Outskirts, Prince Jin’an’s Villa.
Using the excuse of “being overwhelmed with grief and needing quiet recuperation,” Qiao Shuyi requested this villa from Qiao Nanyu, claiming she needed a place to unwind.
Qiao Nanyu, already troubled by the matter of Liu Jinyu, was more than happy to have his daughter keep her distance and promptly granted permission.
Thus, she brought Zong Zhengheng along and settled into this serene landscape.
Three days had passed.
Zong Zhengheng still hadn’t figured out her move.
She said she wanted to avenge Liu Jinyu, yet in these three days, she had done nothing.
Each day was filled with nothing but eating, drinking, and merrymaking—admiring flowers, listening to music, indulging in wine—as if she truly were here only to relax.
While admiring the flowers, because of the poetic skill he had displayed that day, she pestered him to compose poems.
Lines like “This flower most resembles Shushu’s face” or “A single branch, lush and fragrant with dew” made her eyes crinkle with delight, utterly satisfied.
When painting, she had him sketch, but the subjects were always her.
After finishing a painting, she would demand an accompanying poem; after the poem was written, she would have him recite it to her. Once he finished, she would lean softly against him and murmur, “Zhi Gui is so wonderful.”
While playing the qin, she would have him strum a melody while she reclined on the couch, listening with half-closed eyes.
Afterward, she would insist he join her in a game of pitch-pot. If she lost, she would be penalized with a drink, and after finishing the wine, her face flushed, she would burrow into his embrace.
Today, she said she wanted to go horseback riding in the back hills.
The two of them shared a single horse.
The steed galloped swiftly, the wind howling past, her skirt fluttering sharply in the breeze, her dark hair flying and brushing against his cheek.
Amid the wind, she shouted loudly:
“Zhi Gui—I like you so much—!”
The words were scattered by the wind, yet they fell clearly into his ears.
Zong Zhengheng sat behind her, one arm wrapped around her waist, the other holding the reins.
He gazed at the mountain scenery rushing past ahead, his eyes deep and still as a pond.
He himself didn’t realize that his heart seemed to stir faintly, time and again, in response to her bold and unconventional words and actions.
Later.
The horse grew tired and slowed its pace, ambling leisurely through the forest.
She leaned against his chest, nestling softly in his embrace.
A gentle mountain breeze brushed past, and birds chirped cheerfully.
Sunlight filtered through the branches and leaves, casting dappled shadows upon them.
If anyone were to see them, they would surely sigh—
What an immortal couple.
Suddenly, she spoke, her tone lazy, as if asking casually:
“Zhi Gui, do you like me?”
Zong Zhengheng did not hesitate:
“I do.”
These two words, had they been spoken before, he would not have been able to utter them.
But now, he said them with practiced ease—so practiced that even he couldn’t tell whether it was mere pretense or…
The corners of her lips curved upward as she asked again:
“How much do you like me?”
Zong Zhengheng fell silent.
How should he answer this question?
Say he liked her very much? Too insincere.
Say he didn’t like her? He wouldn’t dare.
Say he didn’t know? That would be asking for trouble.
As he pondered how to respond, she suddenly spoke again:
“If you don’t know how to answer, Zhi Gui, then imagine this: if I were like this right now, lying in another man’s arms, acting coy, or even… asking him for a kiss. How would you feel?”
Zong Zhengheng’s dark eyes were almost instantly ignited with anger.
Swift and fierce, even he hadn’t seen it coming.
“Shushu.” His voice lowered, carrying a chill he himself hadn’t noticed. “Don’t joke about such things.”
He didn’t know what expression he wore at that moment, only that the words she had just spoken felt as though someone had seized his heart and squeezed it hard.
He followed her words and imagined it, and what surged in his chest—
There was frustration, anger, and an indescribable irritation.
There was also a strong, almost instinctive impulse—he wanted to kill that imagined man.
He lowered his eyes, suppressing the turbulent emotions, unaware that his hand had already clenched the reins tightly.
Qiao Shuyi did not get the answer she wanted and sneered coldly.
She dismounted from her horse, leaned her back against the tree trunk, putting distance between them, and looked up at him.
Her glass-like eyes were tinged with red, as if wounded by something.
“A joke? You think my feelings are just a joke?”
“Zhi Gui, let me tell you how I would feel if you held another woman, comforted her, and kissed her.”
“I would kill that woman.”
“I would punish you.”
“I would tie you to my side.”
“I would make your world revolve only around me.”
“I would make your gaze… see only me.”
Her tears fell just like that, one by one.
“Zhi Gui, your affection… is too light. I don’t like it.”
Zong Zhengheng’s heart tightened.
Too light?
He liked Su Yunyan—he had always believed so.
He liked her innocence, her persistence, and the warmth she had once brought him.
But in the two years since he was enfeoffed as Prince Xuan, he had never once taken the initiative to see her.
His mind was entirely on the court, on winning over those who could help him ascend the throne.
He thought that once everything was accomplished, he would treat her well.
