The moment she spoke, the air fell silent.
Blindfolded, Sui Sui could see nothing. Though only a short time passed, it felt like years. When Li Chongjun spoke again, she shivered in fright.
“This is what you said, hmm?” His voice slowed, like a water snake sliding through the damp night, hissing at her ear. Sui Sui clenched her teeth: “A gentleman’s word cannot be taken back! I may not be a gentleman, but I keep my word. Do whatever you want—if I make a sound, I’ll… I’ll—ahhh, what are you doing!”
She was still swearing boldly when Li Chongjun, at some point, untied his belt and bound her hands to the bedframe; then he took her sweatcloth and blindfolded her.
Unexpectedly, unlike that other night’s violence, his fingertips traced her skin as her clothes fell away—cold at first, raising goosebumps, then quickly covered by the warmth of his kisses.
He kissed her, from her chest downward.
The kisses seemed careless, light and scattered, like April rain striking a pond—each drop rippling faintly.
Sui Sui had never seen such misty spring, nor such tender Li Chongjun. She trembled, ticklish, not displeased but afraid, whispering: “Your Highness… what are you doing now…”
“Mmm—”
His hands were long and slender, yet strong and deft. She felt herself sinking, as though into a calm sea, only to discover hidden currents pulling her under. She had nowhere to hide.
Though blindfolded in purple haze, she saw clearly—those long hands, carved like white jade, veins taut with strength.
She remembered them writing by the window in March’s gentle breeze; gripping reins in summer, riding a white horse through falling blossoms; holding an ebony polo stick in play.
In autumn, at the grand hunts of the northwest, those hands drew the bow, veins bulging, loosing twin arrows at wild geese beneath the clear sky. Amid cheers and drums, he turned, embraced her painted form, laughed brightly, pinched her cheek, his calloused fingertips stained with rouge.
That had been false—she knew it was all an act. But now, those hands invading her were real.
A storm shattered her vision, beauty breaking apart, leaving only the ache deep in her bones. She couldn’t help but cry out.
Then, she heard Li Chongjun’s cold laugh. His voice was cold as well. He leaned over her again, brushing away her tears almost absently, and rasped:
“Is this all you can manage? With that pretty boy day and night, and you can’t even endure this much?”
Sui Sui sensed something was wrong. “Wh-what pretty boy?”
“Just now you were ready to die for him. One taste of pleasure, and you’ve already forgotten?”
“Ready to die… A Wu?!” The leap was so abrupt that Sui Sui froze before blurting, “You mean A Wu?”
Li Chongjun said nothing. Sui Sui was torn between laughter and tears—no, more like fury. What nonsense was this? Last time, he accused her of being a courtesan, nearly killing her with torment. Now he called A Wu a pretty boy, making her life worse than death. This bastard must be sick in the head!
Her anger smothered desire. She clenched her teeth and began to cry again, deliberately. She wept in a lilting, theatrical way—like a young actress in the opera, half coquettish, half sorrowful, her sobs tugging at the listener’s heartstrings: “Your Highness, what are you saying, sob sob… A Wu and I are not like that! Where did you hear such rumors? It’s unjust, it’s killing me… A Wu is only… only…”
Her face was streaked with tears, the blindfold soaked and uncomfortable, making her cry harder. Perhaps Li Chongjun wanted to hear her explanation—or perhaps he remembered the day they parted in Liangzhou, when she had sobbed just like this. Whatever the reason, his conscience stirred, and he loosened the sash binding her hands.
Freed, Sui Sui immediately tore off the blindfold. Her expression changed at once. She scrambled up, furious, and lunged at him: “Your Highness had better tell Gao Lang to fetch a doctor and take some medicine! Forever picking green hats to wear on your own head—you’re seriously ill!”
The words were wildly inappropriate. Not only was it a crime to insult a prince to his face, but “wearing a green hat”—accusing him of being cuckolded—made no sense. Their relationship was transactional; there was no “hat” to wear.
Yet Li Chongjun seized on the insult, gripping her chin, teeth clenched: “Thanks to you, do I even need to pick one?—”
He broke off, realizing something was wrong.
At that moment, a guard’s voice rang out from beneath the western window: “Your Highness, the two men sent to Pagoda Temple have returned. They have matters to report.”
Li Chongjun said, “Enter.”
Sui Sui jumped in fright. She was still half-naked, her robe tossed aside. She didn’t know what to do. Li Chongjun pulled the curtain closed, drew her into his arms, and covered her with his sleeve. Something hard pressed beneath her, and she tried to wriggle away, but he held her down. She stared up at him wide-eyed.
The attendants entered, reporting from a few feet away—something about their search at Pagoda Temple. Sui Sui couldn’t make sense of it.
Li Chongjun covered her mouth. Tearful, she dared not cry out. She looked up at him pleadingly, saw his ears flushed red, veins standing on his neck. Yet he calmly considered and responded, his handsome face stern and composed.
Truly ruthless.