As dusk descended, the sky resembled a deep blue curtain. Birds returned to their nests one after another, and the entire mountain forest grew tranquil.
Before the Imperial Villa, bright bonfires were lit one after another. Maids and servants bustled about, while patrols of over a dozen guards intensified their vigilance.
Song Yao emerged rather late. Many bonfire spots were already crowded, mostly with officials and their families. With the imperial family present, arriving late could easily give political opponents grounds to accuse them of disrespect toward the royal household.
Coincidentally, Song Yao encountered Jiya again.
“You don’t deserve him,” Jiya remarked bluntly after giving Song Yao a critical once-over, tossing out this baffling statement.
Song Yao’s mind slowly formed a question mark. What was she implying?
Then, curving her lips, she instantly switched to a fragile, heartbroken demeanor. As the man behind her emerged, she embodied the classic “green tea” persona.
“Your Highness, the Mobei princess said this humble servant is unworthy of you.”
She would lodge a complaint at every opportunity, never swallowing insults.
Nangong Yi’s appearance made the aggressive Jiya instantly retreat. She took a half-step back, fearful and flustered, instinctively wanting to explain herself.
“I—” The words stuck in her throat, unsure what to say, especially since Song Yao had neither exaggerated nor omitted details.
Nangong Yi: “It was I who sought to marry Yao Yao.” Nangong Yi had no habit of harshly reprimanding women, but he was certainly no sentimental charmer either.
“Princess, it would be wise to watch your words and actions. Otherwise, affecting the relations between our dynasty and your country may lead to consequences you cannot bear.”
With that, he led Song Yao away, leaving Jiya frozen in place. Her two maids stood by with bowed heads, not daring to even breathe heavily.
They both thought their princess had gone mad to provoke the wife of the Central Plains’ god of slaughter. This wasn’t Mobei—no place for the princess to act willfully.
As for the departing couple…
In the gentle evening breeze, Song Yao swung their clasped hands and repeated the man’s earlier words: “Your Highness sought to marry this humble servant?”
Her rising tone carried strong teasing undertones.
Nangong Yi glanced at the woman who had lowered her guard and grown increasingly accustomed to his closeness. After consideration, he stated: “The imperial decree for our marriage—I requested it from my father and mother.”
Song Yao: “?”
Her usually sly, fox-like eyes widened round, fully revealing her shock.
Nangong Yi coughed lightly, uncomfortable. Afraid she might flee, he unconsciously tightened his grip and explained softly: “My reputation is… unfavorable. I feared you might refuse.”
Song Yao sensed this, her innate mischievousness surging wildly. Suppressing barely contained laughter, she feigned disbelief and accused:
“So Your Highness exploited his power to seize and plunder?”
…
Nangong Yi reached out, using his thumb to lift the corner of his wife’s tightly controlled lips. In the twilight, his expression was tender.
“If we could start over, and I proposed to Yao Yao face-to-face, would Yao Yao be willing to marry me?”
Rumors spread among the people of his violent temper and merciless killing. Many horrifying tales of his battlefield deeds were widely circulated in the streets.
Yet, the violent nature was true, the merciless killing was true, and those terrifying events on the battlefield had indeed occurred. He had no grounds for denial.
His younger sister once told him that while many noble daughters admired him, few wished to marry him—fearing they might wed and die on the same day.
He was afraid. She was also afraid of him.
“Your Highness can guess.” Song Yao’s answer was ambiguous, but the equally tightening grip of her hand had already given a clear response.
Their statuses were special—people both near and far would occasionally glance in their direction. The surroundings were filled with various sounds: the evening breeze, chirping insects from the mountain forests, cheerful conversations, footsteps, and the crackling of burning firewood in the bonfire…
Yet Nangong Yi’s fingertip remained at the corner of Song Yao’s lips for a long time, unmoving. His eyes held only her, until movement from the Emperor and Empress’ side prompted him to withdraw his hand and lead Song Yao to pay respects.
Song Yao obediently followed, her words and demeanor still that of the dignified and proper Crown Princess. In reality, she was nearly laughing hysterically inside, already brewing a pot of mischievous ideas about making the most of the short spring night.
That night, the crescent moon hung like a hook, dotted with scattered stars.
In the deep silence of the night, everyone had already retired. Only the yawns of night-watch maids and servants, along with the occasional sounds of patrolling soldiers, broke the quiet.
The candles in Qingyun Hall had just been extinguished. As the curtains fell, Song Yao, brimming with mischievous intentions, nestled into Nangong Yi’s embrace.
She hooked her long leg over him, turned sideways, and her graceful figure pressed down on the man in a woman-on-top position. In the hazy moonlight, her smile was radiant and captivating, devoid of any expected shyness as she straightforwardly invited, “Now that we’re alone, won’t Your Highness kiss this humble servant?”
The kiss came as expected, fervent and intense!
In recent days, their intimacy had always been restrained, but tonight, it spiraled slightly out of control.
Especially after receiving Song Yao’s permission, Nangong Yi ventured further into untouched territories. What should have followed naturally, however, stopped there.
Song Yao was puzzled, Song Yao was confused.
After a moment’s thought, the desire-clouded eyes of Song Yao regained their sharpness. She patted Nangong Yi’s large head, buried against her chest, and comforted him:
“It’s alright, Your Highness need not be disheartened. This humble servant knows a divine physician who specializes in men’s… intimate ailments. If Your Highness is willing to seek treatment, I guarantee the medicine will cure the problem.”
Nangong Yi: …
Nangong Yi was both angered and amused. He punished her by tickling her sensitive spot at the waist. Song Yao instinctively dodged, but her slender, soft waist was easily captured by his large hand, eliciting a coquettish protest from the beauty.
“What are you doing? This humble servant meant well, yet Your Highness repays kindness with enmity.”
Nangong Yi lingered greedily, leaving a mark like a red plum blossom on Song Yao’s neck before pulling away. He turned sideways, drawing his wife into his arms as they lay down.
In the night, his handsome face still bore traces of unresolved passion.
He looked at Song Yao with a smile and explained, “Furen, rest assured. This lonely one has no unspeakable troubles.”
Seeing the question practically written on her face, his affection deepened. Unable to resist, he once again savored the sweetness of her full, crimson lips before calmly continuing.
“Here in Qingyun Hall at the hunting grounds, it’s inconvenient.”
Song Yao understood upon reflection—it made sense.
The entire royal hunting grounds housed many people. Although Qingyun Hall stood alone, there were still patrolling guards outside.
Those guards were all trained martial artists with sharp hearing. Most importantly, they weren’t their own people. Not good, not good—she had been inconsiderate.
But…
Song Yao narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing Nangong Yi with suspicion. “Your Highness, are you truly capable? Avoiding treatment due to embarrassment is unwise.”
Nangong Yi raised an eyebrow, amused. He leaned closer and whispered something unknown into his wife’s ear in the darkness.
Song Yao blushed at first but stubbornly maintained a calm facade, pretending she was willing to test the waters. In the end, she quickly withdrew her claws.
She changed course to wrap her arms around Nangong Yi’s waist, closing her eyes as if nothing had been said or happened, looking utterly docile.
“I’m going to sleep, Your Highness. Sweet dreams~” Her voice was deliberately made soft and charming, brimming with mischief.
Nangong Yi chuckled, pressing a warm kiss to Song Yao’s forehead. His voice was hoarse and exceptionally doting: “Sweet dreams, Furen.”