Chapter 5
Chapter 5: Night and Day, Worlds Apart
Bang, bang, bang—someone hammered on the door, urgent and impatient.
“Xiao Man! Are you dead in there? The steward told you to go to Eldest Young Master’s Auspicious Cloud Residence and deliver newly made incense.”
Chun Yan’s voice—sharp, cutting, and far too loud.
Xiao Man’s heart dropped.
Auspicious Cloud Residence.
Of all places, it was the one she wanted to avoid.
“I… my stomach isn’t well,” she called through the door, voice thin.
Outside, Chun Yan gave a cold laugh. “Oh, so you’re precious? The residence chores don’t ‘choose’ people. If you won’t go, then tell the steward yourself. Don’t drag me into it.”
Footsteps faded away.
Xiao Man leaned against the door, face drained of color.
She couldn’t avoid it.
In the end, she carried the incense on a tray and walked toward the Auspicious Cloud Residence one heavy step at a time. The closer she got, the heavier her feet became, her heartbeat climbing into her throat.
The courtyard was unnaturally quiet. Servants kept their heads lowered, breathing shallowly, as if sound itself might offend.
Under the veranda, Lin Qing Xuan sat in a round-backed chair. Prayer beads rolled through his fingers. His eyes were closed.
He wore plain white monk’s robes, so clean they looked like snow. His features were cool and distant, his presence pushing everyone away without a word.
This was the real Buddhist Scion.
Pure. Unmoved. Untouchable.
Nothing like the man in her dreams.
Xiao Man’s chest sank, then steadied.
Of course. It had been her own filthy thoughts shaping those shameless nights.
She handed the tray over to the courtyard steward and an old maidservant and turned to leave.
“You.”
A clear male voice cut through the stillness.
Xiao Man froze so hard it felt as if her blood had turned to ice.
It was Lin Qing Xuan.
She didn’t dare look back.
“Raise your head.”
No emotion. No softness. Just an order.
Xiao Man clenched her skirt until her knuckles went white. Slowly—too slowly—she turned and lifted her face.
Lin Qing Xuan had opened his eyes.
Those eyes, always distant, now rested on her without blinking.
Her pulse stuttered.
What did he want?
Had he noticed something?
Then Lin Qing Xuan lifted a hand and lightly touched his own earlobe.
That exact spot—
The same place she had bitten in the dream.
The gesture was quick, almost careless. Yet Xiao Man saw it with merciless clarity.
Her mind went blank.
Lin Qing Xuan lowered his hand, flicked his beads once, and looked away.
“Go.”
Xiao Man fled the courtyard as if chased. In her head she repeated it like a charm: it didn’t count, it didn’t count, she must have imagined it.
Back in her room, she called for Tuan Tuan into the empty air.
No answer.
Silence, as if it had never existed.
Night still came.
In the dream, Lin Qing Xuan leaned close and murmured against her ear, “Let’s live as ordinary husband and wife, Xiao Man.”
Xiao Man resisted—two heartbeats at most—then surrendered to that face, to that voice, to the sweet, reckless pull of it.
It was only a dream. Dreams held no consequences. No pregnancy. No status. No household barriers.
Better still, in the dream his devotion belonged to her alone.
A dangerous thought rose, bright and shameless: dragging that cool, abstinent Buddhist Scion down from his pedestal.
Xiao Man clung to a thread of luck. In a little while she would be released from the residence.
[My fiercest achievement in this era is sleeping with Lin Qing Xuan in my dreams.]
[That spotless Buddhist Scion is mine in the dark. No one knows—but I do, and it thrills me.]
[Once I’m out, I’ll still be a proper unmarried daughter, with silver in hand. I’ll run far away. With a skill of my own, I can live.]
In the dim candlelight, he held a gleaming grape between his lips and bent toward her.
Xiao Man tipped her chin up to receive the cool sweetness. Her thin green blouse brushed his lapel by accident. The clean taste spilled between their lips as their breaths tangled, scalding the edges of the dream.
Through the haze she wondered, startled—when had he learned such tricks?
Last night he had still been clumsy, knocking against her teeth. Tonight he moved like a hunter who knew exactly where to press.
His sleeve brushed her damp forehead. The prayer beads at his wrist stayed strangely cold, even as the rest of him burned.
