That night, after dinner at the inn, everyone was thoroughly exhausted and went to rest. The inn had only two premium rooms. One was taken by the Tian couple; the other, naturally, belonged to Xing Muzheng. Knowing full well that Qian Jiaoniang would never agree to share a room with him, he gave it up for her and Qingya. But who would’ve thought—Xing Pingchun, afraid to sleep alone, clung to Qian Jiaoniang and insisted on sleeping with her. Just as she was about to give in, Xing Muzheng, aching all over, grabbed Xing Pingchun by the collar and tossed him into his own room.
Qian Jiaoniang, worried the boy might not be comfortable sleeping with Xing Muzheng, eventually went to knock on his door. Pushing it open, she saw Xing Pingchun sprawled out in deep sleep, taking up the entire bed. Xing Muzheng stood beside the bed with his arms crossed and an impassive expression.
How could she have forgotten? The boy had been bouncing around all day. Of course he was worn out and would just fall asleep the moment he hit the bed. Qian Jiaoniang gave an awkward laugh. “Marquis, I’d better take Chou’er back with me.”
Xing Muzheng frowned slightly. “No need.” Chou’er was far too old to still be sharing a bed with his mother.
Seeing his refusal, Qian Jiaoniang walked over anyway. Kneeling on one knee, she gently gathered Xing Pingchun’s arms and legs and laid him neatly on the bed. The boy, exhausted from the day’s adventures, let her handle him like a rag doll without waking.
Xing Muzheng watched her kneeling figure in silence. Her hair was braided and draped to one side, the nape of her neck peeked faintly from beneath her collar. Her back was graceful, her waist slender enough to hold in one hand… His gaze burned hotter. If Chou’er weren’t on the bed right now…
Qian Jiaoniang tucked the blanket over her son and turned to leave, only to see Xing Muzheng staring at her with that predatory look again—like he was hunting prey. Her skin prickled with unease. “Chou’er is exhausted. He’ll sleep soundly tonight, Marquis. No need to worry.” She fled the room as if lingering a moment longer would get her torn to pieces by a wild beast.
Back in her room, she found Qingya lighting incense for the bed. Seeing Qian Jiaoniang leaning against the door looking troubled, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
Qian Jiaoniang locked the door and shook her head. “Nothing.”
Meanwhile, Ah Da and Wang Yong had completed a patrol and returned to report. They knocked on Xing Muzheng’s door. Inside, water splashed. After a while, a voice said, “Come in.”
The two stepped inside. Xing Muzheng stood by the bath barrel, wet hair clinging to him, a robe loosely draped over his torso, his chest still beaded with water. He gave them a glance, grabbed a white towel from the washstand, and casually rubbed his hair dry. “Speak.”
Ah Da clasped his hands in salute. “Commander, the inn seems normal. The guards are stationed.”
Xing Muzheng nodded. “Have them keep a close watch on the lady’s room.”
“Yes, sir.”
He waved them off, but as they reached the door, he stopped them again. “Jiaoniang is the lady of the house. You two mind your conduct—keep a proper distance.”
Ah Da and Wang Yong exchanged a glance, bowed quickly, and left.
“H*ll, now he’s found an excuse to whip you.” Outside the room, Ah Da rubbed his bald head with a sigh.
Wu Shunzi, standing guard outside, quickly asked in a hushed voice, “Why? What did you do?”
Wang Yong looked aggrieved. “I did mind my manners. When I helped the lady mount her horse, I even brushed the dust off my sleeves!”
“Idiot! It’s not about the dust! It’s about men and women—no touching even sleeves! You shouldn’t have helped her up at all!” Ah Da scolded.
Wang Yong froze. “But if I hadn’t helped her, how would she have gotten on the horse?” Other servants help their mistresses mount all the time—why is it only him who gets scolded for crossing a line?
“Then go ask the commander yourself!” Ah Da shoved him. “Don’t just stand there—go sleep. I’ve got the second watch.” Wang Yong trudged off, sighing and grumbling.
“Hey, hey, don’t go yet! You haven’t explained everything…” Wu Shunzi called after them, but they walked away, shaking their heads. Wu Shunzi leaned against the wall, sulking.
