Lizhu suddenly stood up, knocking the writing desk askew.

“—You’re not allowed to look! Give it back to me!”

She bared her teeth as she lunged to snatch it, but her snow-pale cheeks and neck were already burning red, and beneath the soft satin her skin had risen with a thin sheen of sweat.

Pei Zhaoye’s hand was quick; he made a false move before her eyes, then raised it high.

Lizhu failed to grab the small bundle, and instead looked as though she had thrown herself into his arms of her own accord. This time she was so flustered her eyes were turning red.

“Princess, how unreasonable you are. This is my clothing, how can you say give it back to you?”

He teased her with a half-smile: “Unless the princess tells me, what exactly do you hide my clothes on the couch for?”

Pei Zhaoye was indeed turning the tables.

Of course he knew she only hugged it to sleep at most, what else could she do with it?

She was nothing like him.

Only, her skin was too thin, her sense of shame too strong. Just because of hiding a piece of clothing, she could feel mortified as though the sky were collapsing—making one both pity and want to bully her.

“Hmm? Why don’t you speak?”

He leaned in too close. In her shame, Lizhu retreated step by step, fell back onto the soft cushion, turned her head aside, and said in a low voice:

“…I just missed you very much, can’t I?”

Her voice carried a trace of vexation, soft and sticky like a sweet white cake.

As Pei Zhaoye watched her lips speak these words, a tingling pleasure climbed up from his tailbone, so pleasant it made him want to swallow her whole.

“How did you miss me?”

His voice lingered low, his gaze glued to that bead-like earlobe before him.

“What use is a set of clothes? I’m right here before you. However the princess wishes to use me, she may use me that way—I will never laugh at the princess.”

…His voice was clearly full of laughter.

Yet these words subtly stirred Lizhu.

Turning her head, she saw he truly had his eyes closed and made no move. Lizhu’s fingers, hidden within the wide sleeves of soft satin, twitched slightly.

Her slender, supple arms climbed around his neck.

The tip of her nose brushed his; turning her head, cheek to cheek, she leaned into the broad, burning body, like a flowing stream resting against lofty mountains.

Lizhu said with a smile, “This is enough.”

There was not the least desire in her; rubbing her face lightly against his, her voice carried a smile.

“You don’t need to do anything, don’t need to say anything. Just staying by my side like this, I’ll feel at ease inside, and safe by my pillow.”

A large hand covered her lower back, drawing her tighter.

“Not having to worry someone might assassinate me in the middle of the night, nor having to fear that one day, upon opening my eyes, someone would push open the door and tell me—you are dead, and I am to receive your coffin.”

A subtle intuition suddenly arose in Pei Zhaoye’s heart.

Her description was too vivid, as though… this scene had truly happened before.

“Fortunately, this time you came back quickly.”

Lizhu’s ear tips were red, yet she still held him with lingering affection and said:

“If I couldn’t find you again, the scent on your clothes… would have faded away.”

She spoke without intent, yet when the words fell into Pei Zhaoye’s ears, they could not help but unfold into countless thoughts.

His palm slowly stroked her smooth black hair, and he thought:

In the dream, had that version of him been away from her for a long time?

The kind that could never return?

…Then that was his bad luck.

Not as fortunate as him, who, though escaping death by a hair’s breadth, still had the princess cross mountains and rivers to save him.

Pei Zhaoye felt no pity at all for the self in the dream, nor did he care about whether it was a case of “one plants the tree so another may enjoy the shade.”

He only knew that of all those tender, loving memories between “Pei Yinzhi” and Lizhu, not a single bit was his to see.

The good things were hidden from him, while all the wretched matters were laid before him in perfect clarity—tormenting him day and night.

What a joke.

“If it fades, can’t you just dye it again?”

Damp, heated breath pressed against the rim of her ear; the pecks along her neck were light, like shallow sips before quenching thirst.

The strength of his grip on her waist grew firmer.

“Let the princess be dyed through and through, inside and out—how about that?”

With each kiss, the strength in Lizhu’s body was drawn away bit by bit, while he hardened little by little, like a fire-tempered blade pressed against her waist and abdomen.

