A Midnight of Recklessness.
At first, Yan Zheng restrained himself, mindful of her frail health since childhood, determined not to hurt her.
But as the night deepened, the taste of indulgence grew irresistible, and the unprecedented fervor of the woman in his arms shattered his restraint completely.
When the storm of passion finally subsided, he propped himself up and said, "I'll call for water to clean up."
Yet before he could leave the bed, a pair of delicate, boneless hands encircled him from behind. "Yan Zheng, don’t go."
He paused, then heard her slightly hoarse voice murmur, "Stay and talk with me."
His heart softened, and the man turned back. "Alright, but first cover yourself properly. Don’t catch a chill."
Though the room was warmed by charcoal, cozy and snug, he feared triggering her cold-related ailments.
For a fleeting moment, the woman’s eyes held reluctance, but she nestled against his shoulder and spoke softly, "About Wen Jing… what are your plans for him in the future?"
Yan Zheng chuckled. "You’re too dutiful as his aunt. You’ve only just married into the family, and already you’re thinking of his future?"
Chu Ruoyan ignored his teasing. "I think Wen Jing might be better suited for the martial path than the scholarly one. Though his academic records at the Imperial Academy are excellent, his heart isn’t in it. But martial arts are different. I’ve seen how seriously he trains with you—he endures the pain without complaint, even when his arms are bruised."
After a pause, she added, "He truly loves martial arts."
Yan Zheng fell silent for a moment before sighing. "I know. He’s like my elder brother—a natural talent. But you also know Wen Jing is the only remaining heir of the Yan family’s third generation…"
The air in the bedchamber grew heavy.
Chu Ruoyan understood his concern. "You’re afraid he’ll follow your brother’s path? But have you asked for his own wishes?"
Yan Zheng was taken aback as her voice, steady and gentle like a flowing stream, continued, "A prized flower may thrive under careful tending, but a wild rose, untamed and proud, will wither if confined to a pot. Yan Zheng, I hope you’ll ask Wen Jing what he truly wants and respect his choice. Promise me?"
"I’ll consider it," Yan Zheng conceded, then suddenly smirked. "But Ah Yan, I think you, as his teacher, might be better suited to broach the subject than I am."
Chu Ruoyan clenched her fists slightly, forcing a faint smile.
Noticing her unease, Yan Zheng was about to question her when she abruptly changed the subject. "By the way… do you prefer sons or daughters?"
It took him a moment to process the question before he stiffened in alarm. "That’s impossible, isn’t it?"
One night couldn’t possibly—even if he was unmatched on the battlefield, he doubted his prowess extended that far in the bedchamber.
Chu Ruoyan lowered her eyes with a quiet laugh. "No, I was just asking. You haven’t answered me yet."
Yan Zheng exhaled in relief, then grasped her shoulders firmly. "I want neither sons nor daughters."
Chu Ruoyan stared at him in shock. His expression was solemn as he continued, "Childbirth has always been a woman’s brush with death. My mother bore four children, and twice she nearly didn’t survive. Ah Yan, I refuse to let you face that danger. I’d rather have no children at all."
She was speechless for a long moment before stammering, "B-but you’re the only son of the Yan family in this generation…"
"So what? There’s still Wen Jing. If you’re worried about the Yan bloodline, he can carry it forward when he comes of age. If you truly wish to raise a child, we can adopt one we find suitable. But I won’t let you risk your life!"
His words were domineering, yet her heart melted completely.
In all the capital—no, in all the world—how many men would go to such lengths?
The Emperor doted on Consort Xue, yet she nearly died giving birth to the Fifth Prince…
Gu Sun and his wife were renowned for their love, yet they bore child after child…
Since ancient times, women were expected to marry, bear children, and raise them—it was simply the way of the world.
But Yan Zheng would defy convention for her sake.
"If Old Censor Yu heard you say this, he’d surely impeach you again…" She laughed even as tears streamed down her face.
The man cupped her cheeks, gently wiping her tears away with his thumb. "Ah Yan, I love you—only you. As for idle gossip, I’ll silence it before it ever reaches your ears. Don’t forget, your husband is the Chief Grand Secretary."
No words could have moved her more. Overcome, she whispered mournfully, "And if I die?"
His expression darkened instantly. "Then I’ll follow you—through the underworld itself."
Chu Ruoyan closed her eyes and laughed. She’d expected nothing less.
But how could she bear to let him die?
He’d fought so hard to clear the Yan family’s name, to finally live in peace. He must not die—never!
"Ah Yan," Yan Zheng suddenly frowned, "you’ve been acting strangely tonight. First Wen Jing, then children… and now you mention death. Are you hiding something from me?"
He was too perceptive—a few words were enough to unsettle him.
Chu Ruoyan tightened her grip on the sheets, then abruptly leaned in.
"Ah Yan—mmph!"
Her lips sealed his in a frantic kiss, her hands roaming provocatively, reigniting the barely sated fire between them.
Yan Zheng’s eyes darkened as he seized control, flipping her beneath him…
Late into the night, silence reigned.
Exhausted by their passion and aided by the sedative Young Master Lang had provided, Yan Zheng finally fell into a deep slumber.
Chu Ruoyan rose quietly, donning her outer robe. Gazing at his uncharacteristically peaceful face, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Forgive me… my time is short."
With trembling hands, she placed a pre-written letter beside his pillow.
One last, lingering look—then she turned and left without looking back.
The moon hung high in the sky, the world hushed.
Outside the Yan residence, Young Master Lang had waited half the night before the slender figure finally emerged.
"You—"
He started to speak, then froze, staring at her smudged makeup. Unthinkingly, he whispered, "…Mother?"
Chu Ruoyan blinked in surprise, but he quickly shook his head. "A trick of the light. Get in the carriage."
As soon as he spoke, a voluptuous woman in green emerged from behind the vehicle, grinning. "Oh ho, so this is our Guildmaster’s new flame? My, my, Guildmaster, since when did your tastes shift to stealing another man’s wife?"
Young Master Lang flicked his sleeve. "Hongxiu, silence!"
Chu Ruoyan recognized her—just as Old Xu was Yan Zheng’s shadow, Hongxiu was Young Master Lang’s right hand.
A longtime fixture in pleasure houses, gathering intelligence, she now ran the capital’s largest brothel.
Hongxiu covered her mouth with a titter. "Guildmaster, you’re relocating the entire establishment for this sister without a word—such devotion! Pity this poor girl’s hard work, handing over my brothel just like that. Can’t I even mourn a little?"
She sidled up to Chu Ruoyan. "What a pretty little thing. Hurry now, into the carriage. If we delay, I’d hate to bear the consequences…"
Unaccustomed to such familiarity, Chu Ruoyan recoiled slightly—but the motion dislodged a hidden object from her sleeve.
It clattered to the ground.
Hongxiu’s eyes turned icy in an instant. Her hand shot out, gripping Chu Ruoyan’s throat.
"What are you? How do you have His Highness’s Frostblade Sword?!"
