Qing calmly lifted his tea cup, his fingers entirely steady as the deep plum mark by his chin caught the full morning light, leaving the room trapped in a suffocating, hilariously distorted reality.
The quiet rustle of cream silk was the only sound left in the massive hall as the servants scrambled to clear the breakfast dishes.
Gu Mingzhu did not look at the remaining food, nor did she look back at her son.
Her face was flushed with a tight, deep embarrassment that her usual dignified posture couldn’t hide.
She looked like a mother who had just witnessed something she would spend the rest of her life trying to forget.
“Everyone out,” the matriarch commanded, her voice dropping into a tight, quiet rasp that brooked no argument.
“Clear the trays and leave the pavilion.
Now.”
The row of senior household attendants and junior maids didn’t need to be told twice.
They moved with a frantic, terrified efficiency, keeping their chins tucked strictly toward their chests.
Their fingers trembled against the polished black-lacquered wood of the morning trays, their eyes glued to the floorboards as they practically vanished into the outer corridor, pulling the heavy double doors shut behind them.
The sudden isolation left the long hall suffocatingly quiet.
“Canglong,” Mingzhu said, her voice strained as she forced herself to look toward the high windows rather than the table.
“Your uncle is waiting for you in the courtyard to discuss the evening schedule.
Go down now and take Chenwei along with you.
I need a word with your spouse regarding the household arrangements.”
Canglong’s jaw clenched so hard the bone practically clicked.
He glared at the fresh, dark plum-colored mark sitting right under Qing’s chin, his unmedicated nerves on fire.
He wanted to stay and argue, to prove he hadn’t just lost his mind and aggressively claimed a civilian over the braised ginger, but the absolute scandalized weight of the room was too heavy.
He snapped his dark cuffs, turned on his heel, and marched out of the pavilion, his heavy military boots slamming against the floorboards in pure, unadulterated frustration.
The moment the heavy wooden doors slid shut behind him, the pavilion became incredibly awkward.
Gu Mingzhu cleared her throat, nervously looking anywhere but at Qing’s neck.
She looked at Xiaolan and signed from her eyes to Xiaolan to come closer.
Once Xiaolan was close enough, Hu Mingzhu wishpered something in her ear.
Xiaolan nodded and exited the space.
The atmosphere at the dining table was not only silent but also quite uncomfortable for both Wing and Gu Mingzhu.
In less than a minute, Xiaolan returned and handed something to Gu Mingzhu.
With a shaky hand, she Hu Mingzhu pulled out a small, old-fashioned porcelain jar with a silver cap.
She didn’t drop it; she slid it across the polished mahogany table toward Qing with a level of intense hesitation that was almost painful.
“Put this on before noon, Qing,” she whispered, her voice dropping to a very private, deeply embarrassed murmur. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
“It’s a traditional willow bark cream.
It stops the swelling and…
and fades deep bruising quickly.”
Qing looked at the little jar, Xiaolan and then internally sighed.
This was completely ridiculous.
She honestly thought her son was a wild animal who couldn’t even restrain his carnal impulses at the family breakfast table.
If he actually tried to explain to his mother-in-law that her terrifying, elite military son hadn’t violently ravished him, but had instead just fumbled a sharp silver pin like a clumsy toddler during a petty argument over a piece of jade, she would probably think they were completely insane.
It was honestly just less taxing to let her believe he was a long-suffering saint dealing with her son’s wild temper.
“Thank you, Mother,” Qing said, keeping his voice perfectly steady and polite as he picked up the small jar.
“I will ensure it looks completely presentable before the guests arrive tonight.”
Gu Mingzhu let out a massive breath of relief, though her aristocratic features were still pinned under a bright pink flush.
“Yes.
Please do.
He has always been too stubborn and aggressive when he’s under pressure.
I appreciate your…
absolute patience with his wilder instincts, child.
Go get some rest before the party.”
