Strictly speaking, the two of them had already done that sort of thing, yet they remained strangers to each other.
No—they were strangers to begin with.
But that touch had broken the deadlock, pulling the two of them close in an instant.
Zhao Shiyan’s silent indulgence seemed to open a floodgate.
That said, looking at that day alone, nothing more outrageous had occurred.
Zhao Shiyan had only silently removed her hand, doing his best to banish stray thoughts and bury himself in what he ought to be doing.
Then came the third time that month, the fourth…
Whether intentionally or not, the distance between them began to dissolve, and incidental contact grew more and more frequent.
The darkness magnified every detail, sharpening the senses.
She was no longer a block of wood, nor a mute.
That mouth of hers occasionally let slip a few sounds.
The sounds were soft, right by his ear—wispy strands that coiled and clung, burrowing straight into his heart.
Zhao Shiyan found them hard to resist.
But he couldn’t very well blame her, either. Who could control their reactions in the throes of passion?
She must have been unaware.
Because outside the bedchamber, she made no further advances.
And so it developed step by step.
At first, Zhao Shiyan would still restrain his instinctual urges and his swaying heart. When the woman drew near him, he would push her away.
When they accidentally pressed together in the throes of abandon, he would snap back to his senses as quickly as he could.
But the warm embrace of a beauty has always been a hero’s grave, so the process of pulling away grew increasingly difficult.
Slowly, he began to indulge her little gestures. Those gestures were gentle and tender, intimate and dependent.
He couldn’t deny that he savored such sweet affection deep down.
After all, he was a man, unable to shed a man’s base nature.
He could only console himself that none of it had been his initiative.
He had simply… not refused.
Nor had he truly broken his promise to his wife.
He hadn’t spoken to her, hadn’t kissed her, and still didn’t know whether her face was round or oval.
He was still holding the line.
Yet even so, he knew in his heart that the levee was already on the verge of collapse.
This couldn’t go on, Zhao Shiyan thought.
Fortunately, after the seventh session, his wife said there was no need for him to go again that month.
Hearing this, Zhao Shiyan felt a weight lifted.
But for some reason, there was also a faint pang of loss.
He pressed these insignificant emotions into a corner of his heart and returned to normal life, spending his days attending to outside affairs and mostly keeping his wife company.
As long as he didn’t go to the Tonghua Courtyard, his wife’s face wouldn’t cloud over, her words wouldn’t carry barbs, and the entire Manyuan Garden wouldn’t feel so suffocating.
Zhao Shiyan put in a bit more effort, gifted her some of her favorite things, and within a few days had coaxed his wife back into good humor, earning permission to return to her chamber.
The two of them completely forgot the interloper between them, becoming as sweet as honey and oil once more, the envy of all who saw them.
Yet some things, once they leave a mark, are difficult to restore to their original state.
Take those emotions he had deliberately ignored—they would always, in the dead of night, or in some idle afternoon moment, suddenly pierce through his defenses, flaunting themselves in his heart and proclaiming their existence.
And so the Tonghua Courtyard resurfaced.
In the depths of a dream, he walked alone through the gate of the Tonghua Courtyard and entered the west chamber.
Through layer upon layer of curtains, the graceful figure seated at the edge of the bed was faintly visible.
What did she truly look like?
Zhao Shiyan began to sketch the woman’s features in his mind.
They say beauty lies in the bones. Her bone structure must be exquisite—after all, he had measured it with his own hands.
Though slender and delicate, she was perfectly proportioned, her entire body radiating a faint, subtle fragrance.
And that skin, fine as suet—cool to the touch when apart, warm when pressed against—truly a creature of heaven’s making.
With a body like that, her face could not possibly be ordinary.
She would have a countenance that shames peach blossoms and puts apricots to envy—arched brows like faint spring mountains, bright limpid eyes like clear autumn ripples, a dainty nose, and rosy lips.
She would surely have a lovely voice as well, like a clear spring washing over stones, like an oriole singing from willow branches, and in their moments of intimacy, she would let out sounds sweet as honey that could melt a man’s bones…
And so, adding a stroke each day, the figure of his imagination grew ever more vivid, threatening to surpass the beauty of Xi Shi and the allure of Imperial Consort Yang.
This goddess of his fancy seemed to understand his thoughts, appearing in his dreams night after night for their secret trysts.
In dreams, there were no countless eyes watching—he could do as he pleased.
When awake, Zhao Shiyan would secretly chide himself, reproaching himself for indulging in fantasies about someone he had never even seen.
But on nights when she didn’t appear in his dreams, he would feel a hollow emptiness.
What was more regrettable was that the goddess’s face remained perpetually blurred.
Was she truly as he imagined?
The more she hid her face behind her pipa, the more Zhao Shiyan’s heart itched with longing.
Day and night he thought of her, until it became an obsession.
That night.
When he once again entered the west chamber, the room suddenly brightened, and the layers of curtains parted on their own as if stirred by wind.
He couldn’t help quickening his pace. Reaching the bedside, he crooked a finger beneath the woman’s delicate chin and tilted it up.
The woman slowly raised her head.
Just as her true face was about to be revealed, Zhao Shiyan gasped and sat bolt upright.
Tong Jinxian was afraid of the dark, so she kept a candle burning even while sleeping, its light spilling through the bed curtains.
Zhao Shiyan turned his head to glance at his wife beside him, and the regret within him was instantly drowned by guilt—he wished he could slap himself twice.
He leaned down with a hint of guilt and pressed a kiss to his wife’s forehead.
Tong Jinxian stirred from her sleep, a little puzzled. “What’s wrong?”
Zhao Shiyan pulled her into his arms and kissed her again. “Nothing. Go back to sleep.”
The thought of him stealing a kiss in the middle of the night sent a wave of sweetness through Tong Jinxian’s heart.
Just as she was about to say something, her arm accidentally brushed against something. Startled, she pulled back slightly, and once she saw what it was, her eyes filled with shock.
Though she had recently allowed him back into the bedchamber, she still found every excuse to refuse whenever he sought intimacy.
That evening, the wet nurse had earnestly advised her, saying a man shouldn’t be kept cold for too long, or his mind might start to wander—perhaps even seeking pleasure elsewhere.
Tong Jinxian knew Zhao Shiyan wouldn’t dare, nor would he, but the words still stirred something in her heart.
She cast him a reproachful glance. “In this state, and you still endure it? Why didn’t you just tell me?”
He would rather bear it in silence than wake her.
Tong Jinxian felt both sweet and deeply moved, overlooking the faint trace of guilt in Zhao Shiyan’s expression as she willingly melted into his embrace, pressing her lips to his…
By the time they settled again, it was already past midnight.
Tong Jinxian lay in the crook of Zhao Shiyan’s arm, drifting off to sleep in complete contentment.
Zhao Shiyan, however, found it hard to fall asleep for a long while.
A male bee flew headlong into a spider’s web. It flapped its wings incessantly, trying to break free from the sticky strands, only to sink deeper with each struggle.
Yin Xuesu stood by the window in thin clothing, watching this scene on the beam above for a long time. Her expression was unusually focused.
She didn’t even notice when Mama Yuan came in.
Mama Yuan draped a garment over her shoulders. “The wind is strong. Don’t catch a chill.”
Yin Xuesu snapped back to attention and returned to sit on the embroidered stool before the vanity.
Mama Yuan studied her unadorned face and couldn’t help but sigh at her natural beauty.
Even bare-faced like this, with her black hair loose and flowing, it in no way diminished the impact on anyone who beheld her—if anything, it carried a beauty that grew more striking in its simplicity.
And her confidence was largely derived from this.
But beauty alone was far from enough.