Night had just fallen.
The hot spring waters were no longer calm, churning violently as they crashed against the smooth stone walls, the splashing sounds echoing through the air.
Gu Chengyu leaned back against the edge of the pool, his head tilted up in satisfaction as he indulged in the long-awaited feast.
Every inch of his senses was immersed in overwhelming pleasure, a rapture that consumed him entirely.
Ripples spread rapidly from where he was, radiating outward in endless waves.
The water seemed to grow hotter, the steam fogging his mind.
His eyes closed, the usual arrogance on his handsome face replaced by pure indulgence.
On the smooth pebbles by the poolside, two soaked garments lay discarded—a pair of black swim trunks and a delicate aqua-blue skirt.
The night deepened.
Faint, pitiful whimpers could be heard, soft and sweet, trembling with helplessness.
Yet this feast seemed to have only just reached its most exhilarating peak.
And the man was far from satisfied.
...
At eight in the evening, the entire resort was illuminated, its luxurious architecture outlined by golden lights.
Along a secluded path leading to the private courtyard, Shen Que strolled aimlessly, his mind preoccupied with how to arrange another meeting tomorrow—just an excuse to see her again.
Normally, Shen Que, ever the pragmatist, wouldn’t bother with such trivial efforts.
But this was different. He needed a plausible reason, one that wouldn’t arouse Gu Chengyu’s suspicion.
Just as he rounded a corner, he froze mid-step at the sight before him.
Gu Chengyu stood there, draped in a dark silk robe loosely tied at the waist, his damp hair glistening under the lights.
In his arms, cradled effortlessly, was Su Qianqian.
She was wrapped in a white robe, her body limp against his chest, clearly exhausted.
Gu Chengyu’s expression was one of deep satisfaction, his usual sharp arrogance softened into lazy contentment.
He held her with deliberate care, his steps steady, his gaze protective.
Su Qianqian, however, looked thoroughly spent.
Her face rested against his chest, eyes shut, long lashes casting delicate shadows.
Her once-neat bun had loosened, strands of damp black hair clinging to her slender neck, making her appear even more fragile.
One slender arm hung weakly around his neck, the other draped over her stomach as if still recovering.
The hem of her robe had slipped slightly, revealing pale, delicate legs and dainty feet, her toes curling faintly—as if the lingering sensations hadn’t yet faded.
Shen Que’s gaze swept over them, his expression deceptively casual.
He even smirked, raising a brow at Gu Chengyu in silent, knowing approval.
But beneath the surface, his pulse was anything but steady.
Watching Gu Chengyu’s unmistakable bliss, seeing Su Qianqian so utterly claimed, his mind involuntarily conjured vivid, forbidden images.
How she must have looked in that hot spring, how she must have sounded in Gu Chengyu’s arms—
His throat went dry, a mix of hunger and resentment coiling in his chest.
Gu Chengyu barely spared him a glance, his eyes silently conveying "Move aside."
Without breaking stride, he walked past, Su Qianqian still secure in his embrace.
Shen Que stepped aside, watching them go before his forced smile slowly faded.
His gaze darkened as he turned toward the direction of the private hot spring courtyard.
Almost against his will, he found himself walking there.
The courtyard gate was slightly ajar, the staff not yet having cleaned up.
Shen Que dismissed the approaching maid with a wave, stepping inside alone.
The air was still thick with lingering heat.
Though the water had calmed, the evidence of what had transpired was everywhere—water droplets clung to the smooth stones, even the petals of nearby crabapple flowers were speckled with moisture.
But what caught his eye most were the two discarded garments by the pool.
The aqua-blue swimsuit, small and delicate, lay crumpled on the wet stone like a flower ravaged by a storm.
Beside it, the black swim trunks—impossibly large, a stark contrast to the fragile blue fabric.
Shen Que’s stare fixed on them, especially that tiny blue scrap, imagining the soft, snow-white curves it had once covered.
Then his gaze dropped to the trunks, their size alone speaking volumes of the force behind them.
Such a delicate thing… how could she possibly have endured him?
He stood there for a long moment before abruptly turning and striding out, his mood turbulent.
At the gate, he coldly instructed the waiting maid, "Gather everything inside and bring it to my room."
A pause. Then, his voice lowered, dark with unspoken intent—
"Don’t wash them."
