Hey, buddy.
Ever seen a blooming butt, buddy?
Lu Yan’s forceful suppression of Jiang Sheng dated back to childhood—the boy was simply too much of a menace, and almost no one at home could manage him. After two spankings from Lu Yan, he’d learned his lesson, at least never misbehaving in front of him again.
Later they married, and Lu Yan rarely laid hands on him anymore; on the rare occasions Jiang Sheng infuriated him past bearing, he’d simply strip his pants and give him a thorough seeing-to. Equally effective.
Tonight, clearly, a certain drunken little cat required special attention.
Jiang Sheng, carried back by Lu Yan, had no idea what awaited him, working the crowd like a fan meet—waving warmly at every passing servant. “Hello there! Hello! Good evening!”
No one dared respond.
Lu Yan’s face was black as thunder.
The man quickened his pace, gripping Jiang Sheng tighter to stop his squirming, saying through gritted teeth, “Behave.”
Back in the main hall, he carried the man in, shut the door behind him with a backhand slam, and not forgetting to order coldly: without his permission, no one entered.
Cheng Yu, sweating, acknowledged at once and stood guard at the door like a door god.
Before long, Cheng Jing crept over and bumped his brother’s shoulder, whispering, “What’s wrong with His Highness? Such a temper?”
Rare, this.
Lu Yan was never one to swallow pressure—whoever provoked him simply died. No point being angry at dead men, right?
Cheng Yu wasn’t sure either. He’d been fine leaving Commandery Prince Ying’s Manor. Could the Master have gotten drunk and annoyed the Prince in the carriage?
Cheng Jing’s expression suddenly turned grave. “Brother, listen—is the Master crying?”
The surroundings quieted, and yes—faint wailing could be heard from within.
Cheng Yu swallowed. “Little Jing, maybe we should stand farther away.”
How many lives did they have, eavesdropping on the Prince?
Cheng Jing looked at his brother. “The Prince’s moods are vicious—but the Master is so kind. What if the Prince… kills him?”
Though they’d known him only days, everyone adored this little Master—no airs, always smiling, good-looking, pleasant-spoken, never once treating them as slaves.
Cheng Yu hesitated. “Should I fetch the Divine Doctor?”
Soon, the door-eavesdropping party grew to three.
“Why’d it go quiet?”
“Don’t tell me…”
“You go look.”
“You go, you go.”
Truly silent now.
Because he couldn’t even cry out anymore.
Jiang Sheng’s bare legs were pinned over Lu Yan’s lap, his bottom having endured a full round, red and glowing—hot to the touch under the large hand. Lu Yan, face cold, rubbed it for him, though his eyes had gone a bit fixed, very much wanting… to lower his head and take a bite.
Butts at times like these were the best for biting: medium-rare, sensitive skin, one bite and it wept.
Half the wine’s kick had been smacked out of Jiang Sheng. Tearful, he whimpered, “How can you hit your own wife…”
Lu Yan’s eyes had gone a little red; he’d stopped hearing his wife entirely. He suddenly lowered his head and bit down on the peak of one cheek.
Jiang Sheng’s eyes flew wide—now fully, thoroughly awake—and he shrieked, “LU YAN—”
You pervert!!
That voice rang out crisp and clear, heard inside and out.
The three outside couldn’t squat another second. They rose in unison, exchanged a look, and charged in together.
“Your Highness—”
A pillow came flying, along with Lu Yan’s roar, “GET OUT!”
Accustomed as they were to the Prince’s fearsome authority, none dared advance.
Who’d have thought the next instant, a bratty voice would ring out, “YOU get out! Pervert! Get OUT!”
The three looked at each other, turned, and left.
Listening further would be rude.
Besides, the little Master’s voice sounded hale and hearty—perfectly capable of leaping up and slapping the Prince across the face.
The door shut again. Behind the curtains, Jiang Sheng struggled for his life, feet nearly connecting with Lu Yan’s face—not that he was sparing him; he was afraid Lu Yan would lick his soles.
Lu Yan’s breathing was heavy, one arm clamped around him like an iron band, voice hoarse. “Don’t move.”
Jiang Sheng wept with grievance.
Bottom hot and aching, bitten on top of it—and worst of all, the culprit was pressing against him.
Lu Yan gathered him up to sit, watching Jiang Sheng clutch his bottom with one hand and weep with the other, and inevitably softened, voice dropping. “Dare sneak wine again?”
Jiang Sheng’s lips wobbled—and seeing Lu Yan’s hand rise again, he rushed out, “No more, no more! I’ll listen to Husband from now on! You say go east, I go west! You say bed, I stick my butt up!”
