Even though Wu Lang’s body had already been trained to perfection, Xue Qingzhi still felt it wasn’t enough. She found him insufficiently wanton, not slutty enough—always maintaining that cool, aloof demeanor that made playing with him utterly boring.
Wu Lang knew full well the consequences of drinking that bowl of medicine, but he didn’t dare refuse. He could only obediently take it and murmur softly, “This base slave thanks the Princess for the medicine.”
The potion was sour and bitter; even the smell made it hard to swallow. Wu Lang paused for a moment, setting the bowl on the ground. He lifted his damp, dark eyes and asked cautiously, “Princess, may this base slave… go to the lavatory first?”
More than half the water from the horse trough had ended up in his stomach. The swelling pain in his mouth showed no sign of easing, while his lower abdomen ached from being stretched so full. Wu Lang had endured it for as long as he could, but finally, he couldn’t take the excessive torment anymore and begged her.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his cheeks flushing an even deeper crimson with shame. Xue Qingzhi watched the young man’s embarrassed expression with keen interest. She casually reached for a sturdy red sandalwood ruler from beside the pillow and pressed its end against his sweat-dampened chest. With a light flick, the thin layer of gauze clothing slipped to the floor.
A plump, lustrous pearl had robbed this pitiful youth of all freedom and relief.
Wu Lang still remembered the agony when that sharp thin clasp had pierced the tiny opening. The pain had left him voiceless, on the verge of fainting. When he finally came to, all he could see before his eyes was the pearl at the end of the clasp, cruelly proclaiming that from then on, everything about him would be firmly under Xue Qingzhi’s control.
He bit his lip hard, clasping his hands behind his back, allowing Xue Qingzhi to maliciously prod and poke at the slightly swollen skin, one jab at a time.
The young man’s slender, pale neck arched high, veins bulging from his suppressed strain. He had thought his obedience might earn him some relief, but Xue Qingzhi merely said airily, “If you dare soil This Palace’s bed linens, This Palace will cut off that disobedient filthy thing of yours.”
Wu Lang was far too tolerant. That was why she had to resort to such extreme measures. Only when she pushed him to the brink would he finally lower his pride and beg for mercy.
Just as her words trailed off, the youth—who could no longer endure it—had tears reddening the corners of his eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, he rasped out, “Master.”
Xue Qingzhi’s lips curved in a smile, but she didn’t let him off the hook. Instead, she lifted her hand and pressed the cold ruler against his lean jaw, savoring the pained, restrained look in his cool black eyes.
Once she had her fill, she met his expectant gaze and drawled leisurely, “Drink the medicine.”
It was clear she wasn’t allowing him to go.
Wu Lang’s eyes darkened. Suppressing the sour bloating in his abdomen, he silently picked up the bowl and drained it in one gulp.
No sooner had the bowl of medicine settled in his stomach than Wu Lang shuddered. Before he could recover, he was ordered to kneel on the bed.
The drug took effect swiftly. Wu Lang was already burning hot all over, and now it felt as though his body had been doused in fire, making him intensely uncomfortable. He dug his nails into his palms to cling to a shred of clarity, then obediently extended his tongue to lick at the cool white jade in Xue Qingzhi’s hand.
His tongue was covered in hideous blisters from the day Xue Qingzhi had scalded it with hot tea. Wu Lang paused for an instant but didn’t dare slack off. Enduring the immense pain, he continued to serve until the once-cool jade was streaked with erotic trails of saliva, heated by his body temperature until it grew scorching.
“Master, please use this base slave.”
He kept his eyes downcast, reciting the ingratiating words without a trace of emotion. Xue Qingzhi narrowed her eyes, her fingertips tracing inch by inch along his taut waistline. She wasn’t pleased. “It seems the dosage wasn’t enough.”
It was rare for her to be in a good mood, willing to give him a bit of kindness, yet here he was, brushing her off so perfunctorily.
Wu Lang’s entire body trembled as the drug’s effects surged through him like a ferocious wolf rampaging inside. He nearly ground his teeth to dust before he kept himself from showing any disgrace.
But this thoroughly trained body soon surrendered. He collapsed limply into Xue Qingzhi’s grasp, his dark eyes shimmering with tears. When the vine whip lashed across the pale flesh of his buttocks, his voice came out hoarse and low, laced with desperately restrained desire. Finally, he uttered those filthy, unspeakable words.
“Please, Master… use your slave…”
The youth was so soft and feverish, his very breaths carrying a seductive warmth. Toying with him like this was incomparably more satisfying than usual. Xue Qingzhi attributed it to the drug and secretly resolved to add even more next time, completely oblivious to how Wu Lang’s mind was already fogged by the fever.
Delighted, she slapped him across the face and commanded him to turn around.
Seeing the once aloof youth who had coldly rejected her now serving her like a dog, humble and obedient, filled Xue Qingzhi with immense satisfaction. And recalling the distraught look on Xue Yunyi’s face after her earlier blunder that day only made her smugger still. Her imperial sister was delusional—dragging around those two crippled legs and still thinking she could compete with her?
Unconsciously, she struck harder. Wu Lang didn’t dare make a sound and could only endure the pain as she manipulated him. But Xue Qingzhi still wasn’t satisfied. She yanked the iron chain, forcing him to lift his head, and said coldly, “This Palace doesn’t like mutes.”
Faint traces of blood seeped onto the pristine white jade.
Large beads of sweat rolled down the youth’s cheeks, flushed red as if about to bleed. They fell silently onto the peony-embroidered quilt.
