Shen Yujiao’s mind went blank.
She knew she could not refuse.
He was her husband—this was only right and proper.
With her eyes closed, she turned in his hold as he guided her. His breath, warm and heavy, brushed against her forehead, tickling her skin and sending a shiver down her spine.
In the dim light beneath the bed curtains, she couldn’t make out his expression—only a hazy outline. He lowered his head slightly, voice deep. “Nervous?”
“N-no…” she lay flat, insisting softly, though her voice trembled faintly.
“Mm. No need to be nervous.”
His long palm gently patted her thin back, and his other hand clasped hers, their fingers intertwining. “Don’t forget—we’re husband and wife.”
Husband and wife are one, joined in harmony—such is the order of heaven and man.
Shen Yujiao answered softly, almost inaudibly, “Mm.” She repeated silently to herself—this was only natural, a matter of course, nothing to be nervous about, nothing to…
Nothing to what?
A flicker of confusion stirred within her chest. She could not find a word for that faint, tangled emotion that wrapped through her heart like a fine thread—something other than nervousness, yet just as consuming.
When Pei Xia saw her shoulders and neck slowly relax, he braced himself on one arm.
Shen Yujiao thought he was about to undo his robes, but instead, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.
She froze, startled, as his lips trailed downward—from her forehead to her eyelids, to her nose, to her lips, then to her neck and collarbone…
It was something he had never done before.
Before, he would simply remove their clothes and go straight to the act—never this lingering tenderness, never such slow, gentle affection.
It felt like falling into a pile of feathers. Every light kiss left tingling ripples across her skin, like a piece of ice melting under the midsummer sun. Her body softened, dissolved—she no longer felt like herself.
The sensation was strange—so strange she instinctively raised a hand, stopping his head against her chest, lips trembling. “Langjun, don’t… don’t do that.”
He lifted his gaze through the loose folds of his robe, voice husky. “Uncomfortable?”
“N-no…” She shut her eyes, her flushed cheeks burning hotter, voice shrinking smaller. “It just feels strange.”
Maybe it’s better like before, she thought secretly. At least then, the strangeness only came at the end—not so soon, not before I can even steady myself.
Strange?
Pei Xia’s eyes darkened. But she was so soft, so fragrant—he couldn’t bear to let go.
When he was a young student at Songyang Academy, he had studied there for three years. Though he was the youngest among his peers, he had always been mature for his age. His classmates, when drinking and composing poetry, always liked to invite him along.
The soldiers in the army would tell crude jokes when drunk, and scholars were no different—only their vulgar talk was more refined, dressed up in verse.
“Golden needles pierce the peach blossom’s core; she dares not cry, but frowns in secret.”
“Fish and water in harmony, soft buds sweetly plucked by fluttering butterflies.”
“Willowy waists sway, flower-hearts half-bloomed, dewdrops gleaming on opened peonies…”
They would write these lewd poems, laughing and teasing about courtesans from brothels—how slender their waists, how soft their bodies, how pale their little feet.
Back then, he had found such talk boring.
But now—those flowery, sensual verses had taken form before his eyes.
The scent of powder and sweat mingled, spring heat and melting tenderness, impossible to resist.
“You’ll get used to it. It’ll feel better,” Pei Xia murmured against her skin, still moving, his breath thick with her fragrance.
That scent—it was the scent of their child’s milk.
Shen Yujiao wanted to curl up into a ball, whispering lowly, her voice tinged with plea, “Brother Shouzhen…”
Pei Xia knew his wife was modest by nature—if he went too far, she wouldn’t be able to bear it.
He lifted his tall frame slightly, then lowered his head again, sealing her lips with his.
Unlike the kiss in the carriage earlier that day, there were no restraints now between husband and wife beneath the bed curtains. The kiss was deep and lingering.
Her thin undergarments gradually loosened; their skin pressed together—warm and soft.
The tension inside her was shattered by the kiss, scattered into fragments. Shen Yujiao felt her consciousness slipping away in his tender yet overpowering touch, crumbling, falling, sinking into a boundless whirlpool.
