Xue Qingzhi gazed coldly at the youth kneeling before her. Without a shred of mercy, she lifted her foot and pressed it down on his head. “You even dare to forget the rules. It seems This Palace hasn’t punished you enough.”
Wu Lang let out a muffled grunt of pain. Xue Qingzhi was still not satisfied. She hooked his chin with her toe, forcing him to turn his face toward her, then stomped down hard.
The youth’s handsome face was mercilessly ground beneath her foot, distorting almost out of shape. Dusty shoe prints quickly marred his skin, leaving him looking wretched and pitiable.
Xue Yunyi couldn’t bear to watch. She frowned and said, “He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“The Imperial Sister dislikes noise while painting. This base slave disturbed her with his voice, so he deserves severe punishment.” Xue Qingzhi arched a brow. As she spoke, she slowly increased the pressure from her foot.
Wu Lang couldn’t endure it. His eyes reddened at the rims. He hadn’t even known Xue Yunyi was there painting, but if Xue Qingzhi wanted to punish him, she could always find a thousand reasons. Even if Xue Yunyi hadn’t been present today, this beating would have been unavoidable.
He had never been granted the right to argue back. He could only submit in silence.
Xue Yunyi’s gaze swept over Wu Lang’s trembling back. “It was I who lost my focus. It has nothing to do with him.”
At those words, Xue Qingzhi gave Xue Yunyi a long, meaningful look. Only after a good while did she slowly withdraw her foot and nudge the youth, who was still prostrated on the ground, afraid to raise his head.
“Since the Imperial Sister has spoken up for you, This Palace will let you off this time. Come and serve me.”
Xue Qingzhi settled back into her wide armchair and casually took the teacup that Ah Xiao offered her. She lowered her head for a sip of the warm, clear tea.
When she looked up again, Wu Lang was kneeling subserviently at her feet. The iron chain dragged across the floor, producing a dull clanking sound. Perhaps from kneeling so long, faint bloodstains seeped through his knees, stark against the thin, snowy gauze of his robes.
Xue Qingzhi gave a scornful huff. She had no intention of letting the pitiful youth off so easily. She tilted her chin toward Ah Xiao at her side. He understood at once and picked up the fruit plate from the small table, handing it to Wu Lang.
“Don’t think you can slack off. Serve the Princess properly.”
The blue-glazed porcelain dish on a white base held a few glistening purple grapes. It wasn’t the season for grapes, and these rare fruits had been specially picked from Clear Province a hundred miles away on the Emperor’s orders, then rushed posthaste to the palace.
The Capital City was gripped by cold, but Clear Province was warm and humid, abundant in melons and fruits. The Emperor had gone to such lengths merely to win a bit of favor from the Noble Consort. As the Noble Consort’s daughter, Xue Qingzhi naturally benefited as well.
Wu Lang knelt with his eyes downcast, holding the dish in both hands and raising it high beside Xue Qingzhi.
The porcelain dish was quite shallow. The slightest instability would send the plump grapes rolling onto the floor. Wu Lang didn’t dare move a muscle, letting his thin sleeves slip down to his elbows and expose his taut forearms.
He hadn’t eaten in a full day and night. His stomach was empty, and waves of dizziness washed over him.
Wu Lang nearly bit through his lip before he managed to rally his fading consciousness, preventing himself from collapsing in front of Xue Qingzhi.
If he dropped and shattered the dish, he had no doubt that Xue Qingzhi would brutally yank the iron chain around his neck and order him to kneel on the sharp porcelain shards to reflect on his mistake.
The hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
Time slipped by unnoticed. The dainty grapes gradually grew heavier, weighing on him like a thousand pounds and making his forearms tremble silently.
Beads of sweat beaded on Wu Lang’s forehead. He clenched his teeth. In his daze, he vaguely heard a low chuckle from Ah Xiao nearby.
Even without looking up, Wu Lang could imagine the contempt and disdain in Ah Xiao’s eyes.
Xue Qingzhi had more than a dozen male favorites in her service, all from prestigious families. They had entered the palace of their own accord to serve her, hoping to leverage her and the Noble Consort’s influence for a bright future. They had always looked down on Wu Lang because—
Male favorites were male favorites, and a dog was a dog. The hierarchy was clear.
Wu Lang had grown accustomed to being punished in front of them. At first, he had felt humiliated, but as time wore on, he had become numb to it.
Compared to staying alive, a bit of dignity meant nothing.
But today was different.
Today… there was someone else present.
The Eldest Princess.
The Eldest Princess, with her serene, Guanyin-like brows and eyes.
The thought that Xue Yunyi’s clear gaze might be fixed on his abject humiliation made Wu Lang’s cheeks burn as if scorched by flames.
He didn’t know what Xue Yunyi saw when she looked at him, nor did he dare to imagine. He kept his lashes lowered, focusing all his attention on the porcelain dish in his hands.
The grapes wobbled precariously. He was about to lose his grip.
Xue Yunyi set down her brush.
The ink in the inkstone had dried a bit, leaving imperfect lines on the paper. Her mind wasn’t calm enough, so the outlines lacked their usual steadiness. Fortunately, it wasn’t obvious unless one looked closely.
Xue Yunyi raised her head. Her gaze fell on the youth, whose arms were now trembling lightly.
There were still eight grapes in the dish, not one missing. But Xue Qingzhi’s tea had been refilled three times.
The youth’s forearms quivered uncontrollably. The sweat at his temples had soaked his stray hairs, plastering them wetly to his face.
Xue Yunyi’s eyes darkened slightly. She stopped Mo Ying, who was about to add more ink. “I’m tired. We’ll stop here for today.”
