Duan Ling laughed again, his hand still cloaked in the room’s darkness, stirring at last.
His fingertips curled, grazing the dew-kissed petals on the tea table as he’d done so many times before.
“Because I’ve realized your eyes are different from others. They lie.”
Lin Ting kicked him, her shoe landing squarely on the hem of his robe—not out of anger at his words, but from pure instinct.
She reiterated, her voice firm, “I said I like you, and that’s true.”
He pinched the petals lightly and said, “You liking me might be true. But liking someone else? That could be true too.”
In the Great Yan, Duan Ling had seen men with three wives and four concubines, and noblewomen who kept a stable of lovers, each one cherished in their own way—otherwise, they wouldn’t have been welcomed into their chambers.
There was a phrase for it: “tiring of the old, craving the new.”
Even the finest face could grow stale with time.
Lin Ting might love him for his looks now, but those same looks could bore her, leading her heart to wander.
Everyone loved beauty.
If anyone was to blame, it was the men who appeared before her, stirring her heart into chaos.
A heart in disarray was prone to losing its way, and it was his job, Duan Ling thought, to guide the lost Lin Ting back.
He asked, “So, whose face do you like now? Young Master Jin’s or Prince Xia’s?”
Lin Ting flushed, mortified.
Why did he make her sound like some fickle, heartless flirt?
She considered herself loyal—her love for gold and silver, for instance, had never wavered.
“Neither. I like your face.”
She emphasized, “No matter whose face I might like, it would never be Prince Xia’s.”
Asking about Xia Zimo—was he trying to provoke her?
Thanks to Duan Xingning, Lin Ting loathed Xia Zimo with a passion.
Just seeing him irritated her.
How could she possibly like the face of someone who grated on her nerves?
She couldn’t fathom why Duan Ling thought she might fancy Xia Zimo or Young Master Jin.
Was it just because she was carrying the aphrodisiac to the tavern tonight?
Fine, it did seem a bit suspicious.
The room grew darker, shadows swallowing the light.
Duan Ling lowered his gaze, unconvinced by her words.
His fingers vanished into the petals on the tea table, sinking into the lightless void.
The darkness pressed against them, consumed them, yet offered a strange warmth that made one crave its embrace.
He seemed to sink into that darkness too, shrouded in shadow.
“You don’t need to explain.”
Lin Ting realized he wouldn’t listen tonight.
She decided to stop explaining—let the drug’s effects wear off, and she’d clarify everything tomorrow when he was clear-headed.
For now, she watched him quietly, until she couldn’t resist pulling his hand from the petals.
Duan Ling pushed her deeper into the tea table, kissing her from her wide-open eyes downward.
Instinctively, Lin Ting closed her eyes.
The teapot and cups on the table crashed to the floor, shattering with a sharp clatter.
Shards flew, grazing Duan Ling’s robe before settling back on the ground.
The teapot remained intact, but its contents spilled, soaking the rug.
The scent of tea filled the room, thick and heady.
Duan Ling stepped through the spilled tea, never breaking his kiss, his lips burning with an urgent need.
Lin Ting sat on the table, hands braced behind her, her skirt bunched at her waist, legs resting atop the surface, untouched by the mess below.
The sound of breaking porcelain made her open her eyes again.
Duan Ling swallowed the breath he stole from her, kissing her until her lips and teeth ached.
She’d grown used to his gentle, rain-like kisses, but this fervent, forceful onslaught overwhelmed her.
It felt as though he might devour her whole, a thrilling current sparking through her limbs, electrifying every nerve.
That thrill was a boundless sea, pulling her under with no shore in sight, threatening to drown her.
Her head tilted back instinctively.
But every inch she retreated, Duan Ling followed, his kiss unbroken, the faint scent of agarwood lingering around her.
Cornered, unable to escape, she wondered if the drug was to blame—Duan Ling seemed insatiable, pressing closer as if they could fuse into one.
Her survival instinct screamed to flee.
Yet she stayed, parting her numbed lips to let him kiss her.
After a moment she worried that the drug might be causing him discomfort so she fumbled to undo his belt.
The leather strap slipped free, its embedded metal beads and jade brushing her hand as it fell.
