After the meal, as they took tea, the two sat across from each other in idle conversation.
“In a few days, it will be the Left Chancellor’s mother’s eightieth birthday.”
“At that time, you shall accompany me with gifts to the Chancellor’s residence to offer congratulations.”
Jiang Qingke nodded absently in acknowledgment, but her gaze had fallen upon Li Xuanyao’s left hand.
“Your Highness’s concubine understands.”
She deliberately reached out with feigned intimacy to hold that hand.
The palm was warm, smooth, and supple; the fingers long, slender, and fair—not even a trace of callus on the pads.
Truly, a hand accustomed to nothing but the finest care.
As if perturbed by the sudden touch, Li Xuanyao withdrew his hand and, in the same motion, picked up the teacup before Jiang Qingke and naturally poured her a cup of tea.
Jiang Qingke stared at her now-empty palm. More than dejection, what she felt was confusion.
A thought suddenly flashed through her mind.
It was somewhat absurd—so absurd that even she herself found it ridiculous.
Before the two could exchange more than a few words, Li Xuanyao rose to leave.
“I still have matters to attend to. I won’t keep you company.”
Jiang Qingke saw him to the palace doors.
Her beautiful eyes half-lidded, she gazed thoughtfully at Li Xuanyao’s retreating figure.
She let out a soft hiss and shook her head.
Once again dismissing that utterly preposterous suspicion.
…
In the days that followed, Li Xuanyao did not summon Jiang Qingke to attend him at night for two or three evenings.
Tonight, as she was bathing in the Lotus Hibiscus Pool, Li Xuanyao unexpectedly—for the first time ever—came to the Phoenix Luan Pavilion.
In the mist-shrouded, steaming waters of the pool, Jiang Qingke felt somewhat ill at ease.
She crossed her arms over her chest, concealing skin that rivaled snow and outshone frost.
Her maidservant Xiqing, catching Jiang Qingke’s subtle signal, immediately handed her a sheer silk bathrobe.
The robe wrapped around her body, but soaked through by the pool water, it clung tightly to her lithe and graceful figure.
“Your Highness’s concubine greets the Crown Prince.”
Her cheeks flushed crimson as if painted with rouge, Jiang Qingke watched Li Xuanyao, clad in his black python robe, approach her step by step, and felt inexplicably nervous.
“Your Highness… why have you… come?”
Li Xuanyao curled his lips into a faint smile, yet when his calm, unruffled eyes looked at a person, they remained as cold and aloof as ever.
Unexpectedly, he announced that he would be staying the night at the Phoenix Luan Pavilion.
The candles burned bright, and no silk ribbon was tied over her eyes.
Jiang Qingke could see the Li Xuanyao before her with perfect clarity.
And because of this, the doubt in her heart diminished by half.
But when the candles were snuffed and the bed curtains fell, not a single trace of amorous intimacy occurred.
Not even a kiss—not even a single touch of fingers.
One quilt for each person; between their bodies lay a divide as vast as the Chu and Han rivers.
Li Xuanyao had truly come only to sleep.
Jiang Qingke turned onto her side, pillowing her head on her arm, and by the faint light filtering in from the palace lanterns in the corridor, she studied Li Xuanyao, who was sleeping soundly.
Li Xuanyao had said he was tired, so she couldn’t very well make the first move and lose her composure.
But a simple embrace shouldn’t be a problem, right?
As if seeking to verify something, Jiang Qingke inched closer to Li Xuanyao, slipped her small hand beneath the quilt, and wrapped it around his waist.
Through the layers of fabric, she felt his body.
Summoning her courage, Jiang Qingke touched him.
Hiss… Why did the sensation feel different from the past few nights?
Thin, lean—missing that taut, muscular firmness.
Seeing that Li Xuanyao still showed no reaction, Jiang Qingke’s boldness swelled another notch.
Her small hand slid slowly along the lapel of his robe, slipping inside.
The moment her fingertips brushed against his chest muscles, the body beneath her hand stiffened. A large hand seized her wrist, yanked her wandering hand out, and flung it aside with force.
“What are you doing?”
This was the first sentence Li Xuanyao had spoken to her at night, in bed, since their marriage.
Cold and sharp, carrying a hint of reproach—and yet, wrapped within it, a thread of… fear?
But what could the esteemed Crown Prince possibly fear?
Jiang Qingke softened her voice, playing the meek wife: “Did your concubine startle Your Highness?”
The light was dim, and Jiang Qingke could not make out the expression on Li Xuanyao’s face.
She only felt a deep, piercing gaze staring at her with displeasure from the darkness.
“Your Highness is tired. Crown Princess, go to sleep early.”
