The sun shone bright and warm, the breeze was soft and gentle, the sky was clear and crisp, and birds sang amid blooming flowers…
Since they no longer needed to rush back to the capital before Jiang Xingzhou’s leave ended, Qingfeng had intentionally slowed the pace of their convoy.
Feng Yi hummed a little tune as she climbed into the carriage shared by He Yun and the others. She played with Yangyang and discussed plans for after they entered the city, feeling completely relaxed and lighthearted.
When Jiang Xingzhou returned, what he heard from inside the carriage was her bright, cheerful voice teaching Yangyang nursery rhymes, sounding utterly carefree and happy.
Was this woman really this delighted just because she was away from him?
“Whoa—”
He reined in his horse Zhufeng and reached up to tap on the carriage window.
Feng Yi lifted the curtain and froze in place. “What the hell? Why are you back already?”
Seeing the shock written all over her face before she could hide it, Jiang Xingzhou leaned forward over his saddle with a wicked grin, speaking in a voice only the two of them could hear. “It’s still early in the day. I’ll give you the ‘hell’ later tonight. Why? Aren’t you happy to see me?”
“Of course I am,” Feng Yi replied, snapping her jaw shut and quickly putting on a flawless smile. “I’m more than pleased. But didn’t you have urgent business to attend to?”
“I do have urgent business,” he said, brushing his fingers lightly across her cheek. “But the moment I thought I wouldn’t see you for several days, it drove me half out of my mind. Gather your things and come with me.”
The second she dropped the curtain, every trace of her smile vanished.
So much for her moment of joy.
Jiang Xingzhou did not bring a separate horse for her. The rest of the journey would require traveling at a brisk pace, and he feared she would not be able to handle the reins properly.
He helped Feng Yi mount Zhufeng, then swung up smoothly to sit right behind her. After tying a veil around her face to shield her from dust and sun, he draped his cloak over her body and fastened it securely from the front to block the wind. With one arm wrapped tightly around her waist beneath the cloak and the other guiding the reins, he set off at a gallop once more.
Soft and warm in his embrace, her body heat seeped through the layers of clothing, sinking into his skin, merging with his blood, and coursing through every part of his being. Her sweet scent filled his senses, light as a feather brushing gently against the most sensitive spot in his heart.
With the rhythmic jostling and pressure of the galloping horse, Jiang Xingzhou—who had long held back his desires—found his body responding uncontrollably. Though his expression remained composed and calm, his breathing against her ear grew heavier and more ragged.
“Beast,” Feng Yi cursed silently. She braced herself against the saddle and tried to shift forward to put some distance between them.
But his grip on her waist tightened, pulling her firmly back against him, even closer than before. His voice came out slightly hoarse, likely from the wind rushing past. “Why are you moving so far away? Afraid you’ll fall off?”
“You’re pressing into me,” Feng Yi said bluntly, not bothering to beat around the bush.
“You’re just too tempting, and it misses you,” Jiang Xingzhou replied shamelessly, as he always was with her. “Stay still. We’re on horseback; I can’t do anything here anyway.”
That was true enough—they were still riding. Feng Yi lowered her head, biting her lip as a mischievous idea took shape. There was the cloak covering them, so what was there to fear?
In one quick motion, she reached back and took hold of him.
“Ah—” Jiang Xingzhou’s entire body went rigid, and a soft gasp escaped his lips, though the wind drowned out the sound so no one else could hear. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Helping you out,” she replied with a sweet smile and a soft, innocent tone, showing no sign of her mischief at all. “Didn’t you say just a few days ago that you wanted me to do this?”
So she wanted to play games with him.
Jiang Xingzhou pressed his heels into the horse’s flanks, and Zhufeng surged forward instantly, pulling ahead of the entire party. Even though they were concealed under the cloak and the guards behind were all his own men, he feared his face might betray his reaction and cause her embarrassment.
Her slender fingers tightened and released in turn—restricting the flow, making his pulse throb hard beneath her palm, then loosening just enough to give him brief relief. Sometimes she glided slowly upward, as if measuring his length, and sometimes she twisted and rubbed in slow, circular motions, leaving damp, dark patches on the fabric.
