Chapter 12

Chapter 12: The Embroidered Gauze Robe

Ah...

Awu’s heart was adrift, her eyes wide with confusion—she had no idea what this man was saying.

Emperor Jingxi’s fingers moved slightly, brushing aside the damp, tangled strands from her cheek. In the soft, hazy light, he could see her more clearly.

She was beautiful—so beautiful she seemed not of this world.

Her lashes were thick and long, her eyes deep and dark as midnight autumn waters, her skin smooth and pale as Dehua porcelain. His fingertips tentatively touched her skin, so delicate it seemed one could press and draw forth dew—he’d never imagined a woman’s skin could be so tender, as fragile as the first buds of spring.

Awu felt uneasy. She sensed the silent awe in the man’s gaze—she’d seen too many eyes like this, could feel it easily.

That look, for all its terror, sparked a glimmer of hope.

If this man desired her, perhaps she could find shelter in him—perhaps escape death?

Imperial power pressed down relentlessly; the mountain path was treacherous, and in this dark, wild night, with ghosts and wolves howling, she was a lone, weak woman, stumbling in all directions with no escape. She’d reached the end of her rope, with no hope left in her heart.

But now, the warmth and strength in this man's embrace made her yearn for rescue. Maybe, in this desperate moment, she could grasp a lifeline and survive.

She examined him carefully. He looked under thirty—dignified, noble. He lacked the astonishing beauty of the crown prince, but his aura was imposing, radiating a brilliance she could not look at directly.

Held close by him, she felt a shiver run through her, as if she were holding a blade with bare hands, or staring into the sun with naked eyes.

Above her, Emperor Jingxi regarded her intently. Now, seeing her steal a glance, he caught the clarity of her eyes—pure as a fawn in the woods, innocent and timid, quickly turning away from his gaze.

A frightened little deer.

He gently stroked her slender neck with his thumb, murmuring, “There’s no need to be afraid.”

His voice was pleasant—warm and rich.

Hearing it, Awu felt comforted, a warmth rising within her that she hadn’t felt in so long.

She wanted to cry, but forced herself to hold back, asking timidly in a soft voice, “Who... who are you? Why are you here?”

She looked around in bewilderment, “How did I get here? Where is this place?”

It was the first time Emperor Jingxi heard her voice—soft, sweet, almost edible.

“This is my hot spring,” he replied.

With that, he stepped forward, lifting her into his arms.

Awu instinctively glanced around, perplexed. She’d stumbled through these woods, seen no signs of habitation, and now, after falling into the hot spring and meeting this man, everything seemed bizarre.

Yet he carried her into a grand house, built from large blue bricks, its patterns clear—at first glance, it resembled a city gate.

And within this fortress, a living hot spring flowed, filling the house with white mist and the sound of water, as if in a fairyland.

Awu grew more confused—how could such a grand building suddenly appear in the mountains?

As she wondered, the man carried her inside, where men and women bowed their heads reverently, coming and going with trays and items: golden flowers, spittoons, gongs, water jars, and sashes.

Awu peeked from his arm, cautiously observing. The women wore gold rings and jade ornaments, carried red gauze lanterns gilded with gold; the men all dressed in red brocade, with gilded belts—imposing and wealthy.

She suddenly remembered childhood tales, fishermen encountering palaces at night, beautiful treasures and lovely women, indulging in pleasure, only to wake on the beach surrounded by sand, shells, and shrimp shells.

Her heart chilled—had she met a mountain spirit?

With that thought, fear seized her; her frail body trembled.

If this man was truly a ghost or demon, even the fierce Song Lingguan would be preferable—at least he was human! As were Lu Yunjian, the crown prince, and the princess—any of them!

Suddenly, she recalled her mother’s words, that spirits cast no shadow. She craned her head to look for his shadow.

But just then, the man motioned for the servants to withdraw and placed her on a flat couch.

Awu, anxious, instinctively tried to sit up.

His fingers pressed her soft waist. “Don’t move,” he said quietly.

She couldn’t resist his strength; helpless, she glanced desperately at the floor.

