Hongjuan picked up the words, “Indeed. I wonder if the Marquis will be able to make it back the day after tomorrow.” The day after tomorrow was Madam’s birthday.
Qian Jiaoniang said, “The Marquis must be off handling important matters. If he doesn’t return for the time being, it doesn’t matter. You all prepare—have the kitchen cook big pots of porridge. When the refugees enter the city, the officials will distribute food at the Earth God Temple. We should also go lend a hand.”
The two maids both nodded in assent.
“Is Chou’er still at home? Go let him know, tell him to come along later.” Xing Pingchun had today off.
“The young master is home, this maid will go call him in a bit.”
“Mm, then I’ll rest a bit first.”
Qian Jiaoniang returned to Honghu Courtyard, lay down on the chaise longue, and meant to nap for a while. Yet her heart was inexplicably restless, turning thoughts of Xing Muzheng over and over, unable to fall asleep. Irritated, she picked up a book at random, lay on her side, and began to read. After a short while, she was getting drowsy when faint rustling sounded in the room. She didn’t think much of it, assuming some maid had come in. Not until a warm chest pressed against her back and a familiar masculine breath wrapped her all around did she suddenly snap open her half-closed eyes.
Xing Muzheng… had come back.
“What are you reading?” His low, slightly languid voice came to her ear, letting Qian Jiaoniang be sure. Her ears tingled and went numb. Somehow, she didn’t turn her head, but answered as though his return were the most ordinary thing, “Reading a storybook.”
Xing Muzheng’s broad palm pressed to her waist. “And what’s the story?”
Her slender waist went soft under his hand, rippling as though a pebble had been dropped into a lake. Qian Jiaoniang breathed shallowly, “It tells of a scholar spending the night in an abandoned temple, and meeting an incomparably beautiful ghost…”
“Oh? Then that’s trouble.” His fingers wandered over her body, his lips leaving a light kiss at the nape of her neck.
Qian Jiaoniang clutched the book tighter, not pulling away, letting him tease her. “What trouble is that…”
Xing Muzheng let out a deep, low laugh. He grasped her chin, turning her face toward him. After two months apart, they both studied each other, caught in one another’s gaze. Suddenly Xing Muzheng bent down and claimed her soft lips hard. Qian Jiaoniang’s body curled as she tipped her head back, seeming to yield to him. His arm tightened around her waist as though he wanted to embed her into himself. He kissed her fiercely, venting his long-pent-up yearning. Soon Qian Jiaoniang was lying atop him, both their clothes in disarray, their breaths heavy, eyes locked—on the brink of losing all control—
“Father, Mother! Father, are you back!” Xing Pingchun’s excited voice rang out from outside, accompanied by loud banging on the door. The boy, not seeing his father for many days, had missed him badly.
Xing Muzheng’s hand froze on her back, unwilling to let go. He looked at her, breathing rough, his eyes burning. Qian Jiaoniang looked back at him, her son’s joyful cries ringing outside, her teeth biting her lip.
“…It’s your son. You deal with him.” Blushing, she spoke low.
A flash of fire crossed Xing Muzheng’s eyes. He clutched her tightly, her face buried at his neck. His throat worked, his whole body aflame. He opened his mouth, but his voice was hoarse. After clearing his throat, he finally raised it: “Chou’er, Father is a bit tired. Come at night to pay your respects.”
Outside, Xing Pingchun immediately responded, “Then Father rest well, I’ll come tonight!”
Then came the sound of him running off. Xing Muzheng could no longer restrain himself—he turned and kissed Qian Jiaoniang hard on the lips. She answered his kiss, and like a beast released from its cage, he flipped her beneath him.
Their long-separated passion on the bed was poured out without reserve. Qian Jiaoniang was like a fish drawn from the water, spent and gasping. Xing Muzheng, still unsated, stroked her jaw again and again, his gaze unfathomable.
Qian Jiaoniang slowly came back to herself from the haze. She lowered her head and pushed him. “There are refugees coming into the city today, I must go to the Earth God Temple to see.”
“Let others go.” Xing Muzheng still held her slender waist, unwilling to release her.
“No.” She was firm. She slipped from the bed, this time he didn’t stop her, only let his eyes follow her. Hastily she gathered up their scattered clothes, not looking back but knowing he was watching, her ears flushing red. Though it was not their first time as man and wife, this time felt different.
She carried the clothes behind the screen, hurriedly put herself in order, and spoke a couple of perfunctory words telling him to rest well before leaving. Xing Muzheng lay on the bed in silence for a long while, then suddenly turned over and thumped the bedding hard—yet the smile at his lips only grew wider.
It was like the silly smile he’d worn back when he was half-mad.
He couldn’t contain it, the joy surging in his chest almost spilling over. The heart he had hidden away for two years had finally received the faintest response! No words of delight in the world could capture his happiness at this moment. At the bedside lay one of Qian Jiaoniang’s agate earrings; Xing Muzheng picked it up, gazed at it a long time, then chuckled foolishly. He pressed it to his lips, his eyes shining like the stars.
Xing Muzheng knew well that though Qian Jiaoniang seemed to live with him as true husband and wife, in her heart she still didn’t trust him. Especially after that stab her own mother had dealt her, the walls around her heart had only risen higher. She feared those closest to her might wound her again—like him, like her second sister, like her mother. Each time he was good to her, she knew gratitude, knew to be moved, but dared not believe. He knew her scars, so he had never forced her, only wishing for her happiness. Yet as time went on, loneliness and unease gnawed at him—afraid her heart was stone, that she’d never open to him.
But now he had glimpsed the faintest crack in the wall, like dawn breaking the night—how could he not be overjoyed?
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