TAMW CH50

Zhou Xiao had already forgotten the vow he had made in his heart just moments before.

His head was like a limp reed swaying in the breeze, drifting thoughtlessly straight into Yuqing’s embrace.

In that celestial, fragrant warmth, surrounded by scorching body heat, the high bridge of Zhou Xiao’s nose was pressed slightly out of shape against the curve of Yuqing’s collarbones. Looking up from within the embrace, he saw his exquisite wife also enduring the strain, his Adam’s apple bobbing with faint effort.

Zhou Xiao lost all sense of time and place, his kneeling knees shuffling forward a couple of inches.

Jostled hard by the thrust of his head, Yuqing nearly lost his balance, his upper body tipping back slightly. Zhou Xiao hooked a large palm around his waist, drawing him securely back against him.

The morning light was early and bright; had the discomfort not been truly unbearable, Yuqing would never have sought him out in broad daylight. With his austere, old-fashioned temperament, he abhorred daylight indulgence. Beneath that breathtaking, butterfly-like beauty lay a tightly bound cocoon that only Zhou Xiao had ever unfurled and tasted.

Having just given birth, Yuqing’s body had been utterly depleted; for the first few days, his chest had felt numb and free of pain. But over these past days, once he began walking across the floor, his appetite had picked up, and the physician had prescribed stacks of restorative tonics. With all that rich nourishment, his body had rapidly replenished itself.

When Yuqing woke this morning, he found the fullness taut and swollen, like stretched lambskin pierced by fine needles; the moment Zhou Xiao’s nose grazed it with a tender press, it surged forth like a delicate fountain…

Startled for a fraction of a second, Zhou Xiao shut his eyes instinctively, tiny droplets catching on his lashes.

“Zezhi… wait—” Before Yuqing could gather his wits, Zhou Xiao swept an arm around his waist, lifting him clean onto the bed. Laughing in spite of himself, Yuqing pushed at his head. “Hold on a moment…”

A roaring hum filled Zhou Xiao’s ears, his five senses entirely drowned out—no, his sense of smell remained, or rather, smell was the only sense that survived.

His tongue swept forward, burying itself against Yuqing’s skin.

Zhou Xiao desperately wanted to treat his wife with tenderness, but the rushing wave of excitement was too fierce to contain. He was young, built of robust strength—unlike Yuqing, whose delicate health rendered him cool and detached toward carnal desires. Zhou Xiao was at that headstrong, reckless age; the more he suppressed his cravings, the wildly they surged. Longing to be gentle, his entire frame shook with feverish agitation, his hands trembling uncontrollably as he worked open Yuqing’s robes.

Yuqing did not play the pipa; he only knew the liuqin. The liuqin required no long artificial nails, plucked merely by the pads of the fingers—its timbre crisp and bright, whereas the pipa was softer, more fluid. Lying back on the bed looking down at the man, the image that flashed through Yuqing’s mind was the fluttering vibrato of a pipa, five fingers sweeping across the strings like cascading waves, as fluid and nimble as Zhou Xiao’s tongue. Strumming that took musicians years of practice to master seemed to come to Zhou Xiao entirely by instinct.

Yuqing shoved at his head: “Gently—”

Perhaps from sleepless nights, Zhou Xiao’s eyes were rimmed with bloodshot veins. Finally catching Yuqing’s skin between his teeth, tasting that familiar sweetness, a wave of petulance washed over him, making his eyes sting with tears.

Because his wife still wanted him; his wife was still his.

He had always felt Yuqing was like a butterfly fluttering outside the window, resting on whichever blossom pleased his fancy. Only by tasting the nectar of this butterfly could Zhou Xiao be certain the creature was resting securely in his arms right now.

There were far too many temptations in the outside world, and his wife rarely stepped beyond the compound; Zhou Xiao had to exhaust every ounce of his being to hold him, to savor him.

Seeing his mouth latched tight, tugging like a hound worrying a toy, Yuqing drew in a sharp breath of pain and delivered a firm slap across his face. “Did you hear me speaking?!”

“I heard…” Zhou Xiao mumbled. “I just don’t want to obey.”

Yuqing raised an eyebrow, his waist trembling involuntarily. His body was still recovering from labor, his lower back prone to aching; with the man pulling at him, Yuqing had to arch his upper body upward, and within minutes the dull ache returned.

Yuqing tried to push him away, but Zhou Xiao planted a firm palm down, actually showing defiance for the very first time. Impatient and frantic, the young man’s large hand pushed up against Yuqing’s chin as he tried to look down, pinning him so securely that Yuqing could scarcely move.

