Chapter 30
Chapter 30: Night Talks Between Two Couples
Heir Apparent’s Residence — Main House
“Madam, open the door…”
Lin De Fang practically pasted himself to the carved door, his voice syrupy enough to stretch.
“Your husband knows he was wrong. Truly wrong!”
From inside, Madam Wang’s cold snort cut through the wood like winter wind.
“Wrong? I think your lust has made you fearless. You carried that filthy thing in here and still dared to say it was ‘for Qing Xuan’?”
“Heaven as my witness!”
Lin De Fang sprang upright and held up three fingers toward the crack, swearing like the door itself could judge him.
“It really was to help that boy open up! A rare copy from my second brother. I spent a full five hundred taels of private silver on it!”
Footsteps approached.
Lin De Fang’s heart kicked. He hurriedly backed up half a step.
The latch clicked.
The door opened a sliver.
Madam Wang’s face stayed icy. Only half of it showed, eyes sharp and merciless.
“Five hundred taels… for that trash?”
“Madam, judge fairly!”
Lin De Fang seized the moment, jammed his shoulder into the gap, and slipped inside. In the same breath he reached back—
Clack.
He bolted the door.
Smooth. Ruthless. Like he’d practiced.
“This isn’t some cheap picture book,” he insisted, already digging into his sleeve. “It’s a palace treasure from the previous dynasty. Look at the silk, the coloring…”
He produced the “culprit” with a flourish.
Spring Palace Secret Play Illustrations.
He flipped straight to the page titled “Twenty-Four Springs” and held it up like a priceless offering.
“See? The composition—how refined. How artistic!”
Madam Wang’s gaze landed on the two figures tangled together on the page, and heat shot up her ears in an instant.
Shame. Fury. A fluster sharp enough to bite.
“Lin De Fang—you… mm—”
The rest of her scolding died in her throat.
The Heir Apparent had always believed in one hard truth: practice made perfect.
One arm locked around Madam Wang’s waist. With the other, he lifted the “textbook” high, as solemn as scripture, and followed its so-called thirty-sixth move—“Red Candles Lighting the Makeup”—pressing her back onto the deep canopy bed embroidered with blessings of countless sons and grandsons.
Hibiscus curtains warmed.
The spring night grew short.
And the Heir Apparent decided, with great sincerity, to test the true “teaching value” of five hundred taels.
General’s Residence — East Wing
“Wife…”
Lin De Shang dropped to his knees at the footstool by the bed, his broad hands clutching at Madam’s hem like it was the only thing keeping him alive. His face was full of grievance.
“I truly didn’t mean to hide it. I was afraid it wasn’t even settled yet, and I’d only make you happy for nothing…”
Second Madam lounged against the headboard, her manicured fingertip poking his oversized forehead.
“Our daughter saw his bath towel with her own eyes, and you’re still telling me there’s ‘nothing to it’?”
“Then… then I was even more afraid to say it!”
General Lin wiped sweat from his brow and rubbed his hands together so hard they nearly smoked.
“He’s the Buddhist Scion of the Auspicious Cloud Residence. If this spreads, what if it ruins his quiet practice?”
“Hah.”
Second Madam’s eyes brightened. Mischief—sweet and poisonous—rose in her chest.
“Then tomorrow I’ll take it straight to your sister-in-law and shame her. She’s always putting on airs as the heir’s madam—let’s see if she can still hold her head that high!”
“Absolutely not!”
Lin De Shang nearly lost his soul. He shook his head like a rattle drum, panic pouring off him.
Then inspiration struck—what he clearly believed was genius.
“What if… we pick two clever-eyed, pretty maids with good figures and send them to Qing Xuan? He chants sutras all day and hasn’t seen many proper young ladies. I’m worried his taste won’t be any good—what if he can’t pick a decent one later?”
Smack.
An embroidered pillow hit him square in the face.
“Lin De Shang! Do you think you’re raising a mistress for yourself? If Old Madam finds out, she’ll peel your skin off!”
Second Madam scolded him, but her mouth betrayed her—
Pfft.
She laughed.
“Still… you know, imagining that icy little Buddhist Scion dragged off his pedestal, stained with the smoke and heat of the mortal world… isn’t that strangely exciting?”
The moment General Lin saw her smile, his courage swelled like yeast. He latched on and climbed.
“Then Madam, will you pick your husband tonight as well? I promise I’m more exciting than that boy!”
He lunged like a tiger, sweeping her and the quilts into his arms in one brutal, affectionate tumble.
The lotus-vine embroidery on the bed curtains shook wildly, rippling in waves.
If there was one thing the Lin men proved again and again, it was this: when it came to coaxing a wife, they never did it halfway.
Auspicious Cloud Residence — East Wing
Xiao Man plunged her entire face into a cold copper basin.
Glug, glug…
A long string of bubbles rose.
She snapped her head up. In the bronze mirror, her face dripped; damp wisps clung to her temples, water sliding off her chin.
She shoved the window open. Night wind sweet with osmanthus rushed in—cool, fragrant, useless. It couldn’t scatter the heat burning under her skin.
Moonlight poured over her like mercury, bright and cold, and still it couldn’t douse the nameless wicked fire coiled in her chest.
Outside, a few fallen osmanthus blossoms lay scattered on the bluestone path like flecks of gold.
Auspicious Cloud Residence — Main House
Lin Qing Xuan stood quietly at the window.
The prayer beads he’d been turning for so long had stopped on a single bodhi seed, motionless beneath his fingers.
Moonlight slid over his plain white inner robe and gathered in the hollow of his sharp collarbones, pooling like pale radiance.
Ten paces away, the east wing’s silhouette flickered in shifting tree shadows—bright, then dim, then bright again.
He watched the only window that still glowed with lamplight. His throat moved, almost imperceptibly.
Behind the screen, the water in the large bathing tub had long since cooled.
Yet he remembered clearly the sensation of those hands wiping his back.
Shaking badly. Fingertips icy. Still forcing calm.
The Buddhist Scion lowered his lashes and rolled the next bead with a slow, steady touch.