His eyes turned cold as an icy pond.

“…That Zhao Ji is nothing but an embroidered pillow. A person like that isn’t worth fearing.”

The girl lying on his bed had her dark hair scattered loosely, her voice bright and soft, showing no trace of shadow.

“I just pretended to be weak for a bit, and he really believed it. Then I kicked him right out with one blow… Aren’t I amazing?”

That gentle tone almost sounded as if she were the one comforting him.

Pei Zhaoye’s fingers closed around hers briefly, then quickly loosened.

“It’s Hongye Stronghold that dragged you into this.”

Lizhu looked at him in surprise.

Amid the faint, clean scent of herbs, Pei Zhaoye’s gaze was calm—serious in a way it had never been before.

“Cui Shiyong is from the Cui clan of Liyang. He didn’t collude with Zhao Weizhen back then, so he still has some pride in his heart. The only reason he insisted on killing you must be because he still holds a grudge over the Yiling flood years ago. He wants to use your death to bring down Hongye Stronghold.”

During that flood, Cui Shiyong had been too busy fighting his political rivals, delaying rescue efforts.

Pei Zhaoye, on the other hand, had seized that chance to establish Hongye Stronghold at Yushan, drawing many refugees to follow him.

Cui Shiyong, obsessed with his image as a virtuous official, had hated him ever since.

If not for that, even if Zhao Weizhen had wanted to kill the princess, Cui Shiyong—loyal as he was to the court—would have found a way to protect her.

“And if you hadn’t gone out to save Danzhu and the others, you wouldn’t have left the Pei residence, nor would you have been captured.”

Lowering his head, Pei Zhaoye scooped up a bit more ointment with his fingertip and gently spread it over her wrist bone.

“You and I have known each other less than a month. You shouldn’t have done such a foolish thing.”

The calloused pads of his fingers, rough yet steady, circled over her wrist. The friction stung a little, but it was still bearable.

Lizhu looked at him quietly for a while, then gave a soft hum.

“When you kissed me, why didn’t you think about how we’ve only known each other for less than a month?”

Pei Zhaoye’s hand paused.

When she said this, her tone was soft and petulant, her slightly upturned lips carrying a trace of teasing—looking very much like something that invited another kiss.

He thought, how could that be the same?

At that time, he had only taken her for a girl newly awakened to love, acting on a whim. As for him, perhaps there had been just a flicker of real feeling.

Pei Zhaoye hadn’t thought about what would come after.

He had simply treated that kiss as a fleeting affair, like morning dew. Once the little princess returned to her palace, the sunlight of Luoyang would dry that dew away, leaving nothing behind.

As he gently smoothed the ointment over her bruises, a faint irritation welled up in him.

“What’s that look on your face?” Lizhu asked.

“Miscalculated,” he said evenly, his tone calm as still water. “Had I known, I’d at least have pretended to be a proper gentleman, so you wouldn’t think I’m the sort who goes around kissing girls I’ve barely met.”

Lizhu turned her head and buried her face into the pillow, laughing.

There was unmistakable schadenfreude in that laugh, and Pei Zhaoye arched an eyebrow.

“Too late. I already know—you not only go around kissing people, you also speak crudely, know nothing of poetry or books, have terrible taste, and fight like you’ve no care for your life. You’re about a hundred and eighty thousand miles away from being a gentleman.”

Pei Zhaoye frowned.

Fine, the rest he could ignore—but bad taste?

Bad taste, yet the first woman he’d ever taken was the most beautiful under heaven?

Just as he was about to pull his hand away after finishing with the ointment, Lizhu reached out and lightly hooked his finger with hers.

“So, you don’t have to pretend to be someone you don’t even like. Pretending for a lifetime would be exhausting.”

Her cheeks were slightly warm, her eyes bright.

“You’re fine the way you are. Even if there are things I’m still not used to… I don’t want to be the only one happy when we’re together. I want you to be happy too.”

After all, no matter how he pretended, he was still the husband she liked.

Pei Zhaoye drew in a slow breath and turned his gaze away.

He pressed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose, covering the lower half of his face.

After a long moment, he lifted his eyes toward her. “…You’re happy being with me?”

Lizhu gave a soft “mm.”

It wasn’t even a particularly suggestive phrase, yet as Pei Zhaoye turned it over and over in his mind, a strange warmth filled his chest.

He had never cared for anyone’s opinion and yet, with just one sentence from her, he felt light enough to float.

This was definitely not a good thing.

When a person’s joy and sorrow were no longer within their own control, didn’t that make them a puppet on someone else’s strings?

And yet—

He found that this feeling wasn’t unpleasant at all.

He actually… didn’t mind being controlled by her.

Whether it was his emotions, or his body.

Pei Zhaoye suddenly pressed a hand against his chest and lowered his head.

Lizhu was startled, sitting up at once. “What’s wrong?”

“…Pulled at the wound a little.”

He had been sitting on the footstool without moving this whole time, how could he have suddenly pulled a wound?

Lizhu didn’t think too deeply about it. She quickly shifted over on the bed.

“Ah? You should come lie down then.”

She took his hand, and he followed her lead, lying down beside her.

Lizhu noticed nothing strange at all—she only leaned over, turning her head slightly as she carefully examined the injuries on his body.

They didn’t look split open… should she call the physician to take a look?

The man’s forehead hair was half-dry, dampened by sweat. From beneath his thick lashes, his dark eyes looked at her—deep and moist.

“You’ve bathed?”

Lizhu nodded, not understanding why he asked.

“The place you lay smells nice.”

His gaze darkened with a heat that made his intentions obvious.

