“Good… very good…”
Huo Shiran sucked in a breath, trying to ease the fiery sting on the tip of his tongue. Yet his gaze remained firmly fixed on her radiant, triumphant smile the smile of someone whose prank had succeeded perfectly. There was a distinctly gritted-teeth quality to his expression.
“Lu Jiaojiao, just you wait… Believe it or not, tomorrow I’ll go straight to the Jingzhaoyin office and accuse you of attempting to murder your own husband!”
It was quite an accusation—both serious and utterly ridiculous.
Rather than being frightened, Lu Jiaojiao elegantly rolled her eyes at her reflection in the bronze mirror. Her hands continued removing her hairpins and ornaments as she replied in a light, disdainful tone.
“Wow—” she deliberately drew out the word. “The mighty General of the North, the young master of the Marquis of Wu’an’s household, loses to his wife and then runs off to the authorities to complain? How utterly… em-barr-ass-ing.”
She stretched out the final words, each syllable heavy and drawn long, like a little feather gently scratching at Huo Shiran’s nerves.
Huo Shiran nearly choked on his breath. He pointed at her and sputtered, “You—” for quite some time, yet somehow failed to find a suitable retort.
Furious, he could only gulp down several mouthfuls of cold water. The icy liquid slid across his numb tongue, bringing a sharp but welcome relief and completely clearing away the last remnants of his drunkenness.
While he was still trying to calm himself down, Lu Jiaojiao had already stopped paying him any attention. She simply sat herself down on the embroidered stool before the dressing table and began carefully removing the elaborate, heavy ornaments from her hair one by one in front of the clear Western-style mercury mirror.
With every piece she removed, she seemed to relax a little more. At one point, she even gently rolled her neck and muttered under her breath,
“…My neck is about to break.”
Soft candlelight enveloped her. As she removed the jewels and ornaments, her long, black hair cascaded down like a waterfall, making her neck appear even more slender and fair.
Without the dazzling splendor of all those elaborate decorations, her own delicate, lively features became even more striking.
Huo Shiran watched her from behind. Seeing her rub her neck with that slightly childish gesture, the irritation he had felt after being pranked seemed, without his realizing it, to soften beneath the quiet warmth of the scene.
Just then, Lu Jiaojiao finished removing all of her hair ornaments. She looked noticeably lighter.
She rose to her feet and turned toward him.
Stripped of all those elaborate adornments, she was left with nothing but a clean, delicate little face. Without a trace of makeup, her brows and eyes appeared even more distinct and captivating, possessing a pure beauty, as though all ornamentation had been washed away.
Seeing her like this, Huo Shiran found himself staring for a moment.
In all the years since they had grown up, no matter how familiar they were with each other, he had never seen her like this without makeup or ornaments, preparing for bed.
Almost unconsciously, he turned his face away.
Lu Jiaojiao walked over to the table, her gaze falling upon the pair of gourd ladles tied together with a red cord, each filled with amber-colored wine.
Of course, she knew the wine had been bestowed by the imperial household and that this ritual was indispensable.
She reached out, picked up one of the ladles, and held it out to him.
Her movements were brisk, her face devoid of any unnecessary expression. She merely lifted her chin slightly.
“Here.”
Just one word, yet it seemed to say:
Hurry up. Drink it, and then we can go to sleep.
Huo Shiran looked at her businesslike manner, then at her naturally beautiful face, bare of makeup yet impossibly lovely.
Suddenly thinking of something, he felt that the burn on his tongue from earlier… perhaps hadn’t been such a bad deal after all.
He took his own gourd ladle.
Their arms crossed as tradition required, and together they drank the ceremonial wine, symbolizing their union as one.
They set down their nuptial cups.
The ritual was complete.
Having finished what she clearly regarded as an unavoidable task, Lu Jiaojiao immediately turned around and headed toward the bed, ready to bring this long and “heart-stopping” day to an end.
All she wanted was to quickly claim the inner side of the bed, wrap herself tightly in the blankets, and shut that annoying man out.
Watching her walk away without the slightest hesitation or lingering attachment, Huo Shiran touched the tip of his tongue, which still seemed to ache faintly.
Then, suddenly, he chuckled.
Just as Lu Jiaojiao’s hand was about to touch the bed curtains, he abruptly reached out and caught her wrist with perfect precision!
His palm was warm and strong, bearing the faint calluses unique to someone trained in martial arts. His hand closed firmly around her slender wrist, preventing her from taking another step forward.
Caught completely off guard, Lu Jiaojiao was pulled around. She let out a startled cry as her body spun, stumbling as she turned back toward him. Her long black hair swept through the air in a graceful arc.
She looked up in shock—
—and met Huo Shiran’s face at close range.
At some point, he had risen to stand behind her. His tall figure carried an overwhelming sense of presence, completely enveloping her.
The candlelight flickered behind him, leaving his handsome features half-lit and half-shadowed. In his deep eyes burned a clear, unmistakable heat as they locked firmly onto hers.
Alarm bells immediately went off in Lu Jiaojiao’s mind.
Almost instinctively, she jerked her wrist, intending to shake him off just as she had done countless times when they were children.
But this time, his grip was like an iron band.
It did not move in the slightest.
The force of her own struggle caused her to stumble another half-step forward, nearly crashing into his chest.
“What are you doing?!”
Lu Jiaojiao’s heart skipped a beat. She tried to pull free, but his grip on her wrist only tightened. The warmth of his palm seeped through the thin fabric of her nightclothes, making her skin tingle.
Huo Shiran leaned slightly closer.
They were close enough to feel each other’s breath.
His gaze swept over her cheeks, flushed with surprise and restrained anger, before finally settling on her lips, still glistening faintly from the nuptial wine.
His Adam’s apple bobbed subtly.
When he spoke, his voice had dropped low, carrying a trace of huskiness and an unmistakable note of authority.
“We’ve already drunk the nuptial wine, and now my wife intends to abandon her husband and go to bed alone?”