Does a navel orange count as having tasted a good fruit?
By the time Wu Ping’an realized what she was thinking, it was already too late. All sorts of messy knowledge had rapidly and bizarrely taken over her entire mind.
Meanwhile, the completely unaware Ji Yuwei frowned, staring directly at her. “Ping’an, do you sometimes feel this way too?”
He suspected Wu Ping’an had done something, but she nodded awkwardly, blinking calmly. “Mm, maybe it’s because… we kissed for too long.”
Though their experiences were similar, their knowledge of physiology was worlds apart. As someone who had once studied diligently, Wu Ping’an knew exactly what was happening a few inches below—that sensation of aching fullness.
Looking back on her life, she had been a well-behaved, studious student in the eyes of her teachers, a good-natured and sensible daughter to her parents, and a seemingly honest yet open-minded companion to friends and colleagues who didn’t shy away from discussing topics like sexuality.
She had often discussed with colleagues, from a female perspective, where male sexual appeal came from, so she was no stranger to even the crudest jokes.
Now, as she held the young man down, watching his pitiful, tear-dampened lashes flutter, she felt both awkward and struck by his innocence. His confused gaze fixed on her like a helpless kitten waiting to be… toyed with.
“Ping’an?” The young man’s cat-like eyes stared at her, noticing her distraction again.
Wu Ping’an, feeling guilty, wanted to say she didn’t know either. “I…”
Her words caught in her throat the moment she saw his beautiful face.
The young man’s coolly exquisite features were both pure and unintentionally alluring. His dark, bright eyes held boundless desire, his breaths heavy and labored—perhaps even he hadn’t realized it—as he silently pleaded with her.
Wu Ping’an suddenly realized she seemed to share Ji Yuwei’s sensations in that moment, understanding why he was so obsessed with beauty.
She, too, couldn’t resist beautiful things.
Seeing the handsome young man lost in confusion, she couldn’t help but turn her face to kiss the corner of his eye.
Ji Yuwei lifted his face to nuzzle her lips, pressing her hand to explore in confusion, still puzzled by his body’s unusual reactions, trying to pull her into saying the same things.
“Right here, Ping’an, can you feel it?”
Wu Ping’an felt it. Her ears burned with heat, almost painfully, and… the skin on Ji Yuwei’s waist was so soft and smooth. The taut, lean muscles beneath radiated a scorching warmth, different from the temperature of her hand.
This was her first time touching it too. Before, she had only seen such things in pictures that accidentally popped up on websites while searching for information online. Well, minus the images, she had seen descriptions but never touched it.
Now, with her palm pressed against it, she realized it was hot, damp, and the veins coiled beneath seemed to pulse with life.
Though she didn’t shy away from discussing sexuality, she hadn’t leaped directly to hands-on experience and could still remain calm.
The rapid pace of their development made her want to retreat, but the moment she tried to pull her hand away slightly, Ji Yuwei would press down, gripping her hand to prevent her from withdrawing.
Naturally, Wu Ping’an’s sensations grew even more intense.
Even as desire consumed him, he still managed to ask, dazed, “Ping’an, do people from your world know how to treat this kind of… condition? Or is there something to suppress it?”
Heavens, Wu Ping’an almost wanted to cover her ears. What kind of outrageous talk was this?
Wu Ping’an waited for him to finish, then took advantage of his dazed state to pull her hand away, pushing against his chest to move back.
Who knew that the moment she touched him, he would let out a moan, startling Wu Ping’an so much she instinctively wanted to drop her hand.
Ji Yuwei stopped biting her lips, lowering his head to press his feverish, damp eyelids against her shoulder. With his mouth slightly open, he let out soft, muffled moans, as if still unsatisfied.
“Ping’an, today’s loss of control and incontinence was due to an episode of my illness. Do not speak of it to others.”
Wu Ping’an heard his words, spoken in a tone indistinguishable from mere panting, yet they struck like a thunderbolt crashing down, cleaving fiercely through the gaps in the apricot tree branches.
