In Yanqing Residence, Qi Daiyu had just finished her evening routine.
The February night was still chilly, but the inner chamber was warm and cozy with the charcoal brazier burning. Dressed only in her sleeping garments, Qi Daiyu lay on the bed with her legs propped up against the wall in an inverted pose—a trick she had learned to slim her waist and thighs without too much effort, allowing her to scroll through her phone at the same time.
She was engrossed in a newly released fantasy romance drama, a tale dripping with melodrama: the female lead, a goddess from ancient times, descended to the mortal realm to endure a trial of love, only to fall for a mortal emperor. Though the emperor loved her in return, he coldly sent her to the palace’s abandoned quarters under the guise of protecting her, leading to her heartbroken demise. After her death, the emperor, consumed by regret, soon followed. Then came the twist—the emperor was revealed to be the Crown Prince of the celestial realm, betrothed to the goddess all along. Thus began his desperate attempts to win her back, further complicated by a jealous rival who coveted his affection.
In short, it was a cliché-ridden, tear-jerking saga of star-crossed lovers, complete with the obligatory "let the world burn for our love" trope.
Despite its predictability, the show was addictive.
Right now, the plot had reached the climax where the mortal female lead had perished, sending the emperor into a rage as he vowed to slaughter his entire harem in grief. Qi Daiyu was so absorbed that she didn’t notice the emperor’s silent approach.
Jiang Yuan, seeing most of the lanterns in Yanqing Residence extinguished, assumed Consort Hui had already retired for the night. He motioned for the attendants to remain silent, stopping Shiliu, the maid on night watch, from announcing his arrival, and slipped quietly into the inner chamber.
To his surprise, Consort Hui was still awake.
The first thing that caught his eye was a pair of slender, upturned legs. The pale silk sleeping trousers had slid down to her thighs, revealing smooth, milky skin. Her legs pressed firmly against the wall, knees locked, ankles delicate.
Jiang Yuan flexed his fingers slightly, recalling the sensation of gripping her ankle the last time they were together. His throat tightened.
His gaze traveled upward.
Consort Hui’s feet were small—no longer than the span of his palm—with plump, rosy soles. Her toes, round and dainty, wiggled playfully.
As he stepped closer, his breath hitched. Her sleeping robe was disheveled, the loose hem exposing the flat plane of her stomach. His eyes trailed higher, then froze.
—Consort Hui wasn’t wearing an underrobe.
The thin fabric of her garment did little to conceal the faint outline of her curves.
"What are you thinking about?" Jiang Yuan’s voice was already rough.
He noticed her staring blankly at the canopy, oblivious to his presence, clearly lost in thought.
The sudden sound startled Qi Daiyu. She tilted her head back, catching sight of the emperor upside down, and her heart lurched. She scrambled to sit up, but her legs, stiff from being inverted for so long, refused to cooperate.
Qi Daiyu nearly groaned. How had he slipped in without a sound?
"Your Majesty, this concubine greets you. Please forgive my improper state."
Amused by her flustered expression, Jiang Yuan’s lips curved into an unconscious smile. He moved to the bedside, gripping her legs to help lower them.
Qi Daiyu rolled onto her stomach with a relieved sigh.
"Practicing acrobatics?" he teased.
Noticing her discomfort, Jiang Yuan kept his hands on her, massaging her calves to ease the numbness.
"Ah—it hurts!" The pressure only intensified the pins-and-needles sensation, making her eyes water.
Embarrassed, she mumbled, "This pose helps slim the legs."
"I’ve never heard of such a method." His gaze lingered on the delicate curve of her waist, the dip of her spine tempting his touch. The softness beneath his palms sent a jolt of heat through him.
Was Consort Hui secretly a fox spirit in disguise? The absurd thought flickered through his mind before he dismissed it.
"It’s—it’s better now." The numbness had faded, and Qi Daiyu tried to pull her legs back. The position felt too intimate.
She tugged, but his grip didn’t loosen.
Confused, she glanced over her shoulder, the motion causing her robe to slip off one shoulder, baring smooth skin and the elegant line of her collarbone.
Jiang Yuan’s eyes darkened.
His hold tightened.
"Why pull away?" he asked.
Qi Daiyu blinked. Wasn’t it obvious? Her legs were in his hands—of course she wanted to free them!
"This concubine... wished to sit properly to speak with Your Majesty?" Her voice lifted in uncertainty.
"Why the pretense?" he pressed.
Her pulse spiked. Panic flashed across her face.
What did he mean by "pretense"?
Had the emperor seen through her earlier act—the feigned fragility? When had he noticed?
What would be the consequences of deceiving the emperor? Would he charge her with treason?
Her guilty expression only confirmed Jiang Yuan’s suspicions. She had been playing the delicate flower all along—to avoid his favor.
Perhaps she had always been frail, but not the wilting type. During her first night in the Eastern Palace, his initial coldness—born of her resemblance to the late Consort Yu—had tipped her off. Sensing his aversion, she leaned into the role: coughing, weeping, flinching at his touch, all to cement his distaste.
And it had worked. He stopped visiting altogether.
Three years of illness must have worn down her restraint, letting her true nature slip through.
Clever. Observant. Calculating.
Jiang Yuan didn’t dislike cunning women. Naivety was tedious; a sharp mind made for easier company. But when that cunning was turned against him—
Before she could stammer out an excuse, Jiang Yuan yanked her forward. The fabric of her robe bunched against her chest, the rough friction stinging her bare skin.
