A week passed, quiet on the surface, restless beneath.
Lingxi's days returned to their familiar rhythm—measured steps, early mornings, and dutiful hands. She moved between the kitchens and corridors as she always had, receiving instructions, delivering messages, sweeping stone floors until they gleamed beneath her careful strokes. In the garden, she tended leaves and soil with patience, her movements unhurried, her posture steady.
Yet something about her had shifted.
Those who looked closely noticed it: the faint glow in her complexion, as though light lingered longer upon her skin. Her eyes carried a softness that had not been there before—not weakness, but warmth, like embers hidden beneath ash. Even her bearing held a quiet assurance, subtle but unmistakable, as if she had learned something the world had not yet taken from her.
She did not speak of it.
Still, memory found her in quiet moments—when steam rose from cooking pots, when moonlight brushed the edge of her sleeve, when the palace settled into sleep. The hush of a lamplit chamber returned to her thoughts. The warmth of a presence close enough to still her breath. The way silence itself had seemed to listen.
She never lingered on the memory for long. Work demanded focus, and caution demanded restraint. Whatever had passed belonged to the night—and nights were fleeting things.
Far from the servants' quarters, beneath carved eaves and gilded beams, the imperial court convened.
The emperor sat upon the throne, robed in authority, his expression composed. Ministers sat in orderly rows, voices rising one after another as they reported on the state of the realm—grain stores in the western provinces, border disputes, petitions awaiting seal.
He listened.
He responded.
And yet, his thoughts drifted.
Unbidden, unwelcome, persistent.
The memory came not as a single image, but as fragments: the tilt of her head when she listened, the quiet steadiness in her gaze, the way her presence filled a room without demanding attention. He recalled the softness of her voice—restrained, yet clear—and the warmth she carried, as though the night itself had yielded to her.
Why do I crave even more for her touch, and hear those sounds she can produce again.
He smirks…
More vivid still were the moments he did not name aloud: the closeness, the shared breath, the silence heavy with meaning. The restraint that had frayed without breaking.her moans becoming melodious music, the pleasures he felt being engulfed by her warm cave.
It unsettled him.
Not because it was improper—but because it lingered.
A minister's voice faltered. Another paused mid-sentence.
Only then did the emperor realize the hall had fallen silent.
"That will be all," he said abruptly.
The ministers froze.
Before protocol could reassert itself, he rose and departed, leaving stunned glances and unspoken questions in his wake.
In his inner chamber, scrolls lay open before him, seals untouched. He read lines without absorbing meaning, his focus slipping again and again into stillness that was not rest.
Finally, he exhaled sharply.
"Gao wei."
The eunuch appeared at once, head bowed.
"Send word," the emperor said quietly. "Discreetly. Tonight. The garden."
Gao wei did not ask how. He never did.
The message traveled silently—passed through trusted hands, delivered without name or seal.
Lingxi received it just before dusk.
She stood frozen for a moment, the folded slip of paper warm between her fingers. Her breath caught, color blooming faintly across her cheeks.
Tonight.
She burned the message as instructed, watched the ash scatter into the wind, and returned to her duties with hands that trembled only once.
Night deepened.
When the servants' quarters finally stilled, she waited—longer than before. Only when breathing evened and the halls emptied did she rise, careful as shadow.
In the garden, Eunuch Gao wei awaited her.
The cloak passed into her hands. The disguise followed. She changed without a word, becoming once more someone unseen, unremarkable.
They moved swiftly through hidden paths and silent corridors.
This time, when she entered the emperor's chamber, he was standing.
The robe he wore caught the lamplight—dark silk embroidered with subtle gold, the dragon coiled and watchful. He turned at her entrance, his gaze settling on her as though he had known the exact moment she crossed the threshold.
She knelt.
"Rise," he said at once.
When she did, he was already close.
No distance. No hesitation.
His hands framed her face, thumbs brushing lightly along her cheeks, as though confirming what memory had insisted upon. His lips met hers without restraint—neither hurried nor hesitant, a kiss shaped by intent rather than impulse.
Her breath caught, then steadied.
She did not step back.
He slowly undresses her and admires has body, her soft curves and her pink mound on her twin peak, the swell of her breast is just perfect.
He uses his hand to trace every part of her body while deepen the kisses her, muffled moans escape her mouth.
Fuck gosh this girl you are one seductress.
Lingxi (yin yue)—- I am sorry your majesty
There is nothing to be sorry about my dear,
Tell me dear what is your name.
Lingxi —- my name your majesty is yin yue but consort Yan zhen has renamed me as Lingxi.
The Emperor—— hmmm I shall call you Yin yue.
Lingxi —- thank you your majesty .
He seizes her lips again and pry open her mouth to deepen the kiss and simultaneously lifts her up and takes her to bed.
He started with gentle movements and once she matched his rthymn, he moved faster with little bit of mercy, he didn't know he was so hungry of her. Soon grunts and moans filled the room. He took her over and over again till he found his release.
Looking at her sleepy face he mutters I am sorry and soon fell asleep himself.
Dawn came quietly.
Lingxi returned before the palace stirred, escorted through unseen corridors, her presence erased before it could be questioned. She lay down only long enough to rest, the echo of warmth lingering like a secret beneath her ribs.
By morning, she rose again, she was exhausted but duty called and couldn't be ignored.
And somewhere beyond duty and decree, remembrance waited—patient, insistent, impossible to dismiss.