Just as his breathing turned into heavy, desperate gasps, she would suddenly stop, as if she had grown tired. And the moment his breathing steadied again, she would squeeze hard once more.
No release, only endless teasing and torment.
“Yi Yi,” he murmured in a low, strained voice, his lips almost brushing against the curve of her ear. “Be careful—play with fire, and you might get burned.”
To the guards behind, it looked as though he was simply leaning in to whisper something private to her; they could not see how he was actually sucking and nibbling at her earlobe in a way that spoke of nothing but unbridled passion.
When they reached a long, smooth stretch of road, and he was certain she would not lose her balance, his arm around her waist slowly drifted lower, until his hand found the warm, damp heat between her legs. A soft chuckle rumbled in his chest, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine as it filled her ear.
“So it seems you’ve already caught fire too?”
“Are you wanting it as well?”
“Be patient a little longer. We’ll reach the way station by nightfall, and then I’ll give you everything you want.”
Who was he telling to be patient? It wasn’t even her desire. Feng Yi grew flustered and annoyed, gave him a sharp pinch, and withdrew her hand.
Though her fingernails had been filed short and the pain was hardly severe, Jiang Xingzhou still let out a low hiss. “Easy there, Yi Yi. Don’t go crying and begging me to stop later tonight.”
The closer they drew to the capital, the finer the accommodations at each way station became.
The room they were given this time was far more spacious and luxurious than the previous ones, even fitted with fresh silk bedding reserved only for distinguished nobles—men like Jiang Xingzhou.
After riding for half the day, Feng Yi’s back and hips ached terribly. She washed up quickly, dried her hair only halfway, and fell straight onto the bed, ready to sleep.
A pair of hands—dry and slightly rough—slipped beneath the hem of her inner garment, roaming slowly over her smooth waist, bringing with them a burning heat.
She kept her eyes closed and raised one hand to rest over his wandering wrist, her voice thick with drowsiness and laced with a hint of soft pleading. “Lingyuan… my legs hurt.”
She had not felt it while riding or walking, but the moment warm water touched her skin in the bath, a faint stinging sensation had set in.
Jiang Xingzhou’s brow furrowed slightly. He had already noticed it earlier—otherwise they would still be soaking in the tub together. He had placed extra soft padding on the saddle before letting her ride, but it seemed she had still gotten chafed.
So delicate and sensitive.
He leaned down and kissed her gently between the eyebrows. “Yi Yi, I am not some wild beast. Be good and don’t block me—I’m only going to put some soothing ointment on you.”
Feng Yi obediently relaxed her grip. When her skin was suddenly exposed to the cool air, she shivered lightly. Instinctively she tried to press her thighs together, but his hands gently but firmly parted them apart.
She lay completely open before him. Jiang Xingzhou’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his eyes growing dark and heavy—half filled with tenderness, half with intense longing.
The insides of her thighs were flushed a soft pink. It was nothing serious; it would likely heal after a single night’s rest without needing any treatment at all. But it also meant she was not ready for anything more.
He raised his hand and brushed lightly over the tender area.
“Ah—” She flinched and let out a soft sound, as the warmth of his touch reawakened the faint stinging.
Jiang Xingzhou quickly pulled back, twisted open a sky-blue porcelain jar, scooped out a dollop of pale green ointment with his fingertip, and began to apply it with slow, gentle strokes.
The cool, herbal scent of the ointment spread, and Feng Yi let out a soft, drowsy hum of relief— a sound that struck Jiang Xingzhou like a bait on a hook.
He felt himself growing painfully hard again, his throat turning dry and parched. This little enchantress only knew how to light fires and never how to put them out. She called him wicked, but she was far more wicked herself.
His gaze drifted down to the embroidered flowers on the sheets, and a wicked smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t fair that only he should be suffering like this.
His movements remained soft and careful, yet the tip of his little finger brushed lightly over sensitive spots, barely touching, barely lingering.
The rough texture sent strange tingles and shivers through her.
“What are you doing?” Feng Yi opened her eyes to find him kneeling between her legs, his body bare from the waist up, every muscle defined and taut, radiating strength.
