by Jeannie Lin
“Why are you so ready to give up now?”
He exhaled and re-directed his gaze overhead. “I wanted to find these answers because they mattered to you, but I can’t keep doing this.”
Something had changed in him.
“You’ll be married soon. To a magistrate, of all people. I need to stop coming to you.” He sat up and refused to look at her. “And you need to stop coming to me.”
“Did something happen?” she asked, raising herself up beside him. Gao had an edge about him tonight. He was harder and harsher than she’d ever seen him.
His jaw locked. “Not to me,” he replied cryptically. “Something happened to a person I should have protected. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She watched as his chest rose and fell. “Is this really the last we’ll see of one another?”
Gao wouldn’t look at her. Wei-wei reached for him, her fingers twisting into the front of his robe. He covered her hand firmly with his, and she waited, heart pounding, for him to push her away. Finally, he turned to her and something flickered behind his eyes. Tenderly, he caught her face in his hands. His long fingers wound into her hair as he kissed her, then kissed her again. His tongue slipped past her lips, invading her mouth in a shocking caress and she pushed all caution aside.
“Show me more,” she pleaded against his mouth. “Show me everything. Tonight.”
She pressed against him. Gao’s arms folded around her to drag her fiercely against his hard body. His breathing grew uneven. She made a sound of protest as his mouth pulled away from her.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Gao ground out.
“I do.” She did and she didn’t.
Suddenly Gao shifted, and she was pinned beneath him. The full weight of him against her was shocking, but then he was kissing her again. Breath to breath, nothing else seemed to matter.
“You don’t know,” he whispered gravely, but his hand was unfastening her tunic, pulling folds of pale cloth aside.
It was just one night, her mind insisted. And it had to be tonight. He palmed the soft weight of her breast and she jerked, her back arching into his hand. When he ran his thumb over the hard peak of her nipple, and invisible thread of desire tugged between her legs. She could feel herself growing damp.
Before she knew what was happening, his other hand had slipped down below the waist of her trousers to press against her sex.
Her lips parted. “Oh!” she gasped, startled.
She may not have known what she was asking for, but he seemed to. Gao parted her folds to slide one fingertip intimately against the tiny knot of flesh at her center, sending waves of sensation through her.
“If we do this and anyone finds out, you’d be ruined. You wouldn’t be able to marry the magistrate or anyone you’d consider respectable. Is that what you want?” he asked harshly.
Maybe that was exactly what she wanted. The only answer she could manage was to strain upwards, seeking his touch. Whatever was happening, whatever Gao was doing to her, her body wanted more of it.
“I can be yours tonight,” she whispered in his ear, her voice shaking.
“Just tonight,” he said darkly. He stretched himself over her so that he had her pinned, hip to hip. “If you truly want this, then stay with me.”
She blinked at him through her lashes, confused. His long, deft fingers stroked against the tender flesh at her center. Then, when she thought she couldn’t bear any more, he slipped his fingers inside her. Her body grew rigid. She grabbed onto his shoulder, nails digging deep.
“If you’d risk everything for a night together, your life, my life, then marry me,” he urged, his voice rough with desire. “Be my wife.”
Emotions warred within her. She never imagined he’d ever ask. Wei-wei wished more than anything that she could answer, but what he was talking about was impossible.
Gao kissed her, swallowing her cries as his fingers circled and stroked. Faster. Deeper. His words were forgotten as the pleasure inside her grew at a frantic pace, so acute that it neared the point of pain. She buried her face against the crook of his neck. The earthy scent of him assailed her. Deep and masculine. She longed for release, but it eluded her, floating just beyond reach.
Then the moment came, one of pure ecstasy, when she finally broke free.
Her next breath was a long time coming. She had to force herself to take it. Remind herself to breath.
Gao lay still against her. She could feel the male part of him rigid and pressed against her hip.
When she moved slightly, Gao freed his hands and clamped them onto her hips, holding her still. “Don’t,” he pleaded, releasing a ragged breath. “Don’t move”
They lay still for a long time. Long enough for rationality to return.
Gao laid his head against her shoulder, his face pressed against her neck. Wei-wei could still feel the echo of his touch deep within her.
His question still hung in the air between them, unanswered.
“I wish I could,” she told him in a small voice, squeezing her eyes shut against the pain that seized her.
He raised his head to look at her and she started tearing up.
“It’s alright,” he said.
“I wish I could say yes.”
Gao rolled away from her, leaving her bereft and cold in his absence. They lay side by side once more. The only sound she could hear was his breathing and the pounding of her heart.
“I never thought you could possibly be mine, Wei-wei,” he said, his voice heavy. “I just wanted to ask.”
Chapter 21
Gao stood by the window the next morning, looking out over the streets. The drums hadn’t sounded that morning to signal the opening of the gates, and the streets remained empty. It seemed curfew was still in effect.
Wei-wei was still sleeping in the center of the room.
Her hair was unbound. Her silk underclothes were enticingly modest, revealing a slip of soft skin at her throat and a hint of curves at her waist. He could feel his blood warming.