Until her skirt slipped away, his narrow waist pressed close—and suddenly, a voice echoed in her mind—
“Don’t forget me.”
Jiaojiao, don’t forget me.
Jiaojiao…
Her body went rigid. Her muddled mind split wide open.
“Yuniang?” The man above her stopped.
“I… I…” Shen Yujiao’s heart panicked.
That faint confusion she had felt before—she understood it now. It was guilt.
Her heart was questioning her, accusing her—how could she, in her husband’s arms, be thinking of another man?
She had been raised on The Lessons for Women and The Four Virtues, taught to obey and uphold chastity. And yet now—what kind of woman had she become? Fickle, unfaithful, disloyal.
No—she mustn’t think of it again.
She bit her tongue, trying to drive out that voice, that face—always bright, always smiling—from her mind.
But the more she tried to forget, the clearer it became.
Her heart pounded wildly. This shameful thought terrified her—if Pei Xia were to notice…
“I’m fine.” She tried to steady her voice, but her body remained tense as a bowstring.
No matter how desire surged, Pei Xia sensed the change in her.
Her body was sensitive—so sensitive that even the faintest resistance showed itself; she trembled uncontrollably.
He could have ignored it, pressed forward regardless.
But he couldn’t.
Just as Shen Yujiao grit her teeth, preparing to hold onto him, her body suddenly felt light—
The man had lain down beside her.
“Langjun?” she called softly, uneasy.
“After traveling for days on end, I’m a little tired,” he said.
Under the quilt, his long fingers moved deftly, helping her straighten her inner garments and skirt. “I have court in the morning. Go to sleep.”
Was he really tired? A man as intelligent as he was…
Shen Yujiao’s throat felt tight; her heart was heavy with guilt. She wanted to say something but didn’t know where to begin.
She had wronged Xie Wuling—
Yet she could not bring herself to love her husband wholeheartedly either.
“Langjun…” she whispered, her voice filled with pain and confusion.
He was silent for a long time before lifting a hand to draw her into his arms. “No rush. Take your time.”
If Xie Wuling could live in her heart, why couldn’t he?
Even ice could be warmed and melted— And her heart was not made of ice, but of warm jade.
That night, husband and wife shared the same bed and pillow, yet both lay awake, wordlessly aware of the distance between them.
When dawn light seeped in, Shen Yujiao was still half-asleep, while Pei Xia had already risen, dressed, and prepared to attend court.
Seeing her about to get up to serve him, he bent down and pressed her shoulder gently. “Sleep.”
The more gentle and understanding he was, the deeper her guilt grew.
Carrying that guilt, she drifted back into sleep—and fell into a nightmare.
In the dream, countless people pointed at her, shouting—
“You’re fickle and unfaithful! Shameless and wanton!”
“You’ve broken the code of womanly virtue—you should be drowned in a pig cage!”
“You’re heartless and pretentious! How could someone like you deserve Pei Shouzhen?”
“You’re not worthy—not worthy!”
When she woke, she was drenched in cold sweat.
“She’s awake—madam is awake!” came Dongxu’s delighted voice.
Qiao Momo also hurried over, placing a hand on Shen Yujiao’s forehead, then clasping her hands together and muttering, “Bodhisattva bless, Bodhisattva bless…”
Sitting up in bed, Shen Yujiao’s face was pale. “What happened to me?”
“Ah, you had a nightmare and were trapped in it,” Qiao Momo said, instructing Dongxu and the others to prepare breakfast. Bringing a cup of warm tea to the bedside, she looked at her worriedly. “What kind of dream was it, to scare you so? You kept crying ‘no, no,’ and frightened Dongxu and the others. They didn’t dare wake you for fear of startling your soul.”
“I…” Shen Yujiao’s words stuck in her throat.
How could she speak of such a dream?
If she said it aloud, Qiao Momo would surely scold her for having foolish, improper thoughts.
In this world, when a man is passionate, he’s called charming; when a woman is passionate, she’s called wanton.
