192: Moonlight fills the spring tent

As the jade belt loosened and fell, the aqua-green soft satin dress seemed to suddenly lose its constraints, tracing her curvaceous and enchanting silhouette even more closely.

Her waist was so slender it could be held in one hand, yet it rippled with breathtaking curves at every turn, much like the spring water ripples brushed by the wind in the misty rains of Jiangnan, swaying with a heart-stirring arc.

Shen Xingwan walked slowly to Situ Jun's front, close enough to count the individual strands of his ink-black eyelashes, close enough to feel the warm breath emanating from beneath his robes, mixed with a faint scent of Dragons Saliva Incense, enveloping her entirely.

She reached out those jade hands, as soft as if they were boneless, her fingertips carrying a slight chill as she gently and tentatively rested them on the lapel of Situ Jun's brocade robe.

Those hands had once played the zither and held brushes for painting, but now, unfastening the complex frog buttons, they appeared clumsy, even carrying an imperceptible tremor that caused her breathing to lose its rhythm, like a butterfly shivering in the wind.

Her thick eyelashes drooped, casting shallow, butterfly-wing-like shadows beneath her eyes, hiding the emotions within them completely.

The room was so quiet that the soft pop of a candle wick could be heard, making the rustle of fabric friction exceptionally clear, along with her uncontrollable, slightly hurried breathing, like a string stretched to its limit.

Situ Jun did not move, merely looking down at her.

The candlelight flowed over her lowered profile, the skin on the side of her neck glowing with a pearly luster, so delicate it seemed it might break at a touch.

The vulnerability peeking through her forced composure happened to intertwine with the innate charm in her bones, like a Hong Mei blooming resolutely in the snow, forming a strange attraction that made it impossible to look away.

He could clearly feel the slight tremor of her fingertips, as fine as the fluttering of a startled butterfly's wing, landing on the tip of his heart and rippling out a dense, fine itch.

When the last frog button of the outer robe was unfastened with a 'click,' Shen Xingwan's fingertips paused.

The silver fastener shimmered under the candlelight, reflecting a flash of hesitation in her eyes, which was immediately covered by a deeper resolution.

She slowly looked up, her eyes glistening like water, as if they held crushed starlight.

In that gaze was solitary courage and a sacrificial resolution; her voice was slightly husky like silk soaked in honey, so soft and charming it could snatch away one's Three Ethereal Souls and Seven Corporeal Spirits:

"Manor Lord... the night is deep. Let Xingwan... serve you as you retire."

She actually dared to meet his gaze, charm overflowing in her eyes; the previous veil of melancholy had been deliberately cast aside, leaving only the most primal temptation of a peerless beauty.

Like a poppy covered in dew, one knew it was dangerous yet could not help but draw closer.

She stood slightly on tiptoe, her warm breath, carrying a scent like orchids, gently brushed past the side of Situ Jun's neck.

In Situ Jun's deep eyes, the ink-black color surged heavily; something sank to the bottom, and something else was ignited by this breath of fragrance, turning into a subtle spark.

He did not speak, but simply reached out his hand, with an irresistible strength, grasping that slender yet surprisingly elastic waist, pulling her toward the large bed covered with a Mandarin Duck brocade quilt.

The moment the bed curtains fell, they shut out the candlelight from outside, leaving only the moonlight leaking through the gaps, spreading a hazy silvery-white over the brocade quilt like a layer of fallen crushed snow.

Shen Xingwan stumbled half a step as he led her; when her back hit the soft bed, her heart beat as if it would shatter her ribcage.

She instinctively gripped the lapel of his outer robe, her knuckles turning white, but the moment he leaned in close, she forced herself to let go and instead wrapped her arms around his neck.

This action carried a desperate intimacy.

She could smell the crisp scent of Soapberry from his hair, mixed with the slight chill of night dew, more heart-stirring than any incense.

Situ Jun's palm stopped at her waist, going no further.

He looked at her face so close at hand, her eyelashes seemingly dusted with fine moonlight, trembling like a butterfly in the wind.

Most of that charm from before had faded, leaving only an unhidable nervousness, causing even her breathing to lose its rhythm like a startled small animal.

"Afraid?"

His voice sounded exceptionally low and husky within the tent, carrying a strange magnetism, like a stone thrown into a deep pool, rippling out in circles.

Shen Xingwan bit her lip and did not answer, only burying her face deeper into the crook of his neck.

Strands of hair brushed against his skin, carrying a faint scent of Gardenias, like a feather gently scratching the tip of the heart, making one itch to sigh.

