The embarrassment in Chu'he's heart suddenly vanished without a trace, replaced entirely by joy and anticipation.
Her fingers gently untied the young man's hair ribbon, watching as his silver-white locks cascaded down, transforming the simple bamboo bed into something pure and sacred.
His eyes were breathtaking—no gemstone in the world, no matter how rare or dazzling, could compare to the shimmering light and ripples in those crimson depths.
Ninth's gaze flickered with starlight, yet under her scrutiny, he was the one who grew flustered.
Chu'he ran her fingers through a strand of his hair, feeling as though she were cradling moonlight suspended in the night sky. When her fingertips brushed his cheek, she felt the familiar coolness of his skin—his body was always like this, never quite warming up.
And so, an odd impulse seized her: she wanted him to burn as hot as she did.
"Ninth."
"Hmm?"
"Let me teach you what husbands and wives do together."
"Skin against skin?"
"Yes, skin against skin."
The corners of his lips lifted slightly. "Truly... skin against skin?"
Chu'he couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, truly."
Cupping his face, she leaned in eagerly. He parted his lips in response, and as their kiss deepened, warmth surged between them, his mouth soon captured by hers.
With both of them cooperating, layers of clothing fell away. The contrast of their body temperatures sent shivers down their spines, only fueling the rush of hormones—dopamine, oxytocin—until Chu'he could feel nothing but exhilaration.
"Ninth, it might hurt a little."
His face flushed like dawn, the tips of his ears reddening, though he didn’t quite understand her warning.
When the spring blossom finally fell, his body stiffened, his neck arching as a muffled groan escaped him, half his face buried in his snow-white hair.
Even now, Chu'he found the presence of mind to think: The Love Gu—sometimes, it really is a good thing.
Her fingers tenderly brushed the strands sticking to his face before she pressed a kiss to the elegant line of his throat. "Are you alright?"
His eyes were misty, caught between pleasure and something unnameable. After a moment, his lashes fluttered, the haze trembling like rain-laden clouds.
His pale hand slid to her waist, pressing down with gradual insistence.
His voice was soft, laced with something sweetly intoxicating. "Chu'he... keep going."
Only one thought remained in her mind—
This is going to be the death of me.
But before long, the young man’s face burned red, and an awkward silence settled between them.
"Chu'he... I... I..."
She pulled him into an embrace, patting his head reassuringly. "It's fine, it's fine. First times are always like this."
He covered his face, mortified.
Unbothered, Chu'he rolled off him. "We’ll try again later."
Suddenly, his hand clamped around her wrist, pulling her back as his moonlit hair spilled over her, tickling her skin.
Defiant, he whispered against her ear, "I can still go on."
And as it turned out, with a bit of experience, he could go on—very well, in fact.
The moon hung high, the night cool and serene.
Fang Songhe sat alone in the courtyard, sipping wine under the clear sky, a pang of loneliness creeping in despite the fine drink and beautiful evening.
But then he reconsidered—he had ventured into the world young, weathered countless injustices, and witnessed too many regrets. Now, two of his closest friends had found happiness together. It was a joyous occasion, and his melancholy faded, replaced by quiet contentment.
He only wished for more such happiness in the world.
Fang Songhe took another sip, then froze. Something felt off—had he forgotten something?
With a start, he shot to his feet. "Junior Brother!"
Elsewhere, the horse Erwei was happily munching on fresh hay when it spotted Fang Songhe. It promptly turned its back on him, still traumatized by the meal that had nearly sent it to an early grave.
Fang Songhe rubbed his nose sheepishly. Accustomed to rough living, he’d never thought his cooking was that bad—until it nearly poisoned multiple lives.
Pushing open the carriage door, he met a pair of eyes brimming with resentment.
Song Chunming had woken up at some point, but his lips were blackened, his face ashen, his body limp—too weak to even make a sound.
Curled in front of him was a small green snake, baring its fangs as if ready to tear chunks from his flesh.
Earlier, Chu'he had left the snake behind to guard the carriage. After two failed attempts at intimacy with Ninth—each thwarted by unforeseen interruptions—she wasn’t taking chances.
