Jiang Huai was completely sunken between the soft pillows and quilts, his cheek buried within them, breathing in a scent that was both familiar and foreign.
It belonged to her, and also to Qin Qingyue.
He was suppressed by a force he could not resist, unable to move.
Qin Qingyue looked down from above, a smile lingering on her lips, a smile that was difficult to describe—there was a trace of playfulness within, mixed with an absolute sense of control.
“Qin Qing…yue.” His voice was broken, coming out in fragments.
But every time he tried to gather his strength, to break free from this humiliating predicament and turn the tables, the person atop him would instantly become an immovable mountain.
He seemed like a fish struggling in a net, pinned firmly in place, all his resistance utterly powerless, able only to feel that undeniable control gradually eroding his will.
“Disobedient, disobedient….” Qin Qingyue murmured softly, her voice carrying a lazy, husky tone.
It didn’t sound like a rebuke; instead, it was more like a chant, immersed in the pleasure of conquest.
The violence and tenderness in her heart were fully released, making her even more exhilarated.
No one knew how much time had passed before the suffocating storm finally subsided.
Qin Qingyue took a deep breath, trying to calm the surging tide running through her veins.
She slowly moved away a little, and as the intense emotions receded from her mind like the tide, her rationality returned.
Seeing Jiang Huai, disheveled and in utter chaos because of her, her movements became careful and gentle.
She reached out, her fingertips brushing aside the sweat-soaked locks on his forehead, her touch a stark contrast to her earlier dominance.
Jiang Huai was still held down by her Dragon Claw on his shoulder. He turned his eyes to look at her, and the dazed look from before was gone—his gaze was now sharp and cold.
Qin Qingyue felt guilty under his stare, her domineering expression crumbling instantly, replaced by a nearly ingratiating smile.
She gave a couple of awkward “Heh heh” laughs, slowly transforming her dragon-formed claws back into slender white hands, removing them from his shoulder.
She even tugged subconsciously at the chain still fastened around his neck, her tone tentative:
“I-I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
She remembered how just moments ago she’d kept him under absolute control the entire time, her hand pressing his head firmly, not letting him move at all.
Jiang Huai continued to look aside at her, lips pressed tightly together, not answering.
This kind of silence made Qin Qingyue even more uneasy than any accusation.
“Heh heh.” She gave another awkward laugh, her fingers nervously twisting her messy hair.
To be honest, those things she’d said earlier, things like “little dog” and the like, were really just some bedroom banter, the result of possessiveness.
Now seeing that Jiang Huai seemed truly angry, a wave of panic surged in her heart.
“Take it off for me.” Jiang Huai finally spoke. He raised his hand and tugged at the thing around his neck.
Qin Qingyue hesitated for a moment.
This was something she’d made with specially refined Stardust Sand—it wasn’t just exceptionally tough; around his neck, it set off his fair skin and gave a unique, captive beauty.
She selfishly thought it looked wonderful, even fantasized about taking him out wearing it.
“Actually, it looks really good. If you don’t believe me, ask Su Yingman and the others…” She tried to make a final argument, her voice growing softer and softer.
“Take it off!” Jiang Huai repeated, his voice raised a little.
“O-okay, I’ll take it off.” Qin Qingyue didn’t dare disobey anymore.
She bent over in a hurry, her fingers trembling as she found the delicate metal clasp.
With a light “click,” she undid it.
As soon as it was removed, Jiang Huai held out his hand in front of her, concise and direct:
“Give it to me.”
“Huh?” Qin Qingyue was stunned and instinctively hid it behind her back.
“You want it? What do you want this for? No, I won’t give it.” She thought Jiang Huai wanted to throw it away.
“Give it to me.” Jiang Huai’s gaze was still locked on her, leaving no room for refusal.
“Why do you want this? Do you want to wear it? If you want to wear it…” Her words were cut off by Jiang Huai.
“Give it to me.”
Qin Qingyue was stifled. Under his pressing gaze, she finally caved.
Mumbling begrudgingly, “Why are you snatching my stuff… You’re not going to wear it anyway,” she slowly placed the collar, still warm with their body heat, into his open palm.
Jiang Huai said nothing, slipping the collar into his own Storage Ring. Then he got up, picked up his scattered clothes from the floor, and silently began to dress.
His movements were neither hurried nor slow, but there was a sense of distant indifference in them.
“What are you doing? Are you angry?” Qin Qingyue was truly flustered now. She hurriedly knelt upright on the bed, not caring about the silk quilt slipping off her, reaching out to grab his sleeve, but he quietly avoided her touch.
She realized one thing—and it was a very fatal thing—Wu Zhaohua was right outside the Xianzhou at this moment.
Before leaving, she had clearly seen that woman shadowing them like a ghost.
She must be waiting for things to settle down, looking for a chance to take Jiang Huai away.
If Jiang Huai left in anger now, what if—what if he went directly to find Wu Zhaohua?
“Wait! You’re not allowed to leave!” Her voice carried a note of urgency.
“I promise I won’t be so… so overbearing next time, all right?” She tried to reach out to stop him again.
But Jiang Huai merely fastened the last belt, straightened his slightly messy sideburns, didn’t look at her, and turned directly to push open the Sleeping Palace’s door.
His figure merged into the soft light of the corridor outside, disappearing from sight.
“You…” Qin Qingyue’s outstretched hand froze in midair, watching helplessly as his back disappeared.
