Le ciel au-dessus des rivières et des lacs est dégagé

Chapitre 96

She brushed his hair back, wrapped her arms around his neck, and leaned down to kiss his forehead.

"I love you the most in the whole world."

Zexiu smiled slightly. The two of them started making moves again, and there were vague signs of wildness. One of the two pillows on the bed fell to the ground, and the other was half hanging on the edge of the bed and looked like it was about to fall off. The quilt had long been tucked into the corner of the wall, but no one cared about it.

The other person's body, their person, their heart, are the most important and deserve the utmost attention.

We'll talk about other things later.

Xiao Man's slender body suddenly began to tremble and convulse, as if she couldn't bear it, and she fell backward. He pressed down on her, and at the most radiant moment, pressed his lips against hers, whispering, "...Of all the people in the world, I only love you."

Tianquan Side Story - Meihua

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(Here's a side story from Tianquan~~~ Uh, it's barely N18... barely. This is the end of the side story. Someone asked me to write a 3P side story, but... that's a bit difficult, so I'll abandon that idea. This kind of conflicted and depressing writing reminds me of when I wrote Yao Rao Luan; I was also very depressed, I don't know what possessed me, I just started writing. It's really easier to write sunny and sweet things, really. I like slightly perverted things; anything too perverted is a no-go... Occasionally a little dark, just for fun~ Let's all have some fun together... lol)

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Dusk was falling. The wind whipped up large, dark clouds, engulfing everything from all directions.

Everything went dark.

Fine snowflakes pattered against the paper-covered window, creating a crisp, melodious sound. Combined with the piano music played by the person outside the window, it produced a lingering, romantic atmosphere.

Dressed in white, his hair flowing like black silk, he lowered his head and gently plucked the strings of the zither. His long, slender fingers caressed the skin of a lover with a light, tender touch, a subtle yet alluring gesture.

The candlelight flickered on his long, thick eyelashes, making it difficult to tell whether it was the eyelashes trembling or the flickering flame.

This is a song called "Phoenix Seeking Its Mate," gentle and tender, like spring water flowing around you.

A beautiful and virtuous woman dwells in her boudoir, yet though we are so close, she is so far away, tormenting my heart.

Why do we become a pair of mandarin ducks, neck to neck, soaring together in perfect harmony?

Many years ago, I vaguely heard someone sing in such a high-pitched voice, clear and melodious, echoing through the deep palace.

In autumn, the ginkgo trees turn a brilliant yellow. When the wind blows, the fan-shaped leaves rustle down. Occasionally, little palace maids can be seen laughing and dancing beneath the trees, their waists swaying like willows.

Unfortunately, he couldn't remember that kind of prosperity.

He only remembered his name, Qian Mingxi, courtesy name Jianyu. At that time, he wasn't called Tianquan yet.

As a child, I always loved to wander through long corridors, feeling the gentle breeze brush against my wide sleeves, as if I had gained a pair of wings and could fly.

He flew to the end of the corridor, where a beautiful figure in a crimson gauze dress emerged and called out to him: "Jianyu."

"Snap!"—A string suddenly broke, and the flowing melody suddenly became chaotic and could not continue.

Tianquan placed his scraped finger to his lips and gently blew on it. His eyelashes fluttered, and he couldn't help but turn to look at the layers of ink-wash gauze curtains at the head of the bed. The person inside was still asleep. She didn't know any martial arts and wasn't physically strong, so the aftereffects of the flower sea were much stronger. She probably wouldn't wake up until tomorrow.

He couldn't resist going over to take a look at her, but for some reason, he stopped.

Someone once told him that he shouldn't let anyone become his weakness, because otherwise he would never become strong. The key to being a person is "ruthlessness." He shouldn't like anyone, preferably not even himself. He is a grain of sand, a piece of bark, without feelings, without thoughts.

In the end, however, he was still a person, with flesh and blood, emotions, and—desires.

The wounds on his body began to throb, and blood seeped through his white clothes. That was his master's punishment; the thorn whip had lashed him, tearing his skin and nearly killing him.

The cold-blooded old man said coldly as he withdrew his whip: "Firstly, because of your audacity in going against my principles; secondly, because you have disappointed me. In the end, you are still a coward who can't let go of that girl."

He was probably half right. It wasn't just her that he couldn't let go of; there were other things that no one else understood, perhaps even he himself didn't know what they were.

My father said that if a person stays inside a cocoon for too long, they will become afraid to stick their head out.

He was also afraid, both apprehensive and hopeful.

The strings were broken; the instrument could no longer be played. Tianquan sat quietly for a while, then took a brush, pondered for a long time on the Xuan paper, and wrote a name: Pei Niang.

When he was three, she was fifteen. She entered the palace for the first time and married his great-grandfather as a concubine. From the moment she first served the emperor, she wept every night.

He was very young and didn't understand why she was crying. Now he understands the hidden pain of a woman. Her great-grandfather was very old and could give her nothing. She couldn't ask for anything and couldn't complain.

Fortunately, they were not very old, so she turned her energy to teaching them poetry and literature. She hired a tutor when they were five years old, and for the first two years, she taught them to read and write by hand.

He couldn't remember what his mother looked like, but he always remembered Pei Niang. She had arched eyebrows, watery eyes, and sweet dimples when she smiled. When she was angry, she would give him a light tap and scold, "Silly boy, how many times have you written this character, don't you recognize it?"

Pei Niang, Pei Niang, how much he loved her, treating her with the same respect and affection as a mother, sister, and elder.

I always thought I would be happy like this for the rest of my life.

Later, the Wuyue Kingdom disappeared, and they were secretly sent to a large villa in the Uyghur territory. To this day, he still remembers the copper lock on the door, thicker than a man's thigh, covered in verdigris. It locked all the obscurity and darkness behind the heavy door, unknown to anyone; they couldn't get out, and others couldn't get in.

When he turned fourteen, he suddenly felt something was wrong. Pei Niang's caresses no longer brought him pleasure, and her gentle eyes appeared repeatedly in his dreams, becoming eerily alluring.

One summer day, the two were playing chess. She was only wrapped in a thin veil, the fiery red color reflecting off her fair skin behind the veil, sharper than a needle, piercing his eyes.

During that game of chess, he was distracted, his gaze involuntarily drifting towards her ample bosom. That deep cleavage seemed to steal most of his soul, leaving him as a mere shell of his former self.

Suddenly, she grasped the hand holding the chess piece, bending down to reveal two strikingly white breasts, seemingly tinged with a hint of mockery. She said softly, "Why aren't you making a move? What are you looking at?"

He was suddenly terrified, quickly lowered his eyes, and slowly withdrew his hand.

That night he had a bizarre erotic dream, and when he woke up in the morning, he secretly threw away his pants.

Pei Niang seemed to enjoy his discomfort, her clothes becoming increasingly revealing as she spoke closer and closer. This handsome young man, as tender as a willow branch in spring, she wanted to pluck him, to rub against him little by little, to watch him struggle, bewilderment, restraint, and resistance.

By the time he turned fifteen, he had grown even taller, and he always liked to sit atop a high artificial hill, his loose collar open and his hair flowing freely, gazing into the distance. Many of the young and old maids and servants in the courtyard would blush and smile at his handsome face. He was like a white cloud in a long robe, elegant and refined, seemingly unattainable.