A-Pan was stiff, as if frozen, and the moment. She could not move.
She could not move, yet she was restless, as if she had a thorn in her back.
Thus she dawdled, dragging her feet, only thinking that he might show mercy, or grow weary of her, and immediately throw her out.
The knocking on the door outside had stopped at some point, but had been replaced by hurried pacing footsteps.
Her fellow disciples had probably already succeeded. Even in this small loft on the second floor, she could faintly hear the girls turning in pleasure and the men flirting.
They would all pass the test, only A-Pan could not.
Identifying poisons, using medicines, performing dances, rites, music, poetry, and books—to not disappoint her master, A-Pan wanted to do everything well.
She had endured the endless Aoying, and had withstood Lu Shang’s harsh treatment, humiliation, and false accusations, but when the test came, she was not up to the task, and had failed on her master’s couch.
The man was silent. Who knew what he was thinking in this quiet moment.
Was he angry at her lack of resolve, or was he thinking whether, as Lu Shang said, if she did not pass the test, she would not be allowed to leave Qianjimen alive?
Thinking this in her heart, it was truly painful.
A thousand threads of thought, a tangled mess, her heart beating up and down, her hands clenching and twisting anxiously in her sleeves.
Tears were in her eyes, and sobs were in her throat. She knew she would not continue, and did not dare raise her head to look at his expression. She could only whisper softly, “Master… please…”
Suddenly her neck tightened. One hand lifted her chin, and the other hand, the one that had received a sword wound from the Wei Guo military governor, gripped the back of her neck.
The rough, uneven scar on it startled A-Pan into a shiver. Before she could raise her head to discern what was happening, the man lowered his head and suddenly kissed her fiercely.
A man who seemed so gentle, yet his kiss was utterly predatory.
A-Pan could barely breathe, her face flushed red, and the tears that had been gathering in her eyes suddenly rolled down.
The one who was shocked was not just A-Pan herself. The person guarding outside the door was even more startled than her, and the sword in their hand clashed against the wooden screen door. A-Pan almost heard the barely suppressed word “Master.”
The sound was extremely low, but it made the man release his grip.
A-Pan gasped for breath, looking at the man before her in shock.
She saw his pupils were pitch black, his brows and eyes covered with a faint shadow, but his face was still pale, without a trace of lust.
A man accustomed to calm self-restraint—even this kiss was merely a cold test.
Everything that had just happened seemed no different from his usual teaching of rites, music, poetry, and books. His voice was still gentle and soft, his manner still modest and measured. He said, “It is said that the King of Wei’s father is sinister and ruthless, especially cruel within the bedchamber. If the King’s father is like this, what would you do?”
Somehow, this made A-Pan think of that noble in Wei Guo.
She had spent three days in the noble’s tent, and in the noble’s bed, he had been rough and savage, not stopping until dawn, without a hint of tenderness.
No, the noble had also given her a fleeting, feather-light kiss.
Setting that aside, at least that kiss had been gentle.
But if the King of Wei’s father was that kind of man, would her master still bear to send her to the King’s father’s bed?
Precisely because he knew everything, it sounded all the more cruel.
Thinking carefully, from the day the country fell, this life of hers had long ceased to be her own.
Tears fell like broken pearls, drop by drop, but the man said, “Wipe away your tears.”
A-Pan hurriedly raised her sleeve to wipe them, but the more she wiped, the more they came, like a bursting flood, impossible to clean.
The man’s brows furrowed slightly, but his voice remained calm as he asked her, “When you are on the King’s father’s bed, will you cry like this too?”
He also asked, “Of the four words ‘Shenshen Jinmi,’ how many have you achieved?”
Calm and cautious, meticulous and thorough—these were what a qualified spy should possess, but she had not achieved a single one. Instead, she was in complete disarray, utterly losing her composure.
Outside the wooden screen door, there was obvious agitation. It was Lu Shang speaking, “Master, she has already failed!”
The man paid no attention, still speaking to her, “You lose your composure so easily. You would not survive a single night in Dongbi.”
A-Pan begged humbly, “Master… A-Pan…”
She had wanted to say that A-Pan did not want to go to the King’s father’s bed, did not want to use the seductress scheme, did not want any of it.
But she could not stop midway, retreat before the man, and then confirm Lu Shang’s words that she was a useless thing.
She kept her head down, the words in her heart reaching her lips, but in the end they softened into, “A-Pan dares not defile her master.”
But the man opened his arms, letting his wide sleeves hang down, his loose white robe half-open at his chest. “Come, treat me as the King of Wei’s father.”
You see, what had just happened was still not over.
A-Pan lay prostrate on the couch, her long lashes trembling, begging almost inaudibly, “Master, could you choose someone else…”
The man was angered, his breathing suddenly disordered, and he coughed again. “What can I expect from you.”
He coughed, and A-Pan no longer dared to touch him as she once had. She only heard the person outside the door sneer coldly, “Useless waste.”
A-Pan knew there was no turning back. She had no choice but to steel herself and untie his sash. His cold, distant gaze swept down at her from beneath lowered lids, and the more flustered she became, the more clumsy her movements grew.
Everything she had learned at Qianjimen over the past two months was wiped clean from her mind.
All the Meishu she had seen and heard in the Nülü was cast to the winds, not even a trace remaining.
A-Pan, after all, was unwilling to go against her own heart and resort to seductive wiles.
In a daze, she untied the silk sash at his waist, then layer by layer, removed his robes.
The man gently lifted her chin. “With such an appearance, would the King Father be moved? A-Pan, if you cannot move his heart, you cannot disrupt his plans. I ask you—how are you to accomplish the task?”
The master before her was still speaking to her with earnest sincerity, but Lu Shang outside the door had long since lost his patience. That hot-tempered, impulsive man nearly burst in. “How can a filthy prostitute defile the master’s sacred body like this…”
At those words, A-Pan’s face turned deathly pale, and she trembled in fear.
The master was the one who had saved her from the hands of the Weiren. What she was, what she had done—the master knew everything.
Knew everything, and still treated her well. Even Senior Brother Meng never called her a “filthy prostitute” in front of the master.
The man’s gaze was deep and dark, his breath heavy. He turned his face away and gave a light rebuke. “Get out.”
The person outside dared not say another word. He stomped his foot hard, gritted his teeth, and turned to leave.
A heavy sigh was woven into the man’s next words. “If you cannot stir my desire today, do not even think of leaving this couch.”
A-Pan wiped her tears and untied his soft inner robe. Such a noble, refined man—yet across his chest ran a long knife scar, a truly horrifying sight.
Like the sword wound on his palm, it had not yet fully healed. No wonder he coughed so incessantly, unable to stop.
That was likely also the handiwork of the Wei Guo military overseer.
A-Pan steeled herself, clenched her jaw, and gently touched his shoulder, tracing along that long scar, sliding slowly from his shoulder down to his chest.
He was lean, the bones of his shoulders angular, and the wound on his chest was enough to make one’s scalp crawl.
A-Pan lightly stroked along the long scar when she suddenly heard a barely audible groan escape him. She saw his throat bob, and his abdomen visibly twitch.
She had hurt him.