Warm steam swirled around them, their bodies pressed together through layers of clothing, breath intertwining, becoming one.
Xue Qingqing's consciousness drifted, as if sinking into an unfathomable sea of clouds.
In her half-awake, half-dreaming state, she felt herself being lifted into someone's arms. The embrace was firm and broad, the heartbeat steady and strong, filling her with an inexplicable sense of safety.
Her body was gently laid upon the couch, and when the other's arm withdrew, Xue Qingqing, like a drowning child struggling for survival, desperately reached for that arm, sobbing softly: "Lu Lang…"
The figure standing before her stiffened, and a deep male voice immediately followed: "Miss Xue, look carefully. Who am I?"
Xue Qingqing forced her eyelids apart with great effort, and through the hazy veil of mist, she saw a cold, pale, sharply tapered chin, and a pair of beautifully shaped thin lips.
Not Lu Fang.
"…Young Master Shen."
Xue Qingqing had never imagined that this unfamiliar man, whom she had once been wary of, would become her only support in her moment of despair.
She parted her numb lips and managed to force out a sound: "Thank you."
Pei Huaizhen said nothing. Silently, he brought over a bowl of water and said in a low voice: "Drink." Xue Qingqing tried to lift her head, but could not muster even the slightest strength.
A large palm reached around to the back of her neck, gently cradling that slender column, and lifted it slightly upward.
Xue Qingqing parted her lips, pressed them against the rim of the bowl, and took small sips of water.
She drank with complete focus, utterly unaware that the fingertips wrapped around her neck were subtly shifting, carefully stroking her skin.
Because she drank too hastily, Xue Qingqing suddenly choked, coughing violently. Her entire body trembled with each spasm, her skin flushing a deep, rich red—her cheeks, her neck, her fingertips, her ankles—every exposed inch of her was affected without exception.
Pei Huaizhen set down the water bowl and instinctively reached out, intending to pat her chest.
Just as his palm was about to touch the full, swelling curve, his fingertips froze. He paused for a moment, then instead helped her sit up and gently patted her back.
The woman's back was thin and frail, trembling beneath his palm, as fragile as a butterfly's wing, as if it might shatter and disappear at any moment.
After what seemed like an eternity, the violent coughing gradually subsided. Xue Qingqing fell into a deep sleep, losing all awareness.
Pei Huaizhen remained by her side, watching her brows furrow even in sleep, his thoughts sinking deeper and deeper.
This was not how it should be.
In his eyes, from the moment he had decided to lie low beside her, she should have been moved only by him, controlled only by him, used only by him.
Not this situation before him now.
Those four men—they must die.
…
In the evening, Xue Qingqing finally woke.
But she did not wake from sleep—she woke from pain.
Her chest felt as if thousands upon thousands of needles were piercing through it, or as if two boulders were hanging from it, pulling and dragging. Lying flat hurt, lying on her side hurt, bending over hurt—every position hurt. If she accidentally pulled at it, the pain spread like wildfire, drenching her in cold sweat, her very breath trembling with chills.
Xue Qingqing could not muster the strength to open her eyes, and called out weakly by instinct: "Young Master Shen…"
Beside her, Pei Huaizhen answered: "I'm here."
Xue Qingqing fumbled with difficulty, withdrawing a cloth handkerchief from her sleeve, and handed it to him with trembling fingers: "If you would, Young Master Shen, please wet this cloth for me."
Pei Huaizhen had been waiting for this moment. He took the handkerchief, casually soaked it in the cool water from the pot, and returned it to Xue Qingqing.
Xue Qingqing was so delirious with pain that the moment she received the cloth, she tore open her collar and hastily pressed it against herself.
Only when the cloth had been warmed by her body heat did she suddenly realize what she had done. She quickly opened her eyes and looked toward the bedside.
But the space was empty—there was no one there.
Xue Qingqing could only comfort herself that Young Master Shen must have left before she had pulled open her collar, that he must not have seen anything.
And even if he had seen, at this moment Xue Qingqing had no energy left to care.
