Chapter 73: Ruler and subject are husband and wife!

Chinu's hand strength was astonishingly great, his five fingers gripping the back of her hand, knuckles whitening, veins bulging......

He was completely unlike a patient delirious with fever.

But after gripping for a moment, that strength eased, turning into an obstinate, unwilling-to-let-go entanglement.

Chinu half-crouched in the shade beneath the tree, lifting his eyes to look at her.

His face burned crimson, not a healthy red but a sickly hue that flared from his porcelain-white skin, adding a brilliance he never usually had.

His narrow eyes were half-open, half-closed, their pupils veiled with a misty film that made their depths impossible to discern.

Perhaps because he had waited too long for an answer.

Chinu gazed at her, then rubbed his face against the back of her hand again.

The motion was extremely light, extremely slow, like a cat brushing against a palm, or like a drowning person finally clutching a piece of driftwood.

His nose tip slid between her fingers, his lips barely grazing her palm—

Scorching, chapped thin lips, bearing the distinctive feverish heat of illness.

His brow relaxed, the faint line between his eyebrows disappearing, his lashes drooping to half-cover those misty eyes, the crimson at the corners deepening as if delicately traced with rouge.

His lips slightly parted, hot, moist breaths brushing her skin—once, again.

"More......"

He muttered a single word indistinctly, his voice hoarse to the point of near inaudibility, yet the tail sound drew out long, carrying a strange sense of satiety.

He pressed her hand tighter against him, burying his whole cheek in her palm.

His gaunt face, cheekbones pressing against her, jawline sharp, yet now he resembled a young beast that has retracted its claws, offering up its softest part.

At this moment, there was not a trace of his usual gloomy viciousness left.

All that remained was a flushed, dazed, excessively beautiful face, murmuring to himself:

"I want more......"

"I must have more than anyone else."

"Otherwise, I would not be willing."

"Otherwise, I truly would not be willing."

In this life, from north to south, from front to back, he has truly wandered far too long.

Since the day he left the old capital, eight hundred ninety-two days and nights have passed, he has walked over four million three hundred thousand steps, longing for someone to see him.

Yet he has never been able to find a time to return.

The aristocratic high-ranking families who live off ancestral merit occupy the heights of power, relying on ancestral blessings, appearing splendid, but in reality...

In reality, they are somewhat like bamboo.

Exactly, bamboo.

Chinu never thought bamboo was anything good.

To him, bamboo is better used as a metaphor for hypocritical gentlemen.

If anyone had carefully examined bamboo's roots, they would know that while bamboo looks fine on the surface, underneath its roots are tangled and domineering.

Moreover, its heart is empty, containing nothing inside.

Yet scholars and artists love it dearly, and they thrive together.

Chinu is not unwilling to be a consort; he has been a consort from the very beginning...

He wishes only to be a consort for his whole life.

He once met a Wise Lord, and if he encounters one again, he would gladly bow his head in homage.

He is merely unwilling that the person now standing atop his head should be such a one.

Scholars write nonsensical texts, self-satisfied, securely occupying the court, while the disciples of ink‑wax artists vie to praise and flatter them...

Yet what they write is in fact no different from the hacks who churn out street‑tales for a living.

Over and over, it is nothing but stale, hackneyed platitudes.

Today the prince sets out on campaign, tomorrow the true and false thousand‑gold, the day after, a favored concubine destroys the wife, households feuding.

The writers profit by disparaging women and flaunting women's suffering, filling their coffers.

Scholars rely on ornate yet hollow rhetoric to occupy high positions.

Actually...

They ought to have stepped down from those positions long ago.

They do not deserve anything.

They, fundamentally, do not deserve any of this.

In countless days and nights, his soul clamors with resentment.

He hates the Wise Lord who has not appeared for so long, he hates those unworthy of high position, he hates those who have not seen him...

In the end, he even begins to hate himself.

Perhaps he should not have harbored such great ambition.

Perhaps, if he had early learned the ways of those scholars who live off old works, his life would have been much easier.

As long as he is shameless, he might soon be sealed off and appointed minister...

Eat one more bite of meat.

Gain another name besides "Chinu".

Yet he knows all too well how different he is.

Heaven and earth tread upon his skull, wearing down his sharpness.

Yet he is certain that is not the life he wants.

So, if there truly comes a day when the heavens break dawn...

He wants more, he just wants more.

The Lord of the World he has chosen must dote on him more.

"... Please dote on A-nu more."

Chinu again called out foolishly.

Du Shanü got goosebumps all over as she was called, and momentarily felt her heart tremble.

Chinu slightly sensed it, furrowed his brow slightly, held her hand tighter, and rubbed his face against her palm again.

His lips brushed over the skin on the inner side of Du Shanü's wrist, leaving a patch of scorching wetness.

Chinu continued to murmur:

"... Please dote on A-nu more."

Du Shanü endured the tremor in her chest, swallowed her saliva, lowered her gaze and asked him.

"Then you, how should I love you?"

Her breath tugged at Chinu's hair; his already somewhat dazed dark eyes were swept by autumn waves, faintly showing traces of awakening.

Close.

The two, too close.

Skin against skin, breath audible.

Chinu clenched her hand tighter, her nose almost brushing his forehead—

That scorching breath washed over, carrying a medicinal scent, a bloody odor, and some indescribable cool undertone that was his.

He lifted his face, gazing up at her; in his misty pupils reflected the sole human figure between heaven and earth.

That gaze was bewildered and scattered, yet firmly locked on her—both like wagging a tail begging for mercy and like besieging a city and seizing territory.

He moved slightly closer, close enough that his eyelashes almost brushed her cheek.

Their breaths grew even closer, intertwining.

The breath he exhaled was scorching, brushing her lips—once, again.

Du Shanü held her breath, shifted back slightly, but he immediately tightened his grip, stubbornly refusing to retreat.

His lips were just a cun away; Du Shanü tried to avert her gaze, but heard herself swallow a mouthful of saliva.

That sound was exceptionally clear, for a moment seeming abrupt and abnormal,

Chinu seized her finger joints, paused; his fingertip lightly rubbed the back of her hand, then stopped.

Immediately, Chinu suddenly laughed.

He finally agreed to loosen his grip slightly on Du Shanü's hand, but today's affairs clearly would not be settled nicely.

Because in the next instant, Du Shanü saw him bring his thin lips close to her lips.

Their breaths merged completely; between their lips lay only a single strand of hair.

Du Shanü heard those thin lips slightly open, uttering word by word with a breath:

"A-nu is jealous; if you want to love me, then discard all those lacking virtue and position, and cherish only A-nu......"

"In that case, whatever you wish to do to A-nu is allowed."

?? Chinu fishing, volunteers...

? Can everyone please say they love me below this post, so I can pretend I'm good at writing and have taste o(╥﹏╥)o