He had always indulged Zhou Xiao, spoiled him even, but only on the condition that the man remained obedient. Yuqing disliked insubordination under his roof; it made him feel as though his grip on the Zhou estate were slipping. Since the Zhou estate belonged to him, whether young master or master of the house, everyone had to answer to him.

Yuqing bit down hard on Zhou Xiao’s palm, leaving a deep indentation of teeth. The sharp sting did nothing to restore Zhou Xiao’s reason; what brought him to his senses was Yuqing’s quiet, icy warning: “Zhou Xiao, if you act like this, you need never cross the threshold of my bedchamber again.”

When Zhou Xiao’s mind finally cleared, one side of Yuqing’s chest had already been completely emptied.

Dropping to his knees, he took a few more slaps across the face from Yuqing. With damp lashes and flushed cheeks, he panted, coaxing him softly, “Qingqing, don’t be angry.”

He knew his wrong; he wouldn’t dare do it again.

Watching him tremble as he recited apologies, Yuqing thought: How could he not dare do it again? He’s simply terrified of being cut off from his feast, like a starving ghost reborn.

Ever since Zhou Xiao returned, whenever he sat at the dining table, Yuqing would instruct the kitchen to warm a cup of cow’s milk or goat’s milk, knowing that Westerners often ate bread and milk. Yuqing had assumed that having lived abroad for years, his dining habits had changed, and had thoughtfully accommodated him. Yet when Zhou Xiao actually ate with him, Yuqing had never seen him touch a single cup of milk.

Why shun it at the table, only to act so thoroughly intoxicated now…?

Recalling that nimble, strumming tongue, heat rushed to Yuqing’s face. “Stop biting.”

Zhou Xiao nodded repeatedly: “I understand.”

“Do you truly understand?”

Yuqing could hear the tremor in his voice, to say nothing of the unsightly tent of his trousers; kneeling like this, the stiff tailoring of the suit showed not a single crease, stretched entirely taut.

Looking quite pathetic, Zhou Xiao cast his gaze down, nuzzling his cheek against Yuqing’s kneecap, murmuring softly, “Qingqing, I truly understand…”

“I’ll listen to whatever you say, alright?”

“I’ll never dare do it again.”

Yuqing propped himself up with both hands behind him. His lower abdomen was slender and smooth, the gentle hollow of his hips curving inward; barely a week after labor, this body showed virtually no trace of having carried a child.

Zhou Xiao wiped his wet face with his sleeve, but loath to waste a single drop, he pretended to bite his fingers, licking the stray sweetness clean.

Watching him, Yuqing couldn’t help a quiet laugh. Outside these doors, he was the dignified Master Zhou bearing the weight of grand enterprises; once upon the mattress, he was an utterly shameless, groveling rake.

“Qingqing…” Zhou Xiao’s voice wavered as he called his name—trembling not from distress, but from pure, uncontainable excitement.

With Zhou Xiao’s massive frame, a little real force could snap Yuqing’s waist in two. He kept himself under tight rein, terrified of causing harm, yet burning with agony at being denied his wife’s permission, driven near tears by the sweet torture.

Yuqing sighed softly, lying back down, tapping the tip of his toe against the man’s thigh. “Come up.”

“Disobey me again, and you can go sleep with Xiao’er.”

Xiao’er… (Smile / Zhou Xiao)

Zhou Xiao didn’t give a damn what the dog was called; hearing his name slip from Yuqing’s lips was pure bliss.

Having just given birth, Yuqing naturally could not indulge him beyond this simple relief. Yet even this small assistance dragged on for two whole hours.

In truth, the chore had ended long before; no matter how carefully Zhou Xiao savored it, such a shallow porcelain bowl could only hold so much.

Once finished, Zhou Xiao hurried to take his clothes away, but Yuqing refused, making him sit right there instead.

Zhou Xiao had never bothered with shame before his wife. He knew Yuqing would never air such private affairs to outsiders; aside from the two of them, who else would ever know?

With that in mind, Zhou Xiao cast off all restraint.

He buried his face between Yuqing’s thighs, his soft inner legs rubbing against his cheeks. When they shifted slightly, it felt almost as though those legs were slapping his face.

A wave of rich, jasmine-honey fragrance rolled over him.

Yuqing had never imagined the man could be this brazen. Denied the clothes, he carried on shamelessly upon the mattress, right before his very eyes…

By the time Yuqing thought to send him behind the screen, it was far too late.

