From childhood to adulthood, Wanwan had almost always slept alone.
Before age six, she had grown up beside Imperial Consort Xu, her biological mother. A mother’s love was certain, but love in the imperial court was quite different from that among common folk. After each prince and princess was born, they were assigned a certain number of wet nurses and caretakers. In their early years, they were nursed by wet nurses, and when they became sensible, they were handed over to caretakers. Wanwan’s childhood was spent almost entirely with those female servants and palace officials. Her birth mother didn’t completely neglect her—she would ask if she had eaten and slept well that day, would check her studies and needlework, but generally wouldn’t hold her, much less sleep together with her.
Imperial family affections always maintained a three-part distance. It wasn’t born coldness, but because of layer upon layer of rules that, over time, formed habits. So Wanwan was accustomed to loneliness, accustomed to being the only person in her empty sleeping chambers. The sudden arrival of a man wanting to share her bed was truly a terrifying thing when she thought about it.
She had taken quite a long time bathing, and when she entered the bedroom, he was already there. Red candles burned on the table as he sat under the lamplight reading. After bathing, he wore only sleeping robes, his hair loosely bound with a cord, different from his neat and proper daytime appearance—he had a kind of casual, unrestrained beauty. Using such a word to evaluate a man seemed inappropriate, but besides this, Wanwan couldn’t think of anything else. He had lustrous skin, deep eyes and brows, even vermillion lips. Though so much older than her, he was still only twenty-four after all—in the prime of spring and autumn. Under the dim lamplight, he still emanated the purity of a young man.
She paused in her steps. He finally raised his eyes to look at her, strangely not feeling unfamiliar at all. How many days and nights had it been? He often had similar illusions—holding secret letters delivered by swift horses from the capital, she would walk out from the scroll and stand before him just like this. The only difference was that previously her face had been blurred, but now it was clear and vivid.
He set down his book and smiled at her—that kind of smile without any aggression, an encouraging smile. That a person planning to scheme for the world could have such a peaceful, composed smile, even he himself didn’t know. Perhaps his character was inherently two-sided, both extremes—the more ruthless he was outside, the more tender he became toward the one he loved. After all, emotions still needed release. With too much gentleness to contain, he could only use it to drown her.
She seemed very awkward, hesitating at her feet, not daring to approach for a long time. His smile deepened. Wearing her official robes, she was the Grand Princess, but removing that layer of armor, she was still a shy young girl, standing gracefully like a newly sprouted bud on a branch.
She was somewhat constrained, wringing her hands and asking: “Your Highness is reading? What are you reading?”
He opened his mouth and actually found he couldn’t say. Earlier he had just been putting on an act—weren’t scholarly men most charming? So he had randomly picked up a book to hold, but his attention had been entirely on her footsteps, not absorbing any of the book’s content at all, not even knowing what the title was.
He was struck speechless, somewhat embarrassed. Wanwan tilted her head to examine him, one eyebrow slowly arching up: “The Liezi?”
He nodded hastily: “Yes, yes, precisely the Liezi. ‘When uniform in technique, one can gain internally in the heart and respond externally with instruments; when uniform in skill, one can hear high mountains and flowing water, sounds stopping moving clouds…'”
She curved her lips, completely unsympathetic: “So it’s the Art of Controlling People!”
He was stunned. Only then did he look back—the book’s title page had closed, and in black characters on white paper were clearly written three large characters. His head immediately began to ache—this time he had lost all face.
She was smugly pleased, walking to the table, taking the teapot to pour a cup of water, and pacing around the room with the cup: “The Art of Controlling People has eight methods of control: controlling officials, controlling talent, controlling scholars, controlling the loyal, controlling the treacherous, controlling the wise, controlling the foolish, and controlling hearts. Among these eight methods, which does Your Highness consider most difficult?”
Young ladies in their boudoirs generally cared more about rouge and rice powder, but unexpectedly she was discussing this with him. He slowly took a breath: “Conventionally speaking, controlling hearts is most difficult—without knowing the heart, one cannot control the person. But in my humble opinion, this should be ranked later; controlling the treacherous is more difficult.”