Inside, Xing Muzheng gave his head a perfunctory rub and tossed the towel aside. He glanced at Xing Pingchun, now sleeping peacefully thanks to Qian Jiaoniang’s careful arrangement, and gave a slight smirk. He’d just had a cold bath and wasn’t tired. From a bundle on the table, he pulled out a book and sat down to read a few pages. His long black hair was still damp, the back of his neck growing slightly uncomfortable.
He touched the spot, and suddenly her voice echoed in his ears—
“Dry your commander’s hair properly! Don’t want him catching a cold!”
“Idiot, can’t even dry your own hair. What’s so hard about that?”
The memories were vivid, as if she were right beside him. Xing Muzheng let out a low laugh. He still remembered the way she dried his hair—seemingly rough, but with just the right pressure. It never hurt; in fact, it had been rather pleasant.
He set down the book, lost in thought. After a moment, he rose, threw on a robe, grabbed a clean towel, and walked out the door.
Wu Shunzi, who had been leaning against the wall, immediately stood up straight. Xing Muzheng pointed inside. “Go in and keep watch.”
Wu Shunzi quickly responded and stepped inside, only remembering to wonder where his master was going after he’d already taken a step. When he turned back, Xing Muzheng had already walked away.
But the inn wasn’t big to begin with; all the guest rooms were on the second floor. Aside from one traveling merchant, the rest were occupied by members of the Marquis’s household. Guards were stationed along the corridor at regular intervals, and upon seeing Xing Muzheng emerge, each of them straightened up.
Xing Muzheng walked all the way to the two best rooms at the end and knocked on one of the doors.
“Who is it outside?” Qingya’s voice came through the door.
“It’s me,” Xing Muzheng replied.
There was a brief silence inside. Then Qingya opened the door a crack and looked up at the tall Marquis, his hair still wet. She was startled and took a step back, almost thinking Xing Muzheng had lost his mind again. He peered past her into the room but could only catch a glimpse of the edge of a decorative screen.
“Marquis,” Qingya gave a proper curtsey after confirming he wasn’t acting erratically.
“Where is the Madam?” Xing Muzheng asked, already about to step inside.
Qingya deliberately blocked the doorway. “The Madam is bathing.”
“Hm.” Xing Muzheng ignored her obvious attempt to stop him and stepped over the threshold with his long legs.
Qingya hurried to protest again. “Marquis, the Madam is—”
“I know,” Xing Muzheng cut her off as he walked into the room.
Steam curled up from behind the screen. Qian Jiaoniang’s clothes were draped over it. By candlelight, her silhouette in the bath could be faintly seen, with the curve of her swan-like neck visible from the side. The fire Xing Muzheng had just cooled with a cold bath now seemed to reignite. He was tall enough that the screen couldn’t truly block his view. He licked his dry lips and averted his gaze, moving to stand by the table.
He scanned the three stools by the table—one facing the screen directly, two off to the sides. After a brief hesitation, he sat on one of the side stools that angled away from the screen.
Inside the bath, Qian Jiaoniang sat like a wooden post, not daring to move, teeth clenched. She had no idea what madness had seized Xing Muzheng again, and didn’t even dare raise her hand.
“Marquis,” Qingya stepped in front of the screen, blocking the view, “Allow me to pour you some tea.”
Qian Jiaoniang suddenly stood up in the tub, splashing water noisily. Xing Muzheng’s ears twitched at the sound, his mouth going even drier. But Qingya’s figure completely blocked his view.
The lighting dimmed with Qingya standing there. Xing Muzheng looked up at the overly attentive maid with narrowed eyes. Qingya smiled and poured him tea, but did not move aside. His gaze darkened slightly.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
Qingya paused and answered, “This servant is called Qingya.”
“Still more so—pure bones and refined elegance?” he asked, quoting a line.
Qingya smiled. “The Marquis has a fine command of poetry.”
“You’ve read books?”
“I can recognize a few big characters, that’s all,” she replied modestly.
“What’s your surname?”
“This servant’s surname is Qing.”
Xing Muzheng let out a low chuckle. For some reason, Qingya felt a chill run down her spine.