She sipped the tea silently, saying nothing.
Qiao Momo, thinking she didn’t want to recall the nightmare, didn’t press further. She merely dabbed the sweat from her face tenderly. “Drink a bowl of calming soup before bed tonight—you won’t be troubled by nightmares again.”
When the tea was finished, Qiao Momo set down the cup, then seemed to recall something and leaned in close to whisper, “Madam, last night… you and the young master didn’t share a room?”
Everyone said that parting makes reunion sweeter, and her body had already recovered. The kitchen had kept hot water ready all night, yet no one heard any summons from the upper room.
At first she thought the young couple had just been lazy—but this morning, upon entering the room, she could only smell the faint sweet scent of pear-blossom incense. Nothing else.
At the mention of it, Shen Yujiao’s face went rigid.
Memories of last night surged back—how hot his body had felt against hers, and how hard he must have worked to restrain himself.
If he had pressed on, she would not have refused him— But he hadn’t.
“Madam?” Qiao Momo waved her fingers before her eyes, growing more worried. “Have you really been frightened? Don’t scare this old servant.”
She was about to suggest fetching Daoist Wang from Qingyun Temple to take a look when the delicate young mistress beside the bed suddenly spoke:
“Momo, is there any maid in the house who’s particularly good-looking and gentle-tempered?”
Qiao Momo didn’t think much of it and answered plainly, “Aren’t Bai Ping, Dongxu, Xiaying, and Qiulu all pretty and well-behaved?”
Shen Yujiao was momentarily choked, then shook her head. “They won’t do.”
“Why not—wait, madam, you mean…” Qiao Momo’s eyes widened in shock. “You mean to pick a bed companion for the young master?”
The word bed companion stung like a thorn.
Something inside her chest twisted painfully. She pressed her lips together, telling herself not to be selfish, not to be jealous.
She had already been unfaithful in her heart—how could she expect her husband to stay devoted to her alone?
If she could not yet adjust, was he supposed to keep enduring, endlessly suppressing himself for her sake?
“My health still isn’t fully recovered,” Shen Yujiao lowered her lashes. “I can’t serve Langjun properly. Let me rest a while longer. In the meantime, choose a maid to attend him in the study.”
Qiao Momo frowned. Though she had once suggested taking a concubine, now was hardly the time. After a brief separation, affection should be rekindled—not divided by another woman.
Suddenly, a thought struck her. She leaned close and whispered, “If the problem lies in… harmony, there are secret techniques in the palace that can help—guaranteed to make things as good as new.”
Shen Yujiao’s face flamed scarlet. “It’s not that! Don’t imagine nonsense, Momo.”
“Then why?” Qiao Momo asked, bewildered.
Shen Yujiao pressed her lips together and avoided the question. “Just do as I said. If there’s no suitable one in the household, go to the servant market. I trust your judgment.”
Ignoring Qiao Momo’s continued persuasion, she lay back down, pulling the quilt around her and turning her face to the wall.
“I’m still sleepy,” she murmured. “Let me rest a bit more. I won’t be eating lunch.”
Qiao Momo watched her mistress’s retreating back, unable to make sense of it.
How had she become even more willful after becoming a mother?
Ah well—since it was her lady’s order, she would pick one then.
Qiao Momo thought: beauty was secondary; obedience came first. She must find someone who would obey her mistress absolutely—whose very life would rest in her lady’s hands. That would be the safest choice.
—
That evening, Pei Xia returned home from court.
As soon as he entered, Qiao Momo came to report, “Madam took the young master to the Li residence this afternoon. She said she’d stay there for a few days to accompany the old madam, and asked that you not worry.”
Pei Xia looked at the empty courtyard, a tightness weighing on his chest.
So, in order to avoid intimacy with him, she had taken their child and fled to her grandfather’s house?
A voice inside him shouted—go now, bring her back immediately.
But reason told him that would be improper. His wife had merely gone to her mother’s home for a short stay. As her husband, could he really forbid that?
