“Why not?” Hearing Mi Yao’s refusal, Xiao Xu’s narrow, wine-flushed eyes glowed with dissatisfaction, fixed intently on her.
Mi Yao was never afraid of his usual sharp gaze, cold as if scraping bone. But now, mixed with beast-like agitation and a possessive intensity, his eyes made her skin prickle with goosebumps. Instinctively, she felt a flicker of fear.
It wasn’t that she *wanted* to stop—it was that the situation *forced* her to stop.
Mi Yao glanced at the thick dragon-and-phoenix wedding candles burning beside the bed. Some descriptions she had once thought exaggerated for drama—yet now she realized someone could embody them perfectly.
“Xiao Lang, you are gifted beyond measure. I know my own limits—I cannot. In the future, I will find you a concubine broad-hearted enough to satisfy you. As for me, just keep me here to look at, like a painting.”
She had prepared herself for sharing a bed with Xiao Xu. She even thought of his figure and appearance, and felt she would not be losing out.
But after actual consideration, for the sake of her own life, Mi Yao did not mince words. She directly admitted she could not, and promised to personally find someone who could.
Seeing her hands, dyed red with nail balm, pressed tightly against her chest, her body curling back in fear—it was clear this was not an act she could not carry through, but genuine terror of his body.
Xiao Xu spoke, his hoarse voice filling the room: “How do you know this is truly ‘gift beyond measure’? Do you have something to compare it to?”
“Xiao Lang, it’s not comparison—it’s reason. I truly cannot.”
Mi Yao looked up at him with watery, pleading eyes. “Just treat me like a beauty in a painting, Xiao Lang. I will surely be more lively than any lifeless picture.”
“How can you know you cannot, if you’ve never tried?” With that, he gave her no chance to bargain further—his lips sealed hers.
At this rate, forget “two children in three years”—with his strength, even the widest hips wouldn’t survive tonight. Mi Yao pushed him away: “How about this? Spare me, and I’ll help you manage your three children.”
Seeing Xiao Xu still testing her, Mi Yao grew more frightened and retreated further: “I’ll even help you train a steward to oversee the inner quarters. That’s already my greatest concession. Think about it—this is something you could ask another woman to do. If you don’t force yourself on me, I can still be useful to you. A capable steward versus a woman only for the bed…”
Xiao Xu gazed at the beauty before him, her face filled with terror, and gave a short, mocking laugh. Without comparison, without trying—how could she be so certain she could not? Was her behavior truly born of fear, or just an excuse to reject him as too rough?
Meeting his still-flushed eyes, Mi Yao could not tell whether their negotiation had succeeded or not. Now that he paused, she regretted conceding too quickly. She should have resisted him a few more times. To promise both managing the household and raising children—was she to be treated like a beast of burden?
“Xiao Dalang has already grown, with his own ideas. He hardly needs me to care for him. And after all, this is the Xiao household. For me, an outsider, to choose stewards for the inner quarters—wouldn’t that be overstepping? Perhaps it should be you who—ah!”
Xiao Xu moved, and Mi Yao screamed in fright. She dared not bargain further. With tear-filled eyes, she pleaded: “Xiao Lang, I was wrong. Please, spare me.”
Mi Yao pulled the quilt tightly around herself, wrapping it close, then shifted her body to lie at the very edge of the bed. “Sleep. Tomorrow, when I wake, I’ll ask the matrons from the governor’s household. If none are suitable, I’ll take the trouble to train one with nearly the same ability to manage the inner quarters.”
It wasn’t cowardice—it was fear of pain. She had been granted a precious life. If Heaven reclaimed it, she would feel regret, but she could accept it calmly. But matters between man and woman could not be solved with a simple resolve to die.
To guard against Xiao Xu changing his mind, Mi Yao closed her eyes as soon as she lay down, feigning sleep. Beneath the quilt, her hand quietly tugged her inner robe into place.
When his lips brushed her shoulder again, she clenched her fist and glared at him.
“Didn’t we agree?”