Lu Yan: “…”
Truly defeated by this Little Ancestor.
He suddenly leaned close, hooking Jiang Sheng’s chin with one hand, and kissed him hard.
Jiang Sheng whimpered like a puppy, but the rest was soon swallowed by Lu Yan.
Kissing—they’d done it countless times, intimately familiar with each other’s every weak point. Lu Yan knew at which second to stroke Jiang Sheng’s neck lightly, fingertips tracing the bob of his throat—and before long, Jiang Sheng would melt into a puddle, yours for the taking.
After a good long while, Lu Yan released him. Sure enough, Jiang Sheng had been kissed into a little strawberry shortcake—cheeks flushed, woozily nuzzling Lu Yan’s chest.
Obedient beyond all obedience.
His lips were still mumbling something—surely moving words of love.
Lu Yan leaned in to listen—
“Hands that have touched my butt don’t touch my face.”
“…”
Lu Yan stroked his hair. “Baby, I’ve memorized every word you said.”
Jiang Sheng asked blearily, “What did I say, Husband?”
Lu Yan looked down and smiled at him. “You like it rough. You like car-bouncing.”
Jiang Sheng: “!!!!”
He said nothing further, just raised his voice to call for water.
Lu Yan bathed him. He hadn’t truly used force anyway; in no time the red had faded to a tender pink—only the ring of teeth marks remained distinct. Good thing Jiang Sheng couldn’t see it, or the pervert accusations would fly again.
For the moment, though, Jiang Sheng had no strength left to fuss.
Wine plus all that commotion—Jiang Sheng was drowsy to the bone, head lolling sideways; without Lu Yan holding him he’d have sunk under the water and started bubbling again.
Washed clean and patted fragrant, Lu Yan held him and couldn’t help kissing his cheeks several times. How was his wife this fragrant? Lu Yan’s kisses drifted lower—pecking his wife’s lips, then the chin, the collarbone, lower still—
SMACK!
Jiang Sheng, freshly asleep, was jolted awake. Sleeping badly, he whimpered and slapped out in annoyance—landing squarely on Lu Yan’s chin.
It didn’t hurt—like being batted by a kitten’s paw, just itchy.
Lu Yan caught that hand and kissed it too, and only then finally held his wife and slept.
By his knowledge of Jiang Sheng, a hard battle awaited tomorrow.
…
Sure enough, first thing the next morning, Jiang Sheng kicked up a fuss.
No shouting—just pouting, yanking the bedsheet down to spread on the floor and pack things into.
Lu Yan didn’t even have a bed to sit on, standing helplessly to the side. “What’s wrong, Little Ancestor?”
Jiang Sheng made a show of sniffing. “Oh, you’re powerful now. A prince. Isn’t it just that you’re bullying me—alone with no one to turn to, beaten and scolded at will? Fine, I’ll leave then.”
Lu Yan, out of options, scooped him up one-armed. “More fussing?”
Two words into the threat, he saw his wife gazing at him pleadingly, and the man went soft again, coaxing, “I was wrong. I spanked baby too hard.”
Seeing Jiang Sheng still silent, Lu Yan lowered himself further. “Our Shengsheng is magnanimous and generous—don’t run away from home. You know I can’t live without my wife.”
That last line finally coaxed a smile out of Jiang Sheng. He huffed, chin tilting up like a supremely satisfied kitty. “As long as you know. Wives are hard to come by these days—if you’ve got one, cherish her. Got it?”
Eyes sparkling at Lu Yan. “A wife is for cherishing, not for hitting. Come on, repeat after me.”
Lu Yan drew a deep breath and repeated it expressionlessly, thinking to himself.
Brat. Keep it up.
I’m keeping a ledger.
Wait for the wedding night.
If his wife can get out of bed afterward, does that count as growing up? No—it counts as Lu Yan being incompetent.
After a good long coaxing session, the wife’s urge to pack up and elope was finally dispelled. Lu Yan exhaled in relief and called for attendants to wash and dress him.
The servants stood by with their trays, watching the Prince personally wash the Master, dress him, meticulous and attentive—even they, professional servants, felt outdone.
The servant of servants.
Only at the meal did Jiang Sheng suddenly remember, “Why didn’t you go to morning court today?”
Lu Yan, serving him food, said resignedly, “Little Ancestor, this is already lunch.”
Jiang Sheng craned his neck to look outside, saw nothing useful—curse this ancient era for having no wristwatches; he could barely tell the time anymore.
Lu Yan ladled a spoonful of congee to his lips, coaxing, “A little more.”
