Chapter 1

The torrential rain roared, tearing a gap in the curtain-like sky, through which silver bolts of lightning violently exploded from above. A blinding flash of light illuminated a slender figure standing by the gallery.

The mottled shadows of the trees cast upon the gravel path resembled demons lurking in the abyss, their maws wide open as they surged toward Pei Muci, attempting to swallow him whole in the darkness. Yet, clad in dark robes that rivaled the night, he stood with his back straight, hands clasped behind him, composed and still.

The wild wind raged, pressing his wide, ceremonial court robes tightly against his frame. His long sleeves fluttered, and the dark silk dragon patterns seemed to claw at the rain, though a closer look suggested they were constrained by some unseen force, unable to break free. The dark red piping at his cuffs caught the pallor of the moonlight, carving sharp lines into his jaw, while his eyes, darker than the night itself, swirled with an impenetrable inkiness. In this hushed stillness, all of heaven and earth became mere backdrop to him.

A thunderclap shook the air, followed by a woman’s terrified whimper from the empty palace behind him, piercingly distinct amidst the relentless downpour. He clenched his fists, his proud, solitary back trembling for a fleeting moment. That cat-like cry clawed at his heart and lunged into his ears, demanding his attention. He knew Qingwu feared the sound of thunder.

Pei Muci suppressed the icy aura radiating from him and could not help but turn to look inside. The Ganquan Palace was the residence of the successive emperors, where the twenty-seven layers of gauze curtains in the inner chamber were lowered at dusk. Following the constant, chattering murmurs of the eunuch An Qi, Pei Muci quickly locked his gaze onto the bed where Qingwu lay.

The silk curtains hung like a thin, translucent water veil, swaying in the faint, intermittent breeze. She remained huddled in the corner of the bed, hugging her knees, her back muscles tensed into an arch, curled into a tiny, fragile ball.

"Princess, please, have something to eat." An Qi had repeated this plea countless times, and every day ended the same way. Knowing his efforts were futile, he set the tray on the table, intending to rest for the night in the outer room. No one could fathom the Emperor's true feelings for the woman inside, and serving her was a nerve-wracking ordeal.

An Qi stretched lazily and pushed open the door, only to collide head-on with the majestic figure that had been standing silently in the gallery for who knew how long. Terrified, he forgot even to kneel, barely managing to stammer out a response.

"The Princess... she still hasn't eaten." As he spoke, large beads of sweat broke out on his forehead; he felt as though he were holding his own head in his hands.

Pei Muci gave a soft grunt but offered no further instructions. A cold, insidious gust of wind from an unknown direction circled An Qi’s neck; he bowed his head, shivering, and rubbed the sticky, cold sweat from his palms. The sound of the rain was so deafening it isolated the interior from the exterior, and in the palace, oblivious young maids began to extinguish the candles one by one. The night crawled in through the gaps in the windows, slowly eroding the warmth within.

An Qi glanced up cautiously, peering through his lashes at the Emperor, whose brow was tightly furrowed. "Your Majesty..." It seemed that whenever the Emperor dealt with the woman inside, he was like a different person.

Pei Muci, oblivious to all else, reached out his fingertips, attempting to catch the raindrops clinging to the willow leaves. The beads were like a young girl’s crystalline tears—pure, clear, and untainted. Such beautiful things made him yearn to draw near. Unexpectedly, the moment he touched them, the droplets merged and rolled down his palm into his wide sleeves. This inability to grasp them left him dissatisfied. Or rather, Pei Muci disliked any situation that escaped his control. Yet, a trivial raindrop seemed hardly worth the trouble. He frowned, his eyelids not even twitching.

An Qi, however, feared he had committed some taboo and retreated two steps, dropping to his knees on the stone stairs with a dull thud. "This slave deserves to die."

The storm instantly engulfed him, the rain streaming down his hair, leaving him looking wretched. An Qi pressed his forehead to the ground, prostrate at Pei Muci’s feet. Having served the Emperor for a long time, he knew there were few servants who lasted long by his side; the maids who had "mysteriously disappeared" had, in truth, never walked out of Ganquan Palace alive. His head struck the stone floor again with a heavy, muffled sound.

Watching the man’s jittery behavior, Pei Muci found it tedious and finally remembered the purpose of his arrival. He gave a cold glance and chuckled. "It is not your concern."