Zhou Xiao figured: Since this is something we’ll be doing every single day from now on, why bother hiding?

Yuqing had originally meant to tease him, watching him squirm in frantic want like Xiao’er begging for a toy, tail wagging and whining through his nose. But he had calculated wrong: Zhou Xiao was no hound; he wasn’t a dog that stayed frozen without a command.

Unwilling to look too closely, Yuqing squeezed his eyes shut, yet Zhou Xiao’s ragged breaths filled the room.

Good heavens, had France completely stripped this young master of his shame?

He was raised in an aristocratic estate; how could he turn out like this?

Yuqing felt a headache coming on. Zhou Xiao couldn’t bear to bite or nip at him; wherever his tongue passed, calves and thighs were left glistening wet. When it was over, the man hopped up cheerfully to fetch a warm cloth and wipe him down, sniffing first to see if his scent lingered. If not, he would suckle again, leaving several bright red marks across Yuqing’s calves and ankles.

Yuqing asked in sheer disbelief, “Where on earth did you lose my Zezhi?”

Zhou Xiao chuckled low: “Aren’t I right here?”

Zhou Xiao had always been lustful, but never quite like this. In the past, he had held back out of fear for the pregnancy. Being questioned by his wife now, he thought to himself: This is only the beginning!

Since they couldn’t truly couple yet, couldn’t he even lick his calves? Did that even count as lewdness? How could it? A calf was hardly a lewd place.

Yuqing’s calves were shapely and lean, unlike the soft flesh of his thighs; long tendons pulled tight beneath delicate skin, faint muscle lines visible when flexed. Every single inch of this man seemed meticulously sculpted by the creator; to this day, Zhou Xiao had yet to find a single flaw on Yuqing’s body.

The moment it ended, Yuqing tossed the sweat-stained inner robe straight into his face. “Absurd.”

Wrapped anew in his fragrant scent, Zhou Xiao inhaled deeply, wiped him down with meticulous care, and fetched clean clothes to dress him in. “What is absurd between husband and wife?”

Yuqing let out a long sigh, thinking: This is while we still can’t do anything; once the confinement month is over, heaven only knows what this master will get up to…

Looking down at his bruised ankles and flushed toes, Yuqing felt a faint shiver run through him. In all his years within the deep courtyards, he had weathered endless scheming, yet no single person or circumstance had ever given him such a pounding headache.

Zhou Xiao licked his lips and slipped the thick woolen socks he had acquired from the docks onto Yuqing’s feet, insisting he must not catch a chill. Yuqing felt his toes were swollen from being suckled, and before he could deliver a kick and a scolding, Zhou Xiao hastily ordered the servants to bring Qingming in for him to play with.

Bring the child in to play?

He brought him in to put out Yuqing’s temper.

Though born premature, Qingming had fed diligently over the past week, rarely crying through the night. Yuqing couldn’t hear the nursery from his room and had to ask the wet nurse. The nurse reported that the young master was exceptionally docile; even when hungry at night, he merely whimpered softly without raising a fuss.

Such a placid nature was something Zhou Xiao felt truly mirrored Yuqing.

“Full of milk, so you’re smiling now?” Yuqing narrowed his eyes.

Sitting by the bed, Zhou Xiao poked the baby’s soft cheek, meeting Yuqing’s gaze with pressed lips: “When you’re full, of course you don’t fuss—isn’t that right, Qingming?”

Yuqing shot him a resentful look. Gathered into his arms, little Qingming opened his mouth, babbling softly as he searched for food. Yuqing was clean and dry; he wanted to nurse the baby, yet his body held nothing left to offer. Finding nothing, Qingming smacked his gums and gave up, showing remarkable cleverness.

Zhou Xiao put on his upright gentleman facade once more, turning his back while Yuqing tended to the baby. Otherwise, seeing Yuqing’s bare shoulder and the infant in his arms, his mind would run wild again. Zhou Xiao knew what was appropriate, but his body and mind refused to obey; seeing nothing was the only way to keep his peace.

Once Yuqing fastened his robes, Zhou Xiao turned back at once, joining him in hooking fingers with the child.

One finger each. Two men’s hands clasping one tiny fist.

“It’s only been a week, yet he seems different from when he was born?” Yuqing’s hand stroked the baby’s forehead, where fine, soft dark hair was already sprouting.

“He looks like you.” Zhou Xiao’s eyes followed his hand.

“What, he doesn’t look like you?” Yuqing glanced at him sidelong.