He had never agreed. His palm swept across her skin, and Xiao Xu recalled an old memory. Once, when he received an official robe, the calluses on his hand snagged the silk as he straightened the hem, pulling a thread loose.
That was when he learned—the finer the fabric, the more delicate it was. For a rough man like him, without patience, coarse cloth was simpler.
Now, years later, kneading Mi Yao’s skin—softer than the finest silk—he felt no sense of unworthiness. Only that he ought to claim and consume this beauty, bit by bit.
“Just kissing your face.”
Sensing her resistance, Xiao Xu spoke.
Hearing that he would not go further, Mi Yao’s blocking hand stilled. Soon she realized what he intended.
While he went to wash, Mi Yao lowered her gaze to the crumpled red silk handkerchief tossed beneath the bed, feeling she had bargained poorly. At this level, she should only have offered to care for the little radishes, not more.
Muttering inwardly for a moment, she caught sight of his robe hem in her peripheral vision and quickly shut her eyes, pulling the quilt up to feign sleep.
Moments later, she felt another presence beside her.
There was only one quilt on the bed, embroidered with mandarin ducks. Feeling the heat radiating from Xiao Xu’s body, Mi Yao could not sleep. She opened her eyes: “Put out a few candles. It’s bright as day—I can’t sleep at all.”
Xiao Xu did not leave the bed, yet somehow the room was left with only one wedding candle burning—the one farthest from the couch.
With the surroundings dimmed, Mi Yao still felt no sleepiness, but the unease and agitation from before had eased. Staring up at the canopy embroidered with twin lotuses, she blinked, suddenly wondering if this counted as keeping boundaries with Xiao Xu. Even if their skin touched, as long as they did not cross the final step, Xiao Xu would not truly regard her as “family,” and thus would not treat her with the same disregard he showed his own kin.
But how did he view the terms she had offered? His silence left her uncertain. He raised the children like wildlings—would he see her involvement as a relief, or as meddling?
Still, the household clearly lacked a steward. If she took over such duties, would that mean she could open his storerooms and freely spend his wealth?
She knew well that over the years, aside from guarding Yizhou and fighting off Tibetan incursions, Xiao Xu had also confiscated the fortunes of powerful clans to uphold Zhao Tianhe’s authority as governor. Surely he had not handed all of it over—some must remain in his possession.
The more she thought, the more awake she became. Unable to resist, she spoke: “Earlier, when the women came to make merry in the bridal chamber, one Zhao Qiniang looked at me strangely. After she left, Xiu’er followed her and overheard her plotting with her brother—scheming to trick me, to ruin my chastity.”
Afraid Xiao Xu would dismiss it, Mi Yao repeated Yu Xiu’s account, exaggerating the severity.
But when she finished, the room was silent.
Mi Yao wrinkled her nose. “Xiao Lang, are you asleep?”
After speaking so long only to herself, she grew displeased. She nudged him. “Say something! Someone wants to take advantage of your wife, and you don’t utter a word?”
Xiao Xu was indeed half-asleep, but her words had reached him.
Seeing him remain silent, she fidgeted restlessly until he gave a short laugh: “What does it matter? Once you have comparison, you’ll realize all men are the same. Then you won’t fear it. And if he differs from me, that’s fine too. Once you adapt to the delicate, you can move from delicate to rough—you won’t leave me disappointed.”
Mi Yao: “…”
What kind of trash male lead had she married, who behaved like this when denied?
She told him someone wanted to deceive his wife, to force her, and he called it a good thing—others could broaden her horizons, so he could enjoy the results.
No wonder in the novel he lived alone all his life. The author spared the women of the world by not pairing him with anyone.
“With your permission, Xiao Lang, if I see someone pleasing in the future, I’ll be sure to try.”
Before sleep, Mi Yao did not forget to thank Xiao Xu for his generosity. Afterward, she heard him snort again. Truly, he must be born of snakes—always flicking his tongue, hissing without end. One day, when his spit sprayed out, she would know what it meant to be struck by lightning for carrying excess cargo.