Unfortunately, when Song Chunming stirred, the snake, fearing he might disrupt its masters’ long-awaited moment, had promptly bitten him.
And so, Song Chunming lay there, once again at death’s door from venom.
Fang Songhe winced. He’d completely forgotten about his junior brother. "Hold on, I’ll get the antidote from Ninth."
Song Chunming sagged in relief, thinking salvation was near.
But then Fang Songhe hesitated. "Actually... now’s not a good time."
Song Chunming’s eyes widened, as if realizing for the first time that even this "good man" could abandon him in his hour of need.
Fang Songhe scratched his head awkwardly. "If I interrupt them now, you’ll die faster. So... hang in there a little longer, alright?"
And so, Song Chunming "hung in there"—until noon the next day.
Fang Songhe paced outside the carriage, glancing at his now pitch-black-faced junior brother, raising a hand only to lower it again, his indecision making the already half-dead Song Chunming dizzy.
Chu'he woke to the suffocating sensation of ribs being crushed. Every inch of her was locked in a seamless cage—arms pinned, legs trapped, utterly immobilized.
Ninth clung to her like a serpent, limbs coiled tightly around her body. Still asleep, his breathing slow and even, he seemed lost in pleasant dreams, his expression serene, his lips a shade redder than usual.
His scent enveloped her, a fragrance she adored.
For a moment, Chu'he didn’t even want to push him away. She traced the flutter of his lashes, lingered over his jade-smooth skin, her heart softening with affection.
But the sun was high, and she couldn’t leave their companions waiting forever.
"Ninth. Ninth."
No response.
"Chi Yan."
Still nothing.
Chu'he pitched her voice sweetly. "Husband."
His eyelids twitched, those gemstone-red eyes slowly opening, galaxies swirling within them, rippling with quiet delight.
Feigning drowsiness, he murmured, "Did you call me just now?"
Chu'he indulged him without hesitation. "You’re my husband. Who else would I call?"
He tried to press his lips tightly together but failed—the corners of his mouth curled upward uncontrollably. Feeling utterly embarrassed at being so easily charmed by her words, he instinctively grabbed the blanket and pulled it up to cover half his face, leaving only his gleaming crimson eyes fixed on her, their brightness impossible to dim.
Chu'he felt the restraint loosen and struggled to sit up, climbing onto him instead. Her eyes sparkled just as brightly as she leaned down to press a kiss to the corner of his eye.
"We should get up now!"
He murmured, "I want to sleep with you a little longer."
"We’ve already slept for too long. Fang Songhe is waiting for us outside."
"I don’t care if he waits."
"No," Chu'he said sternly, running her fingers through his hair. "You’re a married man now, which means you’re a responsible adult. Have you forgotten? Fang Songhe is your sworn brother. He’s helped us so much—we should thank him properly."
Ninth pouted unhappily. "Fine."
Chu'he dressed quickly, full of energy as she hopped off the bed and sat at the vanity. "If you’re still tired, you can rest properly in the carriage later."
Ninth sat up slowly, letting the blanket slip away to reveal his body, marked with traces of their night. He casually threw on his robes, his male pride making him mutter under his breath,
"I’m not tired at all. I could go three more rounds without breaking a sweat."
As soon as he planted his foot on the ground and tried to stand, his knees buckled with a loud thud, sending him crashing to the floor.
Chu'he turned, startled, and rushed over to help him up. "What’s wrong?"
The young man’s face cycled through shades of pale and green as he clutched his waist. "Chu'he… I’ve been poisoned."
"What?!"
His expression darkened, voice low and hoarse. "A toxin that can weaken my back and legs without me noticing—even Miaojiang has no such poison."
Chu'he gave him a knowing look. "Or maybe… it’s not poison at all."
He frowned. "If not poison, then what?"
"Maybe you’re just sore because you overexerted yourself last night."
"Impossible." Still hung up on how embarrassingly quickly he’d finished their first time, he stubbornly insisted, "I’m too strong to get tired."
Chu'he: "…"
Why was he so determined to keep up this act?
