Chapter 4: It Is Late; Time for Bed

“Your Majesty, my name is Shen Zhiyi.”

“Shen Zhiyi.” He rolled the name around on his tongue. “A fine name. Who gave it to you?”

“My father, Your Majesty.”

“What does your father do?”

She answered truthfully. “He is the head of Dahe Village.”

Her voice was perfectly even. There was no embarrassment or sense of inferiority; she spoke as naturally as if she were remarking on the weather. Li Xuandu gave her another look.

Which woman in the palace didn’t dress up her family background? Even the daughter of a minor eighth-rank official would find a way to work in some polite phrase about her father serving diligently. This one, however, openly said she was a village head’s daughter, without hiding or embellishing a thing.

“A village head,” he repeated, his tone giving away neither approval nor disdain. “That’s a unique background in my harem.”

Zhiyi didn’t know how to respond, so she simply stood quietly.

Li Xuandu rose. Only then did she truly feel how imposing his height was. She had to tip her face up to see him, and the faint interest in his gaze had not faded as he looked down at her.

“It is late,” he said, his voice dropping, a muted rumble deep in his throat.

Her heart began to race. Here it came. She knew what would happen next. She was an Attendant selected for the palace; he was the emperor who had chosen her plaque. They were alone, and the bed was only three paces away.

From the moment she was chosen, this had been inevitable. She could not avoid it, and she did not intend to try—not because she was particularly fond of him, but because she understood that attending him was her ticket to survival here.

She drew a deep breath, lowered her eyes, and answered softly, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Li Xuandu reached over and extinguished a lamp on the table. Half the light in the chamber vanished. Only a candle near the bed remained, bathing the room in a dim, intimate warmth.

“Come here.”

She obeyed. He placed a finger beneath her chin and gently lifted her face. In the candlelight, her eyes held neither fear nor nervousness, nor any studied attempt at seduction. She simply looked at him, quiet as a still pool.

It struck him that this little Attendant was unlike any woman he had known. It wasn’t her beauty or her way with words. There was something strange about her: she seemed unafraid of him. Not the forced composure of someone putting on a brave face, but an absence of fear that came from deep within, as if she did not take him particularly seriously at all.

A village head’s daughter, attending the emperor for the first time, and she wasn’t afraid? The fact itself amused him.

He released her chin. His fingers slid along her cheek, brushed her ear, and found the white jade magnolia pin in her hair. He drew it out gently, and her long hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back. Zhiyi turned her head instinctively; a few strands brushed his fingers, carrying the clean scent of soapberry.

Without another word, he bent and kissed her. She closed her eyes. His lips were cool, with the faint bitterness of tea; the kiss was neither forceful nor timid, as though he were both testing and savoring her. Her mind emptied, leaving only the warmth against her lips.

At some point his hand came to rest at her waist. The heat of his palm reached her through the thin fabric, making her shiver. She drew back instinctively, but his hand held her waist steady, keeping her from retreating.

“Afraid?” he murmured, his breath brushing her ear.

She opened her eyes and met his gaze at close quarters. Candlelight glimmered in those deep eyes like two burning stars.

She shook her head. “No,” she whispered, as though afraid to disturb something.

It was true. She wasn’t afraid. She was nervous and a little uncertain, but more than that, she felt something she couldn’t quite name. Anticipation, perhaps? It wasn’t as though she had never done this in her old life, and she didn’t know what she was anticipating. Perhaps it was because the man before her was an emperor, or because he was exceptionally handsome. Perhaps transmigrating had left her so numb that nothing frightened her anymore.

Li Xuandu looked into her clear eyes and gave a slight, fleeting smile. He tightened his arm and drew her against him. With her face against his chest, she could hear his heartbeat: steady and strong, unhurried, just like the man himself.

He bent and kissed her between the brows, directly over the vermilion mark. She stiffened. The warmth of that kiss seemed to spread from her forehead through every limb.

His hands went to the sash at her waist. The silver-embroidered sash came loose beneath his fingers and slipped to the floor like a snake. Her pale green skirt slid down around her feet, and he drew off her moon-white jacket, baring her shoulders and collarbones.

She instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, not to hide but because she felt cold. Though a charcoal brazier warmed the chamber, goosebumps rose on her skin. Li Xuandu noticed and paused. He pulled a light quilt from the bed, wrapped it around her shoulders, and lifted her, quilt and all.

The succession of movements left her bewildered. Before she could react, he had laid her on the canopy bed. The pale yellow curtains came down, dividing the bed from the rest of the room. Within them were only the two of them and the dim candlelight filtering through a gap.

Li Xuandu leaned over her, looking down. Her hair spread across the pillow, making her face seem very small. The vermilion mark stood out against her pale skin, and her wide eyes reflected his image.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

She did as she was told. His kisses moved from her neck to her collarbone and lower still, and his hand slipped beneath the quilt. When he touched her skin, both paused. Her fingers tightened on the sheet, her breathing quick and shallow. The curtains swayed gently, and the candle flame flickered outside, casting wavering shadows.

The night was long. When Zhiyi thought back on it later, every joint in her body seemed to have been taken apart and put together again. She had no idea where he got his stamina: after a full day reviewing memorials, he had kept her up until the middle of the night, leaving her back aching as though it might break.

She had wanted to ask him to stop, but hadn’t dared. She had wanted to ask whether he wasn’t tired, but it hadn’t seemed proper. In the end, she had bitten her lip and endured, one thought repeating in her head: *Free things really do cost the most!*

Still, perhaps mindful that it was her first time, the emperor had been gentle and remarkably attentive. It had been a long time since she had felt so good.

Eventually the curtains stopped moving. Zhiyi lay on her side among the bedding, too sore and exhausted to lift a finger. Eyes closed, she heard a rustle beside her, followed by Li Xuandu’s low voice, lazy and husky in the aftermath.

“Zhao Quan’an.”

“Your Majesty, I am here,” Zhao answered at once from outside the curtains.

“Bring water.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Footsteps retreated and returned, and water was poured in the chamber. Li Xuandu lifted the curtain and got out of bed. Zhiyi opened her eyes and watched through the gap as he put on his sleeping robe and went to the bronze basin to wash his hands and face.

The candlelight showed his profile clearly. The coolness in his features had given way to a satisfied ease, making him look less remote. He dried his hands and glanced back at the bed. Zhiyi hurriedly shut her eyes and pretended to sleep.

She heard a brief, almost inaudible laugh, then footsteps approaching. He lifted the curtain, lay down again, and casually pulled the quilt over her exposed shoulder.

Zhiyi went rigid. The gesture was so natural, not at all what she would have expected an emperor to do for a consort. Yet the quilt was there, carrying the lingering warmth of his hand.

He turned away from her, and his breathing gradually became slow and even. Zhiyi opened her eyes and stared at the canopy for a long time.