Jiang Qingke sat silently by the edge of the couch, patiently waiting for Ye Yan to approach.
The fragrance of osmanthus mingled with steam wafted beneath Jiang Qingke’s nose.
It was osmanthus cake, freshly out of the steamer.
“Ye Yan.”
Jiang Qingke reached out to take it, adding in a soft, sticky-sweet voice,
“You haven’t come for so many days—I’ve actually started to miss you.”
With that, she reached for Ye Yan’s sleeve and took the initiative to pull him down to sit beside her.
“Come, sit.”
“Ye Yan.”
Jiang Qingke called out again, her voice dripping with coquettish charm, deploying all the cajoling tricks she had used since childhood to win over her parents and elder brother.
“I only just learned you were coming…”
She set the osmanthus cake aside, chattering about this and that while leaning into Ye Yan’s body.
“Do you know how happy I was?”
Between warm words and soft whispers, Jiang Qingke swung herself up to straddle Ye Yan’s thighs, then wrapped her arms around his neck, curling against his shoulder like a spoiled cat.
The sudden intimacy seemed to catch Ye Yan off guard. His sturdy, powerful frame instinctively stiffened for a moment, every muscle tensing like a block of stone.
He too was moved, burying his head in the hollow of Jiang Qingke’s neck, his arms cinched tightly around her waist, answering her words with the heat of his body and the gradually deepening rhythm of his breath.
But at that moment, Jiang Qingke secretly tore off the blindfold covering her eyes.
Her red lips curved upward in a confident, knowing smirk as she pulled a flint striker from her sleeve pocket.
She flicked off the cap with her thumb, blew a single breath across it, and sparks immediately leapt into a dancing, bright flame.
Jiang Qingke sat up straight, holding the flint striker aloft, intending to illuminate Ye Yan’s face.
But Ye Yan was, after all, a martial artist—his reflexes were sharp.
The moment he sensed the firelight, he moved with lightning speed—one hand covering Jiang Qingke’s eyes, the other snatching for the flint striker in her hand.
Jiang Qingke didn’t dodge or struggle. Her red lips parted over white teeth, smiling with triumph.
She released her grip, tossing the flint striker away before Ye Yan could grab it.
A warm amber arc traced through the air, and the bedding caught fire on contact.
All Jiang Qingke needed to do next was pry away the hand over her eyes and, by the firelight, see the face of the man before her.
She pushed open his right hand; Ye Yan’s left hand came up to cover her again.
She shoved aside his left hand; the gauze curtain by the couch was yanked down and draped over her head.
She attacked; he defended.
He dodged; she pursued.
In the struggle and tussle, the two rolled off the couch and onto the floor.
Jiang Qingke realized Ye Yan’s strength was no ordinary thing.
It was monstrous.
After a few exchanges, she was clearly feeling the strain.
With such a disparity in strength, Jiang Qingke found herself blindfolded by the gauze again, her vision restricted, and she naturally ended up at a disadvantage.
Ye Yan’s movements were clean and precise.
Jiang Qingke was pinned to the ground, both hands bound behind her back, with no room left to resist. She could only lie there, breathing shallowly, grinding her teeth in secret—regretting that tonight’s scheme had failed.
Ye Yan strode away quickly.
Eunuch Cao’s shrill, reedy voice began to shriek.
“Fire!”
“Hurry, hurry—bring water!”
“Summon everyone in the Donggong to put out the flames!”
…
Enough people came, and the water arrived in time.
The fire at Fengluanxuan ultimately failed to catch hold.
Eunuch Cao was furious, his beardless, effeminate face cycling through shades of red and white.
But constrained by his position, he could only stand in the shadows, glaring at Jiang Qingke through gritted teeth.
Jiang Qingke, meanwhile, was utterly at ease.
All the pent-up frustration from days past seemed to have been burned clean away by last night’s fire.
The next day.