A panicked warning blurted from her lips:
“You’re not allowed to leave with that woman!”
The only reply was the faint sound of the door closing, and the deepening silence and cool sandalwood fragrance filling the room.
Qin Qingyue lowered her head in dejection, her gaze sweeping over the messy traces on the bed—the quilt twisted into a pile, the pillow still bearing a deep indentation.
The lingering scent of intimacy in the air had yet to dissipate, yet she was the only one left.
A surge of immense regret and grievance welled up in her heart.
Was she too impulsive?
Outside the Xianzhou, above the sea of clouds, the stars seemed almost within reach.
A figure, blending into the darkness like a hawk, landed silently on the wide deck of the Xianzhou—it was Wu Zhaohua.
She saw Jiang Huai walking straight out from the cabin and paused slightly in surprise.
His clothing was neat, but his hair bore a hint of post-slumber disarray, his face betraying no expression.
“Hm? Why aren’t you resting?” Wu Zhaohua asked gently.
Her voice was especially clear in the quiet night, carrying a subtle, almost imperceptible tenderness.
The night wind stirred, fluttering the hems of their clothes and the tips of their hair.
“Nothing much, just getting some air.” Jiang Huai smiled at her, the smile a little faint under the starlight.
Inside the Sleeping Palace, relying on her divine sense to perceive the scene on the deck, Qin Qingyue’s heart leaped into her throat.
She could “see” Wu Zhaohua and Jiang Huai standing side by side—the sight was almost blinding.
“If he wants to go, let him! What’s wrong with indulging myself for once!”
She grabbed the pillow beside her and threw it viciously to the floor, then collapsed helplessly back onto the bed, pulling the quilt over her head and muttering in a muffled voice:
“So hard to please! I’ve been nothing but good to you! I gave you everything!”
Aggrieved, angry, and afraid of losing him, her emotions twisted into a chaotic mess.
“What happened to your neck?” Wu Zhaohua noticed the faint red marks on Jiang Huai’s neck and immediately stepped forward in concern.
“Did she bully you? Did she?”
Those faint red marks looked more than a little suspicious.
Jiang Huai touched his neck, still stinging a little.
“It’s nothing, just a little game between husband and wife.”
Wu Zhaohua gazed at Jiang Huai’s profile, silent for a moment before speaking:
“Would you like to come to Wenxuan Sect with me?”
Jiang Huai thought for a moment, not answering directly. Instead, he took out a thread-bound book from his robe, its cover blank.
“This is a novel I started writing for you to relieve your boredom,” Jiang Huai explained, his voice calm.
“But then I was sent away to get married, and never finished it.”
“When I heard you wanted to read it that day, I took some time to write a bit more.” He paused, handing her the book.
“It’s not very good, just something to pass the time.”
Wu Zhaohua was clearly stunned.
She looked at the book, then at Jiang Huai, her eyes instantly softening, a complex ripple within.
“You…”
She took the book, fingertips caressing the rough cover, momentarily at a loss for words.
“I will go,” Jiang Huai finally answered her earlier invitation.
“But not right now.” With that, he added, his tone carrying concern:
“It’s windy at night, don’t keep following me around. There are still vacant Guest Cabins on the Xianzhou. I’ll arrange a place for you to rest.”
He behaved just like a thoughtful host.
Then, he took her to the Guest Cabin area at the other end of the Xianzhou to settle in.
After that, he walked to the room where Su Yingman and Tang Zhaoxue were staying and knocked softly on the door:
“Yingman, may I come in?” His voice had returned to its usual gentle tone.
Inside, Su Yingman and Tang Zhaoxue exchanged a glance, hurriedly tidied their appearance, and opened the door.
That night felt especially long for Qin Qingyue.
She tossed and turned in the half-empty bed—sometimes cursing Jiang Huai’s heartlessness, sometimes regretting that she’d gone too far, but most of the time she was straining her ears for sounds from outside, terrified she’d hear news of Jiang Huai leaving.
A jumble of thoughts and Wu Zhaohua’s cold, beautiful face alternated in her mind.
The next morning, as the faint light of dawn streamed through the porthole into the Sleeping Palace, Qin Qingyue sluggishly pushed open the door, bracing herself for an empty room or contemplating how to demand Jiang Huai back from Wenxuan Sect—when she suddenly froze in her tracks.
In the Flower Hall outside, Jiang Huai was sitting at a white jade table, holding a scroll in his hand.
Beside him was a cup of Spiritual Tea, its steam still swirling gently.
Morning light outlined his calm profile; everything was as peaceful as any ordinary morning.
Qin Qingyue could hardly believe her eyes.
She stood there in a daze, her heart pounding uncontrollably, a surge of joy at recovering what she thought lost instantly sweeping away all grievance and anger.
“You… why didn’t you leave with her?” The words tumbled out.
Jiang Huai looked up at her when he heard, his gaze calm, the marks on his neck not yet faded.
He put down the scroll, his lips seeming to curl with the faintest smile: “With whom? Wu Zhaohua?”
“That’s right!” Qin Qingyue quickly walked over, staring intently at him.
“Why should I go with her?” Jiang Huai replied naturally, asking in return.
“But last night you…”
“Even if I were to visit Wenxuan Sect as a guest,” Jiang Huai interrupted her, speaking slowly.
“I would also…”
“Also what?” Qin Qingyue’s heart leapt, eagerly pressing him.
“I would tell you first.”
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