“He does,” Zhou Xiao smiled. “Whatever you say, he looks like. A mother’s eye is naturally sharper; whatever Mother says… goes.”

“Qingming cannot speak yet, but you, his father, are in a dreadful hurry to speak on his behalf. Are you taking advantage of Qingming, or of me?” Yuqing tilted his head, a smile lacing his words.

A faint blush touched Zhou Xiao’s ears; he hadn’t expected his trick of calling him “Mother” through Qingming to be caught so easily. Hanging his head, he mumbled, “Having borne a child, you are naturally a mother… Since the child cannot speak, I’m speaking to you in his place.”

Yuqing nearly burst into laughter, poking his forehead with a soft finger. “You, really—”

Narrowing his crescent eyes, he gave Zhou Xiao’s cheek an affectionate stroke. “Nothing but a sharp tongue.”

Scolded so gently, Zhou Xiao beamed with pure satisfaction: “Qingming’s date of birth hasn’t been entered into the genealogy book yet. If the physician says you can step out, we’ll write it into the family records tomorrow.”

“You spent all those days in the ancestral hall and haven’t written it yet?”

Zhou Xiao raised an eyebrow: “That is something only the head of the household can do. I cannot overstep the rules.”

“Since when did Zezhi care so much for the rules?”

Beyond the gates of the Zhou mansion, rules were dictated by the barrels of Republican rifles; within the courtyard, the rules were dictated by Yuqing. Zhou Xiao would never break his promise to him. Besides, he was a Zhou; the Zhou estate belonged to Yuqing, so didn’t he belong to Yuqing as well? Yuqing’s fierce possessiveness over the Zhou family—wasn’t that just a desire to possess him? Zhou Xiao would never steal Yuqing’s rightful glory; he wanted him to hold the Zhou estate, and hold him, firmly in his grasp.

Wasn’t that Yuqing’s greatest wish? As his husband, what reason did he have not to fulfill it?

That evening, the physician took Yuqing’s pulse, declaring that as long as he kept out of freezing drafts, he could step outside; moving about within the compound posed no problem.

The following day, they would record Qingming’s name and birth chart into the genealogy book. Zhou Xiao had made preparations long ago, seeing to the incense and ceremonial cleansing down to the finest detail.

He had moved back into the bedchamber the previous day, eager to help his wife resolve his morning discomfort.

Having slept soundly for a week after delivery, waking up with a heavy head buried in his chest was something Yuqing wasn’t quite used to. Before the aching fullness could even register, it was already soothed away. Zhou Xiao’s mouth seemed cursed to make smacking noises the entire time. Even when Yuqing woke and sat upright, the head remained latched to his chest, refusing to let go.

Had it not been for the genealogy rites that could not miss the auspicious hour, heaven knew how long Zhou Xiao would have lingered.

He had known Zhou Xiao had a clingy streak, but it seemed the affliction had grown incurable. With himself still in confinement, he dared not mention taking a concubine again. The mere mention of it sent the man into wailing fits. It wasn’t that Yuqing disliked him, but he truly struggled to bear it—this… this was simply too much!

Bathing that morning, Yuqing looked down at his body. Childbirth had left virtually no scars on him, but Zhou Xiao, having tasted sweetness, had mapped out red marks from his neck all the way down to his ankles. Yuqing had no idea how he was supposed to face the ancestral hall covered in such bruises.

Zhou Xiao didn’t truly believe in spirits anyway. Wrapping an arm around Yuqing’s waist from behind, he said, “We must let the ancestors see! Let them know that we are one flesh, bound in unyielding love—isn’t that wonderful? It will set Father’s heart at ease in the underworld.”

Yuqing twisted his ear: “Why does every single improper notion sound so righteous coming from your mouth?”

Zhou Xiao grinned broadly, ordering Qingming brought in.

Watching him dress the child with practiced ease, Yuqing tilted his head, asking, “You learned how?”

He had been clumsy holding the baby on the first day, yet within a week, changing swaddles and tying robes had become second nature to him.

Zhou Xiao fussed over the crib: “You can’t bear to be parted from the child. Once your confinement ends, you’ll definitely bring him into our room to sleep. Waking through the night is inevitable, but having given birth, you cannot afford poor rest. Since I can’t share the physical pain, if I can’t even manage these chores, my years studying abroad were entirely in vain. Those textbooks were far harder to master than this.”

With his long hair cascading down, Yuqing stood by the crib, smiling at him with deep comfort in his eyes. He loved people who handled matters cleanly; Zhou Xiao was just like that, rarely offering empty choices, preferring to simply prove it through action.