The room was lit with ornate eight-sided glass lanterns, casting the man’s tall, athletic figure onto the ground—a long shadow stretched across the floor.

There was a shadow. He was human.

Awu relaxed a little. If he was human, she had nothing to fear.

Now calmer, she looked around at the furnishings: she lay on a yellow pearwood couch, covered in fine silk bedding; everything in the room was exquisite, with a faint, elegant fragrance drifting in the air.

She sniffed, recognizing the scent: dragon musk, the true dragon musk.

In the marketplace, “dragon musk” was often just a blend with the name, but this scent was refreshing, with a delicate woody aroma—the finest dragon musk, the first fragrance of the palace, not something ordinary people could access.

So... this man’s status was extraordinary? Perhaps he could rival Lu Yunjian?

While Awu’s thoughts ran wild, Emperor Jingxi’s gaze roved over her.

Her moist, thin garments clung to her body, revealing every curve.

He had never imagined a woman could be so delicate and full—like a person kneaded from flower buds, tender and radiant, flawless and perfect.

He realized this was no goddess from Mount Wu, and he himself was no King Chu.

Yet he was intrigued; deep in the mountains, amid mist and rain, a beauty like this was a rare discovery.

He watched her every expression—fear, anxiety, confusion, her searching gaze, thoughtful.

Her little anxieties were vivid, like a puppy twitching its ears.

Emperor Jingxi found it amusing.

Suddenly, the girl seemed to realize something, hurriedly raising her hands to clutch her damp shirt, trying to cover herself.

Her face flushed, shyly avoiding his gaze, yet her luscious body had nowhere to hide. Her frantic movements and quick breaths made her curves sway.

His gaze lingered there—so full and soft, rippling like water.

Such a scene would leave any woman blushing and dizzy; for a man, it was even harder to restrain.

Emperor Jingxi was a man, and a vigorous one, who had abstained for over ten days.

Yet he remained composed, even faced with such temptation, never losing control like a naïve youth.

He had ascended the throne at fourteen, diligent and restrained, prudent and steady, ruling for eighteen years—never rash or impulsive.

Besides, a woman of unknown origin could not sway him with beauty alone.

He rose, took a nearby embroidered gauze robe—his everyday attire, not too ostentatious—and draped it over Awu.

Awu was stunned.

She was shy, but her seduction was intentional; she wanted to captivate him, make him her subject.

When he stood, she expected him to embrace her, to claim her. Instead, he covered her with a robe.

She stared at him in bewilderment.

“Are you still cold?” asked Emperor Jingxi.

Awu didn’t understand.

Seeing her innocent confusion, he gave up speaking, signaling for a maid to enter quietly, bringing a lacquered hand warmer, a six-legged bronze stove, and a scent cage.

The room already had a red clay floor heater, but these additions made it even warmer.

Awu clutched the robe, staring blankly at everything. The maids were clearly well-trained—quick, silent, poised and respectful, more refined than those in the crown prince’s manor.

One maid offered her the gilded hand warmer; she took it instinctively, marveling at its craftsmanship—woven copper, delicate handles, and the lacquered patterns were fine and vivid.

She realized the man’s status must be high, squeezing the robe—its material and stitching were impeccable, even the scent infused was subtle and deep, only found in rare, expensive fragrances. Cheap scents were sharp and shallow.

She bit her lip, lowered her head.

Her body was exposed, alluring; he was not unaffected, yet brought her a robe for modesty.

She had never met such a man.

Awu was ashamed of her seductive schemes, but disappointed by his indifference.

Clutching the hand warmer, she thought: the more noble and steady he was, the more she must tempt him—he was the only light in this cold, rainy night.

The maids silently arranged the stove and scent cage, set a tea stove on the clay heater, boiled water, placed a table, and laid out exquisite pastries before withdrawing.

Awu realized she was ravenous, especially so.

She hadn’t eaten hot food for two days; these pastries were irresistible.

Emperor Jingxi noticed. “Eat,” he said.

He meant only for her to eat, but his tone carried natural command.

Luckily, Awu didn’t notice. She took a five-petaled cake—it was crisp outside, tender inside, sweet and fragrant.

