Chapter 28: Strolling Among the Blossoms

The Eastern Warm Chamber of the Qianyuan Hall was unadorned with many silk veils; this was the Emperor’s private study, austere and tranquil, filled with the fragrance of books. Yet ever since that time, in a haze, he had taken her upon the couch where he usually read memorials, the mere act of her sitting by his side thereafter seemed to fill the study with the warm presence of a graceful beauty, adding a touch of feminine charm to the scholarly air.

He realized then, it was not the wind, nor the flicker of candles, but the stirrings of his own heart.

Desire, sown in that frenzied night, had taken root within him, never leaving day or night.

The yellow imperial memorials from the provinces were strewn across the table and couch; red wax from the candles dripped lazily askew, the lid of the celadon teacup toppled, droplets of deep green tea splashed among lines of black ink on the open imperial parchment.

The pillow had been pushed to the edge of the couch, his imperial yellow dragon robe, embroidered with sun, moon, and stars, half open as he lay on his side. One arm encircled her delicate white neck, while her hand clutched the hem of his robe at his chest, the other gripping the mat beneath her, fingers white and trembling. Her vermilion lips parted, breath coming in shallow, uneven pants, the fragrance of her tongue flickering between her lips, her greedy sighs and moans unwittingly rousing the hardness beneath his waist.

The silk sash tied in a butterfly knot was undone, crumpled in disorder beneath their bodies; the gauzy skirt was drawn up, her slender legs entwined around his other arm, while his deft fingers disappeared beneath the misty folds of her skirt, teasing and exploring, delving into tender depths, stirring and plunging until dewdrops gathered, slick and glistening.

He watched her drown in waves of desire, mocking her, imagining himself still an observer on the shore, forgetting how rigidly his own body responded.

“Your Majesty… Your Majesty…”

Her voice called and echoed, tugging at the desires coiled within his soul.

His face blurred, growing both handsome and cruel, lofty and mocking of the world’s vulgarity. Suddenly he lowered his head, his thin lips enveloped her small mouth as if he would devour her.

He sucked and licked, probing, their lips and tongues entwined, mingling breath and warmth.

Her heart surged wildly, her spring-bright eyes suddenly sparkling, mouth open as her tongue danced with his.

Her mind exploded in a riot of sensation, more dazzling than the instant enlightenment she once found in Buddhist teachings.

Her body melted, her heart grew tender, every limb and bone grew soft; between her thighs a stream flowed, emotions and passion intermingled.

When he tried to withdraw his fingers, she held him close, her swollen lips pouting in reluctant longing.

He sneered, still towering above, his gaze full of disdain.

She could not understand, nor did she care; when she did, she merely smiled, indulging in the sea of desire as if it were nothing, provoking his embarrassment and anger, which only drove him to further extremes—like a golden dragon plunging into the sea to devour the mocking serpent within.

Thus, he tore her phoenix robe, entered her with a force that could have broken her waist, striking directly at her heart.

Sensations surged, tingling and numbing; her fingers dug deep into the skin of his back.

“No… you mustn’t.”

She tried to push him away, still thinking of children.

He ruffled her hair, careless of her pain, his proud face wearing a cold smile as he kissed behind her ear.

He was already between her legs; she lay there, legs raised and spread, furious.

Her small mouth was not to be outdone—when he moved within her, she bit him wherever she could reach.

Moans of pleasure slipped from her lips despite herself, her brows knit in longing and resistance, their bodies riding the waves of passion until she was struck by sudden understanding.

A single union between man and woman, whether it bore fruit or not, depended on fate; the seed might swim within her and still return empty-handed. She could not store the essence, nor lay eggs at will as the female serpents did—she realized this instinctively, a clever little demoness, learning by nature alone.

Still, she was angry; the man plowing within her was too rough. In this, he was no different from the male serpents, who would force themselves upon the unwilling females with sheer strength and number.

Indeed, they were all the same.

She gazed up at the painted ceiling above, face turned aside, moaning with disdain.

“What, am I not pleasing you?” he drawled, lingering over her flushed face, easily reading her discomfort. One hand kneaded her breast as if to vent his frustration, while the other drove deep, drawing cries from her lips.

He watched as her desire overflowed, sneering coldly, though his eyes burned with passion, far from menacing.

He himself failed to see this; she found it fascinating, her heart full of inexpressible joy, though her lips remained defiant: “Not in the least. You play inside me but I can hardly feel your presence.”

She mocked his smallness, his uselessness.

Any man’s pride would be wounded by such words, and so he punished her cruelly, determined to prove his strength.

Perhaps she did it on purpose, this clever demoness, learning to be sharp-tongued in these moments.

He abandoned her breast, letting his fingers roam her petals, soon finding a delicate bud. Her body was smooth and exquisite, save for her raven hair, with not a coarse hair elsewhere—her skin so fine and slick, he was torn between love and hate.

She panted, tongue lolling, casting him a sidelong, sultry glance, crying out in pleasure.

His heart trembled; he caught her tongue to stop her wantonness.

She was a little madwoman, utterly shameless.

The sounds they made were so loud that the chief eunuch, Li Fuquan, squatted by the door, trembling and sweating, muttering to himself, “This is not a good omen, not a good omen.”

Qiuyun stood farther off, hidden behind a large plum vase, chilled to the core yet flushed in the face, her hands clenched tightly, veins standing out on their backs.

The thought surfaced again—was it or wasn’t it?—a matter of life and death.

Memorials scattered to the floor, some opening wide, some torn in half, some trembling on the footrest. Beneath their bodies lay an embroidered rug of entwined mandarin ducks, delicate pink petals drifting.

At last, the passion waned. Daidai was exhausted, tears still glistening from her cries at the peak of pleasure, her mouth red and translucent, lips so thin they might break with another kiss—too many wild, hungry kisses had been pressed there.

Her tongue tingled, her mouth dry, her saliva seemingly vanished like a parched field.

He lay on his side, propped on one arm, gazing at her in his embrace. The dragon robe, made by a hundred seamstresses over three months, was now a rumpled cover over her enticing body.

His fingers idly stroked her earlobe, his deep black eyes shifting with stormy thoughts, now smiling, now cold as ice.

He turned his gaze to the small table askew at their feet, to the scattered memorials treated as waste paper, a brief heaviness weighing on his heart.

He was not one to regret the past; whatever was done, large or small, he did not look back. This time would be no exception, though he could not help but feel a flicker of misplaced anger.

With wicked intent, he pinched Daidai’s nose, hoping she would wake from lack of air—but the wretched girl simply parted her lips, breathing deeply, sleeping on undisturbed.

His irritation grew; he bent to kiss her mouth again. As though gifted with a sixth sense, she brushed his hand from her nose, nestled her head into his armpit, and settled herself.

He held his breath in exasperation, reaching beneath the covers to squeeze her soft, rounded hip. The flesh yielded in his palm; he fumbled in search of an acupoint, his fingers wandering restlessly, caressing her waist, then returning to roam her petals—yet always passing over that sensitive spot.

As the night deepened and the lamp was extinguished, she turned in her sleep, pressing herself close against his waist, making it harder for him to reach. He frowned, yawned, and, draping an arm around Daidai’s waist, drew her near, their heads together. After a long hesitation, he pondered the policies to be debated in the morning court, considered the difficulties of enacting new laws, his alluring eyes slowly closing, a final thought drifting through his mind before sleep claimed him—a task he must see to before long.