Chapter 24 - A Mark of Crimson
"Do you truly like this Prince?" Shen Tingjiao’s voice was a mere whisper, laced with a vulnerability that didn't quite match his royal status. He looked at her with eyes that sought a truth he was terrified to find.
Yin Zhuli paused, her hands hovering for a fraction of a second before she broke into a laugh that was more of a mocking scold than a tender reassurance. "Nonsense. The entirety of Chang'an is well aware that this old master is infatuated with you. It is only you, Your Highness, whose heart has been blinded by lard, focusing every shred of your attention on that Qu Lingyu."
Despite her words, the Ninth Prince remained skeptical, his brow furrowed in a delicate line of doubt. The events of the previous night still hung between them like an unresolved chord, vibrating with unspoken tension. "But you... last night, you were..."
Yin Zhuli’s eyes darkened, the depths of her pupils swirling with an unreadable intensity. After a long silence, a faint, predatory smile curved her lips, softening the sharp edges of her features. "So, it turns out the Ninth Prince has been overthinking things just for this..."
She reached for a silk handkerchief to wipe her lips, using the brief motion to conceal the act of slipping two medicinal pills into her mouth. They were bitter, a stark contrast to the sweetness she intended to project, but she swallowed them without a flinch. As the medicine began to take hold, she reached out, her fingers deftly unfastening the ornate jade belt at his waist.
He had returned to the manor in a hurry and was still clad in his formal princely court attire—a heavy, deep purple-black robe embroidered with intricate jiao-dragon patterns that shimmered in the dim light. Beneath the flickering glow of the candles and the heavy fall of the silk bed curtains, his skin appeared as pale and translucent as fine porcelain, his lips a vivid, startling red. In the hazy atmosphere of the bedchamber, he looked less like a man of the court and more like a peach blossom in full, intoxicating bloom, ethereal and fragile.
She partially disrobed him, her smile turning wicked and slightly mocking as she took in the sight of him. "How can there be a man in this world with a countenance as exquisite as yours, Ninth Prince?"
Shen Tingjiao turned his face away, his gaze darting toward the shadows to avoid her searching eyes. A flush of crimson spread across his cheeks like a sunset bleeding into a winter horizon, and he pressed his lips together, remaining stubbornly silent.
Yin Zhuli rose briefly to hook the heavy curtains aside, pulling a brass candelabra closer to the bed. She wanted the light to be unforgiving, to illuminate every inch of the masterpiece before her. She pressed him back down onto the mattress, her weight a grounding, dominant force. Her fingertips traced the lines of his skin—skin that was as bright and clear as polished jade. The Ninth Prince was delicate in every sense; his body was so fine and tender that the slightest pressure seemed capable of leaving a lasting impression.
Finding a strange, dark amusement in this, Yin Zhuli began a trail of soft, lingering kisses across his chest and neck. Wherever her lips pressed, a blooming red mark remained—vivid, ambiguous, and hauntingly beautiful against his snowy skin. Shen Tingjiao was no match for her strength or her persistence; he could only lie there, breathless and yielding, his fingers clutching at the silk sheets as he allowed her to have her way.
She bit down lightly on his shoulder, watching as a mark appeared like a drop of rouge accidentally spilled upon white jade. It was a sight of indescribable beauty, a testament to her claim over him. Yet, as she looked down at his flushed face and trembling form, her own heart remained as still as a frozen lake in the depths of winter. Not a single ripple of genuine passion stirred within her soul. Internally, she could only offer herself a bitter, mocking smile at the charade, though she allowed none of that coldness to reach her expression.
They remained entangled in the shadows and candlelight for nearly a quarter of an hour. Gradually, the effects of the medicine she had swallowed began to manifest with far greater intensity than before. Her breathing grew ragged and shallow, and a searing, artificial heat began to radiate from deep within her chest, clouding her mind with a forced, burning desire that finally began to bridge the gap between her cold heart and her quickening pulse.
