“Letter from Nanjing Wang,” Grand Preceptor Qin set a letter on the desk, his brow furrowed with worry. “He says the marriage is to be reconsidered, and the Commandery Princess should return to the southern border first.”
This outcome was hardly unexpected. Naturally, Nanjing Wang would not wish to form a marriage alliance with such a Taishifu.
Qin Chengze’s brows were tightly knit, his hand clutching the sachet at his waist as he sat in silence.
Grand Preceptor Qin let out a long sigh.
“Ji’er, why don’t you just cook the rice and make it stick? Best if you produce a child—then that old fool Nanjing Wang won’t be able to back out of this marriage.”
Qin Chengze’s hand tightened around the sachet, unconsciously crushing the dried herbs within.
When Qin Chengze returned to the bedchamber, Qing Ci was already back.
Qing Ci’s report was brief—nothing had been gained at the palace tonight, and she would continue tomorrow.
Qin Chengze gave a listless “mm” in response, unfastened his cloak and tossed it aside, then sat in the wide sandalwood chair. He closed his eyes heavily to rest, exhaustion written all over his face.
“Did something else happen?”
Qing Ci could guess with little effort—coming back this late from outside, he’d most likely been discussing matters with the Grand Preceptor. With that troubled look on his face, something must have gone wrong.
Qin Chengze looked at her, then reached out to take her hand.
Qing Ci avoided it at the same moment, sitting instead in the side seat. She picked up an apple and took a casual bite. “Is it something very troublesome?”
Qin Chengze’s hand lingered awkwardly in the air before he withdrew it, deflated.
“A Ci, you’re still angry with me.”
Seeing that his answer didn’t address her question, Qing Ci sighed helplessly. “I’m not.”
She stood up. “I’m going back to sleep.”
Qin Chengze reached the door before her and closed it.
“Don’t leave tonight.”
Qing Ci watched him block the door with his body, caught between exasperation and amusement. “You won’t tell me what’s on your mind, and staying here won’t cheer you up either.”
Qin Chengze’s gaze burned. “If you stay, I’ll be happy.”
What it meant to stay the night—even she wasn’t so naive as to misunderstand.
Qing Ci shook her head. “Don’t force me to use force.”
“I am your master. You cannot raise a hand against me.”
For the first time in all these years, Qin Chengze used his authority as her master to coerce her. “Whatever I do to you, you cannot defy it, because I am your master.”
“…”
“A Ci, I want you to be my woman.”
As if afraid she hadn’t understood, he repeated the words. “A Ci, I want you.”
Qing Ci’s gaze drifted down to his waist. When she had given him that sachet, he’d laughed at it for ages—the embroidery was truly atrocious.
And then that proud man had learned needlework himself, just so he could stitch, thread by thread, her crooked, lumpy pair of bald birds into a lifelike pair of exquisite mandarin ducks.
The scene before Qing Ci’s eyes spun and blurred. She was lifted by the waist, and the one carrying her strode toward the bed.
In Qin Chengze’s arms, she looked at his sharply defined face. His peach-blossom eyes were veiled beneath thick lashes, shrouded in an unnameable mist of sorrow.
“You are my master, that’s true. I won’t resist. But I must warn you—if you take me, I will claim you as mine. If you marry another, I will kill that woman.”
Before the pale blue bed curtains, Qin Chengze’s steps came to an abrupt halt at her final words.
Qing Ci hadn’t been able to guess what had upset him, but now she had a rough idea.
A trace of desolation passed through her heart.
“A Ji, I’ve seen the portrait of Commandery Princess Nanhua. She’s quite beautiful.”
Qin Chengze’s jaw trembled slightly, his voice hoarse. “Not as beautiful as you.”
“You’ve seen it too?”
The moment she asked, Qing Ci felt foolish—she was his betrothed, of course he’d seen her portrait.
“No,” Qin Chengze set her down on the bed and began removing her shoes and socks. “A Ci, is there still room for me in your heart?”
