TAMW CH49

Yuqing blew softly on Zhou Xiao’s forehead. How could the man bear such tenderness?

He wanted to wrap his arms around Yuqing—he loved him, and his embraces had always been fiercely tight. But his wife had only just given birth; he could not bring himself to hold him with any real force. He could only stay nestled in Yuqing’s chest, gently hooking a strand of his hair with a fingertip, drawing it into his mouth to suckle and bite, resting his forehead against his breast with lingering vulnerability.

Before long, the physician brought in a decoction brewed to replenish his vital essence and blood. Yuqing had to drink it before he could sleep. Zhou Xiao had Yuqing rest his head on his arm, determined to stay pressed against him and watch over him as he slept.

Zhou Xiao hadn’t slept a wink all night, yet he felt entirely sleepless now. Looking at Yuqing’s pale, delicate face, his heart ached so fiercely he could hardly breathe.

Yuqing would have had to endure childbirth sooner or later, yet this ordeal had been brought on prematurely because of the fright at Xianxiang Restaurant. Zhou Xiao had always pridefully considered himself meticulous, yet his petty jealousy had nearly cost him his wife.

Originally, he had only wanted to present Jiang Sui’s survival and the restoration of Baizhou to Yuqing’s control as a grand surprise, but he had handled it with sheer, clumsy recklessness. Before returning to Baizhou, he had explicitly told Jiang Sui not to drag the fighting anywhere near Xianxiang Restaurant. Yet those cowardly garrison guards at the city gates had sprinted straight toward the restaurant at the first sign of trouble, terrifying his wife and triggering an early delivery. It was his own stupidity, and Jiang Sui’s gross incompetence.

Thinking of this, any trace of drowsiness vanished. After watching Yuqing drift into a deep slumber, he slipped out of bed.

Changing his clothes, he still found it hard to pull himself away. He crouched by the bedside, carefully tucking in the corners of Yuqing’s quilt, staring at him intently for several long minutes before leaving.

“Master, where are we heading?” Deng Yongquan no longer addressed him as Young Master. He knew full well that his former Young Master was now truly the master of the house.

Zhou Xiao pulled a cap down to hide the bruise on his forehead and went to the nursery across the way to look in on Zhou Qingming.

Having eaten his fill, the infant was remarkably well-behaved. The nursery was set up in the side wing opposite the main bedchamber; if the child cried, it wouldn’t disturb the person sleeping across the courtyard, yet checking in on the baby took only a few strides out the door—convenient to the utmost degree.

Even the wet nurse commented on how docile the newborn was; once full, he slept soundly without making a fuss.

The infant was still so small that Zhou Xiao couldn’t tell whom he resembled. Years ago, Yuqing had remarked that he looked like Zhou Yuzhang, but Zhou Xiao had never seen the likeness; he had always believed he was himself, never a mirror of anyone else. Now that the tables were turned and he had become a father, though he couldn’t pinpoint who Qingming took after, the child was born with porcelain-fair skin and bones so delicate Zhou Xiao felt he could crush them with a single hand. In his heart, he immediately biased the resemblance toward Yuqing.

“He takes after him—he looks just like him,” Zhou Xiao murmured, the corner of his lips lifting beside the wooden crib. “It’s good that he resembles him. Even his temperament is the same, so quiet.”

Bloodlines were strange things. Zhou Xiao had originally expected to feel little toward an unfamiliar infant; he hadn’t carried it through agonizing labor, so how deep could his affection run? Yet looking at this fair-skinned child who resembled Yuqing, an unbidden wave of fondness washed over him, accompanied by soaring relief that Yuqing would never again have to suffer carrying a life in his belly.

“Once the Madam wakes, bring the child to him immediately. Don’t make him wait, understand?” he instructed.

“Yes, Master.”