A gasp caught in her throat as his hands locked around her waist, hauling her up and then down—until she knelt astride his lap.
Shame hadn’t even registered before his mouth crashed onto hers, his grip on the back of her head unyielding. He pried her lips apart, stealing her breath.
Jiang Yuan kissed her with a fury that bordered on punishment, his hands roaming possessively.
Calloused fingers scraped over sensitive flesh, the pain only heightening the electric thrill shooting through her.
"Mmph—!" She couldn’t breathe!
Qi Daiyu pounded weakly against his chest. Jiang Yuan released her just long enough for a ragged inhale before claiming her again.
Meanwhile, his other hand slid lower.
When he cupped her, her eyes flew wide—only to meet his darkened gaze, unreadable and intense.
The more she squirmed, the bolder his touch grew. And the more unbearable the sensations became.
Tears gradually welled up in her eyes until, at one moment, Qi Daiyu suddenly stiffened, her widened pupils slightly unfocused.
Jiang Yuan finally released her, withdrawing his hand.
His mood seemed to have improved slightly—though his expression remained stern, a faint smile flickered in his eyes.
Then, with deliberate slowness, he undid his own robes and guided Qi Daiyu to sit astride him.
In one swift motion, he sheathed himself fully within her.
A satisfied groan escaped Jiang Yuan’s lips.
Qi Daiyu tried to push herself up, bracing against him—it was too much—
But Jiang Yuan pressed her back down.
The sturdy huanghuali wood bed, usually unshakable, now rocked violently beneath them.
Desperate for support, Qi Daiyu’s hands flailed in the air until they finally seized the bed curtains, twisting the innocent fabric into a crumpled mess as the relentless tugging tore at it.
With a final sharp cry, the curtains ripped apart.
They draped over the entwined couple like a shroud.
"...My curtains..." Qi Daiyu murmured dazedly.
Jiang Yuan, thoroughly sated, replied lazily, "This emperor will send you new ones tomorrow."
He called for water to be drawn.
Once submerged in the bathing tub, Qi Daiyu wished she could sink beneath the surface entirely.
What a disaster! She couldn’t even bear to recall the sight of Shiliu’s flushed face as she hurried in to change the bedding.
Her own cheeks burned scarlet as she scrubbed herself clean with her eyes tightly shut.
Even after washing, she lingered, unwilling to step out.
Then Jiang Yuan’s voice carried from beyond the folding screen.
"Has Consort Hui fainted again?"
At that, even her ears turned crimson.
She hastily dressed. The bed had already been remade with fresh linens, and the torn curtains removed—though there was no time yet to replace them.
Without a second glance, Qi Daiyu crawled to the far side of the bed and buried herself entirely under the covers.
Her quail-like behavior was almost comical, but the smile that had begun to form on Jiang Yuan’s lips froze.
Was she so unwilling to face him?
He leaned over and yanked the blankets away, only to find her sleeping robes meticulously fastened, every button secured—even her undergarments were back in place.
"Qi. Dai. Yu." Jiang Yuan gritted his teeth and swiftly stripped her bare again.
"What are you doing?!" Qi Daiyu panicked. Again?!
But Jiang Yuan merely commanded, "You will not sleep clothed."
Qi Daiyu: "???"
Since when did decent people forbid sleeping in clothes?!
She hugged herself. "But I won’t be able to sleep like this..."
Jiang Yuan, intent on thwarting her, pulled her against his chest. "You’ll sleep like this."
Qi Daiyu: "..."
Back when she read novels, she’d always mocked those domineering CEOs for their tyrannical whims—never imagining she’d now suffer the same treatment. Except, even those fictional tyrants were bound by laws, whereas the man before her could end her life with a mere word.
Like the male lead in that drama she’d just watched, who’d gone mad and slaughtered his entire harem.
Wait… was she the innocent cannon fodder here? Qi Daiyu’s thoughts spiraled.
The more she dwelled on it, the more fear gripped her. Unable to resist, she asked, "Your Majesty… are there any consorts in the Cold Palace?"
The abrupt question gave Jiang Yuan pause. He had always been lenient—at worst, confining offenders to their quarters for reflection. His harem had never seen anyone cast into the Cold Palace. And yet… He glanced down at Qi Daiyu curiously. Though bedridden for three years, she wasn’t entirely ignorant of the outside world.
Unless…
Understanding dawned. She feared he’d punish her for deceiving him by sending her to the Cold Palace?
A thrill shot through him. Lowering his voice, he replied, "There are none now. That doesn’t mean there won’t be in the future."
If she repented, he’d forgive her. If she persisted in her defiance—hmph.
Qi Daiyu’s lips twitched. She’d realized too late how foolish her question was. No matter how she looked at it, Jiang Yuan wasn’t the type of emperor who tortured those he loved. Why would he throw a favored consort into the Cold Palace?
Silence stretched between them. Jiang Yuan took it as an admission of guilt.
His hand, resting on her waist, shifted slightly—a certain desire stirring anew.
In the stillness, Qi Daiyu squirmed.
Jiang Yuan: "What are you doing?"
Qi Daiyu flushed crimson. "Then… what is Your Majesty doing?"
He was practically molding her into his body!
Caught in the act, Jiang Yuan showed no shame. Instead, he grew bolder.
"Yes. I am."
Qi Daiyu: "..."
The huanghuali wood bed began to shake once more.
