The air still held the lingering scents of last night — sandalwood, wine, and some indescribable, ambiguous odors, all mixed together and mostly scattered by the morning breeze.
“Master? Master?”
A crisp, lively voice called softly from outside the door.
Song Ning frowned slightly. Hearing the familiar voice, he mumbled incoherently, unsure if the person outside could even hear him. He lay in the bedding, not wanting to move an inch.
His inner thighs were incredibly sore and numb, as if they had been repeatedly pressed and ground by something soft and plump.
His waist felt limp, sinking into the bedding without a shred of strength.
The place that usually stood tall and energetic in the early morning was drooping listlessly today, much like its master.
It had retreated and was unable to lift its head, as if its last drop of essence had been squeezed dry, shrinking there and playing dead.
Song Ning cursed ‘Qi Chuyao’ 800 times in his mind. ‘If every night is like this, how can I survive?’
‘Why is the body of a man in this world so useless?’ he thought. ‘Yesterday, I almost couldn’t control it and sprayed everywhere.’
The door was gently pushed open, and two small heads peeked in side by side.
Xia Ling was wearing her pink dress, with a small red flower pinned to her hair bun.
She had put it there herself this morning, thinking it looked festive.
She craned her neck to peek inside, withdrew, exchanged a look with Xia Shuang, and then peeked back in.
“Did Qi Chuyao leave so early? Honestly.” She clicked her tongue and pushed the door open to walk inside.
The room was an absolute mess. Wine jugs lay toppled on the table, fruit plates were stacked haphazardly, and red dates were scattered across the floor, some even stepped on and flattened.
“Look at this mess…” Xia Ling knelt down, picking up the red dates one by one, then used a handkerchief to wipe the spills on the floor.
She mumbled as she tidied up, “That Qi Chuyao, making such a mess of the room on her very first day of marriage.”
She had tidied this room for so many years, coming here every day. Having grown up here since she was a child, this was the first time she had seen it so chaotic.
Xia Shuang stood at the door, hugging her sword, and did not enter. Her gaze passed over Xia Ling’s head, staring intently at Song Ning on the bed.
The quilt was neatly tucked, only revealing a face that looked somewhat pale. He was sleeping deeply, seemingly exhausted.
Xia Shuang watched for a moment, finding nothing unusual, but she frowned slightly.
“Master stayed up late last night,” Xia Ling whispered to Xia Shuang after finishing tidying the mess, straightening the table, and stacking the plates. “We should go back and let him sleep longer.”
As she spoke, she thought about the future. Now that Master was married, even if Qi Chuyao was unwilling, she would have to move in, right?
That meant she would have to serve two people from now on.
Serving her master was something she did willingly, but adding Qi Chuyao made her feel a faint sense of displeasure, though she suppressed it.
What could she do? She was just a maid.
Xia Shuang said nothing and turned away. She walked to the middle of the courtyard, chose a spot facing the sun, and stood steady in the morning light.
The morning breeze brushed her green skirt and blew the stray hairs on her forehead. She took a deep breath and slowly drew her long sword.
With a flick of her wrist, the tip of the blade carved an arc, beginning her morning practice.
Day in and day out, regardless of the weather, this was her habit and her Cultivation.
The sword Qi swept up the fallen leaves, swirling them in the air before they drifted down.
Xia Ling also planned to leave. She tiptoed toward the door, her steps light to avoid waking Song Ning.
“Xia Ling…” a weak murmur came from behind her.
Xia Ling stopped abruptly and turned around.
“I’m so hungry…” Song Ning’s voice was very soft and weak.
Xia Ling’s eyes instantly lit up. She hurried back to the bedside and finally saw Song Ning’s state clearly, which made her heart ache.
“Okay, Master, just wait. I’ll go make something right now!” she whispered and turned to run out.
“Wait.” Song Ning struggled to prop himself up, his arms trembling on the bedding as if they might give out.
He leaned against the headboard and caught his breath for a few moments before recovering slightly. “Where is Qi Chuyao? Has she left?”
He turned his head and “looked” toward the room. Though he couldn’t see, he could feel that the room was quiet, with no second person breathing.
Xia Ling had tidied the table, the smell of wine had vanished, and only a faint scent of sandalwood remained.
