Three years prior, that very glass of wine had remained untouched due to his unexpected expedition. Now, it stood on the table, and his wife had already drained two cups. Shang Ji’s eyes darkened, and then, with a swift motion, he lifted the wine glass and emptied it in one gulp. Du Jingyi, watching his decisive action, felt a stir within her own heart. Sometimes, wine wasn’t just intoxicating; it possessed a strange ability to loosen inhibitions.
Outside, an unsettling quiet pervaded, broken only by a lone cicada that seemed to have materialized from nowhere. Its persistent chirping added a surprising clamor to the quiet autumn night of Xitang Courtyard. Shang Ji, seeking to alleviate the growing tension with in the room , offered a strained smile to her. “There are still cicadas chirping at this time of the year, which speaks to how well-kept your backyard is.” It was true; Du Jingyi hadn’t heard their song for half a month. Why now? Perhaps they, too, felt a restless energy in the air.
As the night deepened further the near and distant chirping of cicadas seemed to mirror the growing unease within both of them. Shang Ji, a veteran of countless battlefields, was always decisive and forthright in his actions . Yet, tonight, words seemed to elude him. He continued to pour wine down his throat, one glass after another, as if hoping to drown his inhibitions or simply to gain courage through intoxication. Du Jingyi, recalling her mother’s words from earlier that day, gritted her teeth, facing the unspoken challenge. Head or tail, it’s all the same, she thought, and with a sudden surge of resolve, she spoke directly to Shang Ji.
“General, too much drinking is harmful for your health. Allow me to help you to the bed to rest first.”
Shang Ji was momentarily taken aback by her words , evidently not expecting her to take the initiative. But he quickly recovered, simply replying, “Good.”
At his acceptance, Du Jingyi took a deep breath, then rose and walked towards him. Although Shang Ji’s towering frame made her feel diminutive, as she reached only to his shoulders. Still as she drew closer his powerful presence enveloped her, and a tremor of nervousness ran through her as she began to unbutton his robes. Her fingers, usually nimble, fumbled with an uncharacteristic clumsiness. In the past, she had detested the smell of drunkenness, finding it sickening. But tonight, it offered an inexplicable sense of relief. After all, were it not for the pretense of his “intoxication,” she would have been too mortified to do such a thing.
The clothes Shang Ji wore were simple, without many fastenings. Soon, his moon-white undershirt was revealed. Du Jingyi glanced at it, trying to recall if she had seen it before, making a mental note. Turning, she hung his outer garments on the clothing rack and then picked up a prepared handkerchief, twisting it to wipe Shang Ji’s face. He had a strong tolerance for alcohol, yet his face became flushed easily, giving the false impression of a low capacity. As Du Jingyi offered the handkercheif, he reached out and took it. His hands, however, were noticeably hotter than usual. Du Jingyi tried to withdraw her hand as if scalded, but Shang Ji held her hand fast. Looking up in surprise, she met his gaze. It was remarkably different from their first encounter; then, his eyes had held only wary caution, but now, a flicker of something resembling tenderness seemed to soften them.
Before Du Jingyi could say a word, a pair of strong arms swept her up, pressing her against a solid, heated chest. The next moment, the world spun, and she landed gently on the soft bed the maids had prepared in advance. Her back sank into the silk brocade quilt and its smooth, cool surface felt like a lover’s teasing caress under the moonlight.
The silver glow from the window spilled across Shang Ji’s figure as he leaned over her, casting shadows that danced along the ridges of his body. Her breath hitched to the sight of her . His face was so close as the heat from his skin radiating onto hers, and in his dark eyes which were usually cold and restrained are now smoldered something unspoken.
Her neck arched instinctively under his gaze,make a curve elegant and exposed. Her skin glowed pale against the dusk, like porcelain kissed by moonlight. Those clear, deer-like eyes of hers still shimmered with innocence, yet deep within, something stirred—a trace of bewilderment, curiosity… longing.
Her dark hair spilled beneath her like a silken waterfall, framing her like a portrait painted for desire. Shang Ji paused, his gaze raking over her, lingering as if committing every detail of her to his memory.
