A-Pan knew this was the inescapable fate of a Yingji, and she remembered Yun Jiang’s words—she dared not anger The Noble. So she hurriedly began to undress.
But her hands were frozen stiff and trembling, and all that could be heard was the clatter of chains as her shaking fingers failed to find the knot of her robe’s sash.
The Noble seemed to have waited long and grew impatient. He had long, powerful hands of his own, and with a few tearing sounds, her thin garment was ripped to shreds in his grip.
A chill ran through A-Pan’s body, and goosebumps rose all over her skin.
When had she ever been so exposed before another person? Flustered, she covered her chest, held her breath, and her heart pounded wildly—chaotic, out of rhythm.
The Noble actually asked, “Afraid?”
How could she not be? A-Pan was terrified to her very core, yet she still strove to steady the faint tremor in her voice and answered with forced courage, “This slave is not afraid.”
The Noble said nothing more. In a moment, he flipped her over onto the couch, his warm, wine-laden breath brushing against her ear and the nape of her neck. His hands clamped around her narrow waist like pincers, and the shackles clanged hard against her elbows and belly, striking with sharp pain.
The Noble leaned over and pressed down upon her, breaching and conquering.
A-Pan cried out in pain, tears bursting forth.
That night, the candle flames flickered with dancing shadows, endless and without respite, until pale daylight pierced through the silk blind, and only then did she know dawn was near.
And she lay like a lump of mud sprawled across the couch, drained of every last ounce of strength.
She let The Noble turn her over, his fingertips tracing gently over the damp silk blind covering her eyes for a long while. Then, following the line of her nose, lips, chin, neck, breasts, and belly, he lightly traced downward in sequence, asking as if casually, “Since you cried, why didn’t you let the sound out?”
Before coming, she had imagined countless times what the noble of Wei Guo might look like—perhaps a man past fifty, perhaps a fierce and savage brute, perhaps a rough-skinned soldier. But his voice was low and languid, yet young. His body was strong and powerful, with not a trace of excess flesh where their skin met. His fingers were long, his palms smooth, without a single callus, and no longer scorching hot as they had been in the night.
She could tell he came from an excellent family and now held a position of supreme honor and rank.
The brazier by the couch still crackled and burned, warm as the April spring of Zhongshan, yet A-Pan could not help but tremble slightly along the path of his fingertips. “This slave did not cry.”
If she pleased The Noble, she and Yun Jiang would be saved. So she did not cry.
The hoarseness in The Noble’s voice had gradually faded, and she could tell he was only around twenty-five or twenty-six. “You don’t seem like a Yingji.”
Yes—A-Pan’s nose stung with bitterness. If not for the fall of her homeland and the ruin of her family, who would have been born a Yingji by nature?
A slight pressure came at her neck, as if he had picked up her broken jade pendant. For a long while, he said nothing.
Such broken jade—she and Yun Jiang both had one.
Her foster father had said it was left to her by her mother before she died—an exceedingly rare jade disc. It had later shattered into two pieces, and one half was given to each of them. They treasured it dearly and never let it leave their persons.
A-Pan was already exhausted beyond measure, yet she still struggled to rise, groping in the darkness for her tattered robe to cover herself.
The Noble seemed to let out a soft laugh and tossed her a light, soft robe, saying casually, “Go.”
The robe felt exquisite to the touch—the kind of fabric only high-ranking officials and nobles possessed.
In the past two days, she had grown accustomed to seeing the prostitutes cry and beg for mercy, only to draw curses from the Wei soldiers. So when The Noble did not say where she was to go, she did not ask.
She simply wrapped herself in the fine robe and felt her way down from the couch. Her legs were weak and without strength, and it took her a while to steady herself. She slowly walked toward the dim glow of candlelight, her shackles clanking as they bumped against a cool bronze table corner and knocked into a tall branched candelabra. The floor was covered in a thick sheepskin rug, and walking barefoot, she felt not the slightest chill.
