When Nan Yanxiu kicked open the carved door of the room, Shen Shuangren was biting his collarbone.
The sharp pain made him grunt, yet he held the person in his arms even tighter.
"Your Highness…"
The guard called hesitantly from the corridor.
"Get out."
Nan Yanxiu commanded without turning his head, his voice seething with suppressed desire. "Without my order, no one is to come within half a step."
The moment the door slammed shut, Shen Shuangren had already torn open his black brocade robe.
The sound of jade buttons snapping was particularly crisp in the room, like her rationality shattering at this moment.
Nan Yanxiu had slept on a cold jade bed since childhood, and wherever he went, he had servants carry it with him.
This three-foot-square jade couch was both his life-saving medicine and the shackles that confined him.
This trip to Yingzhou to inspect on behalf of the emperor was no exception.
Thirty-six guards took turns carrying this cold jade bed over thousands of miles, breaking three sandalwood footrests along the way.
The prefect flatteringly offered to present a locally produced warm jade pillow, which Nan Yanxiu picked up with his folding fan and threw out the window.
He knelt on one knee at the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing over her burning cheek.
The chill of the cold jade bed contrasted strangely with the heat of her skin, his fingertips touching what felt like a piece of burning ice.
"Shh."
He leaned down, his thin lips almost touching her earlobe. "You brought this upon yourself…"
Shen Shuangren wanted to say something, but all words were blocked by the sudden press of his lips.
This kiss was completely different from the probing one in the teahouse. Nan Yanxiu held the back of her neck with one hand and gripped her waist with the other, as if trying to meld her into his very bones and blood.
She tasted the lingering tea fragrance between his lips and teeth, mixed with a faint scent of blood—from where she had bitten him earlier.
The cold of the jade bed seeped through her thin clothing into her spine, while the body heat of the person before her was frighteningly scorching.
Shen Shuangren arched her body restlessly, her fingertips digging into Nan Yanxiu’s disheveled black hair.
The drug’s effects surged through her bloodstream, and she hazily felt that even her exhaled breath carried sparks.
"Mmm…"
She unconsciously whimpered, her voice broken like crumpled silk.
This call seemed to trigger some mechanism.
Nan Yanxiu suddenly tore open her sash, and her moon-white silk garment scattered like flower petals, revealing the sweat-soaked lotus-root-colored undergarment beneath.
His eyes darkened as he lowered his head and bit her slender collarbone.
"It hurts…"
Shen Shuangren gasped softly, yet held him even tighter.
Nan Yanxiu’s lips and tongue trailed downward from her collarbone, leaving wet marks on her snow-white skin.
The cold of the jade bed and the scorching imprints of his lips assaulted her alternately, making Shen Shuangren feel as if she had been thrown into a world of ice and fire.
When his teeth lightly grazed the ties of her undergarment, she trembled so violently she almost curled into herself.
"Now you’re afraid?"
Nan Yanxiu chuckled lowly, his breath fanning over her heaving chest. "Weren’t you bold enough when you provoked me in the teahouse earlier?"
Shen Shuangren looked at him with misty, watery eyes.
The light of the Blood Moon filtered through the gauze window, casting an eerie red glow over Nan Yanxiu’s handsome features.
His robe hung open, revealing his well-defined chest, marked with red scratches she had left in her earlier desperation.
"If you were a gentleman…" she panted, trying to undo his jade belt, "…you would go find medicine now…"
Amid the crisp sound of the jade belt hitting the floor, Nan Yanxiu seized her mischievous hands and pinned them above her head. "When did I ever say I was a gentleman?"
The black outer robe and the moon-white silk garment tangled together, like ink staining fresh snow.
Shen Shuangren gasped in shock, instinctively trying to close her legs, but he held her firmly in place.
"Too late."
Nan Yanxiu murmured against her earlobe, his voice hoarse beyond recognition, "From the moment you took that cup of tea from me, you should have foreseen this outcome."
Then came Shen Shuangren's muffled groan of pain.
Nan Yanxiu was not faring much better either, veins bulging at his temples, sweat dripping from his jaw onto her snow-white chest.
The cold jade bed was piercingly icy, yet where their bodies pressed together, it felt hot enough to melt.
"Relax…"
He kissed away the tears at the corner of her eyes, "It'll be over soon…"
His words fragmented in their entangled breaths.
Shen Shuangren's nails dug deeply into his back, leaving ten crimson crescent marks on his smooth skin.
The pain only spurred Nan Yanxiu further into losing control. He gripped her waist as if trying to reach her soul through her very body.
