Within the bedchamber, the wavering candlelight cast a rosy glow, a misty warmth draping all things in a veil so fine it seemed even the air had grown heavy, saturated with a subtle, lingering tenderness.
The last wisp of blue smoke curled up from the filigree incense burner, cold plum fragrance spiraling slowly in the quiet.
Tang Zhaoxue once again lifted her gaze, skimming over the entwined pair with the light touch of a dragonfly upon water.
Jiang Huai’s sleeping features appeared especially tranquil amid shifting light and shadow, his chest rising and falling with steady breath, completely oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around him.
Whenever his energy was exhausted, he would always fall into such deep slumber, as if even his soul had gone to rest.
Meanwhile, Qin Qingyue, a leg with graceful curve flung carelessly over Jiang Huai’s waist, slept in an easy, unrestrained posture that carried a natural sense of command.
Such a position allowed certain glimmering traces to flicker in and out of view with every sway of the candlelight.
Tang Zhaoxue knelt at the border between cold floor and soft bed drapes, her heart pounding like a war drum.
It was as if an ice cube had been thrown into boiling oil within her chest, shattering into countless bubbles of contradiction.
Fierce longing and the remnants of reason clashed violently in her mind.
At last, the long-suppressed yearning seized the upper hand.
It felt as if some invisible force was drawing her onward.
Trembling, she stretched out a fingertip, tracing a pale arc through the amber glow, lightly brushing against that faint shimmer.
She raised her finger before her eyes, studying it closely by hazy candlelight.
It was clearly a trace left by Jiang Huai, yet now it passed through Qin Qingyue.
This strange realization sent her heartbeat into chaos, pounding wildly as she swallowed hard.
The subtle sensation lingering on her fingertip felt like a compressed symbol, bearing all the longing she could never voice.
Her body—oh, her body was like a lowly thing.
A powerful woman could shape Jiang Huai however she pleased, but she herself lacked even the right to try.
Even if that powerful one had once been her, it made no difference now—she could do nothing.
Qin Qingyue feigned sleep as always, the red slit pupils of her Dragon Eyes quietly observing through the narrow slit of her eyelids.
She was curious: Just how far would this proud woman, fettered by her own constitution, go?
Tang Zhaoxue’s gaze seemed to pierce through that faint mark on her fingertip, and the soul-shaking scene from earlier resurfaced before her eyes.
Jiang Huai’s near-limitless indulgence toward Qin Qingyue; Qin Qingyue’s commanding figure brimming with power and control, shielding the one she loved tightly within her arms.
In Tang Zhaoxue’s eyes, it was the mingling of vital forces, a dance belonging solely to true powerhouses.
In that dance, Jiang Huai’s figure was utterly enchanting, and Qin Qingyue so overwhelmingly dominant—everything about it set Tang Zhaoxue’s heart aflutter, her mind adrift in reverie.
“How enviable…” she murmured unconsciously, her voice as soft as a dream, her eyes shining with a tangled mix of self-abasement, longing, and utter worship.
Within the roots of her ingrained cultural beliefs, only women like Qin Qingyue, wielding absolute strength and mastery over their own destiny and their partner’s fate, could stand as pillars of the world.
Just as she herself once had—aloof above all, the entire Xuanxian Immortal Sect beneath her feet, and the first night of every man belonging to her.
If she wished it, any man would offer up his first night to the mightiest woman of this land.
Once, that person was her. Now, that person was Qin Qingyue.
A sense of dislocation washed over Tang Zhaoxue, as if she herself were offering up her beloved man to the strongest, to be savored at her leisure.
Now, she knelt at the woman’s feet, as insignificant as dust, and yet found in her own lowliness a twisted, perverse pleasure.
Then, in a surge of near-ritualistic devotion and self-abandonment, she did not touch her fingertip directly, but traced that faint glow in careful strokes across Jiang Huai’s instep.
At this moment, Jiang Huai was deeply asleep, utterly unaware of Tang Zhaoxue’s subtle actions, but Qin Qingyue saw it all, astonished.
‘What is she doing? Surely it’s not what I think?’
‘She can’t really be that humble, can she?’
Qin Qingyue could not understand Tang Zhaoxue’s behavior.
Next, Tang Zhaoxue bent low, like a most devout believer approaching a Holy Relic, her trembling lips hovering near, finally brushing against it in the lightest, most secret of touches.
“Mm…” A sound of deepest, trembling restraint slipped from her throat.
In that moment, spiritual fulfillment flooded her like a tide.
Her body withered, her heart parched, yet this humble, indirect, intensely symbolic contact strangely forced open the floodgate of her long-repressed desire, offering a winding but effective release.
She greedily, again and again, repeated the motion, as if by doing so she could fuse that captivating strength, the very breath of her beloved, into her own blood and bones.
“I love you too, I love you too…I shall serve strong women well…I yearn for such strength as well…” Immersed in her self-fashioned ritual of devotion, she unconsciously turned once more, seeking to draw even closer, only to suddenly collide with a pair of red, vertical pupils.
Time seemed to freeze.
Tang Zhaoxue’s cheeks instantly flushed a fiery red, like evening clouds set ablaze.
Her mind went blank; shame swept over her like a veil torn away, leaving her whole body stiff, even her fingertips trembling.
“Ma…Main Wife…” Her voice was as faint as gossamer, trembling, on the verge of melting into the night.
Qin Qingyue rested her cheek on one hand, her pose unchanged, only lifting the leg draped over Jiang Huai slightly:
“You seem rather concerned about these things?”
Her tone was languid, with a probing edge.
