Chapter 13

Chapter 13: A Rare Treasure

Awu had always known she possessed nothing. If she wished to survive, she would inevitably have to pay a price.

She did not fear men; she even believed she could try to control them, to make men serve her, to watch them lose themselves for her.

But now, fear crept into her heart.

This man's words were rich and compelling, his gaze calm and rational. Instinctively, she thought he would be rigid and predictable in matters of intimacy, someone she could easily master.

Never did she imagine that once he acted, he would be like a storm, wild and consuming, as if he could utterly devour her.

In her desperate thrashing, Awu nearly drowned; she did not know how to swim and could only flounder helplessly.

What she did not know was that to Emperor Jingxi, her struggle awakened something long-buried within him.

He had never lacked for women, nor for their gentleness.

Princes of the Great Hui royal family married young; Jingxi had ascended the throne in his youth and was married early, taking an empress and selecting concubines to fill his harem according to custom. His imperial harem had never been short of gentle, exquisite beauties.

Yet he was largely indifferent to women; the women in his harem were more a duty to his lineage and the state—a part of his role as a diligent emperor.

In his early days, he followed the palace routine, visiting each concubine in turn every month, never favoring one above another, dividing his attentions for the first half of the month and resting during the latter.

Once, overwhelmed with affairs of state, he went nearly a month without visiting the harem. When he finally had time, he realized the month was nearly gone.

The Great Hui harem had strict and complex rules: every consort must be visited at least once every three months, and every imperial visit was recorded. To meet this requirement, he once summoned six concubines in a single day, leaving behind the tale of ‘one night, six women,’ thus ensuring fairness.

But later, he was injured while hunting. Though his virility remained, from that point the harem produced no more heirs. The imperial physicians suspected the injury had affected his vitality and tried various treatments, but nothing helped.

He grew lax, seldom visiting his consorts, fulfilling his imperial obligations only on rare occasions, more as a token gesture.

The Empress and the concubines speculated but dared not inquire, pretending ignorance.

He, however, understood himself well—he was not incapable, only uninterested. He was unwilling to labor fruitlessly like an ox in a barren field.

As emperor, he sometimes indulged himself. If he disliked something, there was no need to force himself.

But now, with this bewitching, mysterious creature struggling in his grasp like a fish caught in a net, the emperor who had always been in control felt the thrill of conquest.

It was something innate to men, buried deep within, a side of himself Jingxi had never before noticed.

At that moment, he realized that perhaps his years of morning training had been a way to vent the desires he kept deeply repressed, sweating them out to keep himself always within safe, controllable bounds.

But now he had encountered this enchanting little thing, who touched his nerves and kindled his dormant desires, making him as exhilarated as after a fierce morning exercise, longing to crush her into his embrace.

He grew restless, feverish, out of control, his desires surging forth.

Awu’s slender neck was forced straight, stretched forward, a broken, beast-like whimper escaping her throat as her body trembled like a leaf in a storm.

She sobbed, “Please, have mercy, I cannot bear it anymore, spare me…”

Her soft, plaintive cries only provoked an even fiercer storm. She was tossed about like a kite with a severed string.

It lasted so long that Awu’s mind nearly fled her body before it finally ended.

She cowered, trembling, her thoughts in disarray.

She regretted it now, deeply regretted it, sensing dimly that she had provoked someone she should not have.

This man—perhaps even more terrifying than Lu Yunjian!

***************

The man with the dimple bent down to check on her; her eyes were half-closed, gaze dazed, her expression lost.

He touched her forehead, his tea-colored eyes studying her, then departed.

People moved in and out of the room, seemingly arranging things.

The rules here were strict; despite many people coming and going, the chamber remained silent, orderly, and tranquil.

Gradually, Awu recovered.

He had been relentless in bed, nearly overwhelming her, leaving her feeling as if she had brushed the gates of death.

At last, it was over. She felt weary, her nerves slack, her future uncertain, her heart adrift. Memories of the past welled up, and tears slowly filled her eyes.

She leaned against the brocade quilt, crying softly in exhaustion.

At that moment, the man returned. With a wave of his hand, lanterns flared to life.

Filtered through glass and gauzy silk, the light was a warm gold, bright but not harsh.

Awu ceased crying, her tear-bright eyes fixing on the man.

He was now fully dressed, his slightly damp black hair loosely tied with a silk ribbon, clad in a long robe of white satin, its loose folds veined with a subtle golden shimmer—whatever the fabric was, it bespoke extravagance.

Emperor Jingxi saw her on the verge of tears, droplets still clinging to her cheeks, yet curiosity shining in her wide eyes.

A beauty in tears, as lovely as a rain-kissed pear blossom—delicate and moving.

Born to the royal family and raised in the inner court, Jingxi had seen every rare and precious thing the Great Hui accumulated—jewels, antiques, rare books, famed porcelains, lavish finery—nothing surprised him, not even the beauties of the harem.

Those raised to serve him, kneeling at his feet, were all of exquisite appearance. Plump or slender, to him, one flower was much the same as another.

But this girl was different. She seemed carved entirely of warm jade, every detail exquisitely refined, as if crafted solely for him—a rare treasure.