She was his wife, not some concubine or bed-servant.
He did not know how long he sat there by the bedside, until the tea beside his hand had gone cold. Then, finally, he rose to his feet.
Three days.
At most three days.
If she didn’t return by then, he would go and fetch her himself.
Yet when he stepped into his study later that evening—and saw a young maid inside, dressed in fresh-colored clothes, her skin pale as snow and her face delicate as a blossom—the irritation he had been suppressing suddenly surged up again.
“Who allowed you to enter?”
His expression was cold, and his clear, cool voice could not hide his anger.
“This servant greets Langjun.”
The new maid was called Qingqing, an official servant girl. She was pretty and demure, with especially timid, docile eyes. Qiao Momo had judged her at once to be honest and dependable, signed the contract with the broker, and brought her home.
Before entering the study, Qingqing had first been taken to see the madam. The young, beautiful lady had been gentle and soft-spoken with her: “Don’t be afraid. Langjun is mild-tempered and has no bad habits. Just serve him obediently and all will be well.”
Reassured by the madam’s kindness, Qingqing had felt at ease. But when she saw the handsome man who now entered the room, she was completely dazed.
The madam had said her husband was gentle—yet she hadn’t mentioned he was so strikingly good-looking, like an immortal descended to earth.
“I asked you—who allowed you to enter my study?”
The icy tone pierced her dream like a shard of glass. Startled, Qingqing fell to her knees. “I—this servant… it was the madam. The madam told me to come to the study and serve Langjun.”
Even though he had already guessed as much, hearing it aloud made Pei Xia’s heart sink.
“L–Langjun?”
Still kneeling, Qingqing raised her eyes timidly. “This servant…”
“Get out.”
“Ah?” Qingqing froze.
The next moment, the man cast her a calm, frigid glance. “I said, get out.”
His voice was even, without harshness, but that cold gaze made Qingqing’s heart seize and her back go rigid.
Her face turned pale. She kowtowed in a panic, then fled as though escaping her life.
The madam had deceived her—how was this man gentle?
He might have the face of jade, but he was a jade-faced Asura. Terrifying beyond words.
Pei Xia felt suffocated.
Perhaps it was only his imagination—or perhaps his fastidious nature—but the study suddenly seemed tainted with a trace of women’s fragrance.
Expression dark, he strode to the window and pushed it open.
The autumn evening wind swept in, carrying a touch of chill and loneliness. It scattered the scent of ink in the room, but could not dispel the heaviness in his chest.
After a long moment, he took a scroll from the huanghuali display shelf.
The warm candlelight fell slantwise across the painting: snow blanketing the ground, red plums in bloom. A woman in a pale jade coat sat beneath the eaves, one hand resting on her rounded belly, the other holding a plum branch. Her brows were gentle, her smile serene.
In the corner of the scroll were small characters:
“In the twentieth year of Yuanshou, early spring. Red plums bloom amid auspicious snow. My wife, Yuniang, nine months with child—soon our home shall welcome new life. I painted this as remembrance.”
He remembered that day: she had held the red plum branch in the snow, nervously asking, “Langjun, how should I pose?”
He had looked at her shy, uncertain face and smiled softly. “Just like that.”
When one loves someone, no matter what they do—they are always lovely.
His slender fingers brushed the painted brows of the woman. At that time, surely her mind had not yet been occupied by that Xie Wuling.
All because of that scoundrel, who had appeared before Yuniang again and again, stirring her heart into chaos.
Pei Xia’s gaze darkened.
The discontent that had been festering in him for days quietly fermented into a trace of hatred.
And once that hatred sprouted, it was difficult to contain.
The next day after court, Pei Xia headed toward the Hanlin Academy. Unexpectedly, when he reached Longwei Path, he saw a man in azure official robes approaching from the opposite side, led by palace attendants.
Enemies truly crossed paths on narrow roads.
Both men thought of the same phrase.
Yet Xie Wuling still wore a smile, as if greeting an old friend. He cupped his hands warmly. “Isn’t this Brother Shouzhen? What a coincidence! I rarely come to the palace, and yet we meet today—truly, fate brings us together.”
