“This is my birthday gift to you.”
Qian Jiaoniang tilted her head back, her eyes reflecting that dazzling glow. She turned twice beneath the golden trellis, her smile growing wider and wider, until she even leapt up like a child, touching grapes here, touching grapes there. This—this was truly a dream come true! She had an entire trellis of golden grapes!
“Of course I like it!” Her smile was radiant. She had never found Xing Muzheng so pleasing to the eye. So many golden grapes—all hers!
Seeing her delight, Xing Muzheng’s lips curved faintly. His effort had not been in vain: carrying gold a thousand li to Huzhou, having it crafted into golden grapes, then brought back here. He had deliberately avoided inviting outside guests; he wanted this moment to belong to her alone. Now, rewarded with such a smile, it was worth everything.
From his sleeve he produced another gift: in his palm lay a pair of golden grape earrings. So small, yet so finely wrought. Qian Jiaoniang’s joy grew even greater. Xing Muzheng reached out, brushing the empty lobe of her ear, and placed the earrings on her himself. His warm palm rested against her ear, the new ornament brushing against it. He gazed at her for a long while. “Beautiful.”
But as the first flush of delight ebbed, clarity returned to her eyes under his steady gaze. She took a step back, her look now tinged with searching.
This surprise should not exist. This dream—she had mentioned it only once, in front of Qingya, at a time when Xing Muzheng had been in his state of madness. How could he have heard, remembered? Did this not mean—that everything that happened while under the gu’s control, he had been aware of?
Qian Jiaoniang drew a sharp breath. She had suspected before, but never dared think it through. If it were true, then she had never truly outmatched Xing Muzheng. For him to endure such torment, fully aware of his humiliation and frenzy, yet not collapse—that was not something ordinary men could do. He had survived it all, one trial after another. His inner strength was beyond compare. Qian Jiaoniang, though considering herself strong, could not imagine surviving the same. Few in the world could. Xing Muzheng was worthy indeed of being called a man who stood tall beneath heaven.
Seeing the complexity in her gaze, Xing Muzheng sighed softly. He knew she understood now: he remembered those days under the gu. Truthfully, he had not wanted her to know. To admit he had been fully conscious through such disgraceful madness left him unable to raise his head before her. When he first awoke having forgotten, even Ah Da and the others had sighed in relief.
But in the end, he had not known what else to give her that would truly please her. Only when recalling her dream mentioned to Di Qingya had inspiration struck. He knew gifting this trellis would expose him, yet his desire to make her happy outweighed everything. Even if it meant losing all dignity—so long as it was only before her.
Still, he was nervous. He feared seeing loathing in her eyes. But thankfully, though her look was complicated, there was no rejection in it. Relieved, he reached out, cupping the back of her head, caressing her tender cheek, gazing at her deeply. After a long silence, he murmured,
“Jiaoniang… do you know my heart?”
Qian Jiaoniang’s face was stunned, her expression unsteady. Xing Muzheng’s ears burned red as he spoke. Unable to restrain himself, he leaned down to cover her lips with his. She did not push him away. He kissed her again and again, lingering, reluctant to part.
Ever since she had shared the same bed with Xing Muzheng, Qian Jiaoniang no longer resisted his nearness. But tonight, her heart was so restless, beating so fast. In her mind it was first the golden grapes above her head, then Xing Muzheng’s veiled confession; her thoughts were a tangled blur, and instinctively she wanted to flee. Xing Muzheng would never allow it. He held her tightly by the waist—each step she tried to retreat, he pressed a step closer—until Qian Jiaoniang could retreat no more, her back against the grape trellis.
With his lips brushing hers, swollen from his kisses, Xing Muzheng murmured, “Jiaoniang, your birthday has passed—you are a year older now.”
Qian Jiaoniang’s eyes flew wide open in sudden clarity. A year older? Was he saying she had grown old? “Go away!”
Hearing her snap at him, Xing Muzheng looked rather wronged, not knowing what he had said wrong again. But leave her? That was impossible. As for begging her not to hold grudges, he dared not say it. Instead, he seized the hand that was pushing him away, pinned it above her head, and pressed her against the grape trellis to continue his kisses.
The trellis was laden with golden grapes, the birthday gift for the lady of the house. Fearing a sudden gust of wind might topple it, the guards had placed several heavy ornamental stones around it, so the trellis was exceptionally sturdy.
And so, beneath that trellis, Xing Muzheng took Qian Jiaoniang. Her gaze turned hazy; when she lifted her eyes, the golden grapes swayed like a field of stars. She clutched tightly at his back.
Later, Xing Muzheng carried Qian Jiaoniang back to bed, still unwilling to stop, peppering light kisses across her cheeks, his large hand idly caressing her back, his intent to have her again all too plain.
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