Her mind went blank, scorched on the inside while tender on the outside, as she tried to grasp the meaning behind his words.
What had he just said?
In her daze, Ji Yuwei, leaning against her shoulder, closed his trembling, damp lashes. His cheeks flushed like scattered rosy clouds, and as he bit the inside of his lip in dissatisfaction, he spared a moment to warily ponder what had triggered that momentary, overwhelming pleasure that led to his defeat.
This was not the first time.
His body was on the verge of collapse, nearing complete decay.
In the past, he would only cough up blood inexplicably, tormented by the palpable sense of life slipping away—a commonplace occurrence he had long grown accustomed to over the years. But at some point, he began waking each morning to find the bed soaked.
The more intense the pleasure, the harder it became to control. Though the servants who cleaned his room daily never spoke of it, he could imagine how they whispered in private.
Soon, everyone might know: Ji Wulang was so ill he could no longer control his incontinence.
That was why he sought a remedy from her lips. He could sense she knew something, yet she stubbornly refused to tell him.
Death loomed over his head. In the midst of extreme pleasure, he pressed his soft, red lips firmly against her neck. A cruel thought crossed his mind, and his beautiful face, flushed with heat, clouded with a hazy, malicious intent.
Since Wu Ping’an refused to save him, why not seize her living essence and prolong his own life?
Ji Yuwei kissed along her ear and then her lips, his tongue pushing past her lips in an attempt to steal her living essence, only to accidentally meet the soft, red tongue hidden beneath.
Before he could fully savor the sensation, a burst of dazzling white sparks erupted before his eyes. The overwhelming feeling arched his elegant back, trembling as he half-closed his eyes, his noble face flushed with an indescribable allure.
He could no longer kiss Wu Ping’an properly, so she held him, breathing unevenly, and gazed up at the brilliant golden sun, thinking:
Ji Yuwei was too sensitive.
After holding each other for a while, the heat on Wu Ping’an’s face subsided slightly. Struggling to maintain her usual composure, she whispered hoarsely, “I plan to return home today.”
Upon hearing this, the young man slowly lifted his long, damp lashes. A faint blush lingered on his cheekbones, and unlike his usual attempts to keep her at the estate, his thin, crimson lips stretched into a flat line, though his eyes curved into a smile. “Wei will have a page escort you home.”
Wu Ping’an shook her head. “No… need.”
Ji Yuwei seemed to have returned to his usual self. He took her hand and pressed it against his face, glancing sidelong at her flushed cheeks. “I worry about you going alone, Ping’an.”
Under the guise of concern, he insisted the page accompany her, and Wu Ping’an could not refuse.
As they parted, Wu Ping’an wanted to take the unfinished konghou with her. Ji Yuwei instructed the page to fetch it for her and prepared a sheep-drawn carriage.
Wu Ping’an followed the page out of Apricot Grove.
Meanwhile, the young man remained seated beneath the lush green trees, unmoving. He stared expressionlessly at Wu Ping’an’s retreating figure, an unnamed fire smoldering in his heart.
The page boy returned once more to find the young master still seated on the white robe spread across the floor. He stepped forward to report, but the young master showed no interest, instructing him instead to summon the physicians.
Soon, several physicians hurried into the detached residence of Apricot Grove.
Each physician appeared vigorous and alert. Upon entering the sleeping quarters, they knelt silently on cushions and began taking the pulse of the handsome youth reclining on the daybed, his brow still damp from a recent bath.
His long, wet hair was carefully tended to by a servant using flower essence. Ji Yuwei’s posture was languid, yet his gaze fixed intently on the physicians’ faces. Should any of them reveal even a hint of difficulty or pity, he would have them killed.
After taking turns examining his pulse for a long while, the physicians exchanged glances and declared, “The young master is in good health and shows no signs of breath deficiency.”