“Warm up some nourishing broth, but don’t add Doctor Liu’s medicinal herbs to it. He’s had a hard time sleeping; let him eat something palatable upon waking. Skipping one dose of bitter medicine won’t hurt, so let him eat in comfort first. If Doctor Liu insists on the medicine, make sure you have candied dates ready.”

He fired off instructions as he walked out, with Butler Deng trailing behind, smilingly bowing. “Yes, Master.”

Zhou Xiao was exceedingly pleased with being called “Master” these days.

With everything arranged, he took Deng Yongquan and stepped straight out the door.

Outside, the past twenty-four hours had turned the city on its head. Every household had shuttered their windows and bolted their doors, too terrified to take a step outside. Jiang Sui had worked with brutal efficiency; before nightfall, the leadership of the Baizhou military garrison had been entirely overhauled.

The battlefield at the city gates and the garrison grounds hadn’t even been fully cleared. When Zhou Xiao drove up, men were dragging corpses out of the garrison compound on wooden carts.

“Master—” Deng Yongquan’s jaw dropped in horror as he caught sight of the figure on a handcart. “This is…”

Zhou Xiao stepped out of the car, resting his hand on the doorframe, his eyelids lifting slightly to peer at the body being wheeled away. His brow furrowed faintly.

Even Deng Yongquan hardly dared believe his eyes.

The man lying on the cart had his eyes wide open, a bullet through his throat that had nearly severed his head. Zhou Xiao stopped the cart, straightened the collar, and murmured, “It really is Third Uncle.”

“We haven’t seen Third Master in so many years, how could he…” Deng Yongquan muttered in bewilderment.

They had never known Third Master was stationed in Baizhou, and looking at his insignia, he had been a deputy commander. On second thought, it made sense: Third Master had joined the military young, the Madam had never met him, and every time the Master returned to Baizhou he had never crossed paths with the new officer, so it was only natural they hadn’t known.

“If we had known Third Master was in Baizhou, why would we have needed to ally with Jiang Sui…” Deng Yongquan sighed.

Zhou Xiao tore a piece of cloth from the man’s coat and bound it around Third Uncle’s neck. “He chose the military path himself. In life and death, fate rules; one cannot blame others, and bullets have no eyes.”

“Go pick out a fine coffin for Third Uncle and see him buried.”

“Understood.” Taking the command, Deng Yongquan used the pass issued by Jiang Sui to take custody of the cold corpse.

In times of war, stray bullets held no eyes; truly, no one could be blamed.

A gust of icy wind blew past. Zhou Xiao tugged the brim of his cap lower, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Half a month ago, when he struck a deal with Jiang Sui, he had secured travel passes from Shanghai and borrowed troops to help him reclaim his footing in Baizhou. When Jiang Sui asked what terms he demanded, Zhou Xiao had set only one modest condition: leave not a single officer alive at the Baizhou garrison.

Though he hadn’t seen his Third Uncle in years, the man remained a member of the Zhou clan, and his intentions had been thoroughly rotten.

Zhou Yuyang had plotted to take Yuqing into his fold to run the port for the family—that was his first offense.

He shared the Zhou bloodline and was that old bastard’s half-brother—that was his second offense.

At the docks, that lecherous face of his had dared touch Yuqing’s hand—that was his third offense.

When a man committed a first, a second, and a third transgression, he was irredeemable, rotten to the core. Zhou Xiao figured it was far kinder to send him on to the Pure Land early. By the time Third Uncle reincarnated, it might be a golden age of peace where he would never have to fight on bloody battlefields again, living comfortably in his next life—a blessing in disguise.

This Zhou Yuyang had indeed been exceedingly cautious, wearing the uniform of a simple adjutant even in death. Normally, snipers targeted high-ranking officers, while adjutants were captured for interrogation, giving them a chance to survive.

Mindful of his new role as a father, Zhou Xiao had wished to accrue merit and temper the bloodshed. Jiang Sui had carried out his promise impeccably—at least, he hadn’t left a single survivor.