Outside, the wind rustled.
Duan Ling held her tightly, his kisses trailing to her neck.
He half-pressed her down, and she pressed against the table, which creaked under their combined weight.
Though neither was heavy, the table groaned in protest.
Lin Ting sensed trouble—kissing like this, they might end up on the floor.
“We—”
He silenced her with his lips, his kisses tonight laced with unrestrained desire and a hint of resentment or jealousy, though directed at whom she couldn’t tell.
She still wanted to get off the table, but he pulled her back.
In the struggle, her embroidered shoe fell, leaving her feet bare.
Her legs dangled, tensing, then kicked at his long legs standing before the table.
Duan Ling didn’t budge, but the jade hairpin in his hair trembled, its bells jingling incessantly.
The hairpin glowed faintly in the dimness, the bells clinking against white feathers, which struck back in turn.
The sound drove Lin Ting to distraction, and she yanked it free.
His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, brushing her skin and making her itch.
In his eyes, it was unsightly; in hers, it was a pet.
At that moment, it bumped against her leg.
Kissing him, she grasped the “pet” that had reddened her skin, stroking its slightly swollen head, pinching it gently to soothe it, as she always did to keep it from thrashing.
She knew Duan Ling’s emotions affected his “pet.”
It was restless now, writhing even in her grip, nearly escaping her palm.
Duan Ling ignored it.
But as the heart is tied to the fingers, so too was he tied to it.
His mood shifted, and he turned to look at the “pet” she treated so fondly.
Their lips parted briefly.
Soon, he kissed her earlobe, warm and clingy.
She felt like she’d stumbled into a snake’s den in some shadowed corner, its coils slithering over her.
But there was a difference—snakes were cold; Duan Ling was warm.
Sweat beaded on her skin from his kisses.
He paused at her ear, murmuring, “Can you… not like anyone else?”
“I know you don’t believe me, even if I answer. You wouldn’t believe me, would you?” Lin Ting sighed, exasperated.
She stopped stroking the “pet” in her hand.
Unsoothed, it slipped away, finding a narrow crevice nearby and burrowing in fiercely.
It managed only half its head before the crevice tightened, barring its entry.
Lin Ting watched, unmoved, offering no help.
The “pet” rubbed against her dangling hand, pleading.
She remained indifferent.
But Duan Ling seized it, guiding it slowly, firmly into the crevice, releasing it only when it was fully inside.
“You’re right, I don’t believe you. But I keep asking, and I don’t know why.”
Lin Ting seemed jolted, perhaps by his words, perhaps not.
She bit down hard on his exposed shoulder, her breath ragged, drawing blood.
Blood welled from his pale skin, like red plum petals scattered on snow.
She released him.
Duan Ling didn’t glance at it, wiping the blood from her lips and kissing her again, unperturbed.
He’d provoked her with words, and the “pet” had provoked her too, retreating and advancing, relentless, as if it would never stop.
Though it didn’t hurt her, its intensity overwhelmed her.
Before, her tamed “pet” had shown strength, but never like tonight.
She wanted to pull away.
Yet it clung to her, as deadly as its master—smiling, but with a hidden edge, as if it meant to overwhelm her completely.
By the fifth time, something felt deeply wrong.
She cursed under her breath, suspecting it was some demonic creature.
With a burst of effort, she shoved Duan Ling away, and the “pet” slipped free.
She leapt off the table, dodging the scattered teacup shards, and limped to the bed.
Duan Ling followed, kissing her again.
Her eyes flicked to the still-vigorous “pet,” and he seemed to sense guilt for its reckless behavior.
“I’m sorry. Did it hurt you?”
It didn’t hurt now, but its fierce collisions had brought a suffocating thrill.
Fearing it might come at her again, she scooted further onto the bed.
“Why is it like this? The drug shouldn’t be this strong. There must be another reason.”
“Because of my condition,” he said, leaning close to whisper two words in her ear.
Her eyes widened with each syllable.
She’d bought the drug herself.
Edging toward the bed’s side, she was stopped short as Duan Ling grabbed her ankle, pulling her back.
“Help it,” he pleaded.
“Help me, Lin Leyun…”