Last night, he’d managed to stop before stripping away Wei-wei’s clothes and making love to her, but he wasn’t far from it. He’d lost restraint in other ways, asking her to be his wife. Acting as if were even a possibility.
Gao had never imagined a life with Wei-wei beside him before. Just as he’d never imagined he’d one day become Emperor. He didn’t waste time on fantasies. He could barely feed himself, let alone a family.
Still, if she had said yes…
Wei-wei stirred, raising herself up and looking around the room until she found him. She blinked at him with dark, bedroom eyes that made his lower body tighten. “I spent all last night thinking you would be gone this morning before I woke up.”
Even her voice did things to him this morning. Their gazes locked. It was impossible to look at her now and not know what it was like to feel her tremble and climax in his arms. His throat went dry at the memory.
“I need to go, Wei-wei.”
She nodded. He could see the same knowledge in her eyes. Her pupils darkened as he came close. He took her face in his hands once more and kissed her, his mouth moving tenderly over hers.
He pulled away to move to the window. When he looked back, Wei-wei was watching him.
A thought came to him. It was something he’d been pondering for a while now. After what he’d asked her last night—he had no reason to hold anything back.
“I was wrong,” he said. “About Magistrate Li. He’s not well-matched for you.”
She remained where she was, listening.
“A man shouldn’t be allowed to have everything purely on name and birth,” he told her quietly. “He should have to fight and scheme and risk ruin for what he wants. Then he’d be a match for you.”
Wei-wei regarded him with a look of surprise. Her lips parted, as if she meant to say something, but she bit back the words.
“Be careful,” she said instead.
Gao nodded, his heart in his throat,
as he eased out of the window and climbed back down.
There was nothing more to say. He knew there was no way for her answer. It hurt to want her that way.
The streets were still empty and curfew appeared to still be in effect. He had business left unfinished. Gao glanced once more up at the tea house window, before heading toward the canal.
Gao was gone so quickly, leaving her in the grip of things she should have said.
Wei-wei hurried to the window only in time to see him disappear around the corner. Her heart sank and a wave of loneliness swept over her.
He’d told her she needed to stop seeking him out, but in the next breath he’d asked her to be his wife. It was all so overwhelming.
Then there was the emergency curfew, killers on the loose, and her hair. Her hair had come completely undone.
Wei-wei straightened her clothes, a flood of memories coming to her from the previous night. She set the back of her hand to her lips, pressing hard enough to almost bring back the feeling of Gao’s mouth crushed against hers.
Would Mingyu take one look at her and just know?
She dressed herself and then quickly sorted out the bedding, hoping she was doing it correctly. Mingyu came in with a basin of wash water shortly after, her eyes doing a brief sweep of the room. Heat rushed up the back of Wei-wei’s neck.
How loud had they been? She didn’t remember. There might have been moments. That moment. Now her entire face was hot.
“Did you sleep well, Lady Bai?”
“Well enough.” She ran her fingers through her hair nervously, which only brought it to Mingyu’s attention.
“You can wash up. I’ll get a comb,” Mingyu said pleasantly.
Breathing deep, Wei-wei splashed water over her face and dabbed it dry with a towel. Mingyu returned with a wooden comb and immediately went about pulling it through Wei-wei’s hair.
“You seem thoughtful this morning,” she remarked.
“There’s so much happening right now.”
“Hmm.” Mingyu made a soft and all-knowing noise. The motion of the comb was soothing, even though her thoughts were in turmoil.
“Have you ever had feelings for someone who was…who was unsuitable for you?” Wei-wei asked.
“Some would say a constable and a courtesan are not suitable for one another.”
“Why not?”
“I was indentured to the Lotus Palace at the time,” she replied as a matter-of-fact. “My den mother owned me.”
Wei-wei pressed her lips tight. She was about to lament about arranged marriages and her lack of freedom. It would have probably sounded a bit spoiled in comparison.
“I should be grateful,” she said instead, and hated it.
“You are fortunate in many ways, Lady Bai, but everyone has their own sorrow as well.”
Mingyu’s fingers worked deftly through her hair, coiling and looping. And then she was done.
“That was fast.”
Her long hair was pinned into a loosely elegant crown.
“I grew up surrounded by many other girls,” Mingyu said, with a gleam in her eye. “We spent a lot of time practicing.”
She had always looked up at Mingyu with a sense of awe. She was talented and famous, but sitting here beside her, Mingyu seemed so approachable.
“You were able to gain your freedom, follow your heart,” Wei-wei remarked with admiration. “Own this tea house.”
Mingyu’s lips curved into a smile. “You make it sound so easy.”
“Oh no! I didn’t mean—”
“No woman is free,” Mingyu said. “But there are ways to exert influence. No matter how small it may seem.”
Wei-wei thought about that. She knew how to get her way on the small things, but what power did she have over her family? It was selfish of her even to consider it. If she was fortunate, if she was advantaged, it was all because of her family. Every member, in turn, was expected to repay in kind.