“…That’s not what I meant!”

Lizhu explained, her face burning red to the ears.

“That’s what I mean.”

His hand passed around the back of her neck, sweeping her loosened hair to the other side. Pei Zhaoye tilted his head slightly, his mouth closing over the smooth skin at her neck—licking slowly, biting lightly.

By her ear gradually came the sound of her fragmented, shallow breaths.

“Is the princess afraid?”

Lizhu’s hand clutching his robe tightened, her heartbeat racing fast.

Yet before she could stammer a reply, she heard Pei Zhaoye, smiling faintly, add in a slow, mischievous tone:

“I mean these past few days—has the princess been afraid, facing all of this alone?”

“……”

Amid his warm breath, a mist rose before Lizhu’s eyes. She steadied herself before saying:

“At the start, I was afraid. These things… I’ve never done them before… I was afraid that Xiao Qiyuan would betray me, afraid that the rebels at Yanshan would use me as a sacrificial flag, afraid that the Grand Preceptor would lose to the aristocratic clans in court, and that Father Emperor would treat my remonstrations as a child’s jokes and set them aside…”

“And after that?”

The voice came from her collarbone.

Lizhu lowered her head, pressing her forehead to his, her voice tinged with emotion, soft and sweet.

“…I’ve always been relying on you, always wanting to rely on you. I feel that as long as you are here, I’m not afraid of anything. It seems I’ve never asked you whether you were afraid, or if you ever wanted to rely on me.”

Pei Zhaoye’s eyes half opened, and the hand kneading through the fabric stilled.

It was soft beyond reason—yet it seemed to hold a hidden resilience, buried deep. Even when kneaded into a pool of water in his palm, it would not yield easily, nor submit.

“A man who lives by the edge of a blade—once he starts thinking of relying on someone, his spirit will fade, and the blade will dull. The princess shouldn’t ask whether I’m afraid, nor should you give me the chance to rely on you—”

He bent his long legs, enclosing her whole body between them.

Then, catching her hand, as her breath caught, he slowly loosened the leather belt at his waist.

“The princess is the one who wields the blade. You only need to care whether it’s sharp enough, fast enough. Never be stingy in using your blade.”

A muffled thud.

The dark leather belt fell against the pale pink of her skirt.

Lizhu grasped a burning-hot blade—so hot that she instinctively wanted to let go.

Pei Zhaoye tilted his head slightly, his brows relaxing in pleasure at her touch.

Only after a while, under her flustered, indignant gaze, did he lower his head again, draw her other hand close, and thus truly make her hold the blade.

He said with a smile: “Princess, a blade is a deadly thing—hold it steady, or it might wound you instead.”

The hand gripping her wrist was like an iron clamp, locked so tight she couldn’t pull away in the slightest.

…What was he talking about so seriously and nonsensically!!

Fine, perhaps not entirely nonsensical—at least Lizhu knew what he meant.

But still!

How could he say something so serious while dragging her into such mischief!

How could she possibly be in the mood to listen!

“Mm, but you don’t need to hold it that steady. When it’s time to move, it should move a little too.”

He tilted his head, pecking at her lips, glancing up at her from below.

“The princess doesn’t know how? Shall I teach you?”

…Of course she did.

Lizhu said, “It feels… a little strange.”

“How so?”

Her hesitation made a fire rise in Pei Zhaoye’s chest, swelling painfully until even his voice grew hoarse.

“The princess doesn’t like it this way?”

Thick lashes lifted; she glanced at him quickly.

Under the dim candlelight, the ridges of his brow were sharp, his nose high and straight, his face shadowed in light and dark. Handsome to a cutting degree, yet faintly restrained. The fervent hunger in his eyes seemed almost ready to devour her whole.

Lizhu couldn’t resist; she quickly looked away.

Looking downward only made her heart tremble more, so she hastily turned her gaze aside.

“…No, I like you, so naturally I want you to feel good. It’s just that the Grand Preceptor taught me gentlemanly propriety since childhood, and I keep feeling… feeling that… since we’re doing this, I should give you a title. But I also worry it’ll bring you trouble, make people think your merits all came through me.”

