Chapter 25
The moon hung low over the village fields, its silver light catching the solitary paper lantern in Zhen-ting’s hand. He shifted his weight against a gnarled tree trunk, wincing as his healing ribs protested. Behind him, Feng Kai cleared his throat.
“General, if you need me to fetch—”
“Go.” Zhen-ting didn’t turn; his gaze fixed on the path toward the village house. “Take the men to patrol the eastern ridge. Twice.”
Feng’s retreating footsteps carried barely suppressed amusement.
For more than two months, Zhen-ting had lain helpless while Yun-yao tended his broken body—her hands on his skin, her scent in his senses, their kisses careful and restrained. Tonight, he’d trade a dozen Shashi ambushes for this moment.
A rustle in the grass. Yun-yao emerged, a vision in simple blue cotton, her hair loose around her shoulders. She smiled, eyes shining like the stars above them, “What mischief are you plotting, General?”
He lifted the lantern, casting golden light across her face. “Chapter twenty-seven of Love Under the Moon,” he declared, offering his arm. “The secret rendezvous of star-crossed lovers beneath the starry sky.”
She laughed—bright and unrestrained—as her fingers slid into the crook of his elbow. “You're ridiculous.”
“You adore it,” he murmured, guiding her off the path and into the forest. Shadows deepened between ancient cedars as they walked, the lantern bobbing like a captured star. He felt her warmth against his side, her breath mingling with the scent of damp moss and night-blooming jasmine.
“Must we sneak about?” she whispered, her thumb brushing his sleeve. “Our marriage is hardly a secret.”
“Authenticity,” he insisted, ducking under a low branch. “Huaben rules demand moonlight and mystery. Besides...” His voice sighed. “...every sound in that house carries like a shout through rice-paper walls.”
I'll be damned before I let them hear you.
Her blush warmed his skin even in the cool air.
They rounded a mossy boulder, and the hot spring unveiled itself—a turquoise pool steaming in a fern-cradled hollow.
Paper lanterns hung from overhanging branches, their glow dancing on the water’s surface.
Beside the spring, thick quilts lay piled on a flat stone, flanked by a basket of candied hawthorn berries and a flask of wine.
Yun-yao froze, her gasp soft as mist. “You did this?”
“With some difficulty,” he admitted, rubbing his aching ribs. “I nearly drowned hanging the last lantern.”
She turned to him, eyes luminous. “It’s perfect.”
He extinguished the lantern, plunging them into intimate moonlight. “Not yet,” he said, tracing her jaw. “But it will be.”
Yun-yao had been secretly looking forward to this for months, but her fingers still shook faintly as she shed her plain gown, leaving only the inner silk square and her delicate under-trousers.
The peach silk square shielded her modesty in front, held up only by twin silk ties around her neck and waist. The night air kissed her exposed back, and a shiver rippled through her, her pulse hammering violently enough to ache.
She sank into the water with a hasty splash, arms instinctively crossing over herself.
Zhen-ting, by contrast, moved without hesitation. His clothes were discarded in one fluid motion, the muscles of his chest and arms catching the lantern glow before he joined her, the water rippling around his waist.
The water embraced them like liquid silk, steam curling around their bodies as they slipped into the spring’s warmth.
Yun-yao’s fingers clenched at the edge of the pool, her breath shallow.
Zhen-ting didn’t give her time to hesitate.
He pulled her against him, her back to his chest, his arms caging her in.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured against her temple, his lips brushing the delicate shell of her ear. “Cold?”
She shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “Not cold.”
“Would you like some wine?” he asked cordially, as though they were at a poetry session and weren’t half-naked in a moonlit spring, as though her skin wasn’t burning where his hands were, as though he hadn’t just kissed her ears, as though his hardness was not between her thighs.
She managed a jerky nod, her pulse thrumming in her throat.
Zhen-ting didn’t break eye contact as he reached for the flask resting on the stone ledge, his movements slow but deliberate.
The wine sloshed softly as he uncorked it and the scent of osmanthus bloomed between them.
He took a slow sip, then leaned in—close enough that she could feel the heat of his mouth before it even touched hers.
The first press of his lips was chaste, almost teasing.
Then his tongue swept against the seam of her mouth, and she gasped, her fingers clutching at his shoulders.
The wine spilled between them, sweet and heady, as he deepened the kiss with a groan.
Yun-yao’s head spun—not just from the wine, but from the way he tasted her, as if he had all the time in the world, as if she were something rare and precious.
His hands slid up her spine, pulling her flush against him, and when she moaned into his mouth, he swallowed the sound like it was the finest vintage, his own breath ragged against her lips.
“More?” he murmured, his voice rough now, the pretense of civility shattered.
She couldn’t even answer. Couldn’t do anything but cling to him as his mouth trailed down her jaw, his teeth grazing her pulse point, his entire body trembling with restraint. The wine was long since forgotten, abandoned on the stone—just like every last shred of her composure.