Upon hearing this, Ji Yuwei suddenly rose. His long, lustrous black hair inadvertently snapped a few strands in the servant’s hands, but he paid no mind. Behind him, the servants knelt in rows across the floor.
They listened as the young master’s cold, gloomy voice erupted in anger: “A bunch of useless quacks! If nothing is wrong, why can’t I control it?”
Thinking he had coughed up blood again, the physicians quickly bowed and said, “Young master, please understand. These medicines have been used for many years, and perhaps your body has grown resistant to them. We will find new remedies for you.”
Ji Yuwei, his wet hair draped over his shoulders, watched these fools coldly as they tried to claim credit. A cold smile surfaced on his pale face.
How often over the years had the medicines he consumed actually been prepared by them? Keeping them around was merely to increase the chances of finding a way to slow the decline of his life. Yet these quacks had done nothing but freeload, swindle, and deceive. Even now, with his condition worsening, they still couldn’t find a way to save him.
Useless, useless… all of them utterly useless.
He sat up coldly, pondering what prescription could restore his body to normalcy. Unconsciously, his thoughts drifted to Wu Ping’an’s wide-open almond-shaped eyes, the movement of her throat as she swallowed, and her lips, red and swollen from being rubbed.
The memory of the drowning pleasure he felt when kissing Wu Ping’an surged back, more intense than ever. Overwhelmed, he barely registered the others in the room as he collapsed softly onto the daybed, curling his limbs. Half his face buried in the disheveled wet hair, he couldn’t help but part his lips to bite the pillow, stifling his cries.
Ha… ah…
Biting the pillow, he reached his peak in ecstasy, his mind blank as he mindlessly rubbed his sticky legs together. Feeling the freshness from his recent bath vanish, he knew he had lost control once again.
He was broken, all because these useless fools were incompetent in their medical practice.
The youth sat up slowly, his long, damp hair coiling like dark little snakes against his feverishly flushed yet cold face. He stared at the useless physicians kneeling on the floor, his thin lips tinged with a rouge-like crimson.
He asked, “Did you see?”
The physicians in the room trembled in fear, pressing their bodies to the floor, too terrified to speak.
Their master above seemed magnanimous, asking gently once more, “Tell me, what did you see? If you speak, I’ll let you go.”
They had all seen it—the clear, viscous fluid dripping from the young master’s slender ankles hanging off the daybed. They had witnessed his sudden outburst firsthand, yet none dared to speak.
Though they had served the young master for years, this was the first time they had seen such a thing. They assumed his body was deteriorating beyond repair, never considering that something—or someone—had provoked this state. All they worried about was whether their own lives would be spared.
In the endless silence, one of those prostrate on the ground finally couldn’t hold back and stammered, “W-we saw… water on the young master’s legs.”
But as soon as the words were spoken, it became clear there would be no mercy, no release for any of them.
They saw the youth with disheveled hair and bare feet like a ghostly cat, standing silently before the person who had been speaking.
…
The monster beast that had crawled in from outside was chewing noisily.
The sound was too loud, so Ji Yuwei glared coldly at the little monster beast and whispered a command: “Get out.”
Dragging the remains of its unfinished meal, the monster beast wagged its tail rapidly, burping as it scurried out.
After chasing away these unsightly creatures, he tilted his head to look at the tarnished bronze mirror, seeing his own reflection—his long hair disheveled, his cheeks not pale with illness but flushed and beautiful.
Yet those useless ones said he was dying.
Barefoot, he moved forward without a sound, his long robe trailing across the floor with a soft rustle. He stopped before a wooden stand, lifted a slender, pale hand to take down a cloth, then turned and sat back on the couch. Lifting his wide robe, he removed his loose trousers and parted his evenly proportioned, long legs.
Like a cat in the night, the beautiful youth lowered his pale face and expressionlessly wiped his legs with care.
Author’s Note: The Mountain Ghost is so high on grass, I thought it was urine [helpless] burning uncontrollably.