“Just applying the ointment,” Jiang Xingzhou replied, feigning pure innocence and confusion. “Is something wrong?”
As if she would believe him. The smug satisfaction on his face was impossible to miss.
“Are you done yet? I want to go to sleep,” Feng Yi said, closing her eyes again.
“Almost. Just the other side now.”
His Yi Yi truly was as soft and fluid as water. The tip of his finger was already damp and glistening, gleaming like dew. Jiang Xingzhou leaned forward and slowly licked it clean with his tongue.
But it was not enough. His throat still burned with thirst.
When she heard him replace the lid on the jar, Feng Yi released the breath she had been holding. Finally, she thought. Now she could sleep—thank heavens it had taken all her willpower not to make a single sound.
But she had let her guard down too soon.
“Ah—”
Warm, wet softness pressed suddenly against her most intimate place, and a wave of pleasure shot through her like an electric current, drawing a cry from her lips—until she realized where it was coming from and bit it off short.
She propped herself up slightly on her elbows. Somehow, this scoundrel had already undone the laces of her thin silk inner robe, which now slipped off one shoulder as she moved, revealing the pale peach-colored night slip beneath, embroidered with butterflies flitting among hibiscus flowers.
Too flustered to fix it back in place, she looked down at the top of his head, her voice turning breathy and sweet, soft as silk. “Lingyuan… don’t…”
Jiang Xingzhou lifted his face, swallowing the sweet nectar he had just tasted, his voice thick and husky. “I promised I would give you what you want.”
“I don’t want it anymore,” she protested, pushing back against the bed to pull away.
But Jiang Xingzhou gripped her hips firmly and pulled her right back, his smile wicked and hungry. “You’re not being honest, Yi Yi.” His eyes drifted lower. “Your body tells a different story.”
“I’m tired, I just want to sleep,” Feng Yi said, her cheeks flushed deep crimson, burning hot.
“Fine. We’ll sleep right after this,” he murmured, holding her securely in place. “Yi Yi… don’t pull away. I’m so thirsty for you.”
He buried his face between her legs again, his firm nose pressing and rubbing gently against her sensitive folds, his soft lips sealing tightly over her heat—warmth meeting warmth, wetness meeting wetness, slickness gliding over smoothness…
In an instant, every ounce of strength left Feng Yi’s limbs, and she fell back against the pillows, her chest rising and falling rapidly like a pair of wings fluttering in the breeze.
Jiang Xingzhou’s hair was not naturally fine and silky, but it was well cared for and soft to the touch. Strands brushed lightly over her thighs—not sharp or scratchy, but sending maddening little tickles over her skin.
She found herself wanting to spread her legs wider to escape the irritating sensation, and at the same time wanting to squeeze them shut to stop the teasing. Finally, she tangled her fingers deep into his hair, trying to hold him steady.
A nightingale sang outside, its clear, melodious call drifting through the air.
This was no ordinary way station—its bed curtains were embroidered with exquisite patterns. Half-lidded and lost in sensation, Feng Yi finally focused enough to make out the design: a carp kissing a clear lotus bloom.
A soft breeze drifted in through the slightly open window, making the curtains sway gently, as if bringing the embroidery to life.
The blooming pink lotus looked tender and dewy, dripping with sweet nectar. The golden carp swam closer, drawn by the scent, then leaped up and buried itself deep within the flower—licking, sucking, its tongue probing and exploring, drinking greedily and swallowing every drop. The lotus trembled and tightened, released, and swelled again…
The sound of wet, slick noises rose up, dousing the raging fire only to make it burn even hotter and more fiercely.
Feng Yi could no longer see the embroidery clearly. Her back arched sharply, and soft, broken cries spilled from her lips. Her fingers tightened, clutching hard at the sheets beneath her and tangling deeper into his hair.
It felt like an eternity, yet only a fleeting moment. Slowly her vision cleared, the trembling subsided, and a light sheen of sweat broke out over her skin as she went completely limp and let go.
She supposed her earlier bath had been for nothing.