An Qi kowtowed in terror, trying his best to minimize his presence, before rising to change into dry clothes to serve. After a short while, An Qi returned, dressed properly, and presented a bowl of ginger soup to the Emperor. Pei Muci brushed away the foam on the surface, sipped it unhurriedly, and only after the warmth returned to his body did he enter the palace.

The others knelt to welcome him, their heads bowed under his stern gaze. Pei Muci waved his hand dismissively, and the maids closed the folding screens, retreating like fish to wait in the outer room. An Qi kept his eyes fixed, skillfully helping Pei Muci out of his court robes and into a loose outer garment. After a series of actions, An Qi kept his eyes glued to the floor, presenting some items with both hands.

Pei Muci took the tray and curled his lips in amusement. "You have been thoughtful."

With his hands empty, An Qi let out a long sigh of relief and scurried away, heels clicking against the floor. Once outside the main hall and back among the maids, he resumed his persona as the ruthless head eunuch, flicking his horsetail whisk over his arm and snapping, "Get further away! If you hear anything you shouldn't, mind your heads!" The group, well-acquainted with his temper, dared not argue and chorused, "Understood."

As the maids retreated, the vast hall fell into a silence as deep as a mountain gorge, the temperature dropping sharply, sending a chill down one’s spine. Footsteps approached, uneven and measured, like fingernails scratching against mud, creating an unsettling echo.

Pei Muci, unhurried, pushed aside the swaying gauze curtains, even taking the time to gather and tie them securely himself. The intricate ribbons wound and played between his long, slender fingers, as pleasing to the eye as a blooming flower. He lowered his gaze as he walked to the bed, his phoenix eyes settling on Qingwu.

She was still wearing the coarse hemp dress she had demanded from the maids after being dragged back to the palace, yet even such crude fabric could not mask her exquisite beauty.

As his broad silhouette drew closer, her gaze flickered, eventually shattering into scattered, floating shadows. Pei Muci stood with one hand on his hip, his expression shifting slightly. Even reduced to this state, she remained like a noble peony, her temperament as pure as the bright moon, her skin as fair as frost and snow, her every feature suffused with a delicate, captivating charm. In particular, those eyes—untouched by the world, clear as water, serene and elegant—seemed capable of holding all the purest and most refined things in existence.

Qingwu gripped her arms tightly, her lips pale and trembling. Pei Muci’s gaze was searing. Just as Qingwu thought he was about to make a move, he merely lifted his robes and sat down beside her.

They remained silent. He picked up the rice porridge that had been sitting for a long time, tested the temperature with a spoon against his upper lip. "It is not hot." Pei Muci set the spoon down, held the bowl elegantly between two fingers, and brought it to Qingwu’s lips.

She clenched her teeth, a picture of absolute defiance, as if it were not a bowl of fresh porridge prepared by the imperial kitchen, but a deadly poison. Time flowed like water, and a strange, suffocating tension hung between them. After a few moments of stalemate, Pei Muci looked down at her. Tears had gathered in her eyes again; she stared at him with a mix of vigilance and fear, a fierce intensity that looked as if she wanted to tear him apart.

But to him, this gaze was merely moist and lacked any real threat; it only made him want to bully her more.

"Drink it. Be good." Pei Muci would not let her have her way today, but he was still mindful of her health. "Has the top cooled down?" He stirred the porridge from bottom to top with his spoon, yet kept the bowl hovering before her. It was in a position she could reach if she only lifted her hand. Her constitution was already frail, and having gone days without a drop of water, she could not withstand him.

Qingwu twisted her thumbs, bracing herself against his condescending command, and suddenly swiped her hand in a fit of pique.

*Clatter.*

The bowl fell to the ground, shattering into pieces. Just like the patience Pei Muci had so painstakingly gathered. The maids, who were already far away, heard the commotion and were so terrified they dared not breathe, lifting their skirts to retreat even further.

Pei Muci took out a soft handkerchief, first wiping the porridge that had accidentally splattered onto Qingwu’s wrist, then folded it twice and meticulously cleaned each of his own fingers before touching her again.

Qingwu resisted with all her might. Pei Muci knelt between her legs, forcing her to yield. She kicked and struck him, but he ignored it, letting her vent.

"If you won't drink, that's fine." Pei Muci switched to pinching her waist, his other hand behind her narrow back. "Then we shall have something else."