Still too thin. Holding Jiang Sheng in his arms and weighing that featherlight body, Lu Yan’s heart ached; he couldn’t wait to fatten the man up.
Jiang Sheng reluctantly swallowed a bite and asked at once, “Where are we going to play today?”
Lu Yan considered. “There’s a lantern festival tonight. I’ll take you out to see it.”
Only then did Jiang Sheng cheer a happy “woohoo.”
With Jiang Sheng fed, Lu Yan didn’t retreat into his study as before. He had a wife now—all his hours belonged to her, naturally.
The weather had turned cold these past days; Lu Yan had food, drink, and amusements delivered to the warm pavilion. He lounged half-reclined on the couch, Jiang Sheng half-reclined against him, fiddling with a Nine Linked Rings puzzle—but Kitty was never one to sit still. To him, the Nine Linked Rings couldn’t compete with his husband’s hands, and before long he was solemnly kneading Lu Yan’s palm, pretending to read his fortune.
Jiang Sheng stroked his chin, acting the part beautifully. “Ooh la la. This is the palm of great wealth and honor.”
Lu Yan laughed, playing along. “Is that so.”
After transmigrating, on his first visit to Guanyun Temple, the old monk had called his fate one of utter solitude.
No father, no mother, no wife, no child.
Looking at it now—pure nonsense.
What fate?
One kick from Jiang Sheng had shattered it.
Loud and rambunctious, joyful and bright, he’d dropped out of the sky straight into his arms, hollering, “Husband, I’m here!”
He didn’t believe in fate.
He believed only in what he could grip tight in his own hand.
His Shengsheng.
His palm tickled—Jiang Sheng was tracing lines on it with a fingertip. “The palm says: a smooth life, great fortune, and a wife who’s especially beautiful, especially obedient, especially wonderful. You must treasure him your whole life, listen to him, never be fierce with him, never hit him, never…”
Smuggling in rather a lot of personal clauses.
Lu Yan abruptly closed his hand, trapping Jiang Sheng’s fingers in his grip.
His wife looked up at him, bewildered.
“Rest assured, Master Fortune-Teller. I will love my wife for a lifetime.”
Lu Yan leaned in and kissed the corner of Jiang Sheng’s mouth.
Jiang Sheng blinked—then suddenly parted his lips a little, mumbling, “Husband, put your tongue in.”
Lu Yan: “…”
So sometimes Jiang Sheng ending up unable to get out of bed wasn’t entirely Lu Yan’s lack of restraint—Jiang Sheng bore primary responsibility.
After the two had kissed themselves gooey, Cheng Yu’s low report sounded from outside, and only then did Lu Yan release him, straightening Jiang Sheng’s clothes before letting Cheng Yu in.
Entering, Cheng Yu paused at the sight of Jiang Sheng and swerved mid-sentence. “Your Highness. Lord… Lord Jiang has resigned his post and returned to his hometown.”
Lu Yan glanced at him and nodded. Beside him, Jiang Sheng chimed in with a couple of huffs, “Serves him right, knowing to run.”
The man smiled noncommittally, only reaching out to pat Jiang Sheng’s little belly. “Want some Milk Cake? It’s sweet.”
Jiang Sheng’s attention was captured in exactly one second; he nodded rapidly. “Want it, want it!”
“I’ll get it for you.”
Lu Yan’s voice was gentle, and he walked out under Jiang Sheng’s expectant gaze—the smile on his face vanishing without a trace.
He tilted his head slightly; Cheng Yu understood, and repeated what he’d come to report. “The Jiang Family has been dealt with. Bandits on the road home—servants scattered in every direction. The three of the Jiang household, none survived.”
Lu Yan gave a flat “mm.”
An ending like that was letting them off easy. Everyone in that family had blood on their hands; call it dying where they belonged.
Cheng Yu paused. “There is, in fact, an eldest son of the Jiang Manor. He left the household many years ago; his whereabouts remain unknown.”
Lu Yan frowned. He disliked leaving loose threads. “Look into it.”
Cheng Yu asked, “Shall we deal with him as well?”
Lu Yan’s brows were drawn, about to answer—when the door behind them burst open and Jiang Sheng hollered, “Milk Cake, Milk Cake, where’s my Milk Cake?!”
The man changed faces like a stage performer, turning with his expression melted into gentleness, coaxing, “Shall I carry you to the small kitchen?”
Jiang Sheng simply spread his arms wide, demanding to be carried by Husband.
And so the two walked off, sweet as syrup.
Cheng Yu stood there scratching his head.
What did the Prince mean?
If they found the man—then what?
Grind him into Milk Cake?