Wu Lang had no strength left; his vision was a haze of black. He didn’t know if he was dying. He longed for release—anything she wanted him to do, he’d do it, as long as it ended his suffering. He was willing to pay any price.
Slowly, the youth parted his pale lips and hoarsely repeated self-debasing words over and over. But Xue Qingzhi found it amusing. She pulled away and idly slapped his face, asking a question with each strike, as if they were playing some delightful game.
“What are you?”
“This slave is a filthy whore, born only to seduce others.”
“Whose words do you obey?”
“This base slave obeys only you.”
Xue Qingzhi laughed and casually swelled the other side of the youth’s face as a reward.
“You adore This Palace, so you serve This Palace willingly, don’t you?”
Sweat stung Wu Lang’s eyes, his thick lashes drooping wetly. His chest heaved as he braced his arms against the bed linens, veins bulging starkly.
All he had to do was submit meekly, as he’d been taught countless times before—just say “yes,” and he could escape this hellish cage. But suddenly, Wu Lang refused to play Xue Qingzhi’s cruel game any longer. He didn’t like her—hadn’t liked her before, and didn’t now. Just because she was the Emperor’s most favored princess, did that mean he had no right to refuse her?
But before this noble-born Second Princess, what reason mattered?
Near Ninghua Palace lay Yao Lake, its waters vast and clear to the bottom. Xue Qingzhi had complained that the palace scenery was dull, so the Emperor had specially ordered artisans to dig and channel stone-lined waters, expending untold effort to create this beautiful vista. On the first day Wu Lang had been fitted with the dark iron chain, Xue Qingzhi had led him onto a pleasure boat to cruise the lake and admire the views.
It was midday, the deck scorching hot. Wu Lang knelt there, eyes lowered, fanning his already swollen cheeks with his own hand while murmuring apologies. “It is this base slave’s honor to accompany the Princess on the lake. This base slave was blind before and dared to refuse the Princess. Please punish me.”
Xue Qingzhi lounged in the shade, leisurely eating snacks handed to her by the palace servants, savoring the exquisite performance before her.
The little boat glided slowly through the rippling waves. A gentle breeze carried the fragrance of grass and trees through the air, like a paradise on earth. All around was serene silence, broken only by the sharp slaps of the youth against his own face.
Wu Lang had long since accepted his fate, debasing himself in hopes that Xue Qingzhi would spare his life. But in this moment, amid his fever-muddled thoughts, a spark of defiance flared. He fell silent, watching the interest in Xue Qingzhi’s eyes fade bit by bit until her smile vanished without a trace.
“Untamable mongrel.”
Xue Qingzhi spat the words through gritted teeth, lashing the barbed whip viciously across Wu Lang’s trembling back. After all these days, she’d thought him thoroughly broken, never to defy her again. She hadn’t expected the stubbornness in his bones to be so intractable—even dosed like this, he still wouldn’t fully yield.
“Someone come!” she barked furiously. “Lock this insolent thing in the punishment chamber. No one is to release him without This Palace’s command!”
Qingdai hurried in with two young eunuchs, terrified. She had no idea what had happened. Just moments ago, when she’d delivered the medicine, Xue Qingzhi had been in high spirits, instructing her to prepare some nourishing broth for Wu Lang to drink later. She’d said he was too skinny, uncomfortable to use, and needed to put on some meat. How had everything soured in less than a quarter-hour?
She didn’t dare delay and quietly ordered the eunuchs to drag Wu Lang away quickly.
Wu Lang put up no resistance—he had no strength for it. He closed his weary eyes and let the eunuchs seize his wrists roughly, hauling him off like livestock from the bedchamber.
Spring in the Southern Frontier was always lingering and rainy.
On the way back to Azure Cypress Palace, a misty drizzle began to fall again.
Mo Ying wheeled Xue Yunyi into the bedchamber, where palace maids were already waiting with clean clothes to help her change.
She had always been particular about cleanliness; even a speck of rain on her made her uncomfortable.
Meng Jiang entered carrying her medicine box. As she administered acupuncture to Xue Yunyi, she proactively brought up the prescription Mo Ying had delivered that day.
“This prescription contains twelve rare medicinal ingredients, all extraordinarily precious. I beg Your Highness to grant me a bit more time. Once I’ve consulted with my colleagues, we may have some leads.”
Xue Yunyi waved it off listlessly. “No rush.”
She hadn’t expected the Imperial Hospital to produce an antidote so quickly anyway.
After the medicinal bath, Meng Jiang rose and took her leave.
Mo Ying fetched a cotton cloth and carefully wiped the medicinal residue from Xue Yunyi’s legs. Xue Yunyi watched her quietly for a moment before suddenly speaking. “In the future, there’s no need to go to such trouble preparing these anymore.”
She knew Meng Jiang had only wanted to give her a glimmer of hope, which was why she had devised this medicinal bath. But no one understood her body better than she did herself. Brewing all the herbs in the world would change nothing.
Mo Ying paused, tempted to offer a few words of persuasion, but in the end, she swallowed them back silently. She regretted it deeply in her heart. Back then, she should have stopped Your Highness and not let her agree to paint Xue Qingzhi’s portrait. Every visit to Ninghua Palace ended with Xue Qingzhi finding some way to upset Your Highness.
She instructed the palace maids to remove the wooden tub. Then Mo Ying stood and asked cautiously, “It’s raining outside, Your Highness. Don’t catch a chill. Shall this servant push you to rest?”
“Very well.”
Xue Yunyi allowed Mo Ying to carry her to the canopy bed and tuck her in beneath the covers.
The rain pattered steadily, perfect for lulling one to sleep, but when Xue Yunyi closed her eyes, slumber eluded her.