Though Jiang Sui was older, he handled matters with steady resolve. He knew Yuqing had an exceptional eye for people; if the man were useless, Yuqing would never have cooperated with him for so long.

Just as he reached the command tent, Jiang Sui had returned from wrapping up the final tallies.

Yuqing woke up the following morning.

A servant carried Qingming in. Having eaten his fill, the baby wasn’t asleep yet, chewing on his tiny hand until it was slick and wet.

Yuqing gathered the child into his arms. The two of them lay on the bed, parting the gossamer bed curtains with one hand while toying with the child’s soft fingers with the other.

“Where is the Master?” he asked.

Before the servant could reply, the man stepped through the doorway.

Even before he drew near, Yuqing caught the faint scent of incense clinging to his clothes.

Parting the bed curtains, the man poked his head inside inquisitively, calling out softly, “Madam.”

The corners of Yuqing’s mouth curved into a warm smile. “Qingming is awake; you don’t need to whisper.”

“Ah.” Zhou Xiao’s face brightened, and he hastily pulled up a stool to sit by the bedside. “I’ll still keep my voice down. If I make him cry, you’ll be worried.”

Yuqing let out a soft laugh, resting a slender, pale finger against the baby’s soft cheek, tilting his chin with motherly fondness. “Qingming, look at your father—see how much he dotes on you?”

Zhou Xiao said nothing, but being praised by Yuqing made him preen like a rewarded hound wagging its tail. He reached out to clasp Yuqing’s hand. “Doesn’t his mother dote on him too?”

Yuqing shot him an amused, gentle glare, unable to pull his hand back. It seemed that if he didn’t answer, Zhou Xiao would refuse to let go and wouldn’t let him touch Qingming.

Tugging playfully against him, Yuqing traced warm circles across his wrist before giving the tip of his nose a light tap. “Of course his mother dotes on him too.”

“With a mother who cherishes him, the child is bound to be blessed,” Zhou Xiao murmured. He leaned in, eager to steal a kiss from Yuqing.

He relied far too much on Yuqing’s warmth; the moment he saw him, he couldn’t resist pressing close. Yet Yuqing had only just given birth, so he had to exercise utmost restraint. Zhou Xiao had left the bedchamber after Yuqing fell asleep specifically to avoid his own wandering hands; he lacked self-control, and he had enough self-awareness to admit it.

Yuqing turned his cheek, letting him plant a kiss.

“How are things outside?” Yuqing asked.

“Rest assured, everything is settled. Jiang Sui has regained control of Baizhou, and the port remains with the Zhou family. Zhao Fu is reopening the bank as we speak; we are the very first business to resume operations in the city.”

“Many of the local merchants fled when they heard bandits were raiding, abandoning half their estates. Quite a few seats on the Chamber of Commerce have changed hands. Once you’ve recovered and can venture out, you can run for Chamber President directly.”

Aside from Boss Zhong and Boss Qian, who had backed Yuqing that day, most of the remaining seats had shifted. As long as Yuqing secured a simple majority, the victory was his.

Before Yuqing could inquire further, Zhou Xiao urged him to lie back down. “The wet nurse said that after giving birth, a person must rest for a full month without taxing mind or body.”

“I will handle every outside affair for you. Madam only needs to nurse his health; once your confinement month is done, the duty of managing the household will naturally return to your hands.”

“Smooth talker,” Yuqing murmured, lowering his eyes. “Once I’ve recovered, let’s see how I punish you. You certainly grew bold, colluding with Jiang Sui behind my back for so long.”

At the mention of this, Zhou Xiao’s expression faltered. He had bungled the affair, and no amount of self-reproach could undo the fact that Yuqing had walked straight through the gates of hell because of it.

Shifting closer, he gently rested his head against Yuqing’s flat lower abdomen. “Qingqing, I only feel my own uselessness…”

Waiting outside during Yuqing’s labor that day had taught him an unprecedented, terrifying sense of powerlessness. Money was useless, power was useless—nothing could guarantee Yuqing’s safety.