She practically fled the room, her long dress rustling loudly as she hurried away from the awkward conversation as fast as her legs could carry her, looking less like a proud family matriarch and more like a panicked mother who had seen far too much.
Qing stood alone in the quiet pavilion for a brief second.
He looked down at the tiny porcelain jar in his palm, then pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long, thoroughly exhausted sigh.
This whole morning was turning into a complete circus.
His throat was physically stinging where the sharp silver needle of the brooch catch had gouged his skin during their short, frantic physical lockdown, and his body was running on less than three hours of sleep.
He slipped the jar into his pocket and walked out into the side gallery, planning to finally find a quiet corner to clear his head.
But the moment he rounded the large mahogany pillar near the courtyard exit, a hand suddenly shot out from the shadows, hooked firmly around his sleeve, and yanked him backward into a quiet corridor alcove.
Before Qing could even adjust his balance, Canglong dragged Qing in their bedroom, slammed the door shut, slid the brass latch into place, and cornered him against the wooden panel.
The Commander hadn’t gone to the courtyard.
He had been waiting in the dark shadow of the alcove, his chest heaving, his unmedicated eyes burning with a mix of raw guilt and absolute fury.
He slammed his hand against the wall near Qing’s head, his voice a low, dangerous hiss that vibrated through the narrow space.
“Are you completely out of your mind?” Canglong snarled, leaning down until his shadow entirely blocked out the morning light.
“Pull your damn collar up!
You are walking around looking like I physically assaulted you over the breakfast table!”
He didn’t even lean his back against the door.
He simply stood his ground, crossing his arms over his chest as his dark eyes froze over.
He tilted his head slightly, intentionally letting the bright sun hit the fresh plum bruise sitting right besides his chin.
“You did physically assault me, Long-ge,” Qing replied, his voice a flat, deadpan rasp that held zero fear.
“Your intention was to steal ancestral property out of spite, but your execution was pathetic.
You wanted to take the brooch, but instead, you fumbled the catch and gouged my skin like a five-year-old child throwing a tantrum.”
“It was a slip because you locked my wrist!” Canglong’s voice cracked with a harsh, defensive rasp, his jaw tightening until the bone clicked.
“My mother just left that room looking like she wanted to die of shame.
Do you have any idea what they are going to report down in the servant quarters right now?
They think I can’t even control my primal instincts in front of my own family!”
“Let them report a trilogy if they want to,” Qing said, a rare, dry glint of amusement passing through his dark eyes as his posture finally relaxed against the wall.
He pulled out his phone to check the hour, completely ignoring the massive Enigma towering over him.
“Think about it practically, Long-ge.
If the entire estate believes you are an uncontrollable animal who tears clothes and bites people in broad daylight, no one will dare poke their noses into our wing.”
Canglong froze, his unmedicated eyes widening slightly as he stared down at the utter composure of the Beta.
“They won’t ask why our blankets are violently tangled,” Qing continued smoothly, his tone entirely clinical.
“They won’t check why our mattress looks like a battlefield, and they won’t ask why we are sleeping in separate beds.
Your terrible temper and feral reputation are the only things keeping them out of our business.
It is my domestic leverage.”
Canglong stared at him, completely stunned by the sheer, unyielding audacity of the man in front of him.
His own elite military pride and discipline warred violently behind his ribs.
He had wanted to force the Beta into submission, to make him hide the mark out of shame, but instead, he had walked directly into another one of Qing’s logical traps, turning his own violence into a defensive perimeter.
“You are completely insane,” Canglong whispered, his voice trembling with a mix of residual rage and intense, irritated disbelief.
“You’re using a fake love-bite quite smartly.”
“It’s called resource management,” Qing replied, cracking a small, genuine smirk as he reached past the Commander’s broad shoulder and flipped the brass latch of the door.
He pushed it open, letting the bright morning sunlight pour back into the corridor.
“Now move your hand, Long-ge.
We have actual work to finish before your grandfather shows up tonight to audit our lives, and your wounded pride is wasting my schedule.”