She nodded: “Heroes think alike. ‘Treachery cannot be eliminated, only controlled to minimize harm.’ The hearts of treacherous flatterers are most unfathomably deep. If even treachery can be controlled, then naturally the others would pose no problem.” She slightly raised her head, one hand behind her back, taking measured steps while shaking her head: “‘Use profit to employ treachery, use wisdom to guard against treachery, use force to eliminate treachery, use patience to tolerate treachery’—these few short sentences contain great wisdom. To achieve those points, one must first cultivate one’s mind and character. So in this world, only treacherous flatterers are hardest to eliminate, because those who would root out treachery cannot endure… It’s not that they don’t understand, but that they cannot endure.”
She looked over with a pair of clear, bright eyes. She had probably forgotten she was wearing sleeping attire—under the candlelight, the fabric’s warp and weft were visible, and through that thin textile, one could see the graceful curves beneath. He also wanted to discuss ancient and modern times with her, but this was clearly not a good time. What newly married man could bear his wife’s appearance while discussing political strategy!
He couldn’t keep standing and awkwardly sat back down: “That… treacherous people should indeed be dealt with, whether great matters of the realm or small household affairs, all must be governed.” Compared to her, he spoke in complete disarray. In front of her, his mind seemed perpetually inadequate.
Wanwan was quite disdainful of him. She had clearly given him a chance to display his learning, yet he returned in such miserable defeat. If anyone said Prince Nanyuan was resourceful and intelligent in the future, she would die laughing.
Setting her cup on the table with a thud, she said casually: “It’s getting late—time to sleep.” As she stepped onto the footstool, she looked back at him: “Does Your Highness sleep on the outside or inside?”
How was there this feeling of a husband’s authority being undermined? He furrowed his brow and helplessly averted his gaze: “I’ll sleep on the outside. If you need to get up at night or want water, you can call me.”
Only when he mentioned it did she remember—drinking water was fine, but what about getting up at night? With an outsider in the room, and a man at that, this really wasn’t good.
In an instant, she fell from high discourse back to reality, sitting hesitantly on the bed’s edge: “I… don’t sleep well, as Your Highness has probably witnessed. To avoid accidentally injuring you, please sleep on the daybed tonight.”
He smiled with furrowed brow: “Your Highness, this isn’t the way to treat guests. Poor sleeping habits don’t matter—I’m a martial artist. Usually when sparring, as long as there are no blades or swords, a few hits are nothing…” He looked at her deeply: “Didn’t you say it was hot yesterday? Today the bedding is laid thin—I’m afraid you’ll be cold at night, so I can keep you warm.”
She looked completely unconvinced. In this season of spring warmth and blooming flowers, was there need for keeping warm?
He pointed toward the window: “The weather’s changing. Hot during the day, but it’ll turn cool at night—southern weather is like this.”
Wanwan had nothing to say. She took off her shoes and crawled under the covers, trying to make room toward the inside. Fortunately, the bed was large enough that establishing boundaries wouldn’t be a problem.
What she had said to Tonghuan and the others while bathing still held true now. Avoidance wasn’t a solution—what needed to be faced still had to be faced. She didn’t shortchange others in her dealings. Even if she had come to Jiangnan through his scheming, she couldn’t leave grounds for criticism from the princely mansion’s people. Before the grand wedding, the nannies had told her almost everything about how men and women should be together, how to bear children. Though she understood only vaguely, there was still him. Having done her best today, she wouldn’t feel she had wronged him afterward. After all, the strongest emotion in her life was merely liking—it didn’t matter whom she truly married or with whom she consummated.
She lay on her back, not wanting to look, and closed her eyes. She heard his footsteps gradually approaching, then the bed slightly shook as he lay down beside her. A fragrance of fine sandalwood came over—she sniffed, finding this scent somewhat sweet, reminding her of Father.
Father loved Buddhism and didn’t use dragon incense, naturally acquiring that fragrance. When he returned to the forbidden palace, coming to see her and Imperial Consort Xu, Wanwan would pay her respects to him, and bowing down, she would smell the scent from his robe’s hem. After so many years, the memory remained fresh.
Neither spoke. In the quiet time with only rain for company, it was actually quite peaceful.
After a long while, she heard him ask: “Are you afraid of me, Your Highness?” His voice was low and hoarse, like sleep talk.
She shook her head. What was there to fear? It was just somewhat awkward.
