CXD - 71

The soft, wet touch landed on the thin layer of new flesh on his shoulder, like millions of ants crawling over him. A surge of fire ignited at the top of his head and spread downward.

Like after a drenching spring rain, bamboo shoots sprout vigorously from the ground—almost in an instant, Yuan Ce stiffened on Jiang Zhiyi’s beauty couch.

However, the person on top of him was completely unaware of his unusual state. She gently blew on his long-healed scars and searched for another wound to soothe on his sweat-dampened back.

Yuan Ce’s gaze was fixed on the nearby bronze mirror. Through it, he saw her hugging his naked body. Unable to reach his back, she changed from sitting sideways to kneeling. Her arms, like vines, climbed onto his shoulders. As she moved, her waist swayed beneath her thin spring robe, hidden corners stirring up waves of imagination.

Yuan Ce’s breath grew heavier as he stared intently at this scene. Suddenly, he raised his hand and pressed it against her waist.

His original intention was to stop her, but unexpectedly, the ticklish sensation in her waist made Jiang Zhiyi tremble, and with a soft cry, she awkwardly collapsed down.

Yuan Ce let out a deep groan, and in that moment, his soul seemed to shudder violently as if being cleansed.

Sitting on Yuan Ce’s lap, Jiang Zhiyi recalled the sensation of brushing against him just moments ago and blankly lowered her head.

A split second before her gaze reached him, Yuan Ce quickly raised his hand to cover her eyes.

Jiang Zhiyi blinked away her tears. The tear-filled lashes fluttered against his palm. With a nasal tone, she asked: “What is it?”

Yuan Ce closed his eyes, trying hard to suppress the restlessness spreading through his limbs: “... Nothing.”

Jiang Zhiyi raised her hand to pry open his.

Yuan Ce held firm, not budging an inch.

“If it’s nothing, why are you covering my eyes?” Jiang Zhiyi furrowed her brows suspiciously, reaching out blindly in the dim light.

Yuan Ce caught both her wrists with his other hand.

With her hands restrained and her vision blocked, Jiang Zhiyi guessed incredulously: “You don’t think I came prepared to fight with you today and brought a stick for protection, do you?”

“...”

“Just assume that.”

Assuming so means it isn’t, and it must be something even more serious than seeing her with a stick.

Seeing him so guilty for the first time, Jiang Zhiyi was curious to the point of frustration: “What is it exactly? Let me see!”

“Can’t look,” Yuan Ce listened to her coquettish tone, and the veins on his temples throbbed. “No ‘please.’“

“Why can’t I look? I’m unhappy like this.”

“...If you look and still don’t give me a title, who would dare take advantage of you? Do you want to imitate your Sister Baojia?”

Jiang Zhiyi was startled. Why did he suddenly bring up Sister Baojia?

Taking advantage of her momentary distraction, Yuan Ce released her hands and eyes. Before she could lower her head to look, he swiftly lifted her off like a kitten and stood up, turning around to walk directly into the inner room.

Suddenly bathed in bright light, Jiang Zhiyi squinted at the dazzling golden lamp tree. After blinking a few times, she climbed off the couch and chased after him, following him into the inner room. However, she only managed to see the bathroom door being shut behind him with a click, the bolt locking from inside.

Jiang Zhiyi stamped her foot outside the door, about to question him, when she suddenly realized where he had gone—

In her bathroom, there might still be the undergarment she had taken off tonight after bathing!

“You—you—you come out quick!” Jiang Zhiyi’s eyes widened in shock.

On the other side of the door, Yuan Ce leaned against it and glanced down. He said towards the door: “When you have a title, then I’ll let you see.”

“No, no, I won’t look anymore!” Jiang Zhiyi anxiously knocked on the door. “Come out quickly, don’t look up…”

Yuan Ce looked up.

Jiang Zhiyi abruptly covered her mouth.

Silence fell both inside and outside the door. The surroundings became so quiet that even the faint sound of a water droplet hitting the ground seemed to reverberate in their ears.

“You—saw it?” Jiang Zhiyi asked, her voice trembling.

Under the dim candlelight in the bathroom, Yuan Ce fixed his gaze on the delicate, smooth, pale yellow undergarment hanging nearby. Watching the clear water droplet lingering on the tip of its thin strap, his Adam’s apple moved slightly: “...I saw it.”

Jiang Zhiyi’s cheeks flushed red. She covered her eyes with her hands and turned away, pretending to be oblivious like someone stealing bells while covering their ears.

Suddenly, she heard Yuan Ce call her name hoarsely from inside: “Jiang Zhiyi.”

“Mm...?”

“Let me use the bath.”

Three quarters of an hour later, Jiang Zhiyi had been attended to by her maids, who wiped away her tear-streaked face and helped her change into sleeping attire. She lay on the bed, listening to the sound of running water from the bathroom, listlessly turning over and over.

Didn’t he always bathe before seeing her whenever he returned from outside? He must have sweated a bit earlier, but this was taking too long.

She did value cleanliness, but if it was his sweat, she wasn’t so repulsed that he needed to scrub himself raw.

Never mind, what shouldn’t have been seen had already been seen. Let him use it however he liked for as long as he wanted.

But which undergarment had she worn today? What pattern was it? She couldn’t recall.

Never mind, let’s not think about it. All her undergarments were beautiful; none of them were embarrassing.

And what did he mean earlier when he said “seeing without commitment”? When would there be commitment, then he’d let her see. So what exactly was that?

Forget it, he mentioned Sister Baojia, so she could write to ask her later.

Jiang Zhiyi’s thoughts drifted in and out, one after another. Growing increasingly sleepy, she leaned against the soft pillow and closed her eyes.

When Yuan Ce emerged from the bathroom, he saw her hugging the quilt, her pale pink face resting on the soft pillow, lips slightly upturned, breathing steadily—already asleep waiting for him.

