Another stick of incense later, the red canopy was finally lifted. Qian Jiaoniang lay limp on the bed, her face flushed, her gaze hazy, the loose strands of hair on her forehead stuck to her cheeks, and her slightly swollen red lips still gasping for breath.
At this moment her mind held only one thought: Men’s words, all lies. She never wanted to hear that just a little longer ever again!
Xing Muzheng got off the bed, put on his outer robe, and stepped away to check the small copper kettle set on the brazier by the window. The water inside had already gone cold. He poured himself a cup, took a sip, and frowned slightly. Raising his voice, he called out: “Someone come.”
Qian Jiaoniang panicked, her delicate hand weakly patting the bedpost. Her voice hoarse, she said: “What are you calling people for!” With the room in such a mess, did he want everyone to know what they had been up to? Looking at the clothes strewn all over the floor, Qian Jiaoniang’s own face burned bright red like a peony. They already had a child together; logically, this was something they’d done more than ten years ago. But back then Xing Muzheng had never been so frenzied—at most one or two times in a night. Last night she had lost count of how many, and he had been so rough that she felt half dead…
“The water’s cold. I called for someone to bring hot water.” Xing Muzheng picked up the cup, parted the bed curtains, and came over.
“No need, I’ll drink cold water!” Qian Jiaoniang tried to push herself up, but her elbows gave out, and she collapsed face-first into the pillow. Stiffly burying her head, even her ears flushed scarlet. She could hardly believe she was left so weak.
The corners of Xing Muzheng’s lips curled up. He gathered her up along with the quilt and held the cup to her lips. Qian Jiaoniang lowered her gaze, staring at the cup, then leaned forward and gulped it down. The cold water slid into her stomach, finally cooling the burning heat inside her. Xing Muzheng’s dark eyes lingered on her slender neck, covered with red marks—all of them his doing from last night. The beast he had barely managed to restrain roared again within him. His throat bobbed, and he could not help lowering his lips once more.
Qian Jiaoniang shuddered. The heat that had just faded flared back in an instant. She was truly afraid now—after being tossed about all night, she was soft as mush, and yet he still wanted to continue? Where in the world did he find such strength!
Xing Muzheng had always been indifferent to women; otherwise he could not have campaigned for years without taking a concubine or maid. Even when he and Qian Jiaoniang had shared the rites of husband and wife before, he had never been so rash and reckless like some impulsive youth. He himself could hardly believe he had tangled with her for an entire night and still not had his fill. But love ruled, and sweet moments were short. If it weren’t the first day of the New Year today, he truly would not have let her leave the bed. But since it was already late… what harm if it were a little later still?
“Master, what instructions do you have?” Hongjuan called from outside the screen. Ever since Xing Pingchun had barged in earlier, she and Suier had guessed the two masters were awake, and so they had been waiting outside. They had thought they would be called in soon, but no matter how long they waited, there was no sound.
Xing Muzheng paused at Qian Jiaoniang’s shoulder, then after a long moment said in a deep voice: “Go bring hot water. The Madam and I will bathe.”
Hongjuan, Suier, and Shanzha exchanged glances, each hiding a smile as they withdrew. Of them, Suier was the most delighted—she had once served imperial consorts in the palace, and what she most loved to see was the Emperor visiting her mistress, for that was the greatest fortune. Not only did it mean favor in the harem, it also carried the chance of bearing a dragon heir, elevating the mother by the child. Since entering the service of the Marchioness, she had always been baffled. Anyone with eyes could see the Marquis doted on his wife—some even whispered he feared her a little. Yet not only did they not sleep in the same room, but never once had anyone seen them share a bed. Stranger still, for such a high-ranking noble, there was not a single concubine or secondary wife in the inner courtyard, nor had he ever taken the courtesans gifted to him. Even the likes of Yanluo and Yuluo, those peerless beauties, the Marquis hadn’t given a second glance.
