Chapter 5

Qing Wu draped a very thin gauzy dress over her shoulders, hanging loosely and barely covering where it should. The soft silk fabric held no shape; it naturally clung to her with each step, outlining faint, delicate curves.

She lifted the hem and sat on the round stool that had been moved aside earlier. Her hair, fragrant with a subtle scent, fell over her shoulders, damp at the ends. Her gaze dropped and caught sight of Pei Muzi’s unbandaged wound on his leg.

“Why so careless with yourself?” she teased.

Barefoot, her toes still damp from the bath, she lightly tapped the knee of Pei Muzi’s right leg. The blade’s cut was several centimeters away. With a bit of pressure, fresh blood welled up and began to seep from the wound.

She pressed half of her foot down, nearly feeling the muscles beneath strain and twitch rhythmically under the deliberate pressure.

Pei Muzi seemed lost in thought, wearing a faint, serene smile like still water in an ancient well. His gaze flickered, his expression a complex, subtle mixture.

Qing Wu, receiving no reply and uncertain of his thoughts, pursed her lips and tried to withdraw her foot to rest it on the stool to dry.

Suddenly, Pei Muzi’s hand shot out and gripped her ankle. His touch was cool and smooth as jade, pure as frost.

Qing Wu stared at him in disbelief, searching his eyes for some hidden emotion. Yet he remained calm and composed, cupping her heel gently and resting it on his uninjured leg.

Then, he wrapped the damp foot with the hem of his garment and began to delicately rub it.

The slightly coarse fabric brushed her sole like a feather’s tip, light and fluttering.

Qing Wu nearly melted under the tingling sensation, a thin mist forming in her eyes as she reflexively tried to pull her foot back.

But the tighter she tried to withdraw, the firmer his hold became, and the two of them silently tussled over this small matter.

How could someone injured have such strength?

Qing Wu refused to believe it. With both hands on her waist, she attempted to yank back the calf he firmly held.

Pei Muzi raised a brow, the corner of his eye curling slightly, then mischievously pinched the soft hollow behind her knee.

Qing Wu hated that teasing touch the most. She let out a slight gasp and lost control, tipping forward and nearly falling off the stool.

A muffled grunt followed.

She tumbled into Pei Muzi’s arms, still warm and damp from her bath, sitting astride his waist. Her slender legs awkwardly wrapped around him, intertwined behind his back, her arms locked around his neck in seamless embrace.

She heard him stifle his pain, his grip shifting from gentle to firm as he clutched the loose fabric on his shoulder, easing her weight off his waist.

“Can’t take it anymore?”

Pei Muzi shook his head, his warm breath brushing against her heated ear.

His body was warm too, but he noticed one of her hands, once gripping his shoulder, gradually relaxing and sliding downward.

Time seemed to freeze for a moment, like a needle pricking Pei Muzi’s cold, hardened heart, stirring long-forgotten warmth within.

He smiled calmly, reclining as if indulging her whims.

That soft hand lingered on his waist, then reluctantly wandered to his side and finally his back...

Qing Wu licked her lips, tracing the taut, strong lines, then smacked her mouth. By all rights, his body should be healthy, not so fragile-looking.

Could there be some underlying ailment from the past?

---

Pei Muzi couldn’t see her expression but could imagine the sly smile tugging at her lips.

Qing Wu’s eyes narrowed in satisfaction. She lowered her chin to sneak a glance at him, only to catch his gaze waiting there too.

She quickly looked straight ahead, feeling a bit embarrassed by her own fussiness.

After all, he was injured and couldn’t resist; she had pampered him for half a year and now had this rare chance to be close—she intended to savor it fully.

Yet, despite her thoughts, a flutter of nervousness thumped wildly in her chest, impossible to ignore.

Watching Pei Muzi’s silent demeanor, she pretended indifference and began to explore around.

“How did you get hurt here?” she asked.

Her nails were neatly trimmed, easily tracing the contours beneath his clothes.

The wound stretched long, from his left shoulder across to his right waist, almost spanning his entire back.

Just by looking, Qing Wu could imagine how fierce the scar must have been before healing.

With such an alluring face, who would dare mar his back with such a mark?

Pei Muzi didn’t answer but lightly patted her back.

She turned to him. “What is it?”

“Your dress will get stained with blood,” he said softly.

Qing Wu looked down; the hem was indeed speckled with reddish-brown blood.

She quickly withdrew from his embrace, spinning in place a few times, relieved her clothes remained clean.

“It’s not that I mind, just freshly bathed,” she explained, realizing she had been a bit loud.

Pei Muzi paid little attention, staring blankly at his empty hands.

Since Qing Wu rose and the warmth left his arms, the wound seemed to ache even more.

“Sit there,” she said, pointing to the edge of the soft couch. The wound had lingered too long and needed proper treatment.

Pei Muzi agreed.

He brushed aside the covering garment, revealing a ragged, bloody patch.

The dagger had sliced through his trousers into the flesh. The first dressing had been crude; white powder clumped on the wound, acting like glue, binding the fabric to the injury.

“I’ll get scissors—”

Before she could finish, Qing Wu froze in shock.

Pei Muzi tore roughly at the binding, reopening the wound. Fresh blood soaked through the trousers. His face turned pale, corners of his mouth grim.

Qing Wu stared at him like a monster, then bent down to examine the wound carefully.

Her vision blurred; she tried to fetch gauze but suddenly remembered something and rushed out.

Pei Muzi pressed the torn trouser fabric against the wound to staunch the bleeding, watching her hurried figure with quiet thoughtfulness.

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