Qian Jiaoniang’s smile couldn’t be hidden. So it was all her fault that he had drunk so many cups?
Xing Muzheng caught her hand in his and bit her finger. Qian Jiaoniang laughed out loud, and he kissed her palm, murmuring, “I’m sleepy. Let’s go to bed.”
She nodded, pulled him to sit at the bedside, and reached to undo his buttons. Xing Muzheng looped his long legs around her, tugging at her sash instead. But today her sash had been tied in a rather complicated auspicious knot. The drunken marquis fumbled and tugged, only making it tighter. Qian Jiaoniang had already helped him out of his outer robe and found it funny, but before she could laugh long, there was a sharp ripping sound—the man had torn her sash apart.
It was a brand-new sash she had tied on that very day. Her smile froze on her lips. The culprit, however, lifted his head and grinned at her, as if waiting for praise.
Seeing him like this, how could she stay angry? She pinched his face with mock annoyance. “Wasteful man.” He had already ruined who knows how many of her dresses.
“Petty woman,” the drunkard actually retorted.
“Ha!” Qian Jiaoniang arched a brow. Seeing this, the drunken marquis hurriedly corrected himself: “Generous woman.”
“You really are…”
Hongjuan and Xique came in carrying the basin filled with hot water, just in time to overhear. They couldn’t help but laugh, heads bowed so their mistress wouldn’t notice. Qian Jiaoniang served Xing Muzheng as he washed his feet, dried them, then helped him lie down. When the maids carried the basin out again, Qian Jiaoniang started to leave as well, but Xing Muzheng’s long arm hooked her into the bed. “Sleep.”
“I’ll just wash my hands first.” She tried to rise, but was pulled back again. “Don’t go.”
Outside the screen, Hongjuan overheard and said with a smile, “Madam, don’t get up. This servant will fetch water for you.”
Qian Jiaoniang had no choice but to agree. When Hongjuan brought in the water, she found her mistress already entangled in his arms, held like a doll, while the drunken marquis buried his head against her neck, kissing her. One glance was enough to make Hongjuan’s face flush; Qian Jiaoniang’s face was just as red. She forced herself up to wash her hands, and Hongjuan, tactful, quickly withdrew.
Xing Muzheng’s gaze was hazy, but it never left Qian Jiaoniang. When she let down the bed curtains and lay beside him, he held her close, staring at her under the faint candlelight, murmuring her name—“Jiaoniang… Jiaojiao…” Each time he called, he kissed her; each time he kissed, he called again.
She had never known he could be so clingy—clinging in a way that filled her with joy, her heart swelling full.
Such a Xing Muzheng—she would never give him up to anyone.
That night he clung to her until he finally drifted asleep. The next day, upon waking, he wrinkled his brow at the stench of wine on his body. Trying to recall what had happened the night before, he realized he had no memory of how he had returned to his room.
Qian Jiaoniang had already risen. She had stayed in the room, not gone out. Seeing him awake, she poured a cup of hangover soup warming on the small stove and handed it to him. “You’re awake? Does your head ache?”
He shook his head, downed the soup in one draught.
“Will you wash in the bathing room or go to the hot spring pool?” She knew his fastidiousness; there was no way he would go out reeking of alcohol.
“The bathing room.”
So she went to summon hot water. When she came back, she saw him still frowning and asked casually, “What are you thinking about?”
Xing Muzheng was still dwelling on how he had returned last night. He was used to having everything under his control, and after being poisoned with gu, his need for control had only deepened. Losing his memory unsettled him greatly. He looked at her and slowly asked, “How did I get back to the room last night?”
He had forgotten it all. Qian Jiaoniang grew even more amused. “You don’t remember?”
He shook his head.
Smiling with her eyes narrowed, she said, “You told me to come fetch you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t come back.”
He frowned again. “Nonsense.” Didn’t he have feet of his own? Why would he need her to fetch him? What did she mean, not fetch and he wouldn’t come? He wasn’t a child.
“Yes, yes, nonsense I said.” She giggled. His drunken slip of dependence and affection last night had satisfied her completely, so she decided not to tell him the rest, to leave him a little dignity and let him keep his great-man pride.
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