Outside the window, the Blood Moon quietly passed its zenith, casting an eerie dark red glow over the disheveled bed within the room.
Amidst the tangled gauze curtains, scattered garments and a tilted jade hairpin could faintly be seen.
The first light of dawn emerged, yet the Blood Moon had not yet set.
When Shen Shuangren opened her eyes in the morning light, the rising sun outside the window was interwoven with the fading moon, dyeing the entire city in a magnificent crimson gold.
She blinked, momentarily dazed.
Fragmented memories from the previous night surged like a tide—
The cup of tea seized in the teahouse, the man's cool lips, their entangled figures on the cold jade bed…
"Ah—"
As soon as she tried to sit up, the soreness radiating through her limbs made her gasp sharply.
Circulating her inner energy once through her body, the scorching blockage in her meridians had already dissipated, yet her waist and legs felt so weak they might as well not belong to her.
"The poison is cured…"
She gritted her teeth and sat up, the silk quilt slipping down to reveal a body covered in suggestive red marks.
The morning light pierced through the gauze curtains, laying bare the disarray within the room.
Shen Shuangren propped herself up, a slight shiver running through her as the silk quilt slid away—
Whether it was from the morning chill or the lingering aftermath of last night's recklessness, she couldn't tell.
Nan Yanxiu was still in a light slumber, his dark hair spread across the pillow like unfurled silk.
The morning light softened his sharp features with a gentle golden edge, even the old scar running across his jaw seemed like an intentional flaw left by a master craftsman on jade.
"Not a bad face, at least…"
She scoffed softly, twirling a strand of her hair, her voice lighter than the morning mist, "All in all, not a loss."
As her bare feet touched the cold blue bricks, memories of being pressed against this very floor last night suddenly flooded back.
She staggered slightly, bending to pick up her scattered clothes, but suddenly froze in place—
The vermilion mark on the inside of her forearm, once a symbol of chastity, was now gone, leaving only unblemished skin.
Her dagger lay just three steps away on the floor.
Before she knew it, the blade was already pressed against Nan Yanxiu's neck.
Just half an inch more, and those unfathomable eyes would close forever…
"Damn it…"
The dagger, beaded with morning dew, hovered in place.
The look in his eyes last night when he gripped her chin and said, "See clearly who it is," suddenly surfaced with startling clarity.
What churned within them was far more than mere desire.
"Tch—"
She sheathed the dagger back into her boot with force.
"Farewell, nameless man."
She leaped out of the window, her figure flitting over the high wall of the Courier Station like a feather.
On the bed, Nan Yanxiu slowly opened his eyes, his slender fingers retrieving a silver hairpin from beneath the pillow—
The very one that had slipped from her hair last night. The jade butterfly at its tip seemed poised to take flight, glowing softly in the morning light.
The hairpin was still entwined with a few strands of black hair, swaying gently with the movement of his fingertips, as if silently recounting the lingering intimacy of the previous night.
"She ran away quite fast," Nan Yanxiu murmured, his deep voice tinged with a husky satisfaction.
He propped himself up, the brocade quilt slipping down to reveal his well-defined chest, still marked with a few ambiguous red traces.
Suddenly, his gaze froze as he caught sight of that glaring crimson stain in the middle of the bed.
The blood had already dried, blooming into a dark flower on the plain-colored silk.
This woman was—
He couldn’t help but frown, his knuckles tracing over the mark.
In the flickering candlelight of the previous night, the image of her reddened eyes suddenly surfaced in his mind.
At the time, he had thought it was merely a sign of passion, but now, upon reflection, that suppressed cry of pain seemed to carry a deeper meaning.
"To think…" Nan Yanxiu’s eyes darkened, his fingers unconsciously caressing the butterfly wings on the jade hairpin.
Morning dew seeped through the window lattice, condensing into a glistening droplet at the tip of the hairpin, trembling on the verge of falling.
Outside the window, the morning sun finally rose completely.
"Mo Yu," he called softly into the rain, his voice low.
"Swish—" A figure in green swept across the eaves like a hawk, flipping down into the corridor below.
Mo Yu knelt on one knee, his green robes dampened by the dew yet showing no trace of disarray. "Your subordinate is here."
Nan Yanxiu’s fingers turned slightly, the silver hairpin casting a slender shadow in the candlelight. "Find the owner of this hairpin."
He paused, his gaze deepening. "Especially… the engraving inside the Butterfly Pattern."
Mo Yu received the silver hairpin with both hands, his thumb pausing as it brushed over the pin—inside the butterfly wing, an extremely small character was engraved: "Yue."