As soon as he spoke, Pei Muci’s long, articulated fingers flicked at a spot out of Qingwu’s sight. She heard him undo his belt, the jade pendant hitting the corner of the bed with a crisp *ding*. That most sensitive nerve of hers, like a taut violin string, was suddenly plucked. Her entire body shuddered.

Pei Muci left her no room to escape; his broad robes completely engulfed Qingwu in his shadow. She was so terrified that the iron chain attached to her ankle reached its limit with a sharp *clank*.

Pei Muci lowered his eyes, glancing at the scabbed scar on her ankle. By the time Qingwu focused on what was before her, Pei Muci had bitten her earlobe, tracing a path toward her lips.

He licked and pecked at them. The soft skin behind her ear could not withstand his breath, and a current of electricity surged from the base of her skull, racing down her spine to the tips of her toes. Qingwu trembled involuntarily.

Sensing this, Pei Muci buried his head in the crook of her neck and let out a low, soft laugh. Even if her mouth was as hard as stone, her body was intimately familiar with him. That was enough.

Without waiting for her to catch her breath, Pei Muci engulfed her lower lip, grinding against it with his tongue, as if savoring a fine, aged wine. Qingwu felt a deep sense of resistance, yet her body betrayed her, responding and leaning back involuntarily. In her panic, there was a loud *thump* as the back of her head hit the bedpost, yet she felt no pain. Pei Muci’s palm had been placed between her and the post, absorbing most of the force.

But she was startled, and subconsciously opened her mouth to bite down. Pei Muci felt the pain, tasting the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. His interest was piqued, and he changed his technique in retaliation. A playful taste turned into a one-sided, suppressive suction, fierce and crude.

Qingwu’s lips were blocked, her nose constantly inhaling the man’s hot breath, and the tears spilling from her eyes blurred everything before her. Pei Muci’s palm was warm, moving continuously to help her relax, rubbing slowly, sliding downward. Yet, Qingwu only felt his thumb and forefinger clamping onto her slender neck, denying her any chance to breathe.

His agile exploration carried a sense of deliberate pleasure. Qingwu’s face flushed with the suffocation of it; she was on the verge of drowning in this confined space. Pei Muci smiled coldly, his teeth sinking into the tip of her tongue, which kept trying to slip away. Disobedient things, naturally, had to be punished.

The sudden pain snapped Qingwu back to reality. She felt dazed, her pupils dilating before slowly focusing again. Pei Muci ground against her small, neat teeth, watching her sink into surrender, enjoying her unwillingness. He was like a connoisseur admiring a piece of art carved from cold jade, his voice dark and chilling, devoid of warmth.

"What? Do I need to teach you how to breathe?"

Qingwu, holding back tears and filled with extreme rage, reached out to strike him. Pei Muci effortlessly intercepted her move, grabbing the hand that had been curled against her chest. Both of her wrists were easily held in his large palm, and he pushed them upward, binding them with the rope prepared at the head of the bed in a few quick motions.

Her pupils contracted, her heart beating in a frantic, uneven rhythm, her eyes filled with uncontrollable terror. The restraints on her wrists and ankles pulled her into an "I" shape. Humiliated, tears finally gushed down her cheeks.

Qingwu used her one remaining free leg to hook the quilt piled at the foot of the bed, attempting to cover the skin exposed to his gaze. Pei Muci, growing impatient, tossed the quilt to the floor, his fingers digging into the outer side of her thighs as he pulled her entire body into his embrace.

The vast disparity in strength made it impossible for Qingwu to resist. The thin iron chain dug into the wound on her ankle, and she let out a low moan of pain. This animal-like cry, to Pei Muci’s ears, was like a catalyst that set his blood racing. His breathing grew heavy, and a wave of heat surged through his veins.

Yet, he actually curbed his strength, softening his temper as he leaned down to ask her.

"Does it hurt?"

Qingwu, clearly aware that she had made a sound she shouldn't have, bit her lower lip and turned her head away, refusing to look at Pei Muci. This genuine concern was like a small pebble tossed into the sea, unable to stir a single ripple.

Pei Muci hated this look of hers most of all, yet it was precisely this expression she insisted on showing him. He was almost amused to the point of anger. He continued his movements, his voice filled with an eerie, crushing pressure.

"Then endure it."

He lifted the hem of her skirt that was bunched beneath her knees, his throat bobbing as he felt the friction. Then, using his palms to press against her knees, he forced them apart.