“And you beat him to play hero and save the beauty. Bad deeds stay quiet, but good ones spread far,” Xie Lingwan said with a hint of resentment, draping a light blue shawl over her shoulders and sitting close to Ji Yanqing.
“Auntie Xie worries too much. With the Wei King’s Heir’s reputation, there’s no lower to go in Ye City,” Ji Yanqing replied, scooting aside with a junior’s polite smile. Being alone with Auntie Xie always tested his self-control to the limit.
She glanced at the retreating youth with a mix of reproach and wistfulness, rising gracefully and saying softly, “Fine, you’re the Heir. I can’t control you.”
The late autumn chill hit Xie Lingwan, fresh from her bath, as the evening breeze made her shiver.
Seeing this, Ji Yanqing removed his brocade robe and draped it over her shoulders, wrapping the lotus-like beauty snugly.
Feeling the lingering warmth of the robe, Xie Lingwan’s cheeks flushed, her fox-like eyes flickering with a trace of sweetness before reverting to her usual poise.
“It’s cold outside. Come inside with Auntie,” she said.
The room was simple, like a commoner’s home: a dressing table, bronze mirror, zither, and a pearl-curtained bed.
Placing the rouge box on the tea table, Ji Yanqing took a cushion, kneeling respectfully. He held deep respect for this aunt—or elder sister—who watched him grow up.
“Auntie Xie, this rouge is specially bought from Yuegui Studio—your favorite Red Jade Honey Cream,” he said.
“You’re thoughtful, Yanqing,” Xie Lingwan replied softly, stretching her slender waist, crossing her long, fair legs, exuding a mature, sensual charm.
She patted the bed, her fox-like eyes half-smiling, issuing a tantalizing invitation. “Come sit, Little Yanqing. Auntie has something to discuss.”
Her words nearly gave Ji Yanqing a cold sweat. In all his time knowing Xie Lingwan, her use of “discuss” was rare but always left him mentally battered.
“Hongyuan said you recently brought a strange woman to the Wei King’s Mansion. Is that true?” Xie Lingwan asked softly, her calm tone masking an impending storm.
“Her name’s Ji Qingyan, from the Rakshasa Ancient Sect. Without her heroic aid, I’d have died at a thief’s hands,” Ji Yanqing explained.
“Your lifesaver has a graceful figure and stunning beauty?” she pressed.
“She’s somewhat attractive, but I think Auntie Xie is prettier,” he replied.
Xie Lingwan smiled faintly, continuing, “And this Heroine Ji was first drugged to seal her meridians, then bound and brought to the mansion by the Gan brothers?”
“That’s correct, but—”
Before he could finish, Xie Lingwan peeled a grape and shoved it roughly into his mouth, cutting off his prepared eight-hundred-word excuse.
“This morning at dawn, you rushed to the dungeon to interrogate her, forcing her into some outrageous terms?”
Her account matched his actions perfectly.
Ji Yanqing swallowed, then flashed a smile, suddenly grabbing her soft, fair feet. The arched soles curved like a crescent, her round, delicate toes like pearls, taut and tempting.
“What… what are you doing? I’m your aunt!” Xie Lingwan trembled, her face glowing like a sunset. Though she spoke of propriety, her legs offered little resistance—perhaps even a hint of compliance.
“I only noticed Auntie’s been overworked lately. I thought to massage your feet as a filial gesture, no improper thoughts,” Ji Yanqing said earnestly.
Xie Lingwan’s body stiffened, her graceful arches tensing as his skilled touch stirred her senses, eliciting a restrained whimper.
Her face bloomed with spring-like allure, her eyes silky. Her feet, highly sensitive, were… prone to certain reactions.
She’d meant to lecture him as an elder, teaching him respect for hierarchy, but she’d never adhered to such ethics herself.
And it felt so good~
“Listen, Auntie Xie,” Ji Yanqing said, gently kneading her foot. “Ji Qingyan’s identity is complex, tied deeply to both the Wei King’s Mansion and Prime Minister Liu. She’s a prodigy, a Transformation Realm cultivator at a young age. By lineage, she’s technically your niece.”
The Yanxia Dynasty valued clan ties above law, making familial titles a study in itself.
In his tenth year post-reincarnation, Ji Yanqing finally sorted out his uncles, aunts, and cousins. His mother, from the top noble clan, made the web even messier.
“Niece?” Xie Lingwan mused, considering the sprawling Gusu Xie clan. Distant relatives weren’t uncommon.
A Ji surname, tied to both the Wei King and Liu Sili?
As she popped a grape into her mouth, an image of a pedantic scholar surfaced.
Cough, cough, cough!
Ji Yanqing moved to pat her back, but she dodged, her fox-like eyes glinting ominously.
“She’s Qiu Chengbo’s daughter?!” she exclaimed.
“Yes,” Ji Yanqing nodded, looking helplessly at her.
“You knew and still brought her to Ye City? A Transformation Realm cultivator—her family was slaughtered by your father! Are you trying to die?” Xie Lingwan snapped, kicking his abdomen with her delicate foot.
“But she’s already here,” he said.
“Then send her back to the Rakshasa Sect—fast!” Xie Lingwan urged, pummeling him with her fists.
Compared to her frantic assault, Ji Yanqing zeroed in on the core issue, slyly pinching her porcelain ankle.
A soft moan escaped her lips, her blush spreading to her neck.
She hurriedly pulled her legs back, pressing them tightly together against the bed.
“The blood debt for the Ji family’s massacre partly falls on the Wei King’s Mansion. My actions are belated atonement. Opposing Liu Sili also serves our interests. By reason and emotion, I must help her,” Ji Yanqing said.
“You don’t understand. It was clearly Qiu—” Xie Lingwan bit her lip, switching tack. “This isn’t your concern. Be your carefree heir and leave the rest to others.”
“I’m the Wei King’s Heir—duty first, then debauchery,” Ji Yanqing said earnestly, taking a deep breath.
After a moment’s struggle, Xie Lingwan gripped her skirt, biting her lip, but didn’t argue further. Some things couldn’t be suppressed.
“I’m tired. Go back,” she said.
“Rest well, Auntie,” Ji Yanqing bowed, quietly leaving the room.
For once, their interaction felt like a proper aunt-nephew exchange.
But Xie Lingwan loathed it—worse than a corpse in a bridal chamber.
By the forest path, a stream babbled softly.