Qing Ci neither nodded nor shook her head. A wave of overwhelming awkwardness swept over her.
After everything that had been said, did he still not believe she would harm his wife?
Qin Chengze blew out the candle, but did not remove his outer robes. He lay down beside Qing Ci in his clothes, his hands placed properly over his own chest.
Qing Ci couldn’t name the sudden sourness that struck her heart.
It simply felt uncomfortable.
“A Ci, you haven’t answered me yet.”
Qing Ci shifted her body, creating a small gap between them so they were no longer pressed together. “I won’t leave you. I will be loyal to you for life.”
“That’s not what I asked. I asked—” Qin Chengze’s words cut off mid-sentence. “Never mind. Sleep.”
He paused, then added, “Remember what you said. You are never to leave me.”
Seeing the sky outside brightening, Qing Ci sat up quietly, one leg tentatively swinging over him.
The man lying still grabbed her, pulling her back onto the bed with force, then pressed his body over hers.
“I—I should return—”
Before she could finish, his thin lips pressed down, sealing her words completely.
After his mouth had done its mischief, he lifted his head in a daze, looking at her with wronged innocence.
“You were leaving without a word—you scared me, I thought I was having a nightmare.”
Qing Ci lowered her gaze lightly. “Oh. You’re awake now, then. Can I go?”
Qin Chengze looked even more aggrieved. “You haven’t held me in so long. Hold me.”
Qing Ci pushed him away, wiped her mouth with her sleeve, and sat up to put on her shoes and socks.
“Ah Ci…”
He clung to her, wrapping his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her slender shoulder. “Stay with me a little longer.”
Qing Ci forcefully pried his hands off her waist. “The servants in the mansion will be waking up soon. I don’t want anyone to know I spent the whole night in your room.”
“It’s fine, let them know.” Qin Chengze stubbornly grabbed her wrist.
Qing Ci froze.
He actually didn’t want to hide it anymore?
But on one hand, he had no resolve to marry her, and on the other, he wanted to expose their relationship?
What was going on?
His hand was shaken off again. He opened his mouth, but this time he didn’t know what else to say, so he just sat there on the bed, watching her walk to the door.
She turned back after opening it.
“Honestly, I wish the Taishifu would fall into ruin, so that you might actually marry me. But A-Ji, have you ever thought about marrying me, even for just a moment?”
She left.
Qin Chengze lay back on the bed.
“Qing Ci, why are you only back now?”
Her soft door-opening sound still woke Xiao Wu. Xiao Wu sat up and asked her in a hushed, urgent voice, “Where did you go?”
“Out to handle some business for the young master.” Qing Ci yawned, crawled into the blankets, and was dead tired.
She couldn’t fall asleep lying next to Qin Chengze at all.
That man kept tossing and turning, and most of the time, he was looking at her from his side.
His hands never stayed still—sometimes playing with her hair, sometimes stroking her brows and eyes, his calloused fingers slowly wandering downward, from her cheeks to her neck, then lightly tracing her collarbone…
When his breathing grew rapid, he would irritably turn over with his back to her, and once his breath steadied, he’d turn back to look at her again.
She could understand the conflict in his heart, but she didn’t want to feel it herself.
“In the middle of the night, what kind of business could the young master send a woman out to handle?”
Xiao Wu pressed on relentlessly.
“What else could it be,” Qing Ci was quickly overtaken by drowsiness, her eyelids drooping, her words becoming hazy and heavy, “if I told you the young master asked me to sleep with him, would you believe it?”
Xiao Wu grabbed her arm and pushed up her sleeve. The bright red Shougongsha was right at the crook of her arm.
She sighed. “I ask you seriously, and you can’t even talk properly. Forget it, get some sleep while you can. It’s almost dawn.”
Qing Ci mumbled a vague “mm” in response, and soon half her soul drifted into a dream.