When the cloth had been completely dried by her body heat, despite her utmost reluctance and embarrassment, after an intense internal struggle, she could only bring herself to call out: "Young Master Shen, if you would… please come in again."
Her voice was soft and weak, unconsciously tinged with a tearful quality that stirred deep pity.
Footsteps immediately sounded, coming from the outer room into the inner chamber.
Xue Qingqing's eyes were half-lidded and misty, her skin still covered in an unyielding deep flush. Though her collar had been straightened, it was now marked with many obvious creases, folds upon folds, the fabric naturally gaping open to reveal a small patch of delicate, rounded flesh.
Pei Huaizhen silently took the handkerchief. The moment his fingertips felt its warmth, an uncontrollable change stirred within his body.
Xue Qingqing was too weak to pry her eyelids open, unaware that the man caring for her so attentively and considerately was already harboring improper thoughts toward her.
When she received the freshly wetted cloth he handed back to her, she even thanked him gratefully: "Thank you…"
Pei Huaizhen looked at her, said nothing, and turned to walk out of the inner chamber.
Before long, the woman's soft voice sounded again: "Young Master Shen… help me…"
And then, more times after that.
"Young Master Shen… I need the cloth again…"
"Young Master Shen… I need…"
Pei Huaizhen walked in again and again, helping her soak the cloth, then stepping back out.
Until that soft, lingering voice no longer sounded.
Pei Huaizhen sat in the main hall, his back relaxed, face tilted upward, savoring the long-missed silence—yet his fingertips itched involuntarily, as if they needed something to grip, something to pinch to feel at ease.
His Adam's apple bobbed. He slowly opened his eyes and swept his gaze toward the pitch-black memorial tablet on the offering altar.
Sacred tablet of my late husband, Lord Lu Fangzhi
Piously offered by his widow, Xue Qingqing
He still clearly remembered the first time he had seen this tablet—the mockery that had surged in his heart, thinking what a pair of devoted lovebirds they were.
Now, looking at it again, Pei Huaizhen could no longer muster that mockery.
For some reason, he felt anger.
And it was the most extreme kind of anger.
Addressing the dead man's tablet as if questioning the living, Pei Huaizhen parted his lips and sighed softly: "Being her man—that must have felt damn good, didn't it?"
As for how good—he had no idea.
All under heaven is the king's land; all within the four seas are the king's subjects.
This world was his. He was the sole master of these thousand miles of rivers and mountains.
Yet he felt that something had been stolen from him—stolen by an ordinary mortal. That something was the joy that should have been his first.
He was certain this mediocre man had lived a life of immense happiness in his time.
Even more than his own.
Pei Huaizhen could not tolerate that.
"Young Master Shen…"
In the quiet, the woman's soft, tearful voice came like a thread of silk: "Please come in once more… I have something to say to you."
A smile curved at the corner of Pei Huaizhen's lips, as if he had won something. He cast one last glance at the tablet, then rose and went in.
On the bed in the inner chamber, Xue Qingqing's breath came in ragged gasps. Her flushed face held no vitality, her eyes unfocused and wandering.
Seeing Pei Huaizhen, Xue Qingqing said weakly: "I think… I'm afraid I won't survive this."
Pei Huaizhen raised an eyebrow: "Why would Miss Xue say such a thing?"
Xue Qingqing shook her head, sweat on her brow, tears in her eyes: "The pain is too much. I can barely hold on. If only this pain could end, I'd gladly die. I know it—if this continues, I will surely die."
She gave a bitter smile: "As you can see, I deceived you yesterday. My parents were never good to me, and I had long since given up on them. And my husband, who left before me, had already made me lose all attachment to this world."
Tears streamed down Xue Qingqing's face: "But the child is innocent."
"He's so young—he can't even speak yet. First he lost his father, and now his mother. With no relative to rely on, how long could he survive in this world?"
