After handling official matters, Xing Muzheng returned to the room. He ate with Qian Jiaoniang, chatted a while, then went out to practice sword, bathed in the cleansing room, and came back just as Qian Jiaoniang had also finished bathing. Once her month was full, she permitted herself to bathe, but as the weather was cold, Xing Muzheng would not let her wash often.
The maids served Qian Jiaoniang by drying her hair. The wet nurse, after feeding Xing Pingrui full, found he was still lively and brought him over to play. Xing Muzheng, practiced now, took the child into his arms. Though at first he had not dared hold the newborn son, later, not wanting Qian Jiaoniang to carry too much, he had taught himself. He could hold the baby well enough, but he never managed to amuse him. Now, with father and son staring wide-eyed at each other—one silent, the other not crying—the sight made Qian Jiaoniang laugh.
“Use this rattle to tease him.”
She tossed the bedside rattle-drum to Xing Muzheng. He caught it and, without expression, shook it in front of the child. The child, equally expressionless, listened.
Qian Jiaoniang couldn’t help bursting into laughter.
Once her hair was dried, the maids withdrew. Qian Jiaoniang had Xing Muzheng hand her the baby, and she sat at the bed’s head patiently cooing to him. Xing Muzheng sat by the bed in silence, watching.
After a while, little Ni Xue fell asleep, fists curled. Xing Muzheng carried him out and had the nurse settle him in the side room. Qian Jiaoniang had wanted the baby to sleep in their chamber, but Xing Muzheng refused—she needed rest to recover, and the infant would wake for milk at night; he feared it would disturb her.
When he returned, Qian Jiaoniang was combing her hair. She raised her eyes with a smile. Xing Muzheng climbed into bed, burying his face in her dark hair to inhale, murmuring, “Fragrant.” He brushed a kiss across her cheek, his hand sliding through her black tresses.
Neck to neck, their lips pressed together, thunder and fire meeting—soon beyond control.
Until Xing Muzheng feared he could no longer restrain himself, and pulled back.
Qian Jiaoniang, breathing lightly, touched his face and asked, “Do you want it?” She recalled her conversation with Qin Momo that day. Though she was willing to trust him, her heart still held a shadow…
“You want it? Not yet. Your body hasn’t healed. Endure a while longer.” Xing Muzheng answered.
Qian Jiaoniang choked on the words. She hadn’t blushed in a long time, but now she was burning. “You wretch, who wants it?” She pinched his cheek.
Xing Muzheng let out a chuckle, caught her hand, and kissed it at his lips. “If you don’t want it, why are you asking me?”
Qian Jiaoniang shot him a glance. “I was just afraid you’ve been holding back for so long, that you might not be able to endure.”
“I’ve no such interest.” Seeing her so fragile, he had no mind at all for romantic indulgence.
“And if one day you do have the interest?”
Hearing the implication in her words, Xing Muzheng pulled her into his arms and lay down with her. “What is it you want to say?”
Qian Jiaoniang toyed with the button of his inner robe. “Doctor Bai said I’ll need a year or two to recover.”
“Mhm, I know.” Xing Muzheng had already asked about it. To need one or two years showed just how much suffering she had endured giving birth. He tightened his hold around her.
“In this one or two years, we can’t… do that.”
“I know that too.”
“Then you… can bear it?” Qian Jiaoniang asked.
Xing Muzheng frowned. “What’s so unbearable about it? When you’re like this, if I still couldn’t endure, what would that make me but a beast?”
Qian Jiaoniang burst into laughter. His meaning was clear—he had no one else.
“Did someone say some idle nonsense to you today?” Xing Muzheng pinched the soft flesh at her waist.
“Don’t pinch…” Qian Jiaoniang wriggled. “It’s not idle talk. It’s just Qin Momo, she felt sorry for you, afraid you’d be uncomfortable, and told me to find you a couple of concubines.”
Xing Muzheng fell silent. This time it was Qian Jiaoniang’s turn to pinch his waist. “So you were waiting for me to bring it up?”
Xing Muzheng helplessly caught her hand. “You’re being unreasonable.”
Qian Jiaoniang huffed. Xing Muzheng pulled her tightly into his arms. “You don’t need to worry about such things. I may want—but what I want is you. You risked your life to give me our child. I must take good care of you. I’ve said it before: all my life, it’s you alone. Don’t ever doubt me again, or I’ll have to spank you.”
Qian Jiaoniang melted against his chest. “When did I doubt you? I told you, it was Qin Momo who said it.” Her face tucked against him, a smile curving her lips.
Xing Muzheng said, “I don’t care which Momo it was—don’t listen to such talk anymore. Besides, before long I’ll be busy, with no spare time to think about such things.”
At the mention of his busyness, Qian Jiaoniang’s light expression faded. She sighed softly. “How long will you be busy like this?”
Xing Muzheng caressed her. “Until Ni’er is two years old—that should be about right. If possible, three years would be best.”
“So long? Won’t Chou’er grow thin from it?”
Xing Muzheng said, “For now, just focus on nursing your own health. Leave the rest to me. I’ll make sure to bring him back to us as soon as I can.”
Xing Muzheng’s plans were proceeding in secret, steady and orderly. But who would have thought that half a year later, turmoil broke out in Xili—the King of Xili was poisoned, General Mengrang seized power, and once again provoked war with Great Xie.
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