Li Xuandu had been in high spirits that evening and drank quite a lot at the banquet. By the time the feast concluded, he was thoroughly drunk. He had managed to hold himself together in front of the guests, but once away from the crowd, his steps grew unsteady, and he staggered badly enough that Luo Bao had to support him all the way back to his quarters.

Pu Zhu was worried. She handed their son over to A’mu, let A’mu take him to sleep for the night, set everything else aside, and carried a bowl of sobering soup back to the room to check on him.

He was lying on the bed fully clothed, flat on his back with his eyes closed, as though he had already fallen asleep. Luo Bao was crouched at the bedside, pulling off his boots.

Pu Zhu sent Luo Bao to prepare bathwater, then gently patted Li Xuandu’s cheek. When he opened his eyes, she helped him sit up and had him drink the sobering soup.

He was very compliant. He took the bowl and drained it in one go.

Pu Zhu had meant to scold him for drinking so much, but seeing how obedient he was even in his drunken state, her heart softened. She touched his forehead — it felt a little feverish — and helped him remove the remaining boot from his foot. “Let’s get you a bath,” she said. “You’ll sleep better after you’ve washed up.”

He nodded. Pu Zhu fetched his indoor slippers. When he stood, his body swayed again, and Pu Zhu caught him with both hands, steadying him as she led him into the bathing room.

She bathed him herself.

He was quiet throughout, leaning back in the tub with his head tilted slightly to one side, eyes closed. Except to raise or lower his arms or turn at her direction, he barely moved at all.

Warm mist rose from the surface of the water and drifted upward, slowly condensing on his brows and lashes, gathering into glistening droplets like scattered fragments of crystal.

“Come on out now.”

Her soft voice reached his ear.

He opened his eyes. The water droplets tumbled from his lashes and rolled swiftly down his face.

Pu Zhu dried him off, helped him into a loose, soft inner robe, guided him back to the bed and settled him down, then tucked the blanket around him. “Go to sleep,” she said quietly. “I’ll go check on Luan’er.”

She lowered the bed curtain and turned to leave. Then, from the gap in the curtains behind her, a hand suddenly shot out and seized her wrist.

She stopped and turned. Lifting the curtain with her free hand, she found him already awake, lying against the pillow and looking up at her.

“I want you to stay with me.”

He said it in a muffled, subdued tone — and then gave a gentle tug.

Pu Zhu was unprepared. He pulled her right onto him.

“You’re supposed to be drunk — stop making a fuss! Go to sleep…”

She struggled a few times, trying to climb off him, but he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight. With one roll, he flipped them, and she went from lying on top of him to lying beneath him.

In the scuffle, both of her embroidered shoes were kicked off, clattering one after another onto the floor beside the bed.

“Hey, hey… I need to go check on Luan’er… Li Xuandu… what are you doing…”

He seemed not to hear her. He lowered his head, pressed his face down, and sealed her protesting little mouth with his own.

His body burned like a furnace. His breath was heavy and warm, carrying the mingled scent of wine and the lingering steam from his bath, washing over her in waves.

Pu Zhu was completely swallowed up by his presence.

How could she possibly refuse him like this?

Her mind went hazy, and she quickly stopped struggling.

She had always known he liked her to hold him close. It had never changed.

She gently raised her arms, climbed up his blazing body, and slowly tightened her hold around the back of his neck and his shoulders.

His mood seemed to grow ever more intense. He pressed his lips along the curve of her throat, kissing his way downward.

Her delicate face seemed to have caught the flush of his wine, blooming with a faint, tender pink.

She closed her eyes. Her lashes trembled softly as she waited for the final surge of his passion.

Then, slowly, he stopped.

He buried his face against her neck. And was still.

At first she thought the drink had finally overtaken him and he had fallen asleep right there. How absolutely typical — she had been about to go see her son, had been detained against her will, her heart racing and her throat dry, waiting for him, and he had the audacity to abandon her like this and pass out on the spot.

She wanted to laugh, but felt a twinge of exasperation as well — and on top of that, once he had gone still, his weight was soon pressing the breath out of her. She quietly exhaled and was just about to push him off when she stopped.

She felt something. Against the skin of her neck — a slow, spreading warmth. Like a damp mist, gathering drop by drop.

Pu Zhu slowly opened her eyes and gazed at the back of the man lying motionless on top of her. And deep within her, that tender, soft feeling surged up without restraint.

She understood. She no longer tried to push him away, said nothing at all. She simply wrapped her arms around him once more, slowly, holding him close, bearing his weight, letting him press his face into her skin.

“…Zhuzhu, I ought to be happy. Father Emperor believed me — he believes I never betrayed him. I truly should be happy. But I feel such sorrow inside… I don’t even know why…”

After a long silence, she finally heard his voice — low and hoarse, suppressed, unsteady — murmuring close to her ear.

She said nothing. She only raised her hand and gently stroked his head, letting that be her answer — telling him she knew his grief, that she was listening.

His face remained pressed against her warm, smooth skin. After another long while, he finally, slowly opened his eyes and lifted his head.

Candlelight filtered quietly through the curtain, tracing the lines of a face whose slightly upswept eyes were strikingly, incomparably handsome.

But Pu Zhu could see that the corners of his eyes were threaded with a faint redness.