Looking at her son's sleeping face, Xue Qingqing's heart ached as if twisted. She suddenly grabbed Pei Huaizhen's hand, each word dripping with blood: "Heaven and earth bear witness—I, Xue Qingqing, am not one to demand repayment for a kindness. But my child is my greatest concern and my deepest debt in this life. Even in death, I could not abandon him. I beg you, Young Master Shen, in light of the fact that I saved you, to raise him for me…"
Tears continued to fall from Xue Qingqing: "You needn't raise him lavishly—just give him food and clothing. And if you could teach him a few characters, so he needn't live his life as an illiterate, then my husband Lu Fang and I will pray for you day and night in the underworld, and in our next life, we will repay your kindness with all our might."
Looking at the woman's tear-blurred eyes, Pei Huaizhen narrowed his own, his mind filled with those words—"my husband and I."
He lowered his gaze, fixing it on the small hands clutching his.
"Actually, that day—I saw everything." He suddenly spoke.
Xue Qingqing raised her face, looking at him in bewilderment, not understanding what he meant.
Pei Huaizhen added: "When that old woman was massaging you, I saw it."
He extended his index finger, tracing an invisible line down her chest, from top to bottom, then over her breasts, their shape: "She pressed the Shanzhong acupoint, the Shenfeng acupoint, the Tianchi acupoint, the Ruzhong acupoint, the Rugen acupoint—"
"Unfortunately, her technique was imprecise, so she failed to open your meridians—instead, she made the blockage even worse."
Xue Qingqing's body froze solid. After a long moment, she released her grip, as if letting go of a lifeline, and spoke in a trembling voice: "How… how did you see that? You had clearly hidden yourself by then."
Pei Huaizhen: "I was on the beam at the time. Looking down, I could see everything."
"Impossible," Xue Qingqing denied outright, her already flushed face turning an even more sickly red. "I looked up then—you weren't on the beam!"
Pei Huaizhen hummed in acknowledgment, then said slowly and deliberately: "I was on the beam of the outer room."
"The inner and outer beams of this house—they're connected."
Xue Qingqing was stunned, her tongue frozen in her mouth, unable to utter another word.
She suddenly looked up at this home she had lived in for two years, and only then noticed that a single beam ran through both the inner and outer rooms. Nothing hung from it, and standing atop it, one could look down upon both chambers at once.
Xue Qingqing was utterly despairing.
She had thought that even if she and Shen Zhuo shared the same roof, many things still separated them—that as long as she deliberately maintained that distance, even as a lone man and woman, they would never cross that forbidden line.
But she had never imagined that from beginning to end, the only thing between them was a thin cloth curtain.
Her body, her privacy—all had been laid bare before him as easily as reaching into his own pocket.
"Apologies, Miss Xue," Pei Huaizhen said, his expression unchanged, admitting frankly, "I am but a mortal man of flesh and blood; faced with such beauty, I cannot claim to be above worldly desires."
With that said, he stepped forward.
Xue Qingqing's face twisted in fear as she struggled to curl her body backward, her voice trembling into a mess of syllables: "What are you going to do?!"
"Save you," he said. "Save a mother."
Pei Huaizhen extended one hand to steady her shoulder, while the other grabbed her outer garment. With effortless ease, he stripped the clothing away.
The date-red bodice was exposed to his gaze, and the woman's flushed, delicate shoulders and neck resembled ripe cherries—so tender they seemed ready to burst, their sweet fragrance lingering in the air.
"Get out… get out of here!"
Xue Qingqing's face burned crimson, the ultimate shame and fury threatening to consume her entirely. She glared at the man's pale, refined face, never having regretted saving him more than at this moment. If she could do it all over again—even if he died before her eyes, his blood drained dry, devoured by wolves—she would not soften her heart for even a second.
"Miss Xue, forgive my impertinence."
Pei Huaizhen seized the hand she had pressed against her chest, gently pulling it above her head. Then he extended his other hand—his cold, pale fingers with their distinct knuckles contrasting against the vivid date-red fabric, like ice burning atop flames, spring blossoms against snow.
With a sweep of his hand, he tore the bodice away in one motion.