Xiao Man suddenly thought of Tuan Tuan.
Why hadn’t she seen that fog?
Lin Qing Xuan’s voice turned low. “You’re distracted?”
“I’m not.”
He nipped her lip, a hint of irritation in the bite. “You’re looking for that fog?”
“Wait—what did you say?” Xiao Man tried to push him away.
The candlelight swayed on the bed curtains, warming the room into a soft blur.
Lin Qing Xuan caught her, fingers sliding over her through cloth, sparking fine ripples. He didn’t let her escape. He pressed in, stealing sweetness from her lips again and again, breath hot and relentless.
“Xiao Man,” he murmured against her mouth, “don’t lose focus…”
The warning dissolved into broken kisses. Words curled around her like vines, dragging the last of her reason down until only ragged breathing remained.
Then his voice slipped into her ear, quiet as a blade.
“My good Xiao Man… the fog is me. I am the fog.”
She went cold.
“This is a dream,” he said, and something in his tone turned merciless, “and not a dream. You and I share it—share every sensation. You can’t escape.”
Dawn bled through the paper window, turning the floor a pale gray.
Xiao Man jolted upright, drenched in cold sweat, her underclothes clinging to her back.
You and I share it—share every sensation. You can’t escape.
The words looped in her head like a curse.
Empathic resonance. Shared dream.
So everything she had done—every shameless thing—he hadn’t merely known.
He had been there.
With her.
It hadn’t been her dream at all. It had been their shared fall.
Xiao Man’s face went bloodless. She had thought she was the one taking advantage, indulging in secret.
Instead, she had stepped into a net he had woven and tightened.
Outside, the third-rank maids stirred awake. Xiao Man slid off the bed, legs weak, nearly collapsing.
In the mirror, her lips held no color. Dark shadows bruised beneath her eyes.
She scooped cold water and splashed it over her face, hard enough to sting. It cleared her head for a moment, but the chill inside only deepened.
How was she supposed to face him today?
In the courtyard, Chun Yan stood laughing with others, basin in hand. When she spotted Xiao Man, she lifted her voice with gleeful cruelty.
“Well, look who it is. Did you lose your soul last night, or go stealing? You’re white as a paper doll.”
The maids giggled behind their hands.
Xiao Man clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms, and walked past without a word. She didn’t dare argue. She was afraid her voice would shake.
She moved through the morning like a ghost, doing her tasks with numb hands, thoughts knotted tight.
Tuan Tuan was Lin Qing Xuan.
Cool and distant by day. Burning and relentless at night.
What kind of man was he?
“Xiao Man!”
The steward old maidservant’s sharp voice snapped her name like a whip.
“What are you dawdling for? Eldest Young Master’s copy of the Diamond Sutra is finished. Deliver it.”
The sutra book was shoved into Xiao Man’s arms. The stiff paper edge dug into her chest.
Again.
Auspicious Cloud Residence—the place she tried to avoid had become a prison she couldn’t escape.
She carried the Diamond Sutra with steps that felt like blades.
The courtyard was silent. The sandalwood scent was thicker than ever, heavy enough to drown in.
Lin Qing Xuan sat beneath the veranda, sunlight washing over his white robes as if laying a false halo on his shoulders. This time he wasn’t rolling prayer beads. He was reading.
Xiao Man lowered her head, set the sutra softly on the stone table, and turned to flee.
“Stop.”
The clear voice struck straight through her spine.
Xiao Man froze, unable to breathe. Behind her, only the soft rustle of turning pages sounded—slow, unhurried, as if he were savoring her fear.
After a long moment, he spoke without looking up.
“Last night, you said you liked me wearing crimson.”
Xiao Man’s entire body began to tremble.
She spun around.
Lin Qing Xuan still looked at the page, his profile hard and flawless. He didn’t glance at her. But that single sentence unlocked the gates of hell.
In the dream, she had truly clung to him, whining that white looked too cold on him, insisting he change into the bright crimson she liked.
How could he—
“I don’t like that color,” he said, turning the page.
Xiao Man’s lips parted, but no sound came out.
Slowly, Lin Qing Xuan lifted his eyes. In those calm, distant pupils, her horrified face reflected with painful clarity.
The corner of his mouth moved—so faint it could have been imagined.
“Are you afraid of me?”