“Zhuzhu,” he said, gazing down at her as she lay against the pillow, his voice still low. “Tonight I thought of my father Emperor, and of my elder brother the Crown Prince…”

He paused.

“When I was small, it wasn’t only Father Emperor — my elder brother, the Crown Prince, he was genuinely good to me too. If Father Emperor had been able to trust his own sons all along, if the Crown Prince had never made that one terrible misstep… none of it should have come to this…”

His voice broke off. The corners of his eyes slowly reddened.

Pu Zhu looked steadily into his eyes. She raised her hand and let her fingertips tenderly trace the lines of his face. “It’s all in the past,” she said softly. “When we return, we’ll take Luan’er to see your father Emperor. We’ll let him know you don’t blame him — that you’re still his Yuli’er, just as you always were…”

Li Xuandu closed his eyes briefly, then reached up and caught the hand she had been using to wipe his tears. He pressed it to his lips and kissed her fingers one by one. When he had kissed every finger of her hand, he pulled her close again and continued kissing her body.

Like a greedy, insatiable child, he clung to her through the night without cease. It was not until the small hours of the morning, after yet another moment of fulfillment, that he finally exhausted himself, and holding her close, sank into sleep.

This time, he was truly asleep.

Pu Zhu, worn out from keeping up with him, was nearly at her limit as well. Now that he had finally nestled contentedly against her and grown quiet, she let out a long breath, closed her eyes, and drifted off almost immediately.

Li Xuandu woke sometime later, opened his eyes, and found the curtained bed filled with broad daylight.

The night had passed. Morning had come.

He had kept her up until deep into the night, and as a result had slept well past his usual hour.

On any other morning he woke to find her curled up in his arms. This morning was different — he opened his eyes to discover his own face tucked against her chest, while one of her arms was wrapped around his head, holding him.

She appeared to be sleeping very soundly. Still not awake.

For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Li Xuandu suddenly had the strange sensation that he had turned into Luan’er — needing to be coaxed to sleep in her arms.

It was a thought that carried a fair degree of shame. And yet the feeling of sleeping nestled in her embrace, of being held by her — this was the first time, and it was extraordinarily good…

He was reluctant to break it so soon.

After a brief, silent internal struggle, he gave up resisting. Rather than pulling away, he quietly pressed himself closer, until his face was buried fully against her softness. He lay like that for a moment, decided it still wasn’t quite enough, and then — taking advantage of her sleep — rubbed his face gently against her, breathing in deeply the warm, sweet fragrance rising from her skin…

Li Xuandu felt his body quickly and thoroughly come awake. But thinking she might still be tired, he could only endure. He lay against her a little longer, eyes closed, and then — unbidden — the thought occurred to him that his son got to wake up like this in her arms every single day, and jealousy quietly stirred in his chest.

He was still lost in these wandering thoughts when he felt her body give a faint tremor.

He hesitated, then lifted his head and opened his eyes. Her eyes were still closed, but her two rows of lashes were trembling continuously against her eyelids. He understood at once.

She had woken up long ago. She had only been pretending to sleep, humouring him — and quietly laughing at him all the while.

He stared at her where she still lay with eyes closed, the light in his gaze slowly darkening. Then, without warning, he pounced, and in an instant had her pinned solidly beneath him.

Pu Zhu had no time to react. She let out a startled cry, opened her eyes — and met his gaze looking down at her.

“Awake?”

He leaned his face toward hers, his expression dark and intent.

Pu Zhu bit her lip, sensing that something was not going to go well for her.

“Were you just laughing at me?”

He pressed closer still, his face drawing nearer to hers with each word.

Pu Zhu shook her head vigorously. “I wasn’t!”

She truly had not been laughing at him on purpose. She had simply woken early to find him sleeping in her arms, still deep in slumber, and had watched his sleeping face for a while. Remembering the way he had lost control of his emotions in his drunkenness the night before, she had been flooded with such tenderness that she had pulled him closer, wanting him to sleep on. She had not expected to witness, firsthand, the spectacle of him waking up and still refusing to leave the comfort of her embrace. It had simply been too much — she could not help but laugh quietly to herself…

He looked decidedly displeased, his face cool. “I don’t believe you. You were absolutely laughing at me.”

“I really wasn’t!”

Her face was flushed scarlet. She denied it again, then glanced toward the curtain.

The light on the eastern window was very bright. It was surely quite late. She quickly reached out to push him aside and sat up.

“Enough — it’s late, I’m not playing around anymore, I need to get up! I haven’t seen Luan’er all night — he must be awake by now, he’ll be missing me…”

Li Xuandu narrowed his eyes and gave a small push, and she fell back against the pillow. Then both her hands were captured and pinned firmly above her head.

“A’mu is with him, he’s perfectly fine—”

Before the words were out of his mouth, he launched a decisive assault.

A short while later, A’mu, sleeping in the adjoining room, came out and signalled to the maids waiting in the courtyard to attend to the morning routine. She gestured at them to hold off on opening the courtyard gate.

Then she went back inside.

Luan’er had been awake for some time. After being fed, he sat up on the bed and happily crawled back and forth, giggling as A’mu played with him. The silver bells tied around his wrist gave off bright, clear chiming sounds with every movement. From the inner bedroom next door came the faint, barely audible soft sounds of the room’s occupants. Together, these sounds wove themselves into a pleasant little melody of morning.

—