As if struck by a sudden thought, Yi Hua abruptly leaned forward again. Startled, Ning Xuan immediately retreated two steps back across the table, looking every bit like a frightened kitten.
“Your first time?” Yi Hua asked, amusement dancing at the corners of his eyes.
Pah! And he still had the nerve to ask if it was his first kiss! Me—so elegant, so irresistibly charming—no, wait, dashing and universally adored—how could I possibly have gone this long without ever kissing anyone?! …Even if he hadn’t—well, you don’t have to eat pork to know what a pig looks like running!
“Who says it was?!” The words flew out before his brain could catch up, like a cat whose tail had just been stepped on, fur bristling.
“Then that settles it.” Yi Hua merely smiled, straightening up with a shrug. “If both sides are willing, what’s the harm in a kiss?”
“Who the hell was ‘willing’ with you?!” Ning Xuan felt like he was facing an alien—utterly impossible to communicate with. When had he ever given off the impression of mutual consent?!
“You were staring at me so intently just now, all flushed,” Yi Hua explained kindly, as if reading his thoughts. “When I got closer, you didn’t resist. Naturally, I took that as willingness. Besides, you were the one who turned and kissed me first, weren’t you?”
“I did not—” Ning Xuan didn’t even have the strength left to argue. This time, even jumping into the Yellow River wouldn’t wash him clean. I didn’t resist because I hadn’t even processed what was happening! And that ‘kiss’? I was trying to push you away after you started teasing me!
Snapping the half-finished book shut—along with that damned source of all evil, the spring palace manual—Ning Xuan found himself in no mood to care about copying texts or the consequences of being found out. He packed up his brush and ink, then lifted his head to glance at the high-hanging moon. He could probably still get two hours of sleep.
“Do you have any other business?” he asked without turning back.
Understanding the dismissal, Yi Hua tactfully strolled toward the door, yet not without offering a respectful bow of thanks. “Many thanks for your hospitality. If you ever need anything, feel free to come find me.”
Watching Yi Hua’s retreating figure disappear, Ning Xuan could only pray that next time, fate wouldn’t curse him with crossing paths with such a walking disaster again…
Dragging himself back to his room, head hanging low, he entered the darkened space. In the silence, he could faintly hear Mo Qi’s steady, shallow breathing.
Sleep, sleep, sleep—always sleeping. Ning Xuan couldn’t help but grumble inwardly. How does this guy live so comfortably with a schedule of working before dawn and only resting long after nightfall?
Moving as quietly as possible, he slipped into bed and tucked himself in. Though he had no trace of sleepiness left, he forced his eyes shut, determined to forget this absurd, chaotic night as quickly as possible.
Meanwhile, in the western courtyard’s Tinghe Residence, a servant’s clear voice suddenly rang out:
“Prince Rong has arrived!”
Before Prince Rong, Feng Xuanyi, had even stepped into the courtyard, movement erupted inside. The doors flew open, and servants hurried out, lining up in two orderly rows. Heads lowered, they knelt in respectful greeting.
A man in splendid robes stepped out swiftly from within. Though his pace carried a hint of urgency, every movement was graceful and alluring. He knelt before the gathered servants, hands folded neatly upon his knees, head bowed so that his face remained obscured. Yet his slender figure, wrapped in fine silk, swayed like a willow in the wind—so delicate it drew astonished glances. A few loose strands of dark hair fell across his temples, and under the moonlight, his skin appeared as smooth and luminous as jade.
A pair of dark leather boots came to a stop before him.
“Rise.” The low, magnetic voice alone was enough to stir unease in the heart.
The man rose at once, gazing at Feng Xuanyi with undisguised infatuation. Beneath the night sky, the prince’s handsome face bore its usual faint, elusive smile—always present, always gentle, yet somehow impossible to truly read.
There was nothing ostentatious about his attire—merely a simple set of fitted martial garments. A narrow waist, tightened sleeves and trouser cuffs, and long black hair bound casually with a ribbon. No ornament adorned him, yet his presence was dazzling beyond measure.
In contrast, the man before him was richly dressed—jeweled ornaments adorned his hair, each piece undoubtedly worth a fortune. His robes were embroidered with gold thread, and delicate pendants hung at his waist. Yet despite all that finery, he could not match the innate nobility and commanding aura that Feng Xuanyi possessed effortlessly.
Following Feng Xuanyi into the room, both the attendants of Tinghe Residence and those who had accompanied the prince remained outside, tactfully closing the doors behind their masters.
“I thought Your Highness wouldn’t come tonight,” Liu Yin pouted, his tone soft with a mix of grievance and coquettish charm. Yet the glances he cast at Feng Xuanyi brimmed with shy anticipation.
Feng Xuanyi chuckled softly. “If I didn’t come, you’d have caused quite a scene.”
With that, he pulled Liu Yin into his embrace, reaching out to pinch his nose affectionately.
Taking advantage of the moment, Liu Yin settled onto Feng Xuanyi’s lap, his arms looping around the man’s neck as he leaned against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. When Feng Xuanyi teased him again, he turned his head in mock annoyance, though the look he cast back held far more allure than anger.
“I wouldn’t dare,” Liu Yin said softly. “Besides, even if I did make a fuss, if Your Highness chose not to listen, wouldn’t it all be for nothing?”
Feng Xuanyi’s smile remained unchanged. “Are you implying something?”
The words seemed casual, yet the listener’s heart trembled.
After all, the man before him was a prince raised amidst power and intrigue—someone who had learned the art of manipulation before even learning to walk. In this world, who could rival such a person in schemes and calculation?
Moreover, the recent turmoil within the prince’s residence was impossible to ignore. Second Madam Shen Shuyuan had caused an uproar over Feng Xuanyi’s favoritism toward Liu Yin. Just that morning, she had stormed into Tinghe Residence, smashing and cursing. Though it hadn’t escalated into outright violence, the spectacle had drawn a crowd of concubines and attendants, the gossip spreading far and wide.
Though Feng Xuanyi had been occupied with official duties, it would have been impossible for him not to know.
What seemed like a casual remark carried weight enough to chill Liu Yin to the bone. Nestled in Feng Xuanyi’s arms, his body trembled uncontrollably.
Feng Xuanyi let out a soft laugh, yet the curve of his lips turned colder, sharper. One hand lifted gently, stroking the loose strands of hair at Liu Yin’s temple with deceptive tenderness.
“I didn’t say anything. There’s no need to be so nervous.”
Though Liu Yin felt a slight easing, he dared not truly relax. To attend upon a ruler was to attend upon a tiger—though Feng Xuanyi had yet to ascend the throne, no one could say which prince would ultimately claim dominion over the vast empire.
Lowering his head, Feng Xuanyi pressed a light kiss to Liu Yin’s forehead, as though nothing had happened, shifting the conversation with effortless ease.
“See? I came to you right after sending off my eighth brother. None of the other consorts receive such treatment.”
It was spoken almost as a boast, yet also as a concession—the greatest reassurance a man like him would offer.
Liu Yin understood. For someone of Feng Xuanyi’s standing to extend such favor was already more than he could hope for. Given his own status, what right did he have to demand more?
Gazing at the man’s firm, chiseled jawline with adoration, Liu Yin obediently offered up his lips.
Slender hands, fleeting beauty—
music lingering, gauze swaying—
soft murmurs rising and falling,
stirring the heart like ripples in spring.
Within that chamber of passion, how much was desire—
and how much was true devotion?
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