Situ Jun suddenly gave a low laugh, the vibration of his chest transmitting through their touching skin, making her heart tremble.

He raised his hand and tucked the stray hairs from her cheek behind her ear, his fingertips inadvertently brushing her earlobe, eliciting a very soft moan from her, like a cat's claw gently scratching the heart.

"Xingwan," he suddenly called her name, his tone more serious than ever before, "with me, there is no need to force yourself."

Shen Xingwan jerked her head up, meeting his bottomless eyes.

There was no frivolity like she had once feared, nor any pity as if giving alms; there was only a depth she could not read, like a night sky embracing the moonlight, quiet and gentle.

She suddenly remembered when they first met; he sat high in the hall, in a black brocade robe, his features as cold as ice, looking at her with no more regard than he would an object.

At that time, she thought her life would merely be moving from one cage into an even deeper abyss.

But he had never touched her.

He let her live in the elegant West Wing, and the fabrics he sent were of better quality than the best in Wang Cheng's manor, embroidered with her favorite Intertwining Lotuses.

She had casually mentioned to the Embroiderer that she liked the Wisteria flowers under the corridor while Situ Jun was present. Three days later, a newly planted seedling appeared in the corner of the courtyard, complete with an exquisite trellis; the craftsman said the Manor Lord had personally ordered the design.

These small details were like spring rain, bit by bit moistening her parched heart.

"It's not forced." She finally found her voice, which carried an imperceptible sob. "Situ Jun, I..."

It was the first time she had called him by his full name; the end of the sound trembled slightly but was exceptionally clear, like a stone thrown into a deep pool, rippling out in his eyes.

Situ Jun's movements paused, the color of his eyes deepening like a night splashed with thick ink.

He said nothing more, but lowered his head and gently kissed her lips.

The kiss was very light, like moonlight falling on flower petals, carrying a cautious probing, and like the first melting snow water flowing over the heart, crisp with a hint of sweetness.

Shen Xingwan was initially frozen, then she relaxed, closed her eyes, and responded clumsily.

Her lips were very soft, carrying the sweetness of the tea from earlier, making him unable to resist deepening the kiss, as if tasting a jar of Peach Blossom Wine hidden for many years, so mellow that he was loath to let go.

The candle outside the tent flickered at some point, making the shadows inside the tent even more lingering.

The aqua-green dress on Shen Xingwan had long since spread open, revealing the moon-white inner garment beneath; the collar was slightly open, tracing the beautiful curve of her neck and shoulders, her skin glowing with a lustrous sheen under the moonlight like fine mutton-fat jade.

Situ Jun's outer robe had also slipped to the floor, revealing a tight moon-white inner garment; with the rise and fall of his breathing, the smooth lines of his muscles could be seen, containing a restrained power.

His palm stroked her back with a warm strength, making her involuntarily draw closer.

She could clearly feel the temperature of his body and that steady, powerful heartbeat, thumping against her heart one by one, giving her an unprecedented sense of security, like a drifting boat finally finding a harbor.

"Situ Jun..."

She whispered between kisses, her voice as soft as melted honey, capable of drawing out fine threads.

"Hmm?"

He responded, but his lips did not leave the side of her neck, leaving a string of dense kisses like a fall of warm, soft rain.

"Don't be like them..." Her voice carried a tremor, as past scars throbbed with pain at this moment, "Don't throw me away after you're done..."

Wang Cheng's indifference, the contempt of others—those memories that pricked her heart like needles—she finally dared to expose them under the moonlight.

Situ Jun's movements stopped.

He raised his head, and the moonlight happened to fall on his face, making his eyes clear.

He raised his hand and gently wiped away the tears seeping from the corners of her eyes, his movements incredibly gentle.

"Shen Xingwan," he looked into her eyes and said word for word, "as for my, Situ Jun's, person—as long as you yourself are unwilling, no one can take you away."

These words had no flowery rhetoric, yet they were like a bolt of lightning splitting the dark clouds, illuminating all the unease in her heart.

She stared at him blankly, then suddenly smiled, though her tears fell even more fiercely, dripping onto the brocade quilt and blooming into small dark spots like a silent rain.

She took the initiative to lean forward and kiss his lips, this time with an unprecedented determination, like a lost ship finally finding its course.

The candlelight flickered and burned out its last bit of light, the bed curtains fell silently, hiding the room full of flowing spring light.

Only the cold moonlight outside the window quietly spilled onto the window frame like a thin veil, gently covering this corner of the world, witnessing the beginning of a new story in a night where love and being loved were intertwined...