When Jiang Feng came to, he was in a guest room. Credit where due—Lu Yan had some restraint, and hadn’t thrown him straight into the woodshed.
He collected himself for a while, and the moment he remembered what had happened before he fainted, his face flashed green and white. He bolted for the door—but the instant he pushed it open, shing, two blades gleaming with cold light crossed in front of him.
Jiang Feng went silent.
Jiang Feng quietly took a step back.
“His Highness requests that you stay here like a good guest.” One guard drawled lazily, “Don’t make things difficult for us.”
The other guard picked up the thread. “Count yourself lucky. If the Prince weren’t in high spirits over today’s wedding, you’d already be mincemeat. A guest room? You wouldn’t even get a coffin.”
Jiang Feng ground his teeth. “Has Lu Yan no shame at all? Did he get my consent to marry my brother?! Move! I demand to see my brother!”
The guard rolled his eyes. “His Highness and the Little Master are busy with their wedding chamber. Where would they find time for you?”
Wedding chamber… wedding chamber…
The words buzzed in Jiang Feng’s skull, over and over. His mind conjured his brother pinned to the bed, wrists and ankles bound by Lu Yan, perhaps crying hoarsely for his gege even now.
His lips began to tremble—and then his body swayed, tipped backward, and he fainted again.
“Why’d he faint again?”
“Should we call the Divine Doctor for him? He’s awfully frail…”
Meanwhile, in the main hall, red curtains hung low—a scene of pure, honeyed sweetness.
Lu Yan advanced step by step, his eyes on Jiang Sheng darkening by degrees. He undid his robes, pulled loose his jade belt—and suddenly heard Jiang Sheng stammer, “W-w-w… wait! Wait a moment!”
He shrank back nervously.
All his big talk usually, but when the moment actually came, he balled up into a trembling heap.
It’s just… Lu Yan had been holding back for EIGHT years.
How terrifying would that be?
Would Kitty’s bottom survive?
Lu Yan stilled. His voice was a little hoarse. “What is it?”
Jiang Sheng licked his lips. “Um… Husband, I’m thirsty.”
The man studied him for two long seconds, then rose and went to pour him water.
Jiang Sheng held the teacup and sipped in tiny mouthfuls—and between sips, kept sneaking glances up at Lu Yan beside him.
The man’s face betrayed nothing, eyes lowered, simply watching him, fixed and steady.
It made Jiang Sheng’s skin prickle.
One cup of water stretched an eternity; Jiang Sheng nearly licked the cup dry.
He paused, then handed the empty cup back with an apologetic smile. “Husband… I’d like one more cup.”
Lu Yan took it, tone flat. “No more. Unless you want to wet the bed and cry about it again.”
Jiang Sheng: “!??”
He genuinely could not fathom how Lu Yan said such things in such a placid voice.
Did he have no shame?!
Blackmail! This was naked, shameless blackmail!
Jiang Sheng was near tears. “Husband, I… I want to go check on my gege…”
Lu Yan smiled faintly.
Forget this ancient knockoff—even if the modern Jiang Feng had truly arrived, Lu Yan would never let him out of this room.
He said softly, “Baby, I’ve told you many times, haven’t I—careful how far you push. It seems my words never quite sink in.”
Retribution delayed is not retribution denied.
Jiang Sheng whimpered pitifully. He was a skilled little actor and knew Lu Yan couldn’t bear his tears—whenever he got into trouble, all it took was wide innocent eyes and fat rolling tears, and Lu Yan would go too soft to even scold him.
But he also knew one iron rule: in bed, cry sparingly. In this context, his tears were nothing short of an aphrodisiac to Lu Yan.
The more he cried, the fiercer Lu Yan became.
The red silk from the wedding had been retrieved by Lu Yan. Layer by layer, he wound it around Jiang Sheng’s wrists, then tied it to the headboard.
Jiang Sheng played the victim, whimpering, “Husband… gently.”
Lu Yan flipped him over, a hand pressing at the back of his neck, voice rough. “Gentle is off the table.”
Restraint, suppressed too long—even Lu Yan no longer knew whether he was still normal. Ancient times lacked the modern world’s conveniences; the supplies weren’t as complete. Afraid of hurting Jiang Sheng, Lu Yan had long ago ordered every kind of salve prepared, and had even pored over medical texts for days to work out a proper method.
He scooped a bit of salve; it melted quickly under the warmth, sliding down along his fingers.
A rich rose scent spread through the room.
At first, Lu Yan was patient, thorough, unhurried—listening to his Wife call his name in that soft, sweet voice until the veins at his temples stood out and sweat dripped down.
When Jiang Sheng was ready, Lu Yan kissed his ear tenderly, kissing away the tears on his lashes. “All right? Baby.”
Jiang Sheng’s voice shook, a sob caught in it. “Don’t… don’t move yet.”
Lu Yan nodded.
Which meant he could move now.
Like a windstorm and cloudburst, without a moment’s pause, battering a lone flower in the rain until it swayed every which way.
Jiang Sheng cried until his breathing broke apart. He struggled and crawled forward a couple of inches, only to be hauled back by Lu Yan—and pressed deeper into.
The man’s large hand pinned his waist.
Disciplining one’s Wife at a moment like this—doubly effective.
“Going to run off again?”
Jiang Sheng shook his head between sobs.
“Going to listen to Husband?”
Jiang Sheng hiccupped, utterly pitiful. “Yes… yes.”
Lu Yan seemed to smile, satisfied, and rewarded him with a kiss to the tip of his ear—tender on the surface, while his movements didn’t soften by a single degree, driving Jiang Sheng until not half a word could leave his mouth, lips hanging open blankly, the picture of misery.