With the first bite, her nose tingled, eyes grew hot, and she felt near tears.

For this morsel, she would do anything—anything at all.

She drank hot tea; the warmth soothed her stomach, dispelling the cold. She felt alive again.

Emperor Jingxi asked, “How do you find the tea?”

Awu tasted it again, replying softly, “Sweet—so sweet.”

She knew nothing of tea, only that it was sweet and refreshing, so good she wanted more.

He poured her another cup.

Awu had no idea who he was, nor that few in the world would ever have Emperor Jingxi pour them tea—perhaps only the Empress Dowager.

Still, she accepted it with awe, sipping again.

As she drank, she began to plan how to tempt this man.

She had to act quickly—there was no time for slow schemes.

She was a hot potato; no ordinary man dared take her, no matter how beautiful. She had to entangle this man, stake her claim, and gain more chances.

Her only weapon was her body.

Fortunately, she could feel his gaze lingering on her; he seemed composed, but surely she’d piqued his interest.

Emperor Jingxi watched the vibrant beauty before him, his mind drifting far.

In the imperial study, before any decision, he would always stand, leave his desk, walk to the window and gaze outside, distancing himself from the memorials and decrees, then deliberate before acting.

He knew a word from him, a single edict, could change countless lives.

He had to be cautious.

Now, at thirty-three, he was not old, but at his last birthday, he realized he was no longer a burning youth. When his son married early, per royal custom, he knew he was a father—if all went well, perhaps soon a grandfather.

There was some melancholy and confusion, some disbelief—he felt his life was just beginning, that he hadn’t been at his desk long, yet suddenly he was someone’s father, someone’s old man.

Thinking this, he smiled wryly.

He maintained his morning exercise routine, even before early court sessions.

Thanks to this, his body was strong and fit; the ministers always flattered him, saying he was in his prime.

He took it in stride—whether true or not, he listened.

But now, gazing at this delicate young woman, he thought of age, of his body, of appearances.

Her gaze was too pure, too alluring; it made him forget worldly power, think only of man and woman, the vigor of flesh, and wild possession.

Like a beast in the woods, he wanted to conquer her with primal force, to make her utterly submit.

As he thought, he felt her watching him.

Cautiously, she looked up, studying him quietly.

He looked back.

Their eyes met, instantly entwined—they saw the heat of desire in each other.

So she wanted it, too.

Awu’s eyes were moist, seductive, her lashes tinged with a vivid red, shy and innocent, yet exuding delicate charm.

He’d never met such a woman.

So beautiful, so frail—she seemed born to be held, embraced, cherished, needing gentle care.

A hunger rose in him, a craving to possess her.

The room was unusually quiet; the finest charcoal burned silently in the bronze stove, distant deer calls echoed from the mountain woods.

A lone man and woman, both disheveled—she was a peerless beauty. What followed was natural.

All it needed was a spark.

Emperor Jingxi asked, “Still cold?”

Awu hesitated, shook her head, then nodded.

He ordered, “Lift your head.”

She could not resist, raising her face to this stranger.

Their gazes met, instantly locked—they saw the burning desire in each other.

She wanted it; he wanted it.

Awu’s eyes grew moist, her gaze seductive, a soft blush at her lashes.

She was silk—soft, lingering silk, awaiting someone to cling to in the spring rain.

She waited until her legs weakened, helplessly looking at his intense eyes, her lips barely moving: “I’m cold—hold me, please?”

Her voice was soft and muffled, like a dream.

A bewitching beauty begging.

The last shred of restraint in Emperor Jingxi’s eyes shattered.

Before Awu could react, her slender waist was seized fiercely, and she was pulled hard, crashing into his solid, muscular chest!

The heat and strength of a man’s body, slick and tight!

Pressed so forcefully, Awu felt pain and tension.

Her mind was blank, her vision white—instinctively, she clung to his shoulders, nestling into his embrace.

She had no strength to stand, her delicate body limp in his arms.

That triggered an even fiercer response.

In a whirlwind, Awu was almost entirely devoured by this man.