Evil fate, Xie Wuling added silently.
Evil fate, Pei Xia echoed in cold amusement.
Once, he might have played at civility in public.
But now—thinking of how his wife avoided him, how she’d sent a maid to his chambers, all because of this scoundrel—he could no longer pretend politeness.
He only wished he could beat the man bloody, stuff him in a sack, and send him as far away as possible—be it to the ends of the earth or some distant foreign shore— So long as he never appeared before him or his wife again.
Xie Wuling could also tell that Pei Shouzhen was acting strange.
That dark, sullen face, those cold and sharp eyes, and the heavy, almost tangible aura of… resentment?
Xie Wuling frowned. What’s with this pale-faced scholar now?
Did the emperor scold him? Or did his assignment go badly?
“Brother Shouzhen, I see your eyes are dull, and your forehead looks dark—ah, that’s not a good omen. Could it be you ran into something unclean?” Xie Wuling shook his head, face full of concern.
Pei Xia lowered his gaze, the corners of his thin lips tugging faintly. “That’s right—I did run into something dirty.”
Xie Wuling: “……”
Hiss. This sharp-tongued b*stard.
Just looking at him made Pei Xia irritated. He said coldly, “If there’s nothing else, please move aside, Lord Xie. Don’t block the way.”
“This road is wide enough—who’s blocking you?” Xie Wuling’s brows shot up.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Pei Xia strode forward and shouldered past him without the slightest politeness.
Caught off guard, Xie Wuling stumbled back a few steps from the impact.
“Pei Shouzhen, you—”
A curse rose to his lips, but he swallowed it down. This was the imperial palace, after all, and there was a eunuch beside him—he couldn’t act out.
Still, watching that red-robed man stride away without a backward glance, Xie Wuling couldn’t help grinding his molars.
That pale-faced scholar must have eaten gunpowder today—what a temper!
And to think he’s supposed to be a gentleman. Where was the slightest trace of gentlemanly grace just now?
He was practically a shrew. No—an embittered husband!
“Lord Xie, are you all right?” the young eunuch asked cautiously.
“I’m fine.”
As Xie Wuling walked on with him, he asked, “Was he scolded by His Majesty?”
“I wouldn’t know,” the eunuch shook his head, looking puzzled. “I heard that Scholar Pei accompanied the two princes on their river inspection and carried out his duties flawlessly. Just yesterday, His Majesty even praised him in court for being thorough and thoughtful. By rights, he shouldn’t be acting so… ah, distant.”
Distant? That was putting it mildly—he’d been downright contemptuous.
Could it be that the scholar and Lord Xie had some private feud?
But Xie Wuling’s thoughts had drifted elsewhere.
So Pei Shouzhen had earned another imperial commendation?
A Hanlin scholar, a close attendant to the Son of Heaven—constantly in His Majesty’s presence, decent in looks, and with good literary talent…
If he won the emperor’s favor, it was only a matter of time before he rose even higher.
And recalling that moment—Pei Xia in his vivid red robe, a golden belt cinched at the waist—even though Xie Wuling couldn’t stand him, he had to admit that the pale-faced man in red looked nearly as fine as himself.
No. He couldn’t let that scholar outshine him.
That thought lingered in his mind as he followed the eunuch toward the Zichen Palace.
He’d entered the palace today on behalf of the Third Prince, to present cinnabar refined from Little Peach Mountain—the purest kind.
Emperor Zhaoning was obsessed with seeking immortality. The alchemist who served him claimed that cinnabar refined from the first batch of gold ore—called initial cinnabar—had absorbed the essence of sun and moon and the mountain’s spiritual energy, making it the supreme ingredient for elixirs.
Xie Wuling thought it was utter nonsense.
But if the emperor believed it, then nonsense became truth.
Presenting the cinnabar was the Third Prince’s way of giving Xie Wuling a chance to make an impression before the throne.