Everywhere his eyes passed, her skin seemed to burn.

Lizhu’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Your wounds were just bandaged… you should rest—”

“My mouth isn’t injured,” he said slowly, his gaze skimming over her lips. “And I don’t want to be the only one happy. If I kiss you now, would you be unhappy?”

…What kind of question was that?

Lizhu’s eyes darted to the side. “I… I don’t think so.”

“I think so too.”

His voice was laced with a faint smile.

A broad, warm hand slid behind her neck, pressing lightly but firmly against the back of her head—guiding her downward until their lips met.

A faint bitterness lingered between them, the taste of medicinal decoction.

Even diluted by the tea, that sweetness and bitterness still passed over from their entangled tongues.

The sweet taste of the malt sugar candy lingering in her mouth was swept away by him, and the forcedly swallowed saliva carried a faint bitterness and pungency.

He tirelessly licked and sucked her lips, as if he could suck out a trace of sweetness from them.

“…Mmm… smack…”

Lizhu heard the shameful sounds between their lips and tongues, yet her whole body was weak and limp, completely uncontrollable, allowing him to stir and play within her mouth.

He really learned very quickly.

He even knew to gently kiss her face, give her a moment to catch her breath, and then kiss her again.

“Th-that’s enough, right…” Lizhu whimpered.

Pei Zhaoye paid no attention, with one hand he pulled over the quilt, placing it between the two of them, and only then did he encircle her back and waist, his eyes dark and profound, pulling her entirely into his embrace, holding her face as he kissed her meticulously.

Completely insatiable.

As if he wanted to swallow her whole into his stomach.

Lizhu very much wanted to hit him, but his body was covered in wounds, and she simply did not know where to start.

He seemed to be very clear about this too, kissing even more recklessly and without restraint, unhurried, as if savoring a delicacy that belonged solely to him.

The moist, lingering kiss smoothed over the excessive tension and alertness brought by the great battle and slaughter.

Pei Zhaoye slightly opened his eyes.

Her face at this moment was blurred and hazy, like a pink-white lotus flower on the water when mist rises.

When they separated, the hair at their temples was slightly damp, their disordered hot breaths intertwining in the air.

Their eyes met.

Lizhu steadied herself for a good while.

“…I want to go back!”

Her eyes held some anger, but she had already been kissed into a disheveled state, so even her angry appearance was very cute.

“Didn’t you already inform Xuan Ying? Stay. What if I have a fever in the middle of the night?”

His voice was low and hoarse, his pitch-black eyes having a dazedness of being satisfied but not completely.

Lizhu slightly widened her eyes: “How do you know? You’ve been pretending to be unconscious for this long?”

“Hmm… I could even keep pretending until Xuan Ying comes tomorrow morning.”

Pei Zhaoye looked at her with a half-smile.

“…” Why did she feel that when he put on an act, he rather enjoyed it too?

“Princess, rest assured and sleep. The bed is so wide, we’ll each sleep at one end. I won’t bother you tonight.”

He pulled the quilt over to cover Lizhu: “Rest well. Tomorrow, once the Zhao Weizhen faction is imprisoned and the government offices have vacancies, you’ll have enough to keep you busy.”

That was true.

Her conversation with Cui Shiyong was cut short by Zhao Ji’s slap. The old man was slapped dizzy and disoriented, vomited intermittently for a whole day, and it was unknown whether he would recover as usual tomorrow.

The matter of the Pei residence dancer, it seemed, had also been forgotten to be told to Pei Zhaoye.

And also the situation over at Jiacao Canal, she had not yet had time to ask about the circumstances…

It was all his fault for kissing her until she was drowsy.

Lizhu, who had stayed awake for a full two days and one night, began to yawn.

Not wanting to make the trip back, and also because Lizhu was genuinely concerned about Pei Zhaoye’s injury, after some thought, she still stayed.

When she slept, she did not forget to clutch his hand, in order to monitor his body temperature at any time.

Pei Zhaoye looked at her fixedly for a while, very lightly returned the grasp of that hand, and blew out the candle.

The white smoke curled and dispersed.

The inner room completely returned to tranquility, but Pei Zhaoye was somewhat restless and unable to sleep. He stared at the canopy, his eyes clear and awake.

—Who exactly was providing the giant crossbows and mengchong warships to Jiacao Canal, setting up this trap meant to drive Hongye Fort to its death?

Zhao Weizhen and Cui Shiyong did not have the ability to command the overall situation.

They were, at best, pawns of the person behind the scenes. Otherwise, with this person’s capability, Hongye Fort would have long had no foothold in Yiling County.

Thinking of this, Pei Zhaoye could not help but let out a cold laugh in his heart.

Whoever it was, they probably never expected that a Princess of Qinghe would suddenly appear, disrupting the killing trap he had set for Hongye Fort.

Trash.

Sooner or later, he would dig this person out and kill them.

Outside the window, a little wind rose.

Winter was approaching. The north wind whistled, beating against the window lattice, accompanied by the rustling of bamboo leaves, disturbing the night, making it not entirely peaceful.

But the hand that Lizhu held was dry, strong, blazing hot, as if it would not let go even if the sky fell.

“…Actually, when I was abducted, I was a little scared.”

Pei Zhaoye turned his head to look at her.

Her eyes were closed, her voice light as a dreamtalk, drifting faintly: “But I knew you would come, so, I wasn’t afraid of anything.”

The gaze that watched her shimmered like a dark lake, quietly bright.

“What foolish words are you saying.”

His tone was resolute: “Even without me, you are capable of anything.”