The bedsheets and quilts had been changed to bright red, a Double Happiness character was still pasted on the window, and red silk still hung from the bed hooks. Everything was decorated for a wedding.
But to him, it felt as if nothing had changed. Xia Ling busied herself in the room, talking to him from time to time.
Her voice was light and cheerful, filled with endless energy.
One moment she was asking if he had eaten, and the next, she was telling him about a beautiful white flower blooming on the windowsill.
Outside the courtyard, the whoosh whoosh whoosh of swordsmanship could be heard as Xia Shuang practiced.
Occasionally, the sound of the sword wind brushed against the branches, making them rustle.
Leaning against the headboard and listening to these familiar sounds, Song Ning suddenly felt like the wedding had been nothing more than a formality.
Everything was the same as usual; nothing had changed. Except that he was now exhausted and hungry.
And the culprit had actually left early in the morning. Even during the “clouds and rain” last night, she hadn’t said much to him.
She was only focused on the act itself, bouncing and tossing him around, not even letting him finish a full sentence.
Song Ning’s teeth itched with anger, but he didn’t even have the strength to grit them.
Xia Ling was quick and efficient, and it wasn’t long before the food was ready.
She brought in a red lacquer tray with a bowl of white porridge, a side dish, and a plate of sliced braised meat.
She set the tray on the small table by the bed and leaned over to help Song Ning.
Song Ning’s arm draped over her shoulder, limp and powerless. He leaned his entire weight on her as she helped him sit up.
Xia Ling stuffed a pillow behind him and pulled the quilt up to cover his chest.
“Master, the porridge is ready.” She picked up the bowl, stirred it with a spoon, blew on it, and brought it to his lips.
Song Ning opened his mouth and took a sip. The warm porridge slid down his throat, instantly warming his stomach.
He felt like a parched weed that had finally been watered, slowly coming back to life.
He took a few more bites, regained some strength, and reached for the bowl. “I’ll do it myself.”
Xia Ling handed him the bowl and sat on the edge of the bed, resting her chin on her hands as she watched him eat with a smile.
Xia Shuang had also come over at some point. Having sheathed her sword, she stood at the door with her own bowl, eating quietly.
She took small bites and chewed slowly, her eyes occasionally glancing toward Song Ning to confirm he was okay. The three of them ate just like they always did.
“When Qi Chuyao comes back,” Xia Ling suddenly stuck out her tongue, “Xia Shuang and I should probably move somewhere else to eat.”
Only Song Ning would treat the sisters so well. They ate together, spoke freely around them, and he even made new clothes for them during festivals, treating them like sisters.
But Qi Chuyao wouldn’t. She was the Eldest Young Lady of the Qi family and the daughter of the Minister of War; she might not tolerate the sisters eating at the same table as Master.
Instead of waiting for her to say something, it was better to be sensible.
Song Ning’s chopsticks paused. “No need,” he said, his tone flat. “It’s inconvenient for me, and I can’t do without the two of you. You are my sisters, so there’s no need to move. Just stay by my side.”
Xia Ling’s large, beautiful eyes brightened, her eyelashes fluttering. The corners of her mouth curled up, then she pressed them down, only for them to curl up again.
She didn’t answer but lowered her head, pretending to pick up food for him. Xia Shuang continued to eat in small bites, expressionless as if she had expected this.
Suddenly, the courtyard door was thrown open. With a loud bang, the door slammed against the wall.
Xia Ling thought Qi Chuyao had returned and stood up so abruptly that her chair almost toppled.
She hurried to the door and peeked out. The person who came was not Qi Chuyao. It was Mother Qi.
She was wearing a dark red official robe, looking as if she had rushed over from the Ministry of War.
She gripped an Official Memorial in her hand, her expression very solemn.
“Where is Ning’er? Where is Ning’er?” Her voice was urgent and heavy, her strides fast and wide.
Within a few steps, she was in the room. “Something has happened.”
Xia Ling was startled by her aura and stepped aside. Xia Shuang also put away her bowl and chopsticks, retreating to the side with her hand resting on the hilt of her sword.
Song Ning set down his chopsticks and looked toward the door. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
Mother Qi thrust the Official Memorial toward him and said indignantly, “Wei Yang has gone mad. She said I should send someone to station troops inside the Imperial Palace.”
Song Ning suddenly began to cough violently.