The first half of her words made his chest swell fuller still.

The latter half made it ache.

There were those who wanted him dead, reduced to mud—yet she said she liked him, wanted to give him a name.

“I’ll take it on credit first.”

He cupped her face, the tongue bearing hard edges pushing into her mouth, drawing out strands of silver between their breaths.

When they parted, light shimmered in his eyes as he panted softly and said:

“When the day comes that I can bring honor to the princess’s name, then the princess may give me that title. Before that… nameless and without rank, to follow the princess—I’m still willing.”

In truth, Pei Zhaoye feared more that if he could do this, others might think they could too.

There were so many base men in this world wanting to climb to power through beauty—if while he was gone, some fly began circling the princess, what then?

Lizhu’s heart softened at once. “You’ve been wronged.”

The hand gripping her wrist tightened slightly.

“If the princess moves a little, it won’t be a grievance anymore.”

He urged her on.

“……”

Knowing how was one thing; being thin-skinned was another.

In her past life she hadn’t often done such things. Usually, after a little coaxing or acting spoiled, Pei Zhaoye would let her go and take charge himself.

But just now he had spoken with such self-effacing tenderness that Lizhu’s heart softened, and she could only follow his lead.

His breathing was like the wind outside the tent, one gust more urgent than the last, intermittent, with a rough, hoarse texture.

Clearly, he was the one overcome with passion, yet as Lizhu listened to him lost in ecstasy within her palm, a tingling, numbing, soft sensation also crept up her spine.

“So impressive.”

Pei Zhaoye let out a heartfelt sigh from his throat, slightly opening his eyes as he said:

“…How is the Princess so impressive at everything she does?”

Lizhu’s eyes widened.

“You, you stop talking! I don’t want to hear it!”

“Why don’t you want to hear it?”

The corners of his eyes, long and narrow, held a smile, “I’m praising the Princess.”

“…This doesn’t need praising!”

“It does. If I don’t praise the Princess, how will the Princess know I’ve found pleasure?”

“Ahhh—I’m not listening!!”

Lizhu let go, got up to leave, but Pei Zhaoye, quick of eye and deft of hand, caught her, following the momentum pushed her down onto the bed, and pressed over her.

“So fragrant.”

He laughed, “So the Princess’s bed is fragrant too, no wonder it’s even marinated through.”

The clean, sweet scent of incense on the bed was overpowered by the bath bean fragrance emanating from his burning body. The sweet and clear aromatic breath pressed down, a familiar and safe smell.

He also mimicked Lizhu’s manner, touching noses, rubbing cheeks.

Lizhu’s entire heart felt as if soaked in warm water.

Then, the next moment, he extremely roughly lifted her waist and pressed against her.

“…Wait!”

Lizhu’s palm pressed against his chest, her eyes suddenly clearing.

“You haven’t… haven’t that… it will make a child.”

Her face was practically steamed cooked.

Pei Zhaoye’s brow twitched slightly.

“What this and that, there won’t be a child, I’ll finish outside…”

“No!”

Lizhu pushed him, making him fall back onto the bed. He looked somewhat surprised as he gazed at the Princess, her words stern.

“That can still happen too! This is…”

Lizhu bit back her words, almost saying it was something he himself said in his previous life. She changed her phrasing:

“‘It was the matron from the palace who said, even if… outside, there still can be a child, really!'”

The amorous atmosphere faded from Pei Zhaoye’s eyes as he looked directly at the young girl across from him.

She was a woman; it wasn’t strange for her to know more about these things.

Moreover, her words suddenly reminded Pei Zhaoye that when he was young, there were also singing girls and dancing girls within the Pei residence who unexpectedly found themselves pregnant, weeping softly and confiding in others in confusion:

They clearly did it outside, how could it still…

“‘I’m sorry.'”

Pei Zhaoye suddenly embraced her, saying in a low voice devoid of any desire:

“‘I didn’t know. No one ever taught me these things. I thought it wouldn’t happen. Lizhu, I’m sorry…'”

He detested men who couldn’t control themselves, who carelessly got women pregnant and took no responsibility.