Embracing him gently from behind, Yuqing said, “I knew Zezhi was a good boy all along. You simply left home too young, so no one ever knew.”

Praised as a “good boy,” Zhou Xiao beamed, letting out a satisfied hum through his nose: “It’s good that you know. Hold on tight, Qingqing—don’t you dare let go.”

“Oh?” Yuqing released his hold at once, pulling his arms away.

“My good Qingqing, what are you doing?” Leaving the baby with one hand, Zhou Xiao caught Yuqing’s hands and wrapped them back around his waist. “Don’t leave me.”

“Is standing in the same room considered leaving?”

“Yes,” Zhou Xiao answered in all earnestness. To him, anything short of skin-to-skin touch felt like separation.

Yuqing found him childish as an infant at times, yet steadfast as a mountain at others. A man had his tender points and his unyielding edges; laying every facet bare before him made him utterly endearing.

Dressing Qingming in a tiny red outfit, Butler Deng brought over the longevity lock crafted long in advance. Wearing it, the child looked blessed with boundless fortune. With a little more nursing, he would soon grow into a plump, cherubic bundle.

Zhou Xiao sat cradling Qingming, waiting for Yuqing to change. “Let me help you.”

“Hold Qingming properly.” Yuqing stepped behind the folding screen, only the crown of his head visible above the partition.

A man naturally lacked broad hips, but having delivered the child naturally, his pelvic bones had been forced open during labor. Today, he wore an outfit from before the birth—a pale lotus-colored robe made on his late father’s orders.

Yuqing was slender; off-the-rack garments were always too loose on him. Clothes tailored at home matched his former figure perfectly, and putting this on now, it felt no tighter than before, proving he hadn’t gained weight—if anything, he had grown leaner.

Yuqing pinned the upper half of his hair, letting the rest cascade down his back. Around his neck, he wore a pure white mink scarf, setting off his complexion while concealing the marks along his throat.

Looking down, Zhou Xiao’s gaze suddenly froze.

Yuqing’s waist remained paper-thin, yet his hips had taken on a subtle fullness; the bones widened by childbirth had yet to settle back, making the fabric below the waist cling snugly against his curves.

Handing the baby to the wet nurse, Zhou Xiao couldn’t wait another second, wrapping his arms around Yuqing from behind.

Startled by the sudden embrace, Yuqing’s long hair fluttered in the air. Zhou Xiao buried his face in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply.

Yuqing reached back to cradle his face: “Don’t tell me that just putting on an outfit warrants dismissing the servants.”

“No…” Zhou Xiao was utterly mesmerized.

His fingers drifted downward, landing featherlight against his hip, exceedingly gentle, terrified of causing pain: “I simply realized all over again… how close I came to losing you.”

The agonizing pain of widening bone during labor weighed far heavier on Zhou Xiao’s heart than any shift in figure.

Hearing those words brush past his ear, Yuqing paused. Lowering his gaze, he looked into the vanity mirror, watching the man holding him from behind, aching for the wounds Yuqing himself had long brushed aside.

Yuqing had said before that he could endure great pain, yet Zhou Xiao was always aching on his behalf.

On the windowsill stood a spray of winter jasmine—the flowers Zhou Xiao had gifted him today, set quietly by the pane as part of the scenery, knowing Yuqing was observant and would always notice.

Yuqing tilted his head back, while Zhou Xiao leaned forward, their cheeks pressing flush together. “My good Zezhi.”

Zhou Xiao whispered, “Qingqing…” My wife.

After the snow, the Zhou residence lay hushed and serene.

The once grand Zhou clan now rested solely upon Yuqing’s branch.

He and Zhou Xiao had never bowed to heaven and earth; kneeling together on the prayer mats now, Qingming had already been born into the world.

Wisps of incense curled lazily from the ancestral hall.

Zhou Xiao knelt alongside Yuqing before the ancestral tablets, bowing low and offering incense.

Tiny Qingming was held in the wet nurse’s arms, babbling softly as he sucked on his fingers.

Zhou Xiao cared little about which ancestors he bowed to, but he wanted to share this bow with Yuqing just once.

Wine was poured onto the flagstones—reverence to heaven, reverence to earth.

Reverence to the ancestors of the Zhou line.

Bearing witness to him and Yuqing, bowing before the family hall.

The Zhou Family Lineage Book:

[Zhou Qingming — Born in the Sixteenth Year of the Republic, Male.
Mother: Zhou Yuqing; Father: Zhou Xiao.]

— End of Main Story —