Meanwhile, the author of her ruin raised his head looking thoroughly satisfied, his lips glistening with the evidence of his work. He licked every drop clean without wasting a single bit. “My Yi Yi… you taste so sweet.”
Feng Yi raised her hands to cover her face. She could not bear to look—really, she could not.
Who would have imagined that the brilliant top scholar, the distinguished and noble Marquis of Jing’an, could act so wildly and wantonly between the sheets?
Jiang Xingzhou chuckled softly at her shy, embarrassed expression. “Would you like to have a taste of yourself, Yi Yi?”
“Jiang Lingyuan!” Feng Yi lifted her foot to kick him.
He caught her ankle swiftly, grinning. “Trying to murder your own husband, are you?”
With that, he brought her foot to his lips and kissed it gently.
Feng Yi knew there was no use fighting him—she was no match for his strength, and certainly no match for his shamelessness. “You made this mess, you clean it up,” she said, huffing.
“Of course I will,” Jiang Xingzhou agreed, but instead of moving away, he leaned in closer to her.
“Then go do it,” she said, pushing at his chest with a playful scowl.
“Yi Yi, have a heart,” he said, reaching around behind her back to find the thin ribbons of her slip, hooking one finger through them. “You’ve already had your pleasure, but I’m still hard as stone.” He emphasized the word heavily.
“I have no strength left,” she said, looking up at him through misty, half-lidded eyes.
“You don’t need to do a thing—just lie there and let me take care of it myself.”
He sat up and pulled the straps of her “butterflies and hibiscus” slip down and off. When she tried to pull her robe closed again, he stopped her quickly. “Don’t hide. Let me look at you.”
“Careful, don’t get it dirty.”
“I’ll wash it for you later. Besides, you don’t wear this during the day anyway. At night… you can wear nothing at all.”
This woman was always so particular—she had different garments and styles for day and night.
He wrapped the soft fabric, still warm and scented with her fragrance, around his hardness. Facing the embroidered scene on the sheets—the blooming peony heavy with dew, the half-hidden soft slopes, and the flushed, glistening pink between her legs—he began to move his hand quickly, his breathing growing heavier and faster.
The sight was too overwhelming, and Feng Yi simply closed her eyes entirely.
“Yi Yi, don’t close your eyes. Look at me… please,” Jiang Xingzhou coaxed in a deep, hoarse voice.
“No,” she said, squeezing her eyes even tighter, her long lashes fluttering rapidly.
“All right, you don’t have to look. Then listen to me instead, won’t you?”
Jiang Xingzhou already had a voice as rich and clear as mountain spring water; now it sounded deep and warm, as if steeped in fine wine, utterly intoxicating.
Using that same mesmerizing tone, and all his skill with words, he whispered the most lewd and filthy things in her ear—descriptive, passionate, vivid in every detail.
His seductive voice wrapped around her senses like silk. Vague images began to play behind Feng Yi’s closed eyelids, and the shadows of their bodies tangled together, clear and unmistakable.
The air grew thick and warm, and she bit down hard on her lower lip to keep herself from making another sound.
Just when she thought she would have to endure the tension alone, Jiang Xingzhou let out a long, satisfied sigh.
His knuckles turned white as he pressed deep into her. Half-lidded, his eyes dark and stormy, he reached the peak right alongside her.
“Good girl, Yi Yi… even like this you can feel so good…” he murmured with a pleased smile, pulling his fingers slowly out, slick and glistening.
“Just… just stop talking, please,” Feng Yi replied. She truly had no strength left at all now—soft and sweet as melted malt candy, completely pliant.
Jiang Xingzhou smiled down at her, then lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bathing room. He washed her gently and carefully, reapplied the soothing ointment, and cleaned the night slip he had dirtied.
Then he performed their nightly ritual—brushing a soft kiss at the outer corner of her right eye—before pulling the covers around them and holding her close as they drifted off to sleep.
Two days later, Feng Yi stood looking up at the towering, majestic gates of the capital city, her heart filled with tangled emotions.
Three years ago, she had fled this place with every ounce of her strength.
Three years later, here she was again—returning reluctantly to where her whole story had first begun.