But he himself had almost done the same thing.

Lizhu was somewhat surprised.

His voice sounded very dejected, even carrying a deeply hidden fear.

This was not like him at all.

Lizhu was completely enveloped in his embrace, her breathing somewhat tight, but she managed to extend one hand from his arms and patted his back magnanimously.

“‘It’s okay. I know you just like me, you didn’t mean to hurt me. You don’t need to apologize.'”

He held her, silent.

Lizhu pinched the thin braid hanging down from his head, twisted it between her fingers, and said softly:

“‘Next time… just remember to prepare sheep intestines¹Sheep intestines: It was a known method of contraception in several ancient cultures, including China. These were made by cleaning, treating, and drying sheep intestines to create a sheath..'”

“‘What thing?'”

Lizhu was slightly annoyed: “‘What do you mean ‘what thing’? That’s just what it’s called… I don’t know anything else about it.'”

She had never dealt with such a thing before!

Pei Zhaoye knew even less.

However, for a man, obtaining such a thing wasn’t difficult. He had an idea in his heart, roughly guessed its purpose, and had his own ways to get it.

Thinking of this, his suppressed mood improved slightly.

But just thinking about how Lizhu knew about this, a dark fire of resentment and unwillingness flickered in Pei Zhaoye’s heart.

If the Princess were to marry, it would be a proper marriage. Would the palace matrons really teach her such a thing?

If she had married Tan Xun, that Tan Xun who seemed thoroughly marinated by the three bonds and five constants, he would probably be itching to have ten or eight children with her, and certainly wouldn’t teach her this.

Counting it out, who else could it be?

Pei Zhaoye stared into Lizhu’s eyes and said:

“…The princess is truly learned. It seems reading more books does have its benefits.”

Such a sarcastic remark.

Lizhu originally didn’t want to respond, but fearing he might let his thoughts wander and somehow involve Tan Xun, she still clarified:

“It’s the nanny in the palace who is learned.”

Pei Zhaoye gave an ambiguous smile.

“I understand. Go to sleep.”

The aggressiveness that had filled his eyes and brows during passion had faded. He pulled the quilt over to cover Lizhu, his movements gentle. The sweetness in Lizhu’s heart bloomed, yet suddenly she couldn’t bear for him to leave.

“…Are you going? Stay.”

Pei Zhaoye quietly looked at her flushed face.

“Anyway, Xuan Ying and the others will find out sooner or later. And once we reach Jiangzhou, there’ll be too many eyes around—it won’t be as convenient, don’t you think?”

It had been a long, long time since she had shared a bed with him.

She didn’t mean to do anything—she only wanted, as before, that no matter how many worries the day brought, as long as she could rest her head in the crook of his arm, she could sleep soundly and peacefully.

From beneath the quilt, both her hands stretched out, gently tugging at his fingers in a playful sway.

…How could he possibly refuse?

The quilt was warm, the air faintly fragrant. Their breaths intertwined. Pei Zhaoye held the soft warmth in his arms, kissing her endlessly, insatiable.

“Princess… Princess…”

He thought, how could his princess be this good?

So good that even when his desire had just calmed, he couldn’t help but overstep once more.

“…Princess, how about trying it this way?”

•—–٠✤٠—–•

After a long while.

Pei Zhaoye withdrew, turning her over.

Lifting the quilt, under the candlelight one could faintly see those snow-white slender legs, the inner sides tinged with red.

“Seems the skin’s a little broken.”

Pei Zhaoye kissed her tear-brimmed, indignant eyes.

“The princess’s skin is far too delicate… Not my fault—I already finished quickly. We’ll see in the morning; if it still hurts, I’ll personally apply the medicine to atone.”

Lizhu: “…”

This was not the kind of “sleeping together” she wanted!!

Footnotes

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  Sheep intestines: It was a known method of contraception in several ancient cultures, including China. These were made by cleaning, treating, and drying sheep intestines to create a sheath.