A husband like this—let alone among the high and powerful—even in an ordinary household would be hard to find even with a lantern search. Yet Madam still treated the Marquis with a cool, distant manner, and even went so far as to abandon husband and child to run away. Suier had puzzled over it the whole night but still could not figure out why Qian Jiaoniang had fled.
After Madam ran off, the Marquis’s face was cold all day long, and Suier didn’t even dare get close; it was as if the very air around him bristled like knives. Everyone could see that the Marquis was furious, and the maids were all breaking into a cold sweat for the Madam who had been brought back, thinking to themselves that this time the Marquis would surely give her a fierce scolding.
Who could have guessed that while they, as outsiders, worried themselves sleepless, the master’s room remained perfectly quiet, and by the next day they came out acting as if nothing had happened. In the end, the Marquis even brought over Granny Zhou—who had hidden Madam away—to live out her years in comfort. Who would believe such a thing if told? Who wouldn’t click their tongue in amazement?
Now that the two masters were finally sharing the same bed, the maids were happy as well. The servant boys carried in the bath tub; Hongjuan and the others brought it into the inner room and poured in bucket after bucket of hot water. The room was filled with a faintly embarrassing atmosphere; the bed curtains on the moon-arched bed were still drawn, and the two masters were still inside.
Suddenly, a hearty laugh came from Xing Muzheng, and he strode out. The maids quickly knelt, saying, “We wish the Marquis and Madam an auspicious New Year and all success in everything!”
Xing Muzheng’s smile had not faded. “Good! Help Madam get up for her bath, and ask her what reward she wants!”
He strode away, carrying with him the air of one brimming with springtime pride. Hongjuan and Suier hurried in to help Qian Jiaoniang up. Qian Jiaoniang had never been so embarrassed—she could not even stand steadily on her own. The inexperienced young maids blushed red at the sight of the dense marks on her skin.
Which wealthy lord didn’t love to have multiple wives and concubines, many children and great fortune? People said that those with few concubines must be lacking in ability in that regard, and they had once thought perhaps the Marquis had a health ailment. But now, it seemed, they had been entirely mistaken—he was not lacking, he was far too able!
Qian Jiaoniang was helped into the bath tub and, waving her hand shyly, said, “Go on, I’ll wash myself.”
Suier smiled. “Madam, just let us serve you. We have nothing else to do anyway.”
Shanzha giggled. “Exactly, exactly—Madam, this servant is very happy!”
Qian Jiaoniang rested her arm on the edge of the tub, her chin lazily propped there, and laughed softly. “What are you so happy about?”
Shanzha grinned as she scattered petals into the water. “This servant is happy for Madam!”
Qian Jiaoniang’s lips curved faintly; she stroked her long hair and lowered her gaze, laughing twice under her breath.
Yanluo came in, carrying the clothing she had warmed for Qian Jiaoniang, and on looking up happened to see Qian Jiaoniang leaning against the tub, her eyes languid as silk threads. Her heart gave a sudden jump—just for a moment she felt Qian Jiaoniang was stunningly beautiful. She had thought Madam lacking in allure, but this sudden glimpse of spring light was unexpectedly enticing.
When Qian Jiaoniang and Xing Muzheng had finished dressing, half an hour had passed. Xing Pingchun came to give his New Year bows, and Qian Jiaoniang took out the red envelope she had already prepared and stuffed it into his hand. He accepted it with a grin, stuck close to her, and asked, “Mother, today’s the first day of the New Year—why are you bathing so early in the morning? What’s the meaning of that?”
The boy’s large eyes were full of innocent puzzlement, fixed on Qian Jiaoniang in search of an explanation.
Qian Jiaoniang had just managed to forget last night’s romantic events, and now Xing Pingchun brought them up again. Faced with her child’s pure and guileless gaze, two pink clouds floated onto her cheeks. She stammered, “Th-this… this is your father’s rule. Ask your father.”