Li Xuanyao wrenched Jiang Qingke’s hand away with force, turned over with his back to her, and, still wrapped in his quilt, shifted a few more inches toward the edge of the bed.
Clearly, he was not to be touched.
Compared to the Li Xuanyao of the previous nights—who had been so relentlessly energetic—the man before her now was like an ascetic monk devoid of all desire.
Silence fell over the chamber once more.
But Jiang Qingke could not fall asleep no matter how she tried.
That absurd, ridiculous notion surfaced in her mind once again.
Only this time, it needed one more verification.
The next morning.
Not long after Li Xuanyao had left for the morning court, an imperial physician from the Imperial Medical Bureau arrived at the Eastern Palace to take Jiang Qingke’s peace pulse.
After diagnosing her, the physician prescribed several courses of medicine.
All were tonics to nourish and warm the womb.
Jiang Qingke understood.
Many of the current emperor’s princes had already fathered young lords and ladies, yet the Crown Prince, Li Xuanyao—though past the age of capping—had remained chaste and pure, without even a single chambermaid, let alone children.
Having married into the Eastern Palace, bearing Li Xuanyao’s children was now her most important task.
At this thought, Jiang Qingke couldn’t help but wonder—was it because of children that Li Xuanyao had been so vigorous and eager at night?
But then how did one explain the callus-free hands and the thin, lean frame?
With a multitude of questions weighing on her mind, Jiang Qingke welcomed tonight’s bed service.
As in previous days, after bathing and changing clothes, her eyes were blindfolded with silk, and she was carried by eunuchs to the Crown Prince’s bedchamber.
The eunuchs and palace maids withdrew one after another, and the hall doors closed shut with a resounding thud.
Jiang Qingke sat on the bed, tilting her head slightly upward, trying to glimpse something through the gaps in the silk blindfold.
But the hall was pitch dark, and she could see nothing.
“Your Highness.”
Jiang Qingke sat at the edge of the bed and called out softly.
Li Xuanyao, however, was sparing with his words, offering not a single response.
When vision is restricted, one’s other senses are magnified infinitely.
Jiang Qingke clearly heard the rustling of fabric behind her as Li Xuanyao propped himself up and sat, approaching her with scorching body heat.
Soon, a broad, solid chest pressed tightly against her from behind, and a thick, powerful arm pulled her into an embrace.
A familiar scent enveloped her—the pleasant fragrance of ambergris, faintly intermingled with a subtle medicinal aroma.
The medicinal scent was very faint; had she not been in such close proximity, it would have been difficult to detect.
Li Xuanyao raised his arm, and his scorching, slightly rough left hand gently caressed her cheek, moving down along the side of her neck, sending shivers through her.
His slender fingers casually hooked, pulling the garment from her shoulder.
Layer after layer of thin fabric slipped away, exposing her skin to the air, so cold that Jiang Qingke shuddered.
But the body heat of the man behind her seeped through her skin into her body, quickly dispelling the chill.
The shallow breathing by her ear gradually grew rapid and heavy.
Each puff of hot, moist breath sprayed entirely against her ear—precisely Jiang Qingke’s sensitive spot.
She involuntarily shrugged her shoulders to evade, but this only provoked him further, as he gently nibbled her earlobe and ear, drawing her into submission.
Jiang Qingke took the initiative to grasp the man’s hands, interlocking their fingers tightly.
The man’s hands were long, broad, and scorching hot, with a thin layer of calluses.
As the daughter of a military family, Jiang Qingke could tell at once that these were hands that drew bows and wielded swords—full of strength.
The texture was entirely different from Li Xuanyao’s pampered hands during the day.
And as her bare back pressed and rubbed against him, she could clearly feel that the man’s chest was not smooth—there was a subtle roughness, as if marked by several scars.
Moreover, his chest muscles were knotted and lean, nothing like the slender feel of Li Xuanyao that night.
Jiang Qingke’s heart pounded violently.
The absurd thought in her mind surfaced once again.
The man entwined with her was not Li Xuanyao at all!
But if not Li Xuanyao, then who was the man beside her?
“You are not His Highness?”
The words slipped from her lips, carrying both doubt and a measure of certainty.
The caressing at her neck came to an abrupt halt.
Jiang Qingke clearly sensed the man’s body stiffen and freeze in that instant.
“Who are you?”
Suppressing the surging emotions within her, Jiang Qingke demanded coldly in a low voice.
Yet what she received in return was still silence.
If this was not sanctioned by Li Xuanyao, who would dare to do such a thing?
A sense of humiliation at being toyed with and deceived swept over her heart, igniting a blaze of fury.