the grand master’s chair, with Ah Da at his side reporting something. Xing Muzheng’s gaze was fixed on the candle flame, deep and unreadable. Seeing her enter, Ah Da stopped talking. Xing Muzheng also looked up at her, then stood and waved Ah Da away. Ah Da bowed and left, grinning at Qian Jiaoniang as he passed.
Hongjuan and Suier, who had been making up the bed, also left after saluting.
Only Xing Muzheng and Qian Jiaoniang remained in the room. She caught sight of the single quilt on the bed and idly scraped her fingertip against her palm.
Xing Muzheng’s dark eyes locked on her. She met his gaze, a smile tugging at her lips. “Marquis, why are you glaring at me?”
At her words, he silently took a step forward, his long legs closing the distance between them in an instant. She stayed where she was, still smiling. His eyes never wavered.
“…Do you truly mean to share a room with me?”
Qian Jiaoniang nodded. “I was the one who suggested it. Of course I mean it.”
“Why?” Xing Muzheng lowered his head, drawing closer still.
Her smile deepened. “Isn’t it because there aren’t enough rooms?”
“So it’s only for tonight that you’ll share a room with me?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped sideways, adjusted the oil lamp on the table, and said, “If the Marquis doesn’t mind, I’ll just sleep in your room from now on.”
Xing Muzheng was silent.
“You’re unwilling? Then I’ll just go.” She turned to leave, but he immediately caught her wrist. When she looked back, he was suddenly right beside her. The candlelight cast a faint, inexpressible glow in his eyes. He kneaded her wrist gently, his other hand coming up to her neck, thumb resting against the tip of her chin.
“…You must know, if you truly mean to sleep in my bed, I may not be able to hold back anymore.” He had already wanted her so much it burned, yet had restrained himself from forcing her to stay in the same room, afraid it would drive her farther away. But if she walked into his arms of her own accord, and he still restrained himself—he wouldn’t be a man.
Qian Jiaoniang’s voice was soft. “Yesterday, the Marquis said he wanted to live well with me. I thought a lot about it… and I was moved. So let’s do as the Marquis said. From now on, we, and Chou’er, will live well together.”
Xing Muzheng studied her for a long while, as if trying to see right through her. She didn’t avoid him, meeting his eyes steadily. At last, he let go of her wrist. “It’s late. Let’s sleep.”
She nodded, walked to the bed, and began to undo her lined cotton jacket. Suddenly, a man’s long fingers reached over to unfasten her buttons for her. She lowered her gaze, not pulling away. His breathing grew heavier. When she was down to just her inner garments, she slipped into the quilt and moved toward the inside of the bed. The blanket was large and heavy, carrying his scent.
Facing away from the outer side, she heard the faint rustle of him undressing. Soon, the candle was snuffed out, and a gust of cold air slipped under the quilt—followed almost at once by a body, hot and solid as stone, pressing against her back.
A long, strong arm slid around her waist. She went rigid. His hand traveled upward to grasp her shoulder, pressing it lightly down, while his hot mouth descended on her.
She didn’t respond, but neither did she resist, letting his lips and hands wander. Eyes shut tight, she waited for the inevitable.
But Xing Muzheng gradually stopped. He pressed one last kiss to her lips, pulled her clothing back into place, and tucked it properly around her.
Qian Jiaoniang opened her eyes slowly, still breathing hard. In the darkness she couldn’t see his face, only the faint glint of his eyes. Suddenly, he drew her into his burning chest and sighed softly in her ear. “Sleep.”
Her mind was a tangle. She rested her hands against her chest and slowly closed her eyes. Yet Xing Muzheng, already holding her, moved closer still, guiding her hands to his chest, her feet brushing his legs. His breath was warm at her ear, and it felt as if she were entirely enclosed in him.
She had never fallen asleep in his arms like this. Even on their wedding night, after they had consummated the marriage, they had each kept to their own bedding—lying on the same bed, but as if separated by a gulf. This hand-to-hand, foot-to-foot closeness was entirely new.
And it unsettled her heart even more than that earlier kiss.
Suddenly, a large palm began gently patting her back.
Qian Jiaoniang’s body stiffened slightly. Xing Muzheng wasn’t patting hard—if anything, it was a bit like how she soothed Chou’er when putting him to sleep. Qian Jiaoniang very much wanted to ask him what he was doing, yet didn’t dare, and could only pretend to be asleep.
Qian Jiaoniang hadn’t expected that, in the rhythm of those pats, she would truly drift off to sleep.
When she woke the next day, Xing Muzheng was already gone. She touched the spot beside her—there was still a trace of warmth left. Her slender fingers brushed across the bedding, and his scent still lingered in the bed. Qian Jiaoniang’s eyelids drooped slightly. She had thought she wouldn’t sleep well last night, but who would have thought she’d slept more soundly than usual. Most likely, it was because he was so warm.