“No! I’m not…” Tang Zhaoxue denied reflexively, her voice as soft as spring water.
She tried to shrink back in panic, but her body refused to obey.
Qin Qingyue’s Dragon Eyes narrowed, gaze drifting like moonlight over Tang Zhaoxue’s current embarrassment.
Flushed cheeks, dazed and panicked eyes, slightly parted lips, and that gently trembling body. Hah.
To Tang Zhaoxue, that scrutiny carried a strange warmth.
Yet, in the face of ultimate shame and exposure, an even stronger, taboo thrill unfurled within her like a flower blooming deep inside.
She’d been discovered—her most secret, unspeakable actions laid bare before the strong one she so revered.
And that very realization brought a kind of twisted, chrysalis-breaking release.
“Then what were you just doing?” Qin Qingyue tilted her head, genuine confusion flickering in her crimson slit pupils.
“Why did you do that? Didn’t you say you no longer craved such things?”
She recalled Tang Zhaoxue’s unique Cuiling Constitution, her brow faintly furrowing.
“Or… don’t tell me you like both men and women?”
Before the words even faded, she made to withdraw her leg.
If Tang Zhaoxue truly cared for both, her affections would be too scattered—she could not be allowed near Jiang Huai, nor could Qin Qingyue herself accept that. Hah.
“No! It’s not that!” Tang Zhaoxue looked up suddenly, denying urgently, hands clutched unconsciously to her chest.
“I truly only have feelings for Jiang Huai.”
Her voice faded, fraught with a struggle hard to confess.
“But, I have a…a complex, Main Wife, one you might never truly understand.” She lowered her head, long lashes veiling the tumult in her eyes.
That devotion, rooted in an extreme gynocentric world—a worship of absolute power, and a willingness to kneel to the strong, to serve both the strong and all that belongs to them, drawing twisted satisfaction from it—was something outsiders could scarcely fathom. Hah.
Qin Qingyue stroked her smooth chin thoughtfully, propping herself up, and studied Tang Zhaoxue closely.
In truth, by custom, a maidservant was indeed expected to serve both the Main Wife and her consort—though Qin Qingyue had always acted on her own whims, never giving it much thought.
She never expected Tang Zhaoxue to take such a step herself, and in such a unique way.
Seeing Tang Zhaoxue’s expression, torn between shame and faint hope, a glint of amusement and understanding flashed in Qin Qingyue’s Dragon Eyes.
She seemed to grasp the nature of this “complex”—a longing for utter surrender to strength.
It didn’t matter. For now, she herself was strong, and in the future, Jiang Huai would be as well.
Either way, Tang Zhaoxue would never escape her grasp.
Qin Qingyue dropped the questioning, simply raising her long leg again, gesturing lazily to the empty space at the inner side of the bed:
“You, come here.”
It was nothing—just her maidservant’s little peculiarity.
After all, she had no intention of bearing a Dragon Child at the moment, so letting her be was no matter.
Besides, even if it went into the little porcelain bottle, Qin Qingyue always kept more than enough in reserve—such things she generally had no use for.
Tang Zhaoxue’s pupils quivered; she could hardly believe her own ears.
Heart racing, she obeyed, inching closer to the bed on trembling fingertips, moving with utmost care.
“May I?”
“You may.”
“Would you like some side dishes?” Qin Qingyue glanced meaningfully at the sleeping Jiang Huai.
Tang Zhaoxue instinctively shook her head.
Right now, what she needed was not direct contact with Jiang Huai.
She summoned all her courage, bent low, and let her trembling, chilly lips fall like a dragonfly upon water.
A torrent of humiliation, fulfillment, longing, and thrill flooded her.
Qin Qingyue’s body gave the faintest shudder, a strange sensation surprising her, but in the end she did not push Tang Zhaoxue away—merely acquiesced in this overstepping act.
As Tang Zhaoxue continued this humble rite, she turned to glance at the slumbering Jiang Huai by her side—unaware of anything, while she, once a sect master commanding wind and rain, now could only draw close this way.
Her beloved so near, yet this was the only way she could approach.
And what shook her even more was how willingly she did so.
Emotions surged through her like a tidal wave beneath the moon—shame, twisted gratification, nostalgia and loss for her past status, all tangled together in an unstoppable shiver.
…
Crystal tears slid silently down.
“Mm? What’s wrong?” Qin Qingyue was startled by the sudden tears, instinctively sitting up.
“I didn’t force you. If you’re unwilling, you needn’t do it. I thought you enjoyed this,” she said, her tone as forthright as ever, with a touch of helplessness and confusion.
She’d just meant to let things flow naturally, never expecting Tang Zhaoxue to weep.
Why cry? Wasn’t she being accommodating enough?
If she hadn’t asked, it might have been better; but as soon as she did, Tang Zhaoxue’s tender heartstring was plucked.
She drew close, crying even louder now.
Gone was the earlier caution, replaced by a desperate abandon, like a moth drawn to flame.
Yet the more her eyes brimmed with tears, the more steadfast her devoted actions became, as though pouring all her grievances, longing, admiration, and self-exile into every motion.
Even Qin Qingyue was unsettled by the sight, hastily nudging the sleeping Jiang Huai:
“Wake up, your maidservant’s gone mad. Don’t sleep, hurry and wake up.”
Faced with this situation, Qin Qingyue decided Jiang Huai would have to handle it—she was at her wit’s end.
Hearing that Qin Qingyue was about to wake Jiang Huai, Tang Zhaoxue’s heart leapt, her mind blank as she sat there in a daze.
She still had no idea how she would face Jiang Huai, or what he would think upon seeing her like this.