He turned his face toward her, eyes like vast winds and clouds, close at hand: “Look at us, sleeping in one bed—we’ll continue like this in the future. No matter how close parents and siblings are at home, it’s far from this. The sharing of joys and sorrows between husband and wife is what truly touches the heart and liver. In the future, when you have thoughts you can’t tell outsiders, you can tell me everything—I’ll be another you. It’s just that when I express my loyalty to you, I fear you’ll dismiss it disdainfully. You have a fief of three thousand households, treatment equal to a prince—even without me, you could still live very well.” He smiled self-mockingly: “So I feel that making vows before you seems like empty words. Princess Manor has guards and ceremonial escorts—you lack nothing.”
This was probably the anguish of many prince consorts, wasn’t it? A perfectly good wife—after marrying her, you needn’t support her, needn’t cherish her. If slightly displeased, she could lecture you; if further displeased, she could memorialize to impeach you. Rather than husband and wife, it was more like sovereign and subject. Imperial daughters sat on cloud peaks, inspiring awe. So many of Wanwan’s aunts from the previous generation had lived very unhappily—besides public honor, they had never been happy in their lifetimes.
She made a vague sound, still stubbornly saying: “I indeed lack nothing, so if you mistreat me, I can choose never to see you again in the future.” After speaking, she turned away: “You don’t snore at night, do you? Nanny Li snores—when she’s on night duty, the noise keeps me from sleeping well.”
He was a light sleeper. Light sleepers were like having springs installed—the slightest touch would make them bounce up. How could he possibly snore? He said he wouldn’t: “I’ll be careful. You just sleep soundly.”
She hummed in agreement. Her small body curled up, invisibly building a wall to keep him outside her world.
The pillow was covered with her hair, strands winding and spreading behind her like a spilled ink painting. He reached out to touch it lightly, afraid of startling her. He knew his thoughts were shameful—with her beside him, he was like falling into purgatory. Even the faint fragrance from her hair tips made his imagination run wild.
He couldn’t move. He understood the importance of restraint and began silently reciting the Pure Tranquility Scripture: “Heaven is clear, earth is turbid; heaven moves, earth is still. Men are clear, women are turbid; men move, women are still…” But that narrow back pulled his thoughts back again. He didn’t want to sleep at all. This long night would probably be even harder to endure than last night. Her body fragrance kept rushing into his nose, unstoppable. He felt he should turn away, but couldn’t bear to. He looked at her from time to time, hoping she would turn back, but she remained motionless—perhaps asleep.
How could this be… He covered his face, his mind hazy and confused, consciousness half-bright, half-dim. He had never so seriously observed the embroidered threads on the bed curtains before. This time he could see clearly—how many strands, the density of the pattern—all studied thoroughly.
Finally, he couldn’t help but softly call: “Wanwan…”
She didn’t speak, her shoulders trembling slightly.
“Won’t you talk to me?”
Her voice was muffled in the bedding: “Talk about what? It’s time to sleep.”
Anything would be good to talk about. When quiet, he would have wild thoughts—this was man’s greatest weakness. He began racking his brains: “Generally when husband and wife share a bed, the woman doesn’t use a pillow. Did your nanny tell you this?”
She was greatly puzzled, turning her head to ask why: “Then how would I sleep? Not using a pillow would be quite uncomfortable.”
He smiled with complete innocence and deep meaning: “You could pillow on my arm… If there’s no barrier between husband and wife, it’s always like this. Of course, if it’s mere appearance without substance, then there’s no such rule—separate beds would be fine.”
Wanwan was completely taken in by his deception: “Why didn’t my nanny tell me this? Is there really such a rule? Your Highness isn’t fooling me, is he?”
His tone was resolute—absolutely not.
Then what to do? Sleeping together meant embracing? Wouldn’t that cause heat rash in the height of summer!
She was again considering the issue of personal versus greater good. To preserve the overall situation, she had already resigned herself to consummation—what was pillowing on an arm?
She was truly innocent. Sitting up, a pair of glass-like eyes looking at him, she removed her pillow: “Since there’s such a saying, I can’t make you lose face. A gesture will suffice—I’ll sleep back on my own pillow later.”
He immediately extended his arm. She tried resting her ear against it—he said that was wrong, adjusted the position, and placed it under her neck.