After letting the remaining moisture dry off his half-naked body, Yuan Ce looked at himself, sighed deeply, picked up his inner garment and outer robe, put them on, fastened his belt, and walked forward. Kneeling beside the bed, he quietly watched her for a moment, gently pulling out the quilt she was hugging and spreading it open.

“Mm?” Jiang Zhiyi woke up drowsily, lifted her face, and rubbed her eyes. “You’re finally done washing, why did it take so long...”

Yuan Ce raised his hand, thumb caressing her cheek softly: “I cleaned up the bathroom, I’m going back to my room.”

“Back to your room?” Jiang Zhiyi came to her senses and glared at him. “If you’re not sleeping here, why did you use my bathroom?”

Yuan Ce was momentarily speechless.

“How can you do this, crossing the bridge and dismantling it... I waited for you until my eyelids were fighting each other, is this acceptable?” Jiang Zhiyi pouted and muttered.

“You want me to sleep with you?”

“Don’t you want to?”

“Then no more touching?”

Jiang Zhiyi frowned: “Am I wrong for touching you?”

Yuan Ce smoothed her frown with his knuckles: “It’s because I’m afraid I won’t be able to hold back and might hurt you.”

She had lost her mother at a young age, and her only loving elder was her uncle. Even during the engagement in the first month, presumably, no matron had taught her about real intimate matters, so she was completely uninhibited around him. Those romantic storybooks probably only went as far as the “kissing” she often mentioned.

Seeing Jiang Zhiyi touching her brow in confusion, Yuan Ce pulled back the quilt, got onto the bed, lounged back with his arms behind his head, staring at the canopy above as if self-hypnotizing: “Alright, you can do whatever you want. Even if you carve me with a knife, I won’t make a sound. There’s nothing I can’t endure.”

“Who cares about touching you.” Jiang Zhiyi snorted and turned away.

Yuan Ce looked at the back of her angry head. After a while, he saw her reluctantly turn her face halfway: “Why don’t you care about me anymore if I don’t care about you?”

Yuan Ce silently recited three times the lesson taught in the academy—”The difference between humans and beasts is slight; commoners abandon it, gentlemen preserve it”—and then pulled her into his arms.

Jiang Zhiyi rested her head on his chest, satisfied, and closed her eyes.

In the quiet of the night, as she closed her eyes, the previously interrupted thoughts returned to her mind. For some reason, she suddenly thought of the people mentioned tonight.

Lying in the eastern wing of the Shen residence in Chang’an, Gao Shi with his ashen face, Zhong Boyong and Zhuo Kuan competing with Yuan Ce in riding and polo at the Tianchong Academy, Lord Kang Le hobbling on crutches, Marquis Xuande awaiting execution in prison...

Faces flashed before her eyes, each ghastly and muddy, their blank, blood-red eyes wide open, like vengeful ghosts.

In an instant, she didn’t know where she was. Under the dark night sky, they stood before her, covered in blood, smiling: “Do you think it’s over?”

“Those with blood-stained hands will one day die in pools of blood...”

Another blink, and she found herself amidst the dusty battlefield. Thousands of troops charged towards each other. She saw Yuan Ce high on his horse, wielding a long spear, leading the charge. Suddenly, arrows rained down, piercing his chest like meteors...

The scene shifted again. She sat in front of the dressing table in Yaoguang Pavilion, wearing a red bridal gown, hearing the lively sound of suonas outside the window. Puzzled, she asked Jingzhe and Guyu why they hadn’t applied makeup despite the auspicious time having arrived.

Jingzhe and Guyu, with red eyes, told her: “Young Mistress, have you forgotten? Young Master Shen cannot come to marry you anymore.”

Jiang Zhiyi, shaken, looked at the bronze mirror in front of her. Only then did she realize she wasn’t wearing wedding attire but mourning clothes. Listening to the suonas outside, she realized they weren’t playing celebratory music but funeral dirges.

Her heart plummeted into an icy abyss. Jiang Zhiyi clutched the dressing table, trembling all over, tears raining down in an instant...

“Jiang Zhiyi?” A voice called her name, once, then again.

A warm fingertip touched her wet eye corner, pulling her from the depths of despair.

Struggling through the suffocating pain, Jiang Zhiyi forced her eyes open. Through her blurred vision, a familiar face appeared.

Dazed, as if unable to believe, Jiang Zhiyi blinked away her tears, slowly raising her index finger. As if afraid to break something, she lightly touched this face, her fingertips tracing his brows arching into his temples, moving to his straight nose, and then his thin lips.

Yuan Ce held her in his arms, watching her trembling fingers move, furrowing his brows: “Had a nightmare?”

Jiang Zhiyi was startled awake by this question. Slowly turning her head, she saw the tranquil bedroom with the flickering candlelight, and the warm spring night outside the window.

There was no bloody curse, no battlefield, no mourning clothes.

She had a nightmare.

She just had a nightmare...

But the dream’s vivid red turned to white in an instant. The despair felt as real as when she was six years old, hearing her father had returned. Joyfully running out of the mansion, she saw her father’s coffin and fluttering white banners.

Or like that New Year’s Eve, sitting alone in front of a table of reheated dishes, finally feeling hungry and picking up a dumpling to eat, when suddenly a nanny stumbled over, saying her mother had poisoned herself.

Her heart squeezed and crushed painfully. Gasping for breath, Jiang Zhiyi hugged Yuan Ce with an unprecedented force.

Feeling the tightness around his waist, Yuan Ce lowered his head, about to ask what she dreamed of.

“Yuan Ce, are you still hiding something from me...” Jiang Zhiyi suddenly raised her head, trembling as she spoke.

“Your revenge—is it not yet complete?”