Ch 28: When the Wild Goose Returns

Qing Yan’s gaze flickered—she vaguely began to understand something.

Her fingers tightened around the little porcelain box, then she quickly caught herself, suddenly finding the empty box heavy in her hand.

A little flustered, she leaned forward and placed the now-empty box on the small table by the bed.

Withdrawing her hand, she sat up straight and awkwardly averted her eyes, focusing instead on the tassels hanging from the bed canopy.

“Lower the curtains,” came Duan Wucuo’s voice.

Qing Yan’s ears twitched slightly.

She stood and shuffled slowly to the side of the bed with her back to him, drawing the thick curtains down.

The bed immediately dimmed, cast into shadows.

Outside, the wedding candles flickered with red light that glowed through the curtain, casting warm, trembling silhouettes. The tassels swayed gently, their shadows dancing in layers.

Duan Wucuo remained patient, watching her slow, deliberate movements. He didn’t rush her, didn’t speak again.

Qing Yan sat at the edge of the bed, the curtain nearly brushing her face. She let out a soft breath that stirred the tassels, then quickly shut her mouth again.

She slipped off her shoes and slid under the blanket. Then, all of a sudden, she leaned in and kissed Duan Wucuo’s cool lips with a loud smooch—then darted back.

“Tasted. Now I can sleep!”

She flipped over fast, turning her back to him and lying at the edge of the bed, keeping a deliberate distance—nearly half her body hanging off the side.

But then, a hand draped across her slim waist.

Qing Yan stiffened instantly.

Duan Wucuo pulled her in effortlessly, holding her close.

Even though she was facing away, she was surrounded by his faint sandalwood scent.

“Shi Lingwu.”

Qing Yan took a moment to realize he was calling her.

Duan Wucuo gently turned her around by her shoulders so she lay flat in his arms, face-to-face with him.

The sudden closeness, locking eyes with him, made Qing Yan’s breath go shallow.

“That’s not how you taste,” he said.

Qing Yan stared at him, dumbly nodding, not sure she actually understood.

His gaze slowly swept across her delicate, palm-sized face, like admiring a fine piece of art.

This was the woman he chose—and that face had been the main reason.

His finger trailed along her cheek, downwards, pressing softly against her rosy lips, then lifted her chin.

Qing Yan watched his eyes intently, her lifelong training as a servant making her hyperaware of others’ expressions. She didn’t miss the faintest change in his look.

And there it was—disappointment.

What is he disappointed about?

A strange feeling stirred inside her. Foreign. She didn’t know what it was.

Suddenly, she could no longer see him—his palm had come down to cover her eyes.

Startled, Qing Yan blinked rapidly, her long lashes brushing against his palm like feathers.

Without sight, she felt lost. Reflexively, she reached out and accidentally grabbed his robe, thinking it was a corner of the blanket.

“This is how you taste,” he murmured.

Qing Yan barely parted her lips, not even able to ask what he meant—because the next moment, soft warmth covered her mouth.

Under the spring sun, a breeze rippled across the lake, spreading tiny waves.

In that moment, Qing Yan felt like one of those ripples—lifted gently, then trembling as her heart skipped and fluttered.

She instinctively tried to close her lips, but her chin was held firmly, her mouth coaxed open.

Her inexperience left her completely unguarded as her tongue was swept away by his.

She felt as though she were drifting on that calm lake.

Sky and water were one, mirrored in her mind’s eye—the reflection of her flushed, youthful face blushing deeper.

She was clumsy, stiff, but soft.

The sweetness of the candy still lingered on her lips and tongue, mixing now with her own natural, youthful fragrance.

Duan Wucuo couldn’t tell if the sweetness he tasted was from the candy or the girl herself.

He had only meant to sample the new sugar candy from Bixian Pavilion—but now he found himself lingering, lost in this different kind of sweetness.

Only when Qing Yan’s chest began to heave, short of breath, and her soft little hands weakly pressed against his chest did he finally release her.

He looked down, carefully examining her flushed cheeks.

He brushed her long lashes with his fingertip, his pale purple eyes holding her gaze.

“This pair of eyes,” he said softly, “is really a flaw.”

To Qing Yan, his voice seemed to drift—sometimes near, sometimes far.

Her eyes fell to his lips.

They were always pale, but now looked darker, glossier, the red silk of his robe making him look even more vivid—so dazzling she almost couldn’t bear to look at him.

His lips weren’t just redder—they were moist.

Seeing the sheen of moisture on them, her heart gave a quick, hard thump. She turned her face away in a panic.

With that movement, her collar shifted slightly, revealing more of her collarbone.

Duan Wucuo’s gaze followed, and with practiced ease, he tugged her collar aside to fully expose the delicate line of her left clavicle.

Then, with his thumb, he traced along its curve, slow and deliberate.

He leaned in, placing his ear over her heart.

With a half-smile, his voice warm and low, he said, “Your heart’s beating a bit too fast, my lady.”

Qing Yan shut her eyes tight, clamped her hands over her ears, and started reciting the Dao De Jing in her head.

See no evil, hear no evil, know nothing, care for nothing.

But Duan Wucuo’s soft chuckle slipped easily between Qing Yan’s fingers and into her ears.

He hadn’t meant to frighten her—nor to be too forward.

Patience was something he had in abundance.

His palm rested lightly at her waist, adjusting its hold as if in thought.

Then, in an unhurried voice, he asked,
“Wife, are you really eighteen?”

As he spoke, he pinched Qing Yan’s chin and turned her face toward him, studying her youthful features inch by inch.

Qing Yan was startled—like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her.

