Had she been so violent last night? She couldn’t remember a thing. Thinking of how utterly exhausted she had been, her face flushed again.
“Is it more than one? I scratched a lot while bathing today.”
Qian Jiaoniang mumbled an uncertain reply and began rubbing ointment onto his back. Every time she applied it to a new cut, Xing Muzheng let out a soft laugh, making her cheeks burn even hotter. Once she had applied ointment to all the new wounds, she put the ointment down and helped him pull his robe back on. Xing Muzheng turned to look at her. She lowered her head, avoiding his gaze, but when he stared, she felt uneasy and finally glanced at him.
Suddenly, Xing Muzheng stood. “Let me trim your nails.”
The flush she had just shed returned, painting a thin layer of color across her face.
Sure enough, he took a small pair of scissors from her embroidery basket, the very ones she used for trimming threads, and began approaching. Qian Jiaoniang reached out to do it herself, but he stopped her, grasping her hand. She struggled, protesting he would cut her. Xing Muzheng pressed her hand firmly in his and muttered, “Fuss too much,” before starting on her thumb.
But facing her directly made it awkward, and it was his first time trimming nails for someone; he was even more worried than she was about hurting her. Thinking for a moment, he spun her around so her back faced him, then looped his long arms around her, holding her fully against him. His head rested near her ear, warm breath brushing her face with a faint scent of wine. Qian Jiaoniang dared not move. Xing Muzheng steadied her hand, intent entirely on trimming her nails.
Hongjuan brought water in, froze at the sight, then quietly left.
His hands were large, strong, warm, yet they were tenderly trimming her nails—the same hands that could easily kill. He didn’t nick her fingers, and after each nail, he rubbed it gently with his thumb, correcting anything uneven.
Qian Jiaoniang couldn’t describe her feelings, only that her heart beat wildly. As he moved to her left pinky, she spoke in a small voice: “Don’t trim this one—I need it for picking threads.”
Xing Muzheng hesitated, then extended his arm, lightly brushing her hand on his arm.
Qian Jiaoniang: “I won’t scratch you!”
Xing Muzheng smiled deeply.
Flustered and embarrassed, she turned her head. “If the marquis fears I’ll hurt your precious body, then just don’t touch me!” Who had gone mad yesterday and made her sore all over? If not for that, she wouldn’t even have this minor pain!
Xing Muzheng held her tighter, biting near her ear. “That is absolutely impossible.” Now that he had truly tasted her, he couldn’t get enough, lamenting the brevity of good moments.
Qian Jiaoniang was left speechless. Xing Muzheng smiled, released her pinky, and began on her right-hand nails. “What were you arguing about with your second sister in the carriage today?”
“You heard that?”
“No, just heard her crying.”
Qian Jiaoniang fell silent, then countered: “What does the marquis think of Sun Bai… her husband?”
Such a simple question caught Xing Muzheng off guard. It wasn’t that he couldn’t read people—his eyes were sharp enough to see a man’s nature at a glance. Sun Bai was greedy for beauty, timid, unreliable. If he were any other man, Xing Muzheng would speak plainly, but Sun Bai was the husband Jiaoniang had finally reclaimed for her sister; he feared honesty would make her think he insulted her family.
After considering, he deflected: “Why are you asking?”
Qian Jiaoniang froze. She didn’t know what answer she sought from him either.
She remained silent while Xing Muzheng finished trimming her nails, not letting go yet. “Did he bully your second sister?” he asked.
“She… was just his concubine. I heard only recently she was raised to equal wife.” Qian Jiaoniang said, smiling complicatedly. Xing Muzheng’s eyelids twitched—the word “equal wife” was one he never wanted her to mention again.
“She said…” Qian Jiaoniang hesitated, but when he urged her, she shook her head, smiling. “It’s nothing important. No need for the marquis to worry.”
Xing Muzheng let out a barely audible sigh. Yet he pressed his lips near her ear—how could she not hear? She heard, but pretended not to.
He set down the scissors, wrapped his arms tightly around her, and said, “If it’s nothing important, then let go and do as you please. No need to hold back.”
Qian Jiaoniang thought of the dilemma her sister Qian Liniang had put her in, and once again found herself trapped between two difficult choices.
Xing Muzheng tilted his head, gazing at her, inhaling the scent on her that made him infatuated. His eyes fell on her red lips, darkening with a growing intensity. He slowly reached out to lift her chin, his rough thumb lightly grazing her soft lips. Jiaoniang came to her senses as Xing Muzheng’s kisses fell densely along her cheek.
Biting her lower lip, she said, “I have a wound on my neck, and you still—!” This man had never been so improper before, and now he insisted on doing this every night! Even when she was injured, he wouldn’t leave her be. What a beast! Had she known, she wouldn’t have let him trim her nails—she’d have scratched him to death!
Xing Muzheng held her close with one arm and gently cupped her chin with the other to keep her still. “I’m only going to kiss you a little.”
He tilted his head, kissing the corners of her brows, her cheeks, the corners of her lips. His thumb traced along her lower lip. Qian Jiaoniang’s breathing trembled, and he deepened the kiss along the curve of her lips.
An incense stick’s time passed, then a cup of tea’s length, yet he had no intention of stopping. At some point, he spun her back toward him and kissed her with increasing intensity. Qian Jiaoniang nearly couldn’t breathe. Sensing he would lose control if he continued, Xing Muzheng finally let her go. She panted lightly, and he, gazing at her swollen, glossy lips, couldn’t resist pressing another forceful kiss before hoarsely asking, “Should I trim your toenails?”
Her face was as vivid as March peach blossoms. She kicked at him and turned to the bed, saying, “Go sleep!”
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