As soon as Li Xuanyao left the morning court, he ordered Eunuch Cao to deliver a message to Fengluanxuan, summoning Jiang Qingke to the study.
Jiang Qingke knew full well that Li Xuanyao was calling for her over last night’s incident.
She used the excuse of dressing and grooming to dawdle for the better part of an hour before finally dragging her lazy steps to see Li Xuanyao.
Covered walkways, white jade steps, blue-brick paths, and finally a hanging-flower gate draped in wisteria vines.
Colorful butterflies fluttered and danced, dazzling and dreamlike.
Jiang Qingke couldn’t resist pulling Xiqing along to chase the butterflies with her round silk fan.
The two of them were having a grand time chasing butterflies, and Jiang Qingke had long since cast the matter of meeting Li Xuanyao to the back of her mind.
For those who didn’t care about her, she never bothered to keep them in her thoughts.
Chasing the butterflies with enthusiasm, Jiang Qingke tripped over a protruding blue brick underfoot without noticing.
As her body lost balance and began to fall, a large hand suddenly reached out from behind, catching her wrist in time to steady her.
“Your Highness, be careful!” Xiqing rushed over to support Jiang Qingke.
And that large hand was promptly withdrawn, mindful of propriety.
Jiang Qingke looked closely—all in green, it was none other than the bamboo tutor Bai Yin.
Bai Yin straightened his posture, cupped his hands and bowed deeply, performing the formal rites of subject to sovereign with great deference.
“Your humble servant pays respects to the Crown Princess. May the Crown Princess be blessed.”
Her gaze fell on Bai Yin’s hands.
Slender, pale, with excellent bone structure.
The sensation on her wrist still lingered. Jiang Qingke recalled the feeling of that large hand gripping hers.
Warm, rough—very much like Ye Yan’s hands.
And, if she remembered correctly, when Bai Yin had caught her, he had used his left hand.
Jiang Qingke didn’t understand.
Those were hands meant for holding brushes and books—so why did the left palm and the base of the fingers also bear thin calluses?
After all, the calluses on a scholar’s hands differ from those on a martial artist’s.
“Is the Crown Princess here to see His Highness?”
Bai Yin’s gentle, clear voice was like jade striking jade—pleasing to the ear.
Jiang Qingke withdrew her thoughts and nodded in acknowledgment.
She was about to ask Bai Yin whether he practiced martial arts in his daily life when Eunuch Cao came rushing out in search of her.
“Oh my, Crown Princess, His Highness has been waiting for you for quite some time.”
Just as Eunuch Cao spoke, two young eunuchs carried the corpse of a palace maid, hurrying past from behind Eunuch Cao and brushing by Jiang Qingke and Bai Yin’s sides.
Jiang Qingke glanced sidelong at the palace maid.
There was not a trace of blood on her body—only a red mark on her neck, her head lolling limply as if her neck had been snapped. Clearly, whoever had done this was ruthless and decisive.
This palace maid, Jiang Qingke had some recollection of her.
On the night of the wedding, she had personally attended to Jiang Qingke’s bath and dressing, and had blindfolded her eyes with a silk ribbon.
“This is…?” Jiang Qingke asked.
“Ah, merely a servant who bit the hand that fed her and betrayed her master.”
Eunuch Cao bowed to Bai Yin, then continued urging Jiang Qingke.
“Today His Highness still has matters to discuss with the Grand Tutor, so please, Crown Princess, do go in.”
Bai Yin bent at the waist and made a “please” gesture. Jiang Qingke and Xiqing followed behind him as they entered the courtyard of the study together.
Since marrying into the Donggong, this was the first time Jiang Qingke had set foot in Li Xuanyao’s study.
The study was very large.
One half was filled with several display shelves, piled high with scrolls and priceless ornaments.
The other half was partitioned off by a sheer gauze screen embroidered with nine dragons playing with a pearl.
Through the screen, one could faintly make out a table and chairs on the other side, along with a low couch.
And on the other side of the screen, there was someone.