And she could cry, gazing at him with clear, innocent eyes.

A boundless tenderness and delight stirred in Jingxi’s heart, a gentleness he had never known.

He bent, long fingers brushing her forehead, gently sweeping damp strands from her cheek as he asked softly, “Do you feel better?”

Hearing his question, Awu knew what he meant.

She bit her lip shyly, trembling as she averted her gaze.

By now, all the lanterns had been lit. Their craftsmanship was extraordinary—ivory, carved with clouds and cranes, clearly no ordinary items.

The lanterns cast warm light throughout the chamber, and for the first time, Awu could see clearly.

She let out a soft “ah” of realization.

Jingxi’s gaze had never left her face; seeing her surprise, even her tears seemed to pause.

He asked gently, “What is it?”

Awu pointed at the wall. “I thought those were stone bricks—I wondered how such a grand building could appear in the mountains. Now I see it’s an illusion.”

The structure was not a real building but a tent, draped with silken screens colored to resemble brickwork. At night, it appeared as towering palace walls.

The tent was built beside hot springs; now, with steam rising and spring water murmuring, the majestic “palace” amid the mist looked like a celestial realm.

Jingxi was bemused by her words.

She was so beautiful, almost unearthly, yet spoke with a childlike innocence, as if untouched by the world, a blank sheet of paper.

A ruler who owned everything could afford the patience to paint that blank canvas with whatever colors he desired.

He fetched a silk robe and draped it over her. Only then did he ask, “Who are you, and how did you fall into my spring?”

He had asked before, but she had been too frightened to answer, so he had let it be.

While he was dressing, the commander of the Dragon Guard reported that they had thoroughly searched a ten-mile radius and found nothing suspicious. At the spot where she’d fallen, only a few scattered footprints were discovered.

From those tracks, it appeared she had come alone, and further clues were being pursued.

Jingxi was in no hurry. The girl was now securely in his grasp.

He held the world, the sun and moon in his hands, the wind and rain at his command—who would dare defy him?

A mere girl—whether ghost, spirit, or mortal with ulterior motives—if he desired her, none could deny him.

Before absolute power, all demons and specters must retreat.

Yet, facing this dazed, innocent young woman, he betrayed no emotion, only asked gently, “Are you hungry again?”

Awu was startled, her hand instinctively pressing against her stomach.

She had been so intent on ensnaring him she’d ignored her hunger. Now, after such exertion, the few cakes she’d eaten were long gone, and her stomach rumbled audibly.

Hearing the sound, she blushed and muttered, “I never really ate my fill before.”

Her voice was soft and fragile, like water.

Jingxi raised a hand in signal, and two rows of maids filed in, swiftly arranging a long table and setting out dishes and bowls with practiced grace. It was as if by magic—a table full of exquisite, fragrant dishes appeared before Awu realized it, each one refined and tempting.

She looked on, confused, her eyes wide as she glanced at Jingxi, hesitant to speak.

He prompted, “What is it?”

Awu hesitated, then whispered, “These dishes are so elaborate… who are you, really?”

Jingxi understood then—she was not some spirit or immortal, for she knew the ways of men.

He replied calmly, “And you? Who are you?”

At this, Awu’s eyes filled with confusion. She touched her head, shook it, and said, “I—I don’t remember…”

Feigning ignorance.

Jingxi said, “If you don’t remember who you are, why ask about me?”

Awu thought him exceedingly cunning, but for now, she could only play along, lest he grow suspicious.

She would have to take things one step at a time.

At that moment, Jingxi himself took up chopsticks and served her some food. “Try this.”

Awu took it, eating small bites slowly.

As she ate, Jingxi watched her, composed and unhurried.

The more she tasted, the more she realized—from the quality of the ingredients, he must be someone of great rank, perhaps even of the imperial clan.

She felt a trace of relief. However difficult this man might be, he seemed a few years older than her, treated her with care—if she stayed with him, she might be protected.

Yet, at his age and with such a background, he likely had wives and concubines already. She could only ever be a concubine herself.

But with her background, she could never be a wife to a man of standing. And if she wed a common man, how could he protect her?

So she could only accept her fate.

Awu’s appetite was not large; eating slowly, she was soon full.

With her hunger satisfied, she regained some spirit and began to look around.

Jingxi asked, “Are you tired?”

She nodded.

He thought her nodding especially docile and endearing.

He raised his hand, taking hers. “Come, I’ll take you to my quarters.”

Awu replied softly, “Alright.”

She tucked away every sharp edge, becoming as meek as a little white rabbit.

Jingxi fetched a cloak woven of golden thread and peacock feather filament, draping her until she was bundled up, then lifted her into his arms.

The cloak sparkled gold and green, sumptuous and soft. Curious, Awu tried to peek out, but Jingxi pressed her head down with his strong hand.

He bent close, his deep voice murmuring in her ear, “You draw too much attention.”

Awu paused, then understood his meaning.

Just as the Crown Prince had once wanted to keep her hidden, this man too believed she should not be seen.

But that was no matter. For her, perhaps this was just as well.