Yuqing didn’t interrupt his self-reproach, only gently stroking his hair with quiet tenderness.

The physician brought in the decoction. After drinking it, Yuqing had to get out of bed and walk a couple of laps.

Having just given birth, his steps were slightly unsteady. With his belly suddenly hollowed out, his lower back felt even more sore than before.

Zhou Xiao supported his waist, walking alongside him step by step. For the first few days, he could only walk slowly inside the room to build back his strength.

It was freezing outside, so Zhou Xiao kept the charcoal braziers burning hot in the bedchamber.

For nearly a full week, Yuqing didn’t step past the threshold. Even when opening a window to air the room, Zhou Xiao would cover Yuqing’s head with a quilt to keep him from catching a chill.

Snow fell intermittently over Baizhou these past few days. A single red rose bloomed in a porcelain vase, thriving within the warm, gentle chamber.

During this week, Zhou Xiao refrained from sleeping in the bedchamber; even when he visited, he merely kept vigil beside the mattress watching him sleep. Because Yuqing had delivered naturally, once he could walk, his body began recovering swiftly, save for the depleted vital essence that required time and tonics to rebuild.

A week later, the physician came early to check his pulse. Feeling his abdomen, he reported that the recovery was proceeding splendidly.

Seeing Yuqing awake, Deng Yongquan turned to fetch the Master.

Yuqing called him back: “Where is the Master?”

Deng Yongquan hung his head, unsure whether he should answer.

Yuqing sat before the dressing table combing his hair, his back to him. Hearing no reply, he set the wooden comb down and looked at him through the mirror. “It’s only been a few days; does the Master call all the shots in this house now?”

“No, no, absolutely not…” Deng Yongquan hurriedly dropped to his knees. “The Master is in the ancestral hall.”

“Why is he in the ancestral hall?” Yuqing paused, reaching for his shawl to head out.

“Madam—!”

Deng Yongquan had no time to report ahead, and could only have servants follow with braziers. Yuqing was draped in an ankle-length fox-fur coat. He hadn’t stepped outside in nearly a week, but the distance from the bedchamber to the ancestral hall wasn’t far; the Zhou mansion was built with winding corridors connecting every courtyard, keeping the pathways shielded from the wind.

All these days, he had caught the lingering scent of incense on Zhou Xiao. He had assumed the man had simply experienced a change of heart, going to burn incense for his father daily.

Entering the courtyard of the ancestral hall, Yuqing spotted the man from afar, kneeling upon a prayer mat, his spine ramrod straight like an unyielding pine.

Deng Yongquan murmured, “According to household rules, committing an avoidable, foolish blunder warrants kneeling in the ancestral hall for three days.”

Yuqing said, “It has been far more than three days.”

“The Master said he must kneel until the ancestors bless the Madam with a full recovery.”

Zhou Xiao slept barely a few hours each day. Knowing Yuqing was soft-hearted and wouldn’t truly punish him, he knelt here every day without telling a soul. Whenever Yuqing woke and the servants reported it, he would hurry back to the bedchamber to keep him company.

Yuqing waved a hand, signaling the servants not to follow.

Leaning against the doorframe, his shadow stretched long into the ancestral hall.

Zhou Xiao called out without looking back, “Is the Madam awake?”

As he moved to rise, he turned and caught sight of Yuqing. “Why did you come out?”

Before Yuqing could utter a word, the man had scrambled up, pulling his shawl tight around him. “Bring a cap, quickly!”

Yuqing studied his face closely; dark bruises circled the man’s eyes, showing heaven knew how many nights he had gone without sleep.

“Zezhi—”

Before he could finish, Zhou Xiao had scooped him into his arms, carrying him straight back toward the bedchamber.

Yuqing thought to himself: My trip out for fresh air was entirely in vain.

Adopting the stern air of the master of the house, Zhou Xiao immediately threatened to flog the servants who had failed to stop Yuqing from stepping outside.