Princess Huachao was eighteen and a half. Qing Yan, however, was two years younger. She had just turned sixteen a few days ago.

She opened her eyes and met Duan Wucuo’s gaze.

His eyes always made her feel exposed, as if she had nowhere to hide.

If she were a cat demon, then his bottomless black pupils were a demon-revealing mirror.

Duan Wucuo continued,
“You look more like fourteen or fifteen at most.”

“Nonsense! How could I be just fifteen!”
Qing Yan snapped back.

She could accept looking sixteen—but fifteen? Absolutely not.

“I’m already eighteen! Long past eighteen!”

Duan Wucuo didn’t reply right away, a bit surprised by her strong reaction.

Qing Yan grew flustered and mumbled,
“Sister Wen Xi always says I have a wasp waist, long legs, and a full chest. How could I look like a child?”

“Oh?”
Duan Wucuo raised an eyebrow.

So she thought he was calling her underdeveloped?

But immaturity didn’t lie solely in body shape.

Sensing his continued doubt, Qing Yan grabbed Duan Wucuo’s wrist and guided his hand to her chest.

Lifting her chin slightly, she said in a proud, spoiled tone,
“If you don’t believe me, feel for yourself. Does this feel like fifteen to you?”

Duan Wucuo stared into her eyes and fell silent.

The two locked eyes in a tense standoff.

Qing Yan’s cheeks, which had just cooled down, began to burn again.

After a long pause, Duan Wucuo suddenly laughed.

His laugh shimmered at the corners of his eyes and rumbled low in his chest.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the center of hers.

The sound of his laughter seemed to echo from between their brows all the way into Qing Yan’s heart.

He asked,
“Wife, why the rush?”

Qing Yan gave a light huff, then gathered her courage and muttered,
“Don’t think I don’t know. There are rules. Having a child while pledged to the Buddha is an act of deep disrespect. You won’t consummate the marriage tonight at all. You’re just teasing me on purpose to make me look foolish…”

Her voice trailed off, feeling a little guilty.

Duan Wucuo hummed thoughtfully, then said,
“But who says consummation must result in a child? One bowl of contraception decoction and that solves everything.”

Qing Yan’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“You’d make me drink that?”

She had been sold several times as a child. At age nine, her adoptive mother sold her to a brothel to do laundry for the courtesans. She saw those women drink thick, black contraception brews every day.

Since then, Qing Yan had believed that only prostitutes drank such things.

She pressed her lips tightly together, cheeks puffed, round apricot eyes brimming with angry tears.

Seeing her genuinely upset, Duan Wucuo fell silent again.

Truthfully, he had only said it in passing—he never actually planned to go that far.

After a while, Qing Yan softened her tone and said quietly,
“I got angry too soon… and I’m exhausted. I want to sleep.”

She tugged at her robe, inch by inch, trying to pull it closed again like she was reclaiming stolen territory.

“I ate the candy earlier too. Did you figure out what kind it was?”
Duan Wucuo asked.

Qing Yan shook her head.

Duan Wucuo lay on his side, eyes closed, one hand resting lazily on his forehead. He said with casual indifference,
“Then come taste again. Guess the candy flavor, and you can sleep.”

Qing Yan let out a soft groan.
“Why do I feel like I’ve become a lamb waiting for slaughter…”

Duan Wucuo didn’t respond.

Through the reddish candlelight filtering past the canopy, his profile glowed faintly.

Qing Yan looked at him and thought—he really is good-looking.

For a moment, a foolish wish rose in her heart:
If only I truly were Princess Huachao… If only I had truly married him…

No. She mustn’t think like that.

Qing Yan pressed her lips together. How should she taste him?
The way he taught her?

She tried to recall the earlier moment, but just thinking about it made that strange unease bubble up again in her chest.

Not daring to think further, she simply leaned over and rubbed against him awkwardly.

The corners of Duan Wucuo’s lips lifted—clearly amused.

“Did you figure it out?”
he asked.

Kneeling beside him, Qing Yan lowered her head, her ears scarlet.

She shook her head.

Duan Wucuo sighed.

This girl blushes far too easily.

Yawning lazily, he pulled her by the wrist into his arms, and the red double-joy wedding quilt covered them both.

Qing Yan scooted down under the covers, leaving only half her face exposed.

Duan Wucuo kissed the top of her head and casually said,
“It was violet sugar candy.”

Violet sugar…

Qing Yan silently repeated the name in her mind.

So that’s what violet sugar tasted like.

She remembered seeing her mistress eat one once—but she had never tried it herself.

Tomorrow, she’d have to get some to try properly…

Duan Wucuo knew she was still awake after a long while. He subtly moved the hand resting on her waist away.

Sure enough, Qing Yan looked up at him from his arms, then slowly—like a little turtle—crawled away, turned over, and lay with her back to him, close to the wall.

Soon, her breathing evened out. She had finally fallen asleep.

Duan Wucuo smiled faintly, a rare sense of ease and contentment rising in him.

It was a feeling he hadn’t had during all those years wielding military power and battling court politics.

—

The next morning, Qing Yan rubbed her eyes as she woke.

She wasn’t exactly a neat sleeper—half of the double-joy quilt had fallen to the ground.

She stared blankly at the empty pillow beside her.

Only after a moment did she call out for Wen Xi.

“Did you make him suspicious?”
Wen Xi asked softly when she came in.

Qing Yan thought for a bit, then shook her head.

Wen Xi finally let out a breath of relief and signaled for Sui’er and Qing’er to come in and help with her washing and dressing.

“We’ll have breakfast, then meet the staff of the manor,” Wen Xi said.