079 The First Kiss Amid Turmoil

Chapter Title: 079 The First Kiss Amid Deep Waters and Fiery Flames

In the radiant April sunshine, Fang Rulai, who had spent most of the day napping with her bottom exposed to the sun, was awakened by hunger. As she opened her eyes, two rows of young maidservants stood ready, carrying an array of items and waiting in line. Seeing Fang Rulai awake, they vied with each other, eager yet orderly, to please the local magnate. Whoever served their mistress best would receive a hefty reward, starting at ten taels of gold.

“Mistress, would you like to wash your face? This is natural spring water,” one maid offered.

Fang Rulai nodded, and the delighted maid brought the basin forward. Curious, Fang Rulai washed her face and sincerely praised, “Refreshing and clean, not tight at all. Yes, I deserve this.”

The little maid giggled quietly, satisfied—her ten taels of gold were assured.

“Mistress, here, let me wipe your face. This towel is made of thousand-silk brocade from Zhangzhou—one thousand taels of silk for a single square of brocade.”

Taking the cloth and laying it over her face, Fang Rulai sighed, “Thick, soft, and absorbent. Loving your face is loving yourself.”

The second maid flashed a victorious gesture to her sisters and withdrew, happy with her reward.

“Mistress, would you like to rinse your mouth? This is a tribute from Nantai, red-tailed blood bird’s nest. Among the common folk, it’s priceless.”

Without looking, Fang Rulai reached for the tea bowl to drink, but paused, her expression heavy. “Bird’s nest, for rinsing?”

The maid’s heart tightened—if she didn’t rinse, her ten taels would be lost.

Fang Rulai tilted her head back and swallowed it all in one gulp. “Nourishing, beautifying, anti-aging. Every drop rich and fragrant—more, please!”

The maid was stunned for a moment, then ran off, “Please wait, Mistress.” Though it wasn’t for rinsing but drinking, two bowls meant twenty taels of gold!

As that maid ran off, the fourth one, prepared to step forward, was dumbfounded. Her tray held a large empty bowl, formally called a mouth-rinse basin, meant to catch the water spat out after rinsing. But today, the mistress didn’t spit—she swallowed it! That meant she was useless, her ten taels gone. The maid’s expression fell into utter despair.

Fang Rulai noticed and was about to ask what was wrong, but the fifth maid pressed forward eagerly, “Mistress, would you like to put on makeup? Here’s osmanthus balm from Shengjing, rouge from the Western lands, Persian blue sparrow pigment, and Bairen’s hundred-flower hair ornaments. Would you like to…”

“Stop!” Fang Rulai glanced at the tray full of cosmetics, picked up a hand mirror, examined herself, and then pointed at her bald head, asking, “How could I possibly… not look awful?”

“Uh…” Right, with a bald head, it seemed nothing could help. The young maid, too innocent to lie for her ten taels, stood frozen.

Fang Rulai looked at the tray again, remembering her once fabulous waves on the sports field. Her mood sank, and she waved, “Take them away.”

The fifth maid, joined by the fourth, ran off crying—their ten taels lost!

Fang Rulai was startled—what was happening?

The remaining maids had no time to explain or sympathize; their own ten taels were still at risk. They surged forward—face washed, mouth rinsed, now it must be time to eat? After all, Fang Rulai’s stomach had loudly rumbled when she awoke.

“Mistress, please try my sesame abalone porridge—fresh abalone preserved in ice wells, not dried…”

“Mistress, these are crystal shrimp dumplings, made from rare tiger prawns…”

“Mistress, I’ve prepared tender boiled sparrow eggs—the white-haired Bin sparrow, one in ten thousand this spring…”

“Mistress…”

The enthusiastic faces, the fragrant dishes, the fiery eyes eager to feed her by hand—Fang Rulai’s hunger and appetite, which should have been overwhelming, suddenly vanished.

Spring water, thousand-silk brocade, red-tailed blood bird’s nest, top cosmetics from every corner, and a luxurious breakfast of at least eight dishes—just the look revealed the countless silver behind it. Instantly, Fang Rulai thought of a certain fool.

“Guan Shiyin, come out!”

A gust of wind suddenly swept in from outside, knocking the circle of maids askew and toppling Fang Rulai, who stood with hands on hips, shouting. The wind was like a tornado, spinning Fang Rulai in midair for seven hundred and twenty degrees, adding a Thomas roll, before depositing her with a soft “poof” back onto the window-side couch she had just vacated.

