The Eastern Palace at night was as quiet and secluded as ever.
In the vast bedchamber, heavy and rapid breathing rose and fell in interwoven rhythms, sounding exceptionally clear, vivid, and stirring.
The air within the gauze curtains grew warmer and warmer, baking the body until it burned all over.
Jiang Qingke eventually could not bear it any longer and whimpered for mercy.
“Your Highness, please—”
But before she could finish, her words were swallowed by another kiss.
The kisses came like a sudden storm—dense and urgent—stirring her senses until Jiang Qingke could barely breathe.
She reached up to tear away the silk ribbon covering her eyes, but the moment her fingertips touched the ribbon, her slender wrist was firmly seized by a large hand.
Both hands were pressed to either side of her head, and long, bony fingers possessively threaded through hers, interlocking them together.
Strange.
So strange.
In the midst of her passion-clouded daze, Jiang Qingke’s mind wandered.
She had been married into the Eastern Palace for three days now, and she and Li Xuanyao had shared three nights of intimacy.
But every night, after bathing and changing, the serving maids would blindfold her with a silk ribbon, and then the eunuchs would carry her to the bed in Li Xuanyao’s bedchamber.
It had been this way since the wedding night itself.
Though the bedchamber was pitch black, whenever she tried to remove the ribbon from her eyes mid-way through their intimacy, Li Xuanyao would stop her, just as he did tonight.
Moreover, Li Xuanyao never spoke a single word at night.
As she pondered this, the brief indulgence came to an end.
Li Xuanyao draped his robe over himself and lay down beside Jiang Qingke, his arm sweeping around to pull her into his embrace.
His sweat-dampened face nestled into her hair and the hollow of her neck, and he pressed gentle kisses against her one after another, as if still unsatisfied.
Jiang Qingke turned and burrowed into his arms.
“Your Highness, tonight… could your concubine stay?”
Yet Li Xuanyao still did not speak a single word to her.
His arm moved away from Jiang Qingke’s waist, and he pulled the blanket over her just-favored body.
He rose from the bed and, at the same time, rang the bell beside it.
The meaning of rejection could not have been clearer.
The chamber doors opened in response, and several eunuchs shuffled in with soft footsteps to carry Jiang Qingke back to the Phoenix Pavilion.
Aside from feeling deeply unsettled, this sensation of being dismissed right after intimacy was truly unpleasant.
And the fourth night after entering the Eastern Palace was exactly the same.
After bathing, changing, and being blindfolded, Jiang Qingke was once again carried by the eunuchs like an object and placed onto Li Xuanyao’s bed.
She had legs and could walk on her own, after all.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
But Jiang Qingke could not quite put her finger on what.
A faint scent of medicinal herbs and ambergris lingered beneath her nose, and Li Xuanyao was right beside her.
Only, Jiang Qingke could not see whether he was lying down or sitting up.
“Your Highness.”
She called out softly, reaching out her hand to feel blindly, trying to determine where Li Xuanyao was.
But her hand met his fingertips mid-air.
His large hand threaded through her fingers, the roughness of calluses pressing against her skin as they interlocked.
A trace of sweetness rose in her heart.
Jiang Qingke had always been a straightforward person by nature—if something weighed on her mind, she always wanted to ask clearly and understand fully.
So she spoke up: “Why must your concubine be blindfolded whenever serving you at night?”
A lock of her waist-length hair was lifted, twined and wrapped around Li Xuanyao’s fingers, over and over again.
Yet he did not answer her with even a single word.
Li Xuanyao was always silent at night, quiet as still water.
Before the wedding, although the instructress had taught her to refrain from speaking during meals and sleep, Jiang Qingke always felt it should not go this far.
So, she patiently asked again: “Husband and wife sharing a bed is only natural and proper. But after every time, why does Your Highness order someone to send your concubine away?”
Jiang Qingke was not naturally the soft-spoken type who peppered every sentence with “your concubine.”
But she had only been married to Li Xuanyao for a few days—besides not yet feeling at ease, she also wanted to leave him a gentle and virtuous impression.
She waited for a long while, but still no reply came from Li Xuanyao.
Jiang Qingke sullenly withdrew her hand, the first hint of her rebellious, willful nature beginning to show.
The rustle of fabric sounded, and a large hand caressed her face, along with that intensely invasive presence slowly drawing closer to her.
Jiang Qingke leaned back slightly and said with a hint of reproach, “Does Your Highness not care for your concubine?”
The moment the question left her lips, Li Xuanyao gave her a light peck on the lips.
Her heart trembled, and Jiang Qingke could not tell what kind of answer that kiss was supposed to be.
“Your Highness, why—”
Before she could finish, her words were blocked again by Li Xuanyao’s kiss.
Every time she spoke, he kissed her once.
Forced to brace her hands on either side of her, Jiang Qingke tried to dodge the pursuit of those two soft lips, bending her waist back further and further.
“Your concubine cannot under—”
She seized the chance to speak again, but halfway through, a large hand pressed against the back of her head as Li Xuanyao leaned in and kissed her fiercely, giving her no more opportunity to talk.
He even stirred her senses until she could not breathe.
…
When it was over, Jiang Qingke was sent back to the Phoenix Pavilion once more.
But compared to yesterday, tonight Li Xuanyao had kept her for a longer while.
The more Jiang Qingke thought about it, the more she felt something was amiss.
If the reason for not letting her stay overnight in his bedchamber was fear that Li Xuanyao would overindulge and deplete his vitality, that she could understand.
But why must she be blindfolded during their intimacy, and why would he not speak a single word every night?
Raising her eyes to glance at the serving maids attending in the chamber, Jiang Qingke let out a heavy sigh.
The palace maids in the Eastern Palace, aside from her dowry maid Xiqing, were all illiterate mutes.
They could neither speak nor write.
There was nothing to be gleaned from them.
**
The next day.
After finishing court, Li Xuanyao came to Fengluan Pavilion to share the midday meal with Jiang Qingke.
They ate in silence. The two of them dined quietly, so quietly that even the occasional clink of chopsticks against bowls seemed jarringly loud.
The oppressive atmosphere was suffocating.
There was none of the sweet, honeyed intimacy expected of newlyweds.
Jiang Qingke absently held her bowl and chopsticks, sending grains of rice into her mouth one by one.
She lifted her beautiful eyes slightly and stole a few glances at Li Xuanyao.
He sat upright, his back straight, his posture proper and composed.
His handsome, noble face betrayed not a trace of emotion beyond stern coldness.
Perhaps Jiang Qingke’s surreptitious staring was too brazen, for Li Xuanyao suddenly raised his eyelids and shot her a cold look.
His gaze was sharp and piercing—as if questioning, and as if warning.
His attitude was icy, his eyes devoid of any warmth.
The Li Xuanyao of the day and the Li Xuanyao of the night were practically two different people.
Jiang Qingke curled her lips and gave Li Xuanyao a perfunctory smile, feigning shyness.
Withdrawing her gaze, she lowered her head in thought.
If Li Xuanyao did not care for her and could not be bothered to play the devoted husband, then why was he so passionate and forceful come nightfall?
When he was sometimes too rough, he would soften his movements with tender consideration.
When he sometimes hurt her, he would lean down to kiss her face, press his lips to hers, and peck away her tears.
Then he would rub his nose against hers, his cheek against hers, in intimate, lingering affection.
Day and night—one ice, one fire. It was as if they were two entirely different men.