She heard the general surnamed Guan ask from the night before, “Does the master wish for a medicinal decoction to be served?”
A-Pan’s heart tightened. She paused slightly in her steps and could not help but strain her ears to listen.
She knew Yingji were not permitted to bear children. At least in the half day she had been held in Wei Ying, she had constantly seen people carrying buckets of Bizi Tang into the prostitutes’ tents. The smell of that Bizi Tang was foul beyond words, and after drinking it, the women would let out miserable groans that could be heard from afar.
After a moment, she actually heard The Noble say lightly, “Never mind.”
The general surnamed Guan seemed to want to say something more but held back, finally answering, “Yes.”
She did not know why, but hearing that warmed her heart.
A-Pan thought to herself that The Noble was likely willing to keep her.
Following his orders, she left the main tent. The guard outside asked in a low voice, “General, in such cold weather, should we still prepare an ice-cold bath?”
The general surnamed Guan pondered briefly, then said in a low voice, “The master prefers cold. As usual.”
With that, he extended his scabbard toward her, and his tone was no longer as rough as it had been in the night. He only said, “Follow.”
Outside, the snow was falling ever more heavily, striking her face with immediate coldness. In such freezing weather, who would bathe in cold water?
A-Pan clutched her robe with one hand and gripped the scabbard with the other. She followed the general for no great distance—barely a dozen steps—before entering a tent, where she was finally permitted to remove the silk blind.
In the dim tent, only a single small candle cast a warm yellow glow, and even that faint light made her squint.
The general surnamed Guan warned her in the same cold tone as the night before, “Once you’re clean, wait here. You are not to leave, not to ask questions. When the Noble requires you, only then may you leave this tent. Have you remembered?”
A-Pan kept her head lowered and replied obediently, “This servant remembers.”
He left after speaking, and only then did she take a proper look at her surroundings. The small tent was not large, but it was fully equipped. The charcoal fire inside burned warmly, clean robes hung from a rack, and a wooden tub filled with hot water was gently steaming with white vapor.
Her body was still covered with traces of that man from the night before—under the candlelight, she could faintly see numerous bruises across her skin. She took a good hot bath, then spent the rest of the day waiting anxiously inside the small tent.
She could hear iron-clad riders galloping into the camp, dismounting wearily with dust clinging to their armor. Before long, new scouts would rush out again. People came and went without pause to discuss matters in the adjacent tent—arriving in hurried strides, then leaving in steady succession.
Outside the tent, Wei soldiers patrolled in formation, their overlapping footsteps pounding against her heart, making it rise and fall with unease. She had no idea which of them might come this way, and though exhaustion weighed heavily on her, she dared not fall asleep.
Fortunately, someone only came twice to deliver light refreshments. It was not until nightfall that the general surnamed Guan appeared again.
As before, a long, wide silk band was wrapped tightly over her eyes, and he guided her into the main tent with the scabbard of his blade.
Naturally, before entering, he did not forget to remind her, “Serve properly. Say nothing you shouldn’t say, ask nothing you shouldn’t ask. Guan will be listening right outside!”
A-Pan acknowledged softly, dragging her chains as she carefully felt her way to the edge of the couch.
That night, there was no smell of wine in the tent. The Noble’s scent of cedar grew even more crisp and clear. His long, well-defined fingers simply hooked the silk sash at her waist and effortlessly drew her to the bedside.
His noble mouth spoke no words. Instead, his hands seized her collar and tore the robe in two with a sharp rip, the fabric slipping from her shoulders in an instant.
A-Pan’s heart thundered like war drums, her cheeks suddenly burning hot. Instinctively, she raised her hand to cover her chest.
But the man made no further move, nor did he speak. For a long while, there was not a single sound, yet A-Pan could feel a sharp gaze like a hawk’s sweeping over her from head to toe.
She held her breath, swallowed her voice, and called out softly, “My lord…”
The moment she spoke, desire was truly kindled.