Unfortunately, his timing was poor. When he arrived, the emperor had just taken an elixir and was busy “harmonizing yin and yang” with a consort.
He had no choice but to offer the cinnabar, kowtow three times at the doorway, and withdraw respectfully.
As he was leaving, he caught the sounds of laughter and play from within the chamber and clicked his tongue inwardly.
That old man—still fooling around at his age. Wasn’t he afraid of dying mid-act?
“Xie Changshi, don’t be disheartened,” said the eunuch who escorted him out. “Once His Majesty finishes… ah, harmonizing, and learns of your offering, he’ll surely reward you.”
“It’s nothing,” Xie Wuling smiled. “Besides, it wasn’t really my offering. It’s His Highness the Third Prince’s show of filial devotion—I wouldn’t dare take the credit.”
The eunuch, seeing how generous-minded he was, smiled too. “With that attitude, my lord, you’ll have no trouble earning future audiences.”
“I’ll take your kind words as good fortune, then.”
“You’re too polite, Xie Changshi.”
After a few more courteous exchanges, Xie Wuling left the palace.
He’d been busy traveling these past two months and hadn’t yet handled his housing arrangements, so he was still staying in a side courtyard of the Third Prince’s residence.
When he returned, his attendant stepped up to help him undress, but he waved him off. “I’ll do it myself. Just fetch me a pot of tea.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Xie Wuling stripped off the cumbersome official robes, leaving only a white undergarment, and sat down heavily at the table. He drank half a pot of water before he finally felt his thirst ease.
As the coolness settled, his mind cleared—and it drifted back to his encounter with Pei Xia on the palace path.
He rubbed his chin with long fingers, narrowing his dark eyes. “Something’s off. Very off…”
“What’s off, my lord?” the attendant asked, puzzled.
Xie Wuling didn’t answer immediately. After a long pause, he beckoned him closer. “Go to Yongning Ward and find out what’s going on at Scholar Pei’s residence…”
He whispered a few quiet instructions.
The attendant hurried off while daylight still lingered.
By evening, he returned. “Yesterday, Madam Pei took the child back to her maternal family. Oh—and one of their old nursemaids went to the brokers and brought back a new maid. Quite a pretty one, they say. Other than that, I know nothing more.”
Jiaojiao went back to her mother’s home with the child?
Xie Wuling’s first reaction was—those two must have quarreled. Otherwise, Pei Xia had only just returned to Chang’an; why else would Jiaojiao choose this exact moment to “visit family”?
As for buying a maid…
“The old nurse who bought the maid—was she from Scholar Pei’s side, or Madam Pei’s side?”
“Should be from the Madam’s side, I think?” the attendant mused. “Matters like buying servants or managing the household usually fall under the mistress’s authority.”
If it was the old nurse from Jiaojiao’s side who bought the maid…
Xie Wuling suddenly realized something. The frown on his face loosened, and the corners of his lips lifted. “Ah—no wonder!”
The attendant blinked. “Eh?”
Xie Wuling clapped his hands together, excitement lighting his face. “No wonder that pale-faced scholar looked like he wanted to bite someone today—so that’s how it is!”
He must have tried to make advances and failed, Jiaojiao shoved a maid at him instead, then took the child and ran off!
“Hahahahahaha!” Xie Wuling couldn’t help slapping the table in laughter.
His attendant stared blankly. What… exactly was funny about that?
After laughing to his heart’s content, Xie Wuling drew a deep breath and tried to restrain his glee, though the smile still lingered stubbornly on his face.
“You go—” He started to give an order, then changed his mind. “Forget it. I’ll go myself.”
“My lord, it’s nearly dark. Where are you going?”
“Pingkang Ward.”
Without looking back, Xie Wuling hummed a cheerful tune as he walked away.
Jiaojiao was such a reserved, proper woman—any maid she picked was bound to be dull.
But men understood men best. He’d go to Pingkang Ward himself, have a good look, and pick out two fine courtesans with looks and charm to match—then send them as a gift to his dear Brother Shouzhen.
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