Song Yunfei had cried until she was nearly spent, her consciousness wavering between wakefulness and confusion.
The resentment and curses that had been bottled up inside her now gradually dissolved into meaningless murmurs, like the last fading cries of birds returning to their nests.
She only vaguely sensed that the hand resting on her head was just like her grandfather’s broad, steady hand back home—the only lifeline she could grasp when she was utterly alone.
Chu Jinhan stood quietly, his gaze resting on her frail figure slumped over the desk. Her shoulders still trembled faintly. Her sobs had gradually subsided, leaving only intermittent, heartrending little hiccups of exhaustion.
Tears streaked her delicate, lovely face. Her long, curled lashes were wet and clumped together, making her look both pitiful and, for no clear reason, fragile and guileless, like the world after a rain.
For some reason, the unfamiliar ache in his heart grew more distinct.
Chu Jinhan stood silently for a while. Around them, the dying lamp flickered, its light and shadows wavering. At last, a soft sigh escaped his throat. “Get up.”
He slowly withdrew his hand. His voice regained some of its usual coolness, though it was far gentler than before. “Go back to bed.”
But Song Yunfei seemed to have sunk into the depths of the sea, insensible to every sound around her. Her eyes drifted shut, her breathing evened out, and she fell asleep right there, slumped over the desk.
Chu Jinhan furrowed his brow. After a brief hesitation, he finally bent down, slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back, and lifted her effortlessly into his arms.
The body in his arms was impossibly light. Her faint, delicate scent mingled with the subtle, rich aroma of mushrooms in the room, like invisible vines gently tickling at his heart.
Chu Jinhan carefully laid her on the bed in the inner room. He was just about to pull away when he felt himself firmly caught by something.
It turned out that, in her sleep, Song Yunfei had sensed the comfort of his presence about to leave. Instinctively, she reached out with both arms and clung tightly to his neck as if grabbing hold of a lifeline.
He couldn’t shake her off.
“Don’t… go…” Song Yunfei murmured, her voice slurred. “Boss Ma… don’t dock my pay…”
Chu Jinhan’s body went rigid.
Boss Ma again?
Song Yunfei’s cheek rested against the side of his neck. Her warm breath brushed over him with each mumbled word, sending faint shivers through him.
Her clothes were thin, and Chu Jinhan could clearly feel the softness and warmth of her body.
“Let go.” He lowered his voice, his eyes full of turmoil.
But Song Yunfei’s slender arms did not loosen. If anything, she tightened her grip.
Perhaps it was the medicine, or perhaps years of grievances had finally found an outlet. In her sleep, Song Yunfei’s stubborn, unyielding streak seemed to take the upper hand.
“Let… go,” he said sharply.
Instead of releasing him, Song Yunfei gave a sudden tug, pulling Chu Jinhan completely off balance and sending him tumbling toward the bed.
“Ugh.”
Taken by surprise, Chu Jinhan only had time to brace himself against the bed with one elbow, avoiding crushing her completely. Even so, they were now as close as they could possibly be.
Beneath the dim oil lamp, he could even make out the fine down on her face and catch the faint, delicate fragrance in her hair.
“Song Yunfei!” Chu Jinhan was growing annoyed, and a trace of anger had entered his voice.
“Don’t shout!” Song Yunfei suddenly opened her eyes. Her watery, shimmering gaze was unfocused; she was clearly not in her right mind. “You—you shout again and I’ll… I’ll…”
She trailed off after repeating “I’ll” for a while, but her defiant air only grew stronger.
Moonlight streamed through a hole in the roof, falling just where her collar gaped open. In the struggle with Chu Jinhan, the ties of her clothes had come undone at some point. Beneath the moonlight, her smooth, pale skin gleamed like snow, dazzling enough to make one’s head spin.
Chu Jinhan’s breath nearly stopped. His Adam’s apple bobbed uncontrollably.
He was about to force her arms away when she suddenly leaned in and planted a clumsy, heedless peck on his lips.
“Don’t… betray me…” Her slurred murmur ended in a tearful lilt that sounded, to Chu Jinhan, almost like a plea for affection.
Chu Jinhan froze completely.
Born in the inner palace and raised amid political intrigue, he had seen every kind of woman throw herself at him. But never anything quite like this—so utterly without rhyme or reason, so wildly direct.
It wasn’t seduction. She seemed more like a little beast backed into a corner, clumsily baring its tiny claws.
The trace of anger in Chu Jinhan’s heart quietly faded amid this absurd assault, replaced by an emotion even more complicated and difficult to name.
He stopped struggling and simply watched her in silence.
As if sensing that he had given up, Song Yunfei seemed to think she had gained the upper hand and grew even bolder.
Imitating the heated scenes she had once glimpsed, she awkwardly tried to undo his sash.
Her fingertips were cold and trembling slightly.
Each accidental touch was like a tiny spark bouncing against Chu Jinhan, a powder keg on the verge of exploding.
“You’re being ridiculous.” At last, he spoke again and caught her misbehaving hand.
This time there was no anger in his voice, only a trace of helpless hoarseness.
The sound seemed to encourage Song Yunfei. She brought her other hand up too and stubbornly kept at it.
She was so forceful that even Chu Jinhan struggled to break free. “You… you’d better… not… regret… this…”
The night deepened, and the oil lamp in the room burned out.
Outside, the moonlight lay in a hazy pool, dimly illuminating the two figures entwined on the bed.
After a long while,
Song Yunfei finally fell into a deep sleep, utterly exhausted. Perhaps she had poured out all the hurt pent up in her heart; she slept soundly, the corners of her lips even lifting slightly. A flush of satisfaction colored her tear-streaked face.
Chu Jinhan slowly sat up and looked down at Song Yunfei, sleeping beside him without a care, his gaze unreadable.
He raised a hand and gently brushed the tear tracks from her cheek with his fingertip, as tenderly as if afraid he might shatter a rare treasure.
Absurd.
Utterly absurd.
Chu Jinhan straightened his clothes, now pulled into complete disarray, and got out of bed. The commotion had made the old wound on his back ache faintly.
“Mm…” Song Yunfei gave a soft, languid murmur as if sensing something, then rolled over.
Her sound made Chu Jinhan’s heart skip a beat. The heat he had only just managed to dispel rose again from deep in his abdomen…
He hurried to the table, poured himself a cup of cold tea, raised it to his lips, and drained it in one go.
At last, the surging tide in his heart subsided a little.
Outside the window came two very faint calls of a cuckoo.
The bird’s clear cry pierced the deep-night silence.
It was already late autumn, and the chill was deepening. How could there still be cuckoos?
Chu Jinhan’s gaze sharpened. He glanced back at the woman still sleeping on the bed, gathering away every trace of the room’s lingering intimacy.
He threw on his outer robe and went to the door. Just as he was about to pull open the creaking wooden door, a respectful, steady voice came quietly through the door panel.
“Your Highness.”