The warmth of his mouth trailed down her throat, each kiss lingering like a promise.
His lips brushed the delicate hollow above her collarbone, then lower still, tracing the delicate swell of her breasts above the silk.
She shuddered when his teeth grazed the sensitive skin of her nape, the sensation sending a jolt through her that made her fingers tighten.
With agonizing slowness, he caught the silk ribbon between his teeth, tugging just enough to loosen the knot while undoing her waist ribbons at the same time.
The square of fabric hung precariously for one heartbeat before dropping free, and she heard the soft plop as it fell into the water.
His hands never stopped moving, skimming her ribs, her waist, before his mouth found her again, this time pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the softness of her breasts.
Yun-yao’s breath hitched as he pressed his lips there, tasting salt and steam and her. His teeth grazed her skin just enough to make her gasp, her body arching into him.
“Zhen-ting...”
“Hmm?” He nipped again, and she made a sound that was half protest, half plea. She wanted, no, needed him so much that she was trembling.
The same fire that had burned in him for months, banked but never extinguished, now roared between them. His body ached with it, his injured leg throbbing in protest as he shifted closer, his hands sliding down to cup her hips and slip off her soaked trousers.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Her lips were soft, eager, her tongue tentative at first before growing bolder, matching him stroke for stroke. The water made her skin slick, her body pliant as he explored her ribs, the dip of her spine, the flare of her hips.
Her breath came faster when his fingers traced the inside of her thigh, her legs parting instinctively. He swallowed her gasp as he found the heat of her, the proof of how much she wanted this.
He groaned, his hands tightening on her waist, lifting her just enough to feel the weight of her against him. He kissed her again, slow and deep, his hands bracing her as he guided himself to her.
Then carefully, so carefully, he pushed inside.
Zhen-ting froze as Yun-yao’s face twisted in pain. I hurt her. Before he could withdraw, she kicked back instinctively and her legs slammed into him.
White-hot agony lanced through his thigh, his ribs screaming in protest as he jerked back in pain.
“Hell’s damnation—”
“Zhen-ting!” Yun-yao’s hands flew to his chest, her eyes wide with horror. “Are you alright?”
“Are you alright?!” he gritted out at the same time, his voice strained. His ribs felt like they were splitting open, his leg on fire, but all he could see was the way her lips were still parted in a wince, the way her face was still tightened from pain.
“Yes!” they said simultaneously again.
Silence.
Her gaze downwards sent tears spattering onto his chest. “Your leg—”
“Is fine.” For three ragged breaths they simply stared at one another—Yun-yao’s eyes damp with mortification, Zhen-ting’s vision swimming with pain he refused to acknowledge.
Then, slowly, the absurdity of it hit.
Zhen-ting’s lips twitched. Yun-yao covered her face with her hands even as the corners of her mouth betrayed her, curling up despite herself.
A laugh bubbled out of her, breathless and disbelieving. “We’re ridiculous.”
He huffed, his forehead dropping to hers. “No, just inexperienced.”
She shifted slightly, and he hissed as the movement sent another jolt of pain through his leg.
“Don’t move,” he ordered, his voice rough. “Just—stay still.”
“You're injured.” She turned in his arms, her hands pressing against his chest. “You’ll regret it tomorrow.”
“I’ll regret it more if I don’t do this tonight.” He growled. “I’ve waited too long, Yun-yao. I’ve dreamed of this—of you—every night since I left.”
She flushed, as if she could get any riper than what she looks like now. Then, slowly, she nodded.
“Then be gentle,” she whispered.
His answer was a kiss, deep and slow, his hands sliding under her thighs to lift her just enough to ease the strain on his leg. The water cradled them, the steam rising around them like a veil as he moved—shallow, careful strokes, giving her time to adjust, to breathe.
His injured leg screamed in protest. He ignored it.
Yun-yao’s fingers clenched on his shoulders, forcing herself to relax.
But slowly, a strange sensation that was part pain, part pleasure filled her; her nails dug into his skin, not from pain this time, but from the way wanting coiled tight and low in her belly.
She gasped against his mouth, her body arching into his.
“Like that?” he murmured, his voice rough.
“Yes...”
He obeyed, his movements growing deeper, more insistent. The water sloshed around them, the heat of the spring nothing compared to the fire between them. Yun-yao’s head fell back, her breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps as the pleasure built, tighter and tighter, until—
She shattered.
Her body clenched around him, her cry swallowed by his kiss as she trembled in his arms. Zhen-ting followed her over the edge with a groan, his body tightening around hers as the world narrowed to this—her, the water, the steam, the way her name sounded like a prayer on his lips.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing, the distant call of a night bird, the lazy lap of water against stone.
Then Yun-yao let out a breathless laugh, her forehead dropping to his shoulder. “Your leg.”
He huffed, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Worth it.”
She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her fingers tracing his jaw. “You’re insufferable.”
His grin was slow, satisfied. “And yet, you’re still here.”
Her answering smile was softer than the moonlight. “Always.”