Her parents had allowed her to study, but it was for the purpose of helping her brothers and bringing honor to their name. Mother had sacrificed her own happiness for the sake of the family, and she’d been grooming Wei-wei to do the same. That was how they cared for one another — through self-sacrifice. True happiness was not something she could seek on her own. It was woven inextricably into the family’s wellbeing.
But Mingyu also knew about self-sacrifice. She also valued family, shown by how much she cared for her sister. But Mingyu seemed to believe there was room for something else. Some glimmer of self that didn’t have to completely be surrendered.
“There’s someone,” Wei-wei began tentatively.
“Someone?” Mingyu asked gently.
Wei-wei could still feel Gao’s touch on her. She could hear the impossible things he’d dared to say. Yet here she was, too afraid to even speak of him aloud.
“He’s unsuitable in every way, but I care for him.”
She felt a surge of longing. Something had changed between them. Not just because of last night, but rather a feeling that had been growing day after day. It made her eager to tell Mingyu everything. So at least someone would know and what she and Gao shared could be real, in some small way. Even if it was hers only for a brief moment.
Wei-wei started to speak when a pounding came from the door down below. She jumped at the sharp sound.
Mingyu rose. “It’s quite early,” she said with surprise.
The pounding came again, increasingly urgent. Wei-wei followed from behind as Mingyu hurried down the stairs. Wu Kaifeng was already at the door. He opened it and Wei-wei froze as a deep and all-familiar voice resonated through the empty tea house.
“I’m looking for my daughter.”
The blood drained from her. It was her father.
He stepped into the tea house, and even as imposing as Wu Kaifeng appeared, her father was a hundred times more so. At least to her.
Father’s gaze swept upwards and immediately locked onto her. “Wei-wei.”
“Father,” she rasped.
All the blood in her body rushed to her head. Had he seen Gao climbing down through the window? Could he see how flushed her face was at this moment?
The city, the entire world changed whenever her father returned. Their home revolved around Father. All of their daily patterns and routines became centered around his needs. Never in a hundred years would she dare to take the horse out at night while her father was home. She only feared two things and foremost was her father.
“What were you doing here? Your mother is worried.”
She was acutely aware that she wasn’t where she was supposed to be. She was similarly keenly aware of all the things she’d done over the last week that Father would surely disapprove of.
“Curfew was enacted early. I couldn’t get home.”
“Daughter.” He stopped her hasty string of explanations. “Come down.”
Swallowing, she gripped the wooden rail of the staircase to keep her steady. Of all the things she’d done, she knew what would be the most objectionable to her father. As she descended, she kept on telling herself not to think of that one most objectionable thing, but now she could think of nothing else but that. And Gao. And how she hadn’t found it objectionable at all.
Zhou Dan appeared from wherever he’d been sleeping, and stood quietly at the side of the room. Father acknowledged him with only a glance before returning his attention to her. His expression was unreadable, but she knew her father. He would want a full accounting of what she was doing in Pingkang li. Why had she come out alone? Who had let her go?
Her pulse quickened. She was in trouble. There was going to be a long lecture and very hard stares. Father would…she had no idea what her father would do. She’d never been in trouble before. It had always been Huang who’d done something unacceptable.
At least they wouldn’t talk here. Father was a private person. He’d taught them that matters of family were to remain amongst themselves.
The door opened behind him an
d Huang stepped inside. His eyes met hers and she was reminded that there were larger, more important things happening in Chang’an.
“The imperial messenger is about to read the proclamation,” he told their father.
Wei-wei looked between the two of them. “What proclamation?”
“The Emperor is announcing the news of Chancellor Yao’s death, and that the perpetrators have been discovered,” Huang explained. “It was General Lin Shidao.”
She had suspected the general at one time, but the proclamation seemed so quick. “How do you know?”
“His son and several of his associates were brought before the Censorate. They confessed to the conspiracy.”
She’d spoken to Lin Yijin just days ago. Her impression was that he drank too much and spoke too loudly. He was an unfortunate soul in an impossible situation, but he didn’t strike her as a traitor.
“This doesn’t feel right. Lin Yijin was kept under close watch as the Emperor’s hostage,” she protested. “How could he have done these things?”
She saw from the tick in her father’s jaw that she had overstepped her bounds, being so quick to speak, but this was too important. She turned to her brother.
“Are you going to say anything to Chief Censor Zheng about your suspicions? There had to be someone inside the imperial court, remember?”
“Daughter.” Father stopped her with a word. “It is not your brother’s place to question imperial decisions, and it is hardly yours.”
“But Father—”
“It is time to go home, Wei-wei.”
Her father raised his tone enough to tell her the conversation was over. Not only had she contradicted him, but she’d done so with outsiders present. She glanced over to Wu Kaifeng and Mingyu, who’d remained silent throughout the exchange. Even though they were family by marriage, Father still considered them outsiders. Theirs was a close circle. What her father would tolerate between the two of them when they were alone was not the same as what he would allow in public. She knew that so very keenly — but there was no time.
“You know Lin Yijin,” she said to Huang in a smaller voice. “Won’t you say anything on his behalf?”