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the half-open window, bathing the couch. Thick brocade blankets were spread atop, their vibrant red satin embroidered with golden mandarin ducks, shimmering lifelike in the sun. At the center, Guan Shiyin, his true face revealed after shedding Sun Ming’s disguise, lay beneath Fang Rulai, deliberately choosing to be pinned rather than to pin.

With willow brows arched like the moon, seductive eyes brimming with feeling, a nose both sharp and alluring, and lips tinged with flirtatious warmth, Guan Shiyin’s smile outshone the sun, brightened the satin, and embarrassed even the mandarin ducks. He stirred a haze in the mind and a wildness in the heart, leaving Fang Rulai dazed.

Pause. Lying atop Guan Shiyin, Fang Rulai’s gaze grew hazy; she couldn’t help but reach out, wanting to grasp that smile at his eyes and brows and claim it for herself.

“Heh.” Her fingertip brushed Guan Shiyin’s long eyelashes, making him laugh softly, unable to resist the tickle.

For Fang Rulai, that laugh instantly dispelled the seductive fog before her eyes.

What was she doing?! Fang Rulai snapped awake, tensed, and tried to pull back her hand.

But Guan Shiyin wouldn’t let her. After finally seducing her—well, halfway—he couldn’t let it end now, lest he develop a psychological aversion to smiling in the future.

Needing to prevent Fang Rulai from escaping, Guan Shiyin stretched his neck, turned his face, and pinned her hand to the brocade blanket. The sweet warmth of just-awakened skin flowed through their contact, and before he realized it, his lips pressed against Fang Rulai’s palm.

Half a month’s pent-up longing, thought to be merely the budding passion of youth, suddenly surged into a tide of desire.

Strange, yet stirring.

His breath quickly became heavy and urgent.

Fang Rulai felt her palm heat as if pressed to burning coals; her mind flashed a yellow “danger” warning.

She tensed again, instinctively trying to withdraw her hand. But before her strength reached her arm, Guan Shiyin gripped her waist, spun his body, and pressed Fang Rulai beneath him.

“You—mm!” She managed a syllable before Guan Shiyin silenced her with a finger to her lips.

That finger burned like a coal, taut as iron, trembling with restless blood beneath.

The yellow warning in Fang Rulai’s mind escalated to orange. Instinct told her not to move her lips, lest worse measures follow. So she clenched her fists and quickly pressed them to Guan Shiyin’s chest, hoping to signal him to move.

But powerless and at a disadvantage, she was no match for Guan Shiyin. He merely reached out, slid, and grabbed, capturing her wrists.

He pulled her arms close, and her fists pressed against his left chest.

That was not a normal heartbeat—through the clothing, her fists felt searing heat as if touching coals. Fang Rulai seemed infected, her heart pounding wildly, and her hands, body, and spirit all began to burn.

The dryness in her mouth was sudden and overwhelming. Instinctively, her throat tightened, lips pressed together, wanting to swallow to ease it. But she forgot—his finger was still between her lips. As she pressed her lips, the moisture passed to his finger. The burning skin cooled briefly, then the restless blood found an outlet at the damp finger, surging forth.

The heat escalated instantly from coal to molten lava.

Ding—the warning in Fang Rulai’s mind blazed red.

Her eyes widened in terror, reflexively opening her mouth to stop something—but as soon as she did, Guan Shiyin’s scorching breath flooded in.

Like a formidable wave, overwhelming; like a raging fire, fierce and all-consuming.

Fang Rulai felt like a delicate fish, a drop of water meeting fire. Forget escaping—just maintaining her sanity, not being drowned or scorched dry, was no easy feat.

Her eyes were open, but in the blurry haze, she saw only his jet-black hair, haloed by the sun’s golden glow.

Her hands, released as he kissed her, should have pushed him away, but in the depths of fiery torment, she only gripped his shirt tighter.

His breath filled her nose, his every inhale and exhale filled her lips. A distant satisfaction swelled in her chest, but something deep in her stomach still clamored, “Hungry, hungry, more.”

Almost by instinct, her arms wrapped around him, legs entwined, tongue teased, teeth nipped.

Cheek to cheek, lips and teeth entwined.

There was a hint of bird’s nest sweetness, a touch of bloody bitterness. Someone groaned, trying to retreat, but she pulled him back firmly. Her nose even gave a soft “crack”; she frowned, pressed harder with her lips—pain once, pleasure twice, that’s fair compensation, isn’t it?

“Cough!” Someone coughed aloud.

Annoyed, Fang Rulai grabbed a pillow and flung it toward the sound. “Be quiet.”