Men’s flesh was all hard as stone, feeling like rock even through the inner garment. Wanwan didn’t understand what was good about this—it wasn’t comfortable at all. But for the sake of appearances, she forced herself to endure. However, lying so close, the two were almost pressed together, with no room to move away—truly unbearable.
Fine sandalwood accompanied by body warmth, the fragrance warm and lingering. Because the intimacy was merely protocol, all limbs were stiff and particularly awkward. He sighed: “Your Highness like this—how will we manage in the future? Some things must have a beginning. There are countless arranged marriages nowadays, and other couples get along fine. We’ve even met and spoken—why can’t we succeed? I’m wholehearted about living with you. Before the grand wedding, I looked in the mirror—I’m reasonably handsome, not enough to frighten you upon sight. Let’s take it slowly, a little each day—it doesn’t matter if it takes time. What matters is your willingness. Otherwise, if I’m the only one enthusiastic, it’s not a lasting solution.”
She had never seen other couples, but she had seen Xiao Duo and Yin Luo. They loved each other, even their gazes like glue. She wanted to taste that feeling but didn’t know if she could in this lifetime. She had already married the man before her—to learn like Yin Luo, it could only be with him. She had once felt he resembled Xiao Duo. Though somewhat shameful, secretly treating him as Xiao Duo—no one would know.
How sad. Sometimes she felt quite pitiful, always coveting others’ things. Self-pitying and focusing entirely on grievances, she forgot to resist. Without resistance, she became comfortable and truly treated him as a pillow, turning again to find a comfortable sleeping position and dozing off.
If only this arm were Xiao Duo’s. She sniffled, looking through a thin layer of tears at the well-proportioned muscles and slender finger joints. Beautiful men all looked similarly beautiful.
However, her attitude was far from what he had initially envisioned. He had prepared to open his arms to welcome her, but who knew the result would be like this.
He was deeply depressed and sighed sadly. She heard and slowly turned to look at him: “Is something wrong again? Haven’t I already pillowed on it…”
“Your Highness should face me.” He looked distressed: “Having me look at the back of your head isn’t really the meaning of living together.”
Did living together require staring at each other? She frowned: “How troublesome just to sleep! If it’s all as you say, why do other beds have two pillows? Clearly you’re deceiving me!”
She wasn’t so sharp-witted while lying down and was indeed easy to fool. He looked down at her smooth forehead and long, thick eyelashes. His heart instantly filled, dizzy and intoxicated as he casually responded: “Not for pillowing under the head—can also be placed at the waist.”
His heart truly trembled, a dull pain surging up until it blocked his throat. He didn’t dare directly embrace her with his other hand but subtly covered the blanket surface, tucking the empty space behind her while conveniently staying there without withdrawing.
Wanwan felt this person was unreliable, his words confused. She had originally wanted to argue with him further when she suddenly discovered she had fallen into his embrace.
The air suddenly became thin, even breathing seemed difficult. His chest was warm, and beneath the white satin crossed collar, a patch of skin showed, so well-maintained, nothing like a fierce warrior. Wanwan heard her own thunderous heartbeat. That feeling of helplessness returned—lying too close to him seemed wrong.
Blame her own naivety. He had probably used some beauty trap, and she had foolishly fallen for it. Wanting to regret midway, wanting to struggle free, he wouldn’t agree, gently holding her as his voice nearly dripped honey: “I’ve waited so many years, and you’ve finally come to my side. At Xihua Gate was our second meeting. Logically, after more than ten years, your appearance should have changed completely, but when I saw that little eunuch, I recognized you at first glance—how strange! I was once afraid, afraid that missing the chance meant a lifetime lost. Fortunately, Heaven treated me well—you still married me.”
She knew that agreeing to let him stay overnight inevitably meant such situations would occur. Though prepared a thousand times in her heart, she was still equally panicked when it happened. He finally brought up Xihua Gate, asking if she had specifically gone to see him. Her face burned: “No, it was because the Empress Dowager suddenly forbade me from attending the banquet. I was unwilling, so I snuck out.”
He laughed low: “Clearly went to see the monster… Didn’t anyone in the palace tell you that the Yuwen clan’s beauty is renowned throughout the realm?”
She was nearly mortified by his teasing, clumsily denying it, but didn’t guard against his warm lips landing on her forehead.