Xue Qingzhi looked up in surprise. “It’s not even half a shichen yet, Imperial Sister. You’re tired already?”
“My body can’t handle sitting for long.” Xue Yunyi instructed Mo Ying to pack up the paper and brushes on the table. Calmly, she added, “I’ll come back tomorrow. Since I promised you, Sister, I’ll put my heart into finishing this painting properly. You needn’t worry.”
Xue Qingzhi narrowed her eyes. “The Imperial Sister’s health does need careful tending these days. Qingdai, see the Imperial Sister out properly. The paths in my palace aren’t easy to navigate. It would be terrible if the Imperial Sister tripped or fell.”
“Yes.”
Qingdai responded respectfully. But when she turned to Xue Yunyi, her face shifted to a mocking expression. “Eldest Princess, this way, please.”
Xue Yunyi took the rolled-up painting paper in her hands and placed it gently on her lap. The thin rice paper was delicate; the slightest carelessness could crease it. She worried the palace servants might be rough, so she always kept her paintings with her personally.
The thin paper was the color of snow, matching the hue of Wu Lang’s robes.
As she passed by Wu Lang’s side, Xue Yunyi thought that once she left, he probably wouldn’t have to keep kneeling there to be punished.
The wheelchair receded into the distance.
Xue Qingzhi watched Xue Yunyi’s retreating figure vanish through the bedchamber door. Her gaze gradually chilled. She turned back, glanced at the grapes in Wu Lang’s hands, and frowned listlessly. With a wave, she dismissed the several youths at her side.
Ah Xiao wanted to stay and serve, but a cold glance from Xue Qingzhi made him withdraw awkwardly with the others.
Now, only she and Wu Lang remained in the hall.
She eyed his ceaselessly trembling form and plucked a plump grape, popping it slowly into her mouth.
After finishing it, she took a second.
Only when the dish in Wu Lang’s hands was empty did Xue Qingzhi wipe her hands with a cloth. With a sigh, she said, “The Imperial Sister seems quite distressed on your account.”
Wu Lang shuddered.
Xue Qingzhi let out a soft scoff. She took away the porcelain dish and reached out to stroke his face. The pads of her fingers still held traces of grape juice, slick as they ground across his dry, thin lips. She arched a brow, and the youth obediently parted his lips, carefully cleaning the mess from her hand.
“With a face like this that invites pity, no wonder the Imperial Sister feels for you,” Xue Qingzhi said, glancing sidelong at him.
Wu Lang froze. He raised his sweat-dampened lashes and said softly, “This base slave belongs to the Princess. He dares not harbor thoughts of anyone else.”
He had been forced to say those words countless times before—repeating and practicing them in the most obedient tone to please the supremely noble Second Princess.
But this time, Xue Qingzhi’s face abruptly darkened.
“You’re lying. This Palace isn’t in your heart at all.”
She yanked hard on the iron chain around Wu Lang’s neck, dragging him with large strides toward the bed.
Xue Qingzhi didn’t notice the scattered bloodstains trailing in his wake as he crawled on his knees, like smears of crimson lipstick.
The bedding lay in disarray, not yet straightened. A few items of men’s clothing still sat by the pillow. Xue Qingzhi kicked the offending articles off the bed and ordered Wu Lang to kneel up onto it.
Before the youth could steady himself, she impatiently tore open his thin gauze robe and tossed a heavy carved floral wooden box in front of him. In a cold voice, she commanded, “Choose one yourself.”
Wu Lang recognized the wooden box. He pressed his lips together and gently lifted the lid. Inside was a row of jade phalluses, meticulously crafted by palace artisans, arranged from left to right, smallest to largest.
She said to choose himself, but Wu Lang knew full well he had no real choice.
With eyes downcast, he picked up the largest one on the right. In a hoarse voice, he recited the words he had been taught so many times: “Please bestow it upon this base slave, Princess.”
The bed curtains fell.
Xue Qingzhi glanced at Wu Lang’s back, covered in welts and scars, and frowned. The youth was skin and bones all over, so thin she could feel the ridges beneath her touch. Only his buttocks retained a bit of flesh, though marred by fading bruises that weren’t very appealing.
She hadn’t realized when Wu Lang had grown so gaunt. When she had first brought him back to the palace, his feel had been perfectly soft—especially that slender, resilient waist, beautiful beyond reason.
Still frowning, Xue Qingzhi ordered Wu Lang to turn around.
The youth was already accustomed to pleasuring himself for her amusement. Fine beads of sweat gathered in the hollows of his waist. When she trailed her hand over them, they clung to her palm like fresh cream.
Wu Lang bit his lip hard, not making a sound. His body had long been conditioned by Xue Qingzhi to ripeness. Those strange medicines had been ground into a deep blue decoction; he had been held down and immersed in it, first feeling a chill seep into his lungs, then a blaze as if he had swallowed fire.
A body ripened to perfection could scarcely endure the lightest touch.
He finally couldn’t bear it anymore, lifting his drenched face with an unsteady voice: “Please… spare this base slave.”
Xue Qingzhi tsked.
Even while doing such a thing, the expression on Wu Lang’s face remained cool and detached.
She loved seeing Wu Lang like this the most, so she naturally wouldn’t let him off easily.
Xue Qingzhi did not speak, so Wu Lang dared not stop. His eyes were vacant, his slender neck arched high, as he repeatedly bit his thin lips until they drew rosy blood.
Wu Lang knew how to make Xue Qingzhi spare him, but he didn’t want to.
But after a long time, he ultimately gave in once again——
Exhausting his last bit of strength, the youth collapsed limply before Xue Qingzhi like a fish out of water. Under her teasing gaze, he resignedly begged for mercy in a hoarse voice.
Mistress.
“Please.”