“Cough, cough!” Two people coughed.

Go to hell! Fang Rulai snatched the brocade blanket and threw it over Guan Shiyin’s head. “I can’t hear you.”

“Cough cough cough, cough cough cough!” A group coughed.

Damn it, are you trying to flood the screen with commentary? Fang Rulai, finally furious, tossed the blanket aside, turned to face the noise, and let out a lion’s roar, “If you have loved ones, go home and kiss them. If you don’t, watch quietly. Can’t you wait till I’m done before—”

Focus sharpened, and Zhu Xishi, Mu Zhijin, Mu Mama, and a roomful of maids and matrons came into view. Fang Rulai swallowed hard, “—speaking…”

Turning back, Guan Shiyin propped his head with one hand, the other brushing his swollen, bruised lips, yet his expression was full of lingering affection.

“—to me!”

Boom—the delayed blush erupted on Fang Rulai’s cheeks, then raced from head to toe.

Scalded, Fang Rulai leapt up, landed, spun, and dashed out the door.

Barefoot.

Guan Shiyin calmly signaled with his gaze to the maids by the couch, “The first to bring the mistress her shoes gets one hundred taels of gold!”

Whoosh—a whirlwind rushed forward. Another gust opened and closed the door. The room was emptied of maids and matrons.

Zhu Xishi, stiff-faced, surveyed the pitiful figure on the couch, clearly bitten beyond recognition, who returned her a smile full of springtime passion.

Zhu Xishi shivered, spun, and ran.

Mu Mama’s eyes were full of longing—if only her daughter-in-law could be so fierce, perhaps her son would be easier to win over. But if she went now to ask for secrets, would she even get close, with so many maids crowding around…?

Guan Shiyin reached toward the wardrobe, summoning it open; a monk’s robe appeared. “Mu Mama, don’t thank me too much.”

Mu Mama’s eyes brightened—right, Fang Rulai had run out only in her underclothes. If she brought clothes, she could pass the crowd delivering shoes!

“No thanks. Later, I’ll have A Que send you a rare copy of the Eighteen Auspicious Touches.” Mu Mama grabbed the robe and ran.

Her agility was inversely proportional to her plumpness.

Guan Shiyin waved, “Keep your word!”

Mu Zhijin turned his back, found a chair, and sat, facing outward so Guan Shiyin couldn’t see his expression.

“You’ve changed,” Mu Zhijin said.

“You’re not planning to change?” Guan Shiyin retorted.

“…” Mu Zhijin paused, then continued, “Do you remember the oath we three once swore? The country unsettled, the home unstable.”

“Oaths must be revised as needed. Just as we once said, ‘Until we seize power, our identities remain hidden.’ But look now—after we revealed ourselves a bit, the plan to seize power not only remained unaffected, it accelerated.”

“You’re saying it’s because of that woman?”

“More precisely, she provided another shortcut.”

“A shortcut? Quick results usually mean more flaws. Like my rushed martial arts training.”

“But you must admit, larger flaws attract quicker enemy attacks, and when you strike back effectively, you get closer to your goal faster. And time is speedier. If you could choose again, would you return to our cautious but slow plan?”

No! Mu Zhijin’s answer was almost instant. Just as he knew that learning martial arts late would damage his body, but to achieve his lifelong goal, he risked it anyway.

Guan Shiyin drifted past him, “Dreamer Zhijin, think it over. I’m off to chase my wife. Hey, do you think she’ll blush like a flower? Hehe, I’ve never seen her like this. No, I must hurry and find out!”

Thanks to dear Choudan Haha for the encouragement with fresh flowers—I received your praise and am very happy, so I just want to gloat a bit.

Although I’m not widely known, I do have a small group of loyal readers, and Qingye is proud. Because of this pride, from plot to wording, Qingye guarantees everything is original.

From the engagement dress named “Binding Love” in “Reunion,” to the exclusive head ornament “The One”; from the connecting threads “Dust and Distance” and “Sunset Silk” and the white jade hairpin in “Scheming Marriage”; to the “Sunrise Sword” in “Love to Death,” the “Mist and Blossom Wedding Shawl” in “Bandit’s Pet”; and in this story, the “Thousand-Silk Brocade,” “Blue Sparrow Pigment,” “Hundred-Flower Hair Ornaments,” and so on—all are Qingye’s creations!

Maybe these details never drew much attention while everyone focused on the plot, but Qingye has treated every detail with care and pride.

I’m original, and I’m proud!

This book is exclusively released.