Lin Yueming woke from Jiang Sheng's touch, though not fully conscious yet.
Seeing the almost completely unfamiliar Jiang Sheng before her, she instinctively clutched the blanket and sat up, retreating toward the corner of the bed.
Jiang Sheng's hand remained suspended in mid-air, a single tear from her still glistening on his finger.
Lin Yueming finally realized what night this was and where she was, relieved she hadn't cried out moments earlier.
She wondered if she had spoken nonsense in her dreams.
She crawled forward a few steps on her knees, took his hand, and smiled at him:
"I thought you had left, husband."
Jiang Sheng's expression remained unchanged, making no mention of her dream-talking.
He let her hold his hand, then wrapped his other hand around hers, enveloping it, and replied:
"On our wedding night, where could I go? I saw you were cold and had more charcoal braziers brought in."
Whether it was the newly added charcoal braziers or the natural warmth of a military man, with Jiang Sheng holding her hand like this, Lin Yueming indeed felt warmer.
She moved a little closer to him, hummed softly, and whispered:
"Does husband wish to rest now?"
Her closeness brought a hint of cool fragrance and the subtle, unique scent of a woman's body.
Coolness and warmth intertwined.
Faint yet lingering, intimately entwined.
Their breaths mingled, indistinguishable from one another.
Jiang Sheng released her hand, took out a plain white medicine bottle, and said in a husky voice:
"I hurt you earlier—that was my fault. I brought some medicine."
Although it had indeed been painful earlier, it wasn't enough to injure Lin Yueming.
But the Marquis of Wu'an bringing her medicine was a gesture of goodwill.
He was her master; her future life in the Marquis's Mansion depended entirely on him.
Any goodwill he offered, whether she needed it or not, was best accepted graciously. If she refused and he became displeased, he might not be willing to give again when she truly needed it.
Lin Yueming continued smiling at him and reached for the medicine bottle:
"Thank you, husband."
As Lin Yueming reached for the bottle, Jiang Sheng did not let go.
Lin Yueming looked at him, puzzled.
Jiang Sheng looked back, inquiring.
Their gazes intertwined.
Lin Yueming understood the meaning of his inquiry, and her heart skipped a beat.
Jiang Sheng did not rush her, staring at her unblinkingly.
The meaning in his eyes was plain.
Lin Yueming lowered her gaze, released the medicine bottle, and whispered:
"Husband, I can manage myself."
Jiang Sheng caught her retreating hand, not letting her escape, and said:
"I need to see for myself, or I won't be at ease."
There, under his gaze, applying the medicine.
If what he wanted was marital intimacy, she could close her eyes, pretend to be a block of wood, and endure it.
But what he intended to do was this—it was too strange, too intimate.
Even carrying a hint of playfulness.
The dragon-and-phoenix wedding candles in the bedroom burned brightly, illuminating every corner clearly.
Perhaps playing with a beauty under the lamplight was the Marquis of Wu'an's preference.
Comply with him; do not anger him.
Lin Yueming lowered her eyes and replied:
"Yes, husband."
Jiang Sheng had been urging her to change her address all evening, and even now he was not satisfied. He said:
"I am your husband, not your superior. Look at me when you speak; don't keep your head lowered. If you think something is good, don't say 'yes'—say 'good.' If you think something is not good, tell me it's not good."
Lin Yueming looked up at him, nodded, and replied: "Good."
She covered herself with the blanket, thought for a moment, then slowly removed her undergarments beneath the covers and curled up inside.
Jiang Sheng saw her lie down and knew she had silently consented.
He had said they would take it slow, but he was a rough soldier, not some refined gentleman—this was his version of taking it slow.
This was his lawfully wedded wife, a marriage personally bestowed by the Emperor, with the Empress herself making the trip to the Lin Family to propose on his behalf.
Sixty-four loads of betrothal gifts, an eight-bearer sedan chair, a bridal procession stretching for miles in red splendor—she had been welcomed through the main gate of the Marquis's Mansion with gongs and drums, amid lively celebration, in full view of all the guests, as his rightful wife.
This was what he deserved.
Jiang Sheng walked to the copper basin, rolled up his sleeves, and washed his hands, scrubbing each finger meticulously with fragrant soap before slowly drying them with a towel. Only then did he approach Lin Yueming.
Lin Yueming listened to the sound of Jiang Sheng washing his hands in the copper basin, the sound of his footsteps drawing closer, the sound of him sitting on the edge of the bed, and the sound of him pulling back the quilt.
Waiting was always the most agonizing.
Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, beating uncontrollably, so fiercely she could hardly breathe.
Without the cover of the quilt, she felt panic.
He was her husband, but also a strange man.
Jiang Sheng’s warm hand touched her icy ankle.
Her resistance was obvious, yet silent.
Jiang Sheng sensed her resistance and rested his hand lightly on her ankle, not applying pressure, only asking:
“Why are your feet so cold too?”
Lin Yueming instinctively drew her foot back, answering softly:
“It’s innate—I’m prone to feeling cold.”
Jiang Sheng’s hand followed, gently pulling it back:
“That’s perfect then. You’re naturally cold, I’m naturally warm. Don’t pull away—it’ll be over soon.”
Everything happened too suddenly.
The cool ointment.
His warm fingers.
The rough, thin calluses.
The distinct sensation.
Yet it was over in an instant, just as he had said—quickly.
Lin Yueming, caught off guard by his sudden move, felt as if struck by lightning, her entire body frozen in shock.
Jiang Sheng, however, acted as if he had merely performed a routine task, applying the ointment with casual ease before covering her with the quilt again.
Her face still bore traces of astonishment, but Jiang Sheng spoke to her as if nothing unusual had happened:
“It’s a bit red. I’ll check on it again tomorrow.”
Tomorrow? Again?
Lin Yueming was speechless.
Knowing something in her mind was one thing; getting her body to accept it was another.
Her body was not yet accustomed to the sudden touch of another strange man.
Even if, by law and custom, this man was her husband.
This wouldn’t do. She had to move forward. Staying where she was meant no path to survival.
Lu Chen offered her no way out, the Lin Family offered her no way out. Now, her only path to survival lay with the Marquis of Wu'an.
Her teeth chattering, Lin Yueming replied:
“Alright.”
Jiang Sheng washed his hands again and returned to the bedside. As he spoke to her, he began removing his own clothes:
“They added too many braziers—it’s unbearably hot. Can’t be helped, I’ve always been prone to heat.”
He swiftly removed his wedding robes and inner garments, baring his upper body to reveal a physique of lean muscle and an old scar across his waist and abdomen.
Meeting her gaze, Jiang Sheng turned to find a place for the discarded clothes, exposing his back to her as well.
There were scars on his back too.
Looking at the wounds on his body, Lin Yueming finally felt the reality of having married a military commander.
Scholars and those who fought on the battlefield truly belonged to two different worlds.
He had been enfeoffed as a marquis at such a young age—outwardly glorious and illustrious. But who could see the times he had risked his life, shed blood, and fought tooth and nail to get here?
Unable to find a suitable place to put the clothes, Jiang Sheng turned back, moved closer, and tossed the garment onto the rack by the bed.
Up close, the scars looked even more pronounced.
With him turning this way and that, so blatantly showing them to her, Lin Yueming couldn’t just stand by and watch—she had to express her concern as his wife. So she found something to ask:
“Does it still hurt?”
They were all old wounds. The time when the pain had nearly killed him was long past—how could it still hurt now?
Jiang Sheng touched the scars on his waist and abdomen and answered firmly:
“It hurts terribly.”