After getting up and having breakfast, the whole party set out again. Because there was an old lady in the carriage, the driver went slower. Qian Jiaoniang sat inside the carriage with Granny Zhou, and had someone go look for Xing Pingchun, who hadn’t been seen all morning. But after quite some time, there was still no sign of him. Qian Jiaoniang let the curtain drop and snapped, “Has Xing Pingchun disappeared, or does he not want his old mother anymore!”
Xing Pingchun had been deliberately riding behind the carriage so she wouldn’t see him. Hearing this, he hurriedly spurred his horse forward. “Mother, I’m right here!”
“Get in here.”
Xing Pingchun grinned roguishly. “I’m not riding in the carriage—it makes my backside sore. I made a bet with Uncle Wang Yong to race, so just leave me be and sit nicely with Granny Zhou!” With that, he cracked his whip and vanished again.
Qian Jiaoniang was fuming. Around noon, they stopped to rest at a dilapidated temple. Some were tending the fire, others cooking. Xing Pingchun had gone with Wang Yong into the nearby woods to hunt game. He was scouting ahead for “enemy activity” when he spotted a fox. Delighted, he whispered, “Uncle, Uncle, there’s a fox!”
“Fox meat is sour, not tasty.” The familiar female voice came from behind him. Xing Pingchun turned and saw Qian Jiaoniang leaning against a tree, watching him. He straightened up at once. “Mother! Where’s Uncle Wang Yong?”
“I sent him back first.”
“Huh? Then I’ll go find him.” Xing Pingchun made to run, but Qian Jiaoniang caught him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him back. She pinched the flesh on the back of his neck hard.
“Ow, ow, Mother, it hurts!” Xing Pingchun winced and made faces, begging for mercy.
“Good—you need to know what pain feels like. Your wings have hardened now, is that it? You won’t even acknowledge your mother?”
“No, no, how could I!”
“Then why is it I haven’t seen you all day? I just got back, and you don’t care at all. Do you not want your mother to come back?”
“How could I not want you back! It’s you who didn’t want to come back!” Xing Pingchun blurted. Then his head drooped, like a rooster that had lost a fight.
Qian Jiaoniang let him go. “When did I not want to come back? Didn’t I willingly return with you?”
“Mother, stop trying to fool me. I’ve figured it out! You knew all along that Father sent me to find you on purpose. If I didn’t come looking, he wouldn’t be able to find you. And if he couldn’t find you, you wouldn’t come back! I was the one who fell for it. If I could’ve just held back and not gone after you, you would have…”
It was all his fault! He was so useless—grown this big and still unable to be without his mother, forcing her to give up her freedom. Big teardrops fell into the dirt as Xing Pingchun stood there, shoulders shaking, crying. From the moment he saw Xing Muzheng waiting outside the door, he had known both his parents had already anticipated this outcome. Only he had foolishly believed she had returned willingly. The more he thought about it, the more ashamed he felt—he didn’t even have the face to look at her.
Qian Jiaoniang’s gaze softened. She sighed lightly and poked his forehead. “What nonsense fills your head all day long? If I truly didn’t want to come back, I’d have ten or eight ways to slip away from Granny Zhou’s house without a sound. The truth is, I just couldn’t bear to leave such a good child. And…” She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Let me tell you a secret—but don’t tell your father.”
Xing Pingchun rubbed his forehead, his nose red, and looked at her.
Qian Jiaoniang chuckled. “Truth is, I also can’t bear to leave your father. I may have been angry with him, but he’s still my husband, your own father. I just had a breath stuck in my chest—once I let it out, it’s fine. I had already decided: if you and your father found me, I’d come back. We’d all forget the past and live well together.”
“Really?” Xing Pingchun blinked and asked shyly.
“Of course it’s true. Last night, I even slept in the same room as your father—you didn’t know that, did you?”
Xing Pingchun shook his head dumbly. His parents had slept in the same room—just like an ordinary couple?
Qian Jiaoniang poked him again, half amused, half exasperated. “Children shouldn’t meddle in adults’ affairs. You think the whole world revolves around your rights and wrongs?”
A slow grin spread across Xing Pingchun’s face. He jumped nearly three feet high and threw himself into her arms. “Mother, Mother, we’re all good again! From now on I’ll definitely be filial to you! I’ll be the most filial son in the world!”
Qian Jiaoniang let out a mock groan and laughed, wrapping her arms around him.
There was no need to wait for the future—he was already the most filial son in the world. How could she bear to abandon such a good child? If she broke his heart, what kind of mother would she be? Enough, enough. At least she could watch her Chou’er grow up, marry, and make his own way in the world—that was enough. She would hope for nothing more.
Complex emotions flickered in Qian Jiaoniang’s eyes as she kissed Xing Pingchun on the head.
Hidden behind a large tree not far away, Xing Muzheng had seen it all.