Where was the progressive gentleman who had studied abroad? Perhaps the only progressive thing about him was the tailored suit on his back.

Once inside, the man rubbed Yuqing’s hands, set him gently on the bed, and checked his feet. Prone to heavy night sweats after delivery, Yuqing frequently needed to be wiped clean with warm towels to prevent catching a chill.

“Why did you go out looking for me? The doctor said you must not catch a chill.”

“If you wanted fresh air, you should have sent a servant to fetch me first.”

“Qingqing, are you hurting anywhere?”

Warmed by his touch, Yuqing watched him check him over with persistent, anxious fussing, looking as though he could never be at ease.

Cupping Zhou Xiao’s face in his hands, Yuqing asked with faint amusement, “Is this still my Zezhi?”

“How could it not be?” Zhou Xiao countered.

“You’ve become more well-behaved than Qingming, not throwing a single tantrum,” Yuqing said softly, looping his pale arms around his neck, gently pulling him toward the bed with a fond smile. “Hmm? Did becoming a father make you grow up all of a sudden?”

Zhou Xiao felt his body stir.

He deliberately tried to pull back, attempting to slip out of his embrace, but his wife smelled far too sweet, and he couldn’t bear to leave. “Qingqing, don’t hold me like this.”

The young man knew the weight of his duties and was someone who could be relied upon in grave moments. But that didn’t change the fact that he was young, and his physical reactions could not be faked. His dependence on Yuqing bordered on obsessive. Over these past days, terrified that his lust might offend Yuqing and make him think he lacked self-control, he had avoided sleeping in the bedchamber altogether, counting himself fortunate if he managed two hours of rest by the bedside.

All week, Yuqing had held Qingming close. The baby was tiny, and whenever he was held, he would burrow into Yuqing’s chest searching for milk, murmuring softly with his little mouth.

Yet Yuqing’s body had been depleted by labor, and he had no milk yet. The physician had noted that it might come in once his body recovered, but even then, he was forbidden from nursing the child directly.

Watching Qingming nuzzle against the very spot he had suckled, Zhou Xiao had felt a churning mix of envy and jealousy, yet he hadn’t dared speak a word or sneak close—otherwise, with his fragile restraint, he would surely have ended up tormenting Yuqing.

Yuqing had to admit that he had been looked after impeccably over these past days. He had expected to exhaust himself managing bank affairs after giving birth, yet he had slept in comfort every single day, and even Doctor Liu marvelled at how quickly his strength was returning.

Zhou Xiao had endured a full week of abstinence.

Now, gathered into his wife’s embrace, the intoxicating scent of jasmine rushed into his senses. Yuqing leaned close, his hair tickling Zhou Xiao’s cheek as the younger man knelt by the bed, nuzzling upward until his nose grazed Yuqing’s Adam’s apple.

Yuqing was slender, his throat elegantly sculpted; when he swallowed, it was like a living blade brushing against Zhou Xiao’s senses.

Zhou Xiao always felt as though he was being slain by Yuqing, only to be resurrected by his maternal, nourishing grace.

With his lips and nose finally pressed into Yuqing’s chest after so long, Zhou Xiao nearly cried out from sheer yearning, desperate to chant Yuqing’s name aloud.

Yuqing placed a few soft kisses against his forehead. “Kneeling in the ancestral hall day after day—did it make you suffer?”

“No… I made a blunder. You couldn’t bear to punish me, but I couldn’t simply let myself off easy.”

“What an upright, impartial Master Zhou,” Yuqing teased softly. “Was it a trick of self-inflicted misery? Suffering by your own hand so I wouldn’t have the heart to scold you? Kneeling in the ancestral hall must have been far easier than facing my punishment, wasn’t it?”

Yuqing’s chin grazed his forehead, resting against him and pulling away by turns.

Zhou Xiao looked up at him, his gaze brimming with helpless vulnerability.