Tonight, he looked nothing like the solemn commander of the army as the man above her right now radiated raw masculinity. Broad shoulders, a tapered waist, every muscle honed and precise. His wheat-colored skin glistened faintly under the moonlight, damp from the heat of the room—or perhaps from something more primal. A few faint scars trailed across his chest, but instead of marring his appearance, they only added to his dangerous allure.
He should have moved away from her as his body felt hot, sticky, and heavy with tension—but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.
Du Jingyi’s eyes widened slightly as he leaned closer, and a flush crept up her cheeks. Shang Ji’s lips curled into a faint, teasing smile, his voice low and rough with restrained desire.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured, brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek. “Are you afraid of me… or something else?”
Before she could answer, he reached out again—slowly, deliberately—and drew her into him, their bodies now pressed close in a hush of rising heat and unspoken promises for the future .
Outside the room, the maid Yingtao discreetly tucked two wads of brocade-wrapped cotton into her ears. Another servant idly traced circles on the ground with a tree branch outside Xitang Courtyard’s main room. Only the sturdy man, Luo Yuan, stood calmly in the corridor, his face impassive.
While inside, the room was filled with a burgeoning tenderness.
Still half-lucid, Shang Ji wanted to speak some soothing words to her. But when his gaze fell upon Du Jingyi, something made his heart jolt. On her wrists were faint red marks—subtle, but unmistakable—clear traces left behind by his hands that clenched too tightly. Guilt surged through him when he saw this sight . She was so soft, so delicate… how could he have let his desire get the better of him?
Lowering his head slightly, his voice came out hoarse with remorse.
“Sorry… I was too rough. I’ll be more careful next time.”
Before she could respond, Du Jingyi—flushed and too shy to meet his eyes—fumbled to pull the quilt over her face. But in her haste, her hand accidentally brushed across his cheek, a feather-light slap that held no force at all.
It didn’t hurt—far from it—but to Shang Ji, it was like a spark on dry kindling.
His gaze darkened with amusement as the edge of his lips curling into a slow, wicked smile. He caught her hand, admiring its soft, boneless feel, then leaned in and murmured,
“With hands this gentle… are you trying to provoke me again ? Should I switch sides and let you have a taste of what a real beating feels like?”
Du Jingyi froze, her breath caught in her throat. Hereyes widen as she stared at him, completely thrown by his shameless teasing. Was this really the same cold, iron-blooded general admired by the court?
Shang Ji, sensing her speechless shock, let out a low chuckle, brushing his fingers along the curve of her cheek.
“Relax,” he said, his voice warm and close. “Now that we’re husband and wife… don’t you think it’s time we stop being so formal with each other?”
Du Jingyi’s face still burned with shyness. Unwilling to look at him, she turned her back, tugging at the thin quilt woven from fragrant, soft satin, embroidered with ten different brocade patterns. “General, my quilt…” she said, a hint of dissatisfaction in her voice.
Shang Ji glanced sideways and saw that he was indeed holding it down. He reached out, touching the thin quilt, then asked, puzzled, “It’s so hot, why are you covering yourself with a quilt?”
Du Jingyi was speechless. This particular quilt, made of soft satin, had been bought by her father at great expense from a renowned embroidery pavilion in Jiangnan. It was as thin as a cicada’s wing, yet worth a thousand pieces of gold. In autumn, it was the most delightfully cool and comfortable covering. But in his eyes, such a precious thing was merely rags.
Du Jingyi awkwardly tried to shift further inwards. Yet, the canopy bed was not that large and there was no escape for her . Around the bed hung autumn-colored Huanying gauze, soft and ethereal. Bathed in the moonlight, Du Jingyi in this bed shone like a fairy, and her beauty only tightened Shang Ji’s throat more . She had no room to resist him.
Hearing another sound from within the room, the maid Yingtao glared at Luo Yuan, who stood guard in the corridor, thinking him utterly oblivious. Luo Yuan, too, felt deeply uncomfortable. The General was “reuniting” with his wife inside; it was hardly appropriate for him to be staring at a young woman with a cold, unyielding expression.