Yun Kui couldn’t swim and had never stayed in water for so long. Her entire body felt light and weak, her limbs drifting like tangled vines in the water, seeking something to cling to—so she wound herself tightly around him.
At this point, no matter where I touch, he probably won’t mind.
But you’re the one who told me to stay!
Her soft, boneless hands rested against his waist, her fingertips gliding over the warm, firm ridges of his abdomen, gently scrubbing back and forth.
The Crown Prince was unlike those rough, burly men who left grime under one’s fingers with the slightest touch. His skin was cool and fair, visually cleaner and more refined than the average man’s. A slight obsession with cleanliness kept him immaculate at all times—daily baths, fragrant incense, robes meticulously cared for by a laundry staff of hundreds, not a single wrinkle to be found. Even the hem of his garments remained pristine.
He was the kind of man who’d taste sweet if you bit him.
But the water made everything slippery. Her fingers, unchecked, slid downward—and there, she encountered the little prince.
Her palm trembled. Hesitant, before she could even properly cover and clean it, his breathing grew heavy, his tongue pressing insistently against the roof of her mouth.
Already dizzy from his kisses, Yun Kui now floated like duckweed in the pool, entirely at his mercy.
His rough palms pressed firmly against her softness, tracing every tiny shiver. Unable to endure her half-hearted attempts at scrubbing any longer, he gripped her waist and lifted her.
Her legs suddenly suspended, she gasped in shock, her feet no longer finding purchase on the slick pool floor—only warm currents swirling beneath her.
The sensation of weightlessness and helplessness overwhelmed her, forcing her to cling to his neck.
Their eyes met. In the depths of his dark gaze burned a hunger so thick it was almost tangible. "Don’t you think you owe me an explanation?"
Yun Kui felt as though a sore, tingling nerve had been pressed, sending shocks down to her toes. She sucked in a breath, her cheeks burning. "I was just trying to serve you..."
The Crown Prince smirked. "You come when you please, flee when you please. Seems you’ve grown quite bold."
The delicate girl in his arms weighed no more than a weapon. He’d held back too long—now, he was determined to teach her a lesson. With deliberate strength, he raised her higher. The position was familiar; finding his target wasn’t difficult.
Yet the moment they connected, her entire body arched violently, her fingers digging into his shoulders as a sob tore from her throat.
That signet ring and the little prince… truly cannot compare.
Even this slow, careful joining had her crumbling. She couldn’t fathom how something so mismatched in size could possibly work.
In her dreams, she’d seen plenty, but shame had kept her from examining that part too closely. Still, in moments of intensity, she’d caught glimpses of its formidable outline.
As for the illustrated manuals—she’d studied those carefully. Yet none of them came close to the Crown Prince’s… exceptional endowment.
It was like drifting underwater, her body slamming against jagged rocks, tendrils of blood dispersing in the waves. The pain made her gasp.
Within moments, she was thrashing, tears streaking her face, her lips bitten red.
"Wahhh—ahhhh!"
Even the ever-composed Crown Prince had beads of sweat at his temples. For him, this wasn’t difficult—but it was his first time, and he feared hurting her. Her mental whimpers, however, grated on his nerves.
His breathing roughened, his back damp with sweat, before he finally managed to seat her fully—only for her to sink her teeth into his shoulder.
He glared, jaw clenched, his gaze dark as ink.
Gradually, her internal screams spilled past her lips.
Her mind went blank, stripped of thought, leaving only instinctive cries.
The Crown Prince had studied military strategy since childhood. No manual had ever taught him retreat. The louder the enemy wailed, the fiercer his advance—straight to the heart of the battle.
Deshun, ever perceptive, withdrew, leaving only two maids outside the door.
The maids exchanged glances, cheeks flushed, hearts pounding.
Who dared carry on like this in front of the Crown Prince?
It sounded like he was torturing her.
Servants like them moved silently around him, cautious in word and deed, terrified of displeasing him. Yet this bedchamber maid was… utterly lawless.
They half-expected the Crown Prince to silence her permanently.
Time blurred. The sound of the water clock mingled with distant fireworks, the waves in the pool crashing in tandem—until Yun Kui’s body convulsed violently.
When her senses slowly returned, she realized: it was New Year’s.
And she’d officially been promoted—from a bedchamber maid in name to one in truth.
The process had been far from pleasant. A plump, juicy lychee, pulped into mush, its sweet juices replaced by her tears.
Yun Kui slumped against his shoulder, her voice hoarse and broken.
"The manuals lied. The dreams lied. It wasn’t pleasurable at all! It was awful!"
Hearing her mental lament, the Crown Prince frowned.
In all his years—studying, martial arts, warfare—he’d never failed at anything he set his mind to. Today, a slip of a girl had the audacity to scorn him.
Pride stung, he nipped her earlobe and growled, "How was I?"
Yun Kui hunched her shoulders, mumbling reluctantly, "Your Highness is mighty and formidable."
"...Bullshit."
The Crown Prince gritted his teeth and exhaled sharply.
The pool water was now unsalvageable. He ordered fresh baths to cleanse them both, then bundled the limp girl in a large robe and carried her back to his chambers.
Yun Kui ached too much to straighten, her limbs weak. No doubt her waist and thighs were flushed red.
"Never letting him carry me again!"
"Never touching those abs again!"
The Crown Prince couldn’t fathom it. He’d done all the work—she’d just lain there—yet she acted more exhausted than him.
Sniffling, Yun Kui burrowed under the blankets, curling into a ball with her back to him.
Once her tears dried and the fireworks outside reminded her of Cao Yuanlu’s words, she bit her lip and inched closer—though the memory made her wary.
"Your Highness… it’s the New Year."
Her whisper brushed his ear, her silken skin reigniting the heat from earlier.
The Crown Prince swallowed hard, suppressing the hunger in his eyes. "Do you like the New Year?"
Yun Kui nodded. "Of course."
Every year on New Year's Eve and the first day of the lunar year, the palace would distribute gifts. After the grand feast on New Year's Eve, the Imperial Kitchen could finally take a brief respite, and the palace maids who worked there could take turns resting.
Most importantly, she had grown another year older, inching closer to the day she could leave the palace—how could she not be happy?
The Crown Prince's expression darkened slightly when he caught the words "leave the palace" in her thoughts.
Yet unexpectedly, that delicate, soft body leaned in, carefully wrapping around his arm. "Your Highness," she murmured.
The Crown Prince lowered his gaze to meet her glistening almond-shaped eyes, shimmering with tiny flecks of light. Her cherry-red lips parted as she spoke, word by word, "May you find joy in every passing year, and may all your endeavors be crowned with success."
His long-sealed heart trembled faintly at her words.
"Joy" was a notion too distant and illusory, as if it had always been something that eluded him.
He had never kept the tradition of staying up late on New Year's Eve. Every year, he spent both New Year's Eve and the first day of the year alone, never feeling that the beginning of a new year held any special significance compared to any other time.
The palace servants beneath him dared not speak such words to him. Court officials and his subordinates mostly offered flattery and formalities, their true intentions hidden beneath layers of pretense.
In this world, he was an anomaly—countless eyes fixed upon his status as the heir to the throne, dreaming of the day he would meet a gruesome end.
Step by step, he had walked this path, treading on thorns, abandoned by those he once trusted.
Yet on this year's first day of the lunar year, someone nestled softly by his pillow, her eyes clear and bright, untainted by any ulterior motives, whispering to him, "May you find joy in every passing year, and may all your endeavors be crowned with success."
After a long silence, a thought suddenly crossed his mind. He looked at her with a faint, mocking smile. "How many guards have you said this to?"