Looking down at the man wrapping his arms around his waist, Yuqing knew Zhou Xiao didn’t even need to exert force to hold him captive. This young man was simply too broad; kneeling before him, he still resembled a massive hound capable of pinning him down at any second.

Yuqing stroked his head. “So obedient?”

“Qingqing…” Zhou Xiao nuzzled closer.

He felt an inexplicable wave of grievance, wanting nothing more than to soften completely in Yuqing’s embrace, as though the rigid figure kneeling upright in the ancestral hall moments ago hadn’t been him at all.

Yuqing’s collarbones felt tender under the friction of his nose. He understood why Zhou Xiao felt guilty. This man constantly shattered his expectations—just when Yuqing thought him overly arrogant, he would kneel endlessly in the ancestral hall for his sake.

Yuqing knew his late father would be smiling in heaven.

“Should we bring Qingming in?” Zhou Xiao asked.

If he stayed pressed against Yuqing like this, he felt on the verge of exploding. The veins along his neck throbbed violently; he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he last touched Yuqing.

Zhou Xiao had never considered himself a creature of lechery, yet he had wedded a mesmerizing spirit like Yuqing.

When all was said and done, it was that old bastard’s fault. That stubborn old man had forced Yuqing to bear a child for the Zhou lineage, nearly costing him his life and putting him through endless agony, almost tearing husband and wife apart. If the old man hadn’t died early, Zhou Xiao would have settled the score with him in full.

“If Qingming is brought in, it wouldn’t be proper for a child to witness such things,” Yuqing murmured.

Zhou Xiao asked, “Witness what?”

Yuqing slipped off his shawl. Over these past days, he had worn an inner robe of pale white silk indoors—fluid and clingy, and though loosely cut, it traced his slender frame with arresting elegance.

Nearly a week had passed since the birth.

Just as Yuqing moved to unfasten his buttons, Zhou Xiao caught his hand, his voice raspy: “If you’re hurting anywhere, I’ll summon the doctor right now.”

Yuqing let out a low chuckle, his lips curving into a subtle smile. “Summon the doctor…?”

“Bring the doctor in to relieve the swelling for your wife? Hmm?”

Zhou Xiao hadn’t yet seen his abdomen since the birth. Truth be told, he had been terrified. He dreaded the thought of finding scars left behind on Yuqing’s body for his sake—how could he bear it? The physician had spoken of surgical delivery; though it had been a measure of last resort, the thought still chilled Zhou Xiao to the bone. To cut open a person’s belly—what agonizing pain that would have been. Even though Yuqing had delivered naturally, it had been a hair’s breadth away…

Zhou Xiao’s nose burned, but before his tears could fall, Yuqing had already undone his buttons.

His skin seemed fairer than before. Kept indoors for days away from sunlight, Yuqing’s complexion carried an almost ethereal allure, delicate veins tracing down his lower abdomen, disappearing beneath his silk trousers. Having had little appetite lately, his waist curved inward along the sculpted hollows of his hips.

Zhou Xiao kept his head bowed, his eyes glued to Yuqing’s flat belly, his breath hitching. Before his tears could spill, his heart began hammering violently against his ribs. He looked up in a daze. “Qingqing…”

Because he was kneeling, his gaze met not Yuqing’s face, but his chest.

He remembered that during pregnancy, Yuqing’s chest had remained relatively flat, holding very little even when swollen. Why was it entirely different now?

Against Yuqing’s slender frame, his chest was visibly full and rounded. His skin was paper-thin, like layers of delicate rice paper, with faint blue veins showing with stark clarity under the light, converging like branching rivers toward two distinct points tinted the color of crushed rouge.

“Qingqing…”

“It started aching when I woke this morning. You’re the master of the house now—helping your wife with a small favor is only fair, isn’t it? Hmm?”

Yuqing curved an arm around the back of his head, gently pressing him into his chest: “My good Zezhi.”