Then, without warning, the man flipped him over and asked, “And whose word does Baby listen to?”
Jiang Sheng’s head was pure mush; all he could produce was broken, hiccupping whimpers.
Lu Yan sighed. “I’ve truly fucked you into a little fool.”
In the small hours, water was called for once.
The servants carried it in. The red bed curtains hung low, fragrance thick in the air; they didn’t dare lift their heads, setting the water down and retreating at speed.
Only after the door closed did Lu Yan carry the man out. Jiang Sheng lay boneless against his chest, half asleep, one calf dangling—and even the soft flesh of his legs bore tooth marks, testimony to the man’s wickedness.
Lu Yan lowered him into the bath. Jiang Sheng was so sleepy his eyelids wouldn’t stay up; without Lu Yan supporting him, he’d have slipped under and started blowing bubbles.
Lu Yan kissed his cheek and said, with great insincerity, “Sleep, Baby. I’ll wash you.”
Jiang Sheng fell for it once, twice, three times… the Kitty had learned nothing and eaten his fill of nothing.
No matter how many times Lu Yan tricked him, he still trusted his Husband.
The moment his eyes closed, the man’s hands got to work. Half-asleep, Jiang Sheng whimpered in protest, uncomfortable.
But the man didn’t stop—quite the opposite.
Jiang Sheng cracked his eyes open and gazed at Lu Yan, wounded. “Stop it.”
Lu Yan paused, then said, with perfect hypocrisy, “If I don’t clean you out, you’ll fall ill tomorrow.”
Delivered with the gravity of a physician’s decree.
But in the end, once everything inside was clean, Lu Yan simply pushed back in again.
Over and over, without end…
By the time dawn neared, Jiang Sheng had cried his voice hoarse. Lu Yan poured him a cup of water. “Drink, Baby. Your favorite—aphrodisiac.”
A bolt from the blue.
Jiang Sheng’s hand jerked, nearly dropping the cup.
He trembled. “What?”
Lu Yan smiled and asked in return, “Didn’t you throw a fit demanding it when you were sick the other day?”
Jiang Sheng’s tears were about to spill.
He knew Lu Yan held grudges—but not like THIS. So the score hadn’t been settled back then; he’d just been waiting to collect afterward.
His lips wobbled. “Husband, I was wrong.”
Lu Yan was the picture of tenderness, brushing the stray hairs from Jiang Sheng’s forehead. “Finish settling accounts first, Baby. Then apologize.”
What he’d drunk was plain hot water—but whether from the power of Lu Yan’s suggestion, the moment Jiang Sheng finished it, his whole body felt scorching. He said, on the verge of sobs, “Lu Yan, I’m actually angry now. You drugged me… you don’t love me anymore, you don’t care about my body at all…”
Before he could finish, he watched Lu Yan pick up a pill and swallow it.
Lu Yan said, perfectly calm, “Of course I couldn’t bear to give you the real one.”
“Yours was hot water. Mine is the real thing.”
Jiang Sheng: “…”
The Kitty’s eyes rolled back, and he toppled over.
Jiang Sheng retained no memory of what came after—only the image of Lu Yan burying his face in the crook of his neck, calling him Wife over and over.
His body no longer felt like his own. Jiang Sheng lay limp everywhere, without even the strength to cry.
Sniff… is it too late to run off with gege now…
It was past noon the next day and Jiang Sheng was still asleep. Afraid he’d starve, Lu Yan woke him, held him, and fed him some broth. Jiang Sheng drank a bellyful in a half-dream, head lolling, and dropped right back off.
Lu Yan found it hilarious. Jiang Sheng looked exactly like a little kitty with a round belly, sleeping belly-up and snoring. Absolutely adorable. And Lu Yan, at this moment, wanted to do nothing at all—only stay at his Wife’s side.
He dipped his head and nuzzled into the crook of his Wife’s neck, breathing in. Jiang Sheng always carried some indescribably sweet scent, fragrant and soft, impossible to name—the kind that made you drunk with one breath.
Like a great hound, he snuffled around his Wife again and again, and finally pushed Jiang Sheng’s clothes aside to bury his face against his belly and inhale.
So sweet. So soft.
And at that exact moment, a knock came at the door.
Lu Yan’s brow creased. He clapped a hand over his Wife’s ear and lowered his voice. “Get out.”
Cheng Yu rubbed his hands together, helpless.
Why was it always HIS turn for these jobs…
He hemmed for a long while. “Your Highness… that eldest young master Jiang… perhaps you should go look? He’s about to smash the whole room. He says if he can’t see Master, he’ll bash his head against the wall.”
Lu Yan: “…”
Face dark, he was tempted to simply tell Cheng Yu to let Jiang Feng go ahead and die.
But then he looked down at the sleeping Jiang Sheng, and swallowed his impatience, rising carefully and quietly stepping out.
Cheng Yu waited obediently at the door. Before long, the Prince strode out, face like a thundercloud, shutting the door behind him with a backhanded slap, voice heavy. “Where is he?”
“I want to see my brother!”
Jiang Feng bellowed the sentence for the one hundred and eighth time.
The guards outside had cotton stuffed in their ears, backs to the door, pretending deafness.
Just as Jiang Feng drew breath for the one hundred and ninth, the door finally opened. Lu Yan walked in, cloak over his shoulders, surveying the wrecked room with a flat expression. “Jiang Sheng is still sleeping. Don’t disturb him. Whatever you have to say, say it to me.”
Jiang Feng shook with rage. “Still sleeping?! At this hour… Lu Yan, are you even human?! You dare bully my brother—I’ll fight you to the death!”
Yesterday, Jiang Feng had been howling for a one-on-one duel. Today he’d discovered… that even one-on-one, he was no match for Lu Yan.
