Mama Yuan hesitated and asked, “Over half a month has passed, and Second Master Yan hasn’t come once, nor has he sent a single message through anyone. Shouldn’t we do something?”
Sitting idle with folded hands would not bring fortune’s favor.
Having weathered countless hardships, Mama Yuan understood better than anyone the importance of taking the initiative.
Yet Yin Xuesu shook her head again. “A seed needs time to germinate.”
A man of Zhao Shiyan’s standing might not refuse a woman who threw herself at him, but he would never hold her in high regard.
He had to be made to develop feelings on his own, to sink deeper step by step. Let him believe he was the one driving the process, that all control rested with him.
Before this, Yin Xuesu had thought achieving this would be difficult.
But—
She let out a snort, a trace of sardonic smile curling at the corner of her lips.
In her previous life, she had strictly observed propriety, and Zhao Shiyan had given off an air of keeping everyone at arm’s length. The two had never crossed paths.
Until her death, she had believed Zhao Shiyan to be a rare man—devoted to his wife, their bond as steadfast as metal and stone.
Through several encounters in this life, she had deliberately probed and discovered that what she had taken for an iron wall was nothing but paper.
This man was far easier to handle than she had imagined.
One more push, and he would surrender.
Yin Xuesu counted the days on her fingers.
“Mama, when they come again mid-month, you should do this…”
The Zhao couple did not set foot in the Paulownia Flower Courtyard again until after the Mid-Autumn Festival.
Before that, a physician was first summoned to take Yin Xuesu’s pulse.
In truth, there was no need for a pulse reading—at the end of last month, Yin Xuesu’s menses had arrived right on schedule, proving that their previous efforts had come to naught.
Tong Jinxian wanted the physician to determine whether this surrogate mother was truly fit for bearing a child.
From the first time to now, nearly two months had passed—why was there still no sign of pregnancy?
She was growing impatient, privately regretting that her preparatory work had not been thorough enough.
Delegating all matters to Zhao Shiyan had spared her worry, but she had no idea whether the matchmaker he found was reliable.
Though that matchmaker had sworn with a hand on his chest that the woman had already borne three children, each one a son, she should not have taken his word without verification. At the very least, she should have had a physician examine her again.
If the physician determined that the woman, like herself, struggled to conceive, then it would mean the couple had been deceived.
On one hand, Tong Jinxian resolved that the matchmaker would not get off lightly; on the other, she secretly fretted over whether she would need to search for another surrogate.
Fortunately, the physician’s diagnosis was that the woman was in good health with no hidden ailments—she simply needed to lie together on fertile days, and a child would come in due time.
Tong Jinxian let out a long sigh of relief from behind the screen.
Having Zhao Shiyan touch another woman was already a last resort; if he had to touch one, better just the one than one after another.
Since the vessel was sound, there was no need to replace her.
So when the calculated day arrived, the couple came together once more to the Paulownia Flower Courtyard.
On days like this, Tong Jinxian was always in low spirits.
Zhao Shiyan wished to soothe her, but he was also unwilling to court bad luck at such a time.
The two rode in silence to Qingfeng Lane, alighted from the carriage, and entered the courtyard.
Tong Jinxian went straight to the side room adjacent to the western chamber to wait.
Zhao Shiyan glanced at Mama Yuan approaching with the medicinal wine, then waved his hand dismissively. After a pause, he pushed open the door and entered the western chamber.
More than twenty days had passed since their last encounter.
For some reason, Zhao Shiyan felt unusually stirred this time.
He had not drunk the medicinal wine his wife had prepared beforehand, yet he still felt his blood surging, barely able to contain himself. It was like a wild beast of the mountains that had long been vegetarian suddenly tasting meat for the first time—urgent as wind and fire, ravenous with hunger.
But the attitude of the woman beneath him was the exact opposite.
She seemed to have returned to her initial state, making no move to touch him at all. Her hands gripped the bedsheet tightly, maintaining distance throughout.
Only when his movements grew too rough did a few soft moans escape her, quickly bitten back and suppressed behind her lips.
Zhao Shiyan did not notice at first; by the time he did, they were already at the critical moment.
He recalled the last time—at nearly the same climactic juncture, the woman beneath him had been lost in passion, guiding his large hand across mountains and valleys, climbing toward a certain soft mound.
Startled, Zhao Shiyan’s mind went blank. His hand did not withdraw during that time.
Only when he regained his senses did he snatch his hand away as if stung.
The palm seemed to still retain that soft, full sensation—the thing he had savored most in his midnight reveries these past days.
He had hated it once, hated this body that repeatedly made him lose control, and hated the person who possessed it.
But now his palm was empty, and dissatisfaction began to creep in.
He thought of asking the woman beneath him what was wrong, opened his mouth, but found nothing to say.
In the end, as always, he pulled away and got out of bed, dressed himself, and pushed open the door to leave.
The next several times were much the same.
Zhao Shiyan was simmering with an inexplicable anger.
Though he had found release, it still did not feel like enough.
Every time he entered that room, it felt as though a hand were scratching incessantly at his heart, as if something were missing.
What was missing?
Ah—initiative.
His status, and especially the vow he had made to his wife, prevented him from indulging freely with another woman without restraint.
But if that woman were to take the initiative, it would be a different matter entirely.
That woman could draw out his baser desires, and he relished their union—Zhao Shiyan was not afraid to occasionally confront his own true needs.
He tried to suppress this improper craving, but failed.
On the days he did not visit Qingfeng Lane, his thoughts not only failed to fade but burned even hotter.
He used many methods to relieve himself, barely managing to quell the restless agitation within.
Yet the moment he set foot in the Tonghua Courtyard, it was easily stirred up again. The intervening days made no difference.
It was as if that body truly possessed some kind of enchantment.
In truth, they had already coupled many times, and paying attention to such trivial details was nothing more than burying one’s head in the sand.
Unfortunately, those trivial details were what his wife cared about most.
He respected his wife and did not want to see her hurt. He had tried to resist, but to no avail…
The tug-of-war between fidelity to his wife and his own desires was certainly a burden on his heart, yet the surging passion in the dark of night was even harder to resist.
So he looked forward to her taking the initiative, which would ease his guilt considerably.
However, she extended her claws to tease him once, then withdrew them again, as if deliberately keeping him at arm’s length.
This left Zhao Shiyan with an indescribable frustration.
With pent-up anger in his heart, he showed no mercy when they next lay together.
It was not until a faint sobbing sound escaped that he stopped and asked in a low voice, “What’s wrong?”
This was the first time he had spoken to her.
But he received no response.
The woman beneath him trembled, as if holding back her sobs.
Zhao Shiyan felt a twinge of regret—he should not have bullied a weak woman like this.
He reached out toward her face, a gesture meant to wipe away her tears.
But his hand was caught midway, guided slowly downward, and pressed once more upon the place he yearned for.
Zhao Shiyan’s brow twitched, his heart thumping loudly.
At this moment he was clear-headed, yet he did not withdraw his hand.
His palm rested there, silent for a long while, until his fingers slowly curled closed.
Yin Xuesu endured it, lifting her head to kiss him. He was startled for a moment, then turned away.
Yin Xuesu was not surprised, only sneering inwardly: “What a fine Liu Xiahui.” At the same time, she silently counted the time.