And after ascending the throne?
He had to eliminate rivals and balance power, so he could not select consorts or allow her into the palace.
Apart from preventing her from marrying someone else, he had done nothing.
But what about the woman before him?
In just ten short days.
Apart from consummating their marriage, he had done everything.
Kissing her, comforting her, praising her, accompanying her.
When she said she wanted to hear poetry, he composed it; when she said she wanted to ride horses, he accompanied her; when she said she wanted a kiss, he lowered his head and kissed her.
All the things he had never done for anyone else, he had done for her in these ten days.
Even if he didn’t like her, this “affection” he had acted out would never be given to another woman in his lifetime.
Yet she said it was too light.
Zong Zhengheng dismounted and walked forward, grasping her wrist, his voice hoarse:
“It’s not light. It’s already very heavy.”
This was the truth.
Qiao Shuyi raised her tear-filled eyes and looked at him:
“Not enough! Let me teach you how to like me, okay?”
Zong Zhengheng’s gaze was complex as he nodded.
“Then come here and kiss me.”
Zong Zhengheng walked over, pressing her against the tree trunk, one hand braced against the trunk beside her ear, the other lifting her chin.
He lowered his head and kissed her.
They had already kissed many times.
He was very skilled.
He knew the intensity and rhythm she liked, when she wanted him to be gentle, and when she wanted him to be fierce.
Effortlessly, he kissed her until she was breathless.
She melted into his embrace, her fingers clutching his lapels, her breathing ragged, her gaze dazed.
But just as Zong Zhengheng thought Qiao Shuyi was lost in the moment, she suddenly leaned back, avoiding his lips.
She raised her hand, gripping his jaw tightly with her thumb and forefinger.
“Not like this, Zhi Gui. Can you feel it? Your gaze, your kiss—they’re too restrained.”
“I want to see your possessive desire unleashed.”
“I want to hear your burning breath.”
“I want to feel your fierce love.”
Zong Zhengheng’s pupils contracted slightly.
She understood.
But his restraint was an instinct carved into his bones.
From an overlooked prince to the emperor now seated upon the dragon throne, he had been restraining himself at all times.
Restraining his anger, restraining his killing intent, restraining all emotions that should not be revealed before others.
When did he not restrain himself?
On the battlefield.
When he was alone.
And… when facing the dead.
Only then would he allow his true gaze to surface—sinister, ruthless, volatile, venomous.
Yet this woman before him, merely sixteen years old, having spent only ten short days with him, how dare she see through him?
How dare she?
Since that was the case—
He closed his eyes, letting the words she had just spoken explode in his mind.
Leaning into someone else’s embrace.
Acting coquettishly.
Demanding a kiss.
The scene surfaced once more.
This time, however, it was clearer, more glaring, more capable of unleashing the beast that had been caged in his chest for years—completely breaking free from its shackles.
He abruptly opened his eyes.
In his gaze now, there was not a trace of gentleness or restraint, only an impenetrable darkness and malevolence.
With one hand gripping her waist tightly and the other clutching her neck, he pinned her fiercely against the tree trunk.
Lowering his head, he kissed her.
Not the lingering kiss from before.
This was loss of control.
This was plunder.
His teeth cut the corner of her lips, blood seeping between their mouths, indistinguishable whether it was hers or his.
Yet Qiao Shuyi felt no pain; the taste of blood only excited her further.
Standing on tiptoe, lifting her head, her throat was squeezed so tightly she could barely breathe.
That hand continued to tighten, tighten, as if truly intent on choking the life out of her.
But she was not afraid.
Instead, she smiled.
Closing her eyes, she allowed him to take whatever he wanted, allowed him to ravage her lips, allowed his hand to steal her breath inch by inch.
Zong Zhengheng gazed at her small face—eyes closed, smiling, flushed red from suffocation.
A madwoman.
But he was going mad too!
When he lost his mind, everyone feared him.
Only her.
Only this madwoman, at his most uncontrolled moment, smiled and reveled in it.
As if she had been waiting for this moment for a long time.
Zong Zhengheng let the darkness in his eyes surge forth.
Just a little more force, and this madwoman would die by his hand.
Just a little more.
Her face grew increasingly flushed, yet the smile at the corner of her lips deepened.
But he did not.
He suddenly released his grip.
At the very last moment before she suffocated, he let go.
The smile on Qiao Shuyi’s lips deepened further.
Zong Zhengheng gripped her waist with both hands, lifting her entire body and pressing her against the tree trunk.
Lowering his head, his scorching kisses trailed down her neck as if to devour her whole.
In broad daylight, the mountain forest lay silent.
Only the sounds of their panting intertwined.
They kissed for who knows how long, oblivious to the world.
Suddenly—
“Whoosh—”
A violent rainstorm poured down without warning.
Zong Zhengheng’s kiss abruptly halted.
The cold rainwater drenched their faces and bodies, extinguishing the heat that had nearly consumed them both.
He sobered up.