Though rumors abounded of noble families’ decadent ways and moral decay, the shock Ji Qingyan felt witnessing it firsthand far surpassed any storyteller’s scandalous tales.
The intimate scene struck her: Xie Lingwan, in a tight crimson dress, leaned into Ji Yanqing’s arms, her fox-like eyes seductive, her slender fingers at his lips.
Polished, it was captivating allure; bluntly, it was brazen flirtation.
“Did I come at a bad time?” Ji Qingyan bit her lip, her hands clutching her sheer skirt, eyes blazing with indignation.
“Not at all~ You’re right on time, Heroine Ji. The feast is ready, just waiting for you. And~ Happy New Year,” Xie Lingwan said, tucking stray hair behind her ear with a charming smile. She slipped her creamy foot into her embroidered shoe and sat back gracefully.
Elegance and nobility graced her stunning face, her graceful steps showcasing her innate allure, radiant beyond measure.
The pavilion’s atmosphere froze, heavy and stifling.
The three sat around the table, silent as still water, spaced apart in accordance with propriety.
Whoosh, bang—
Fireworks from Ye City burst, their vibrant glow painting the night sky, reflecting on the thin window paper.
While the sky dazzled, the room reeked of gunpowder.
Xie squinted her fox-like eyes, scrutinizing the barely grown beauty. Dressed so provocatively, baring arms and legs in winter, powdered and rouged—clearly trying to seduce her nephew.
Like a stray cat eyeing her prized cabbage, Xie’s guard shot up. Yanqing, the Heir, was devastatingly handsome. Without her guarding him for Xiao Yao, those wanton vixens would’ve devoured him.
‘Surely Sister Xiao would forgive my little theft?’ Xie thought. Yanqing was at his prime, desires strong, needing balance. But finding a noble, compatible lady was rarer than a nine-tailed fox.
The Duke of Yan’s second daughter was passable, but her arrogance led her to declare she’d rather hang herself than marry a rebel like the Heir—ethics be damned.
The emperor, wary of Wei King Ji Yang’s power—commanding 150,000 loyal frontier troops—feared an alliance with the Duke’s Liaodong cavalry would shake Yanxia.
Thus, he fueled the Duke’s daughter’s defiance, forcing the engagement’s end—either Ji Yanqing divorcing or her withdrawing.
So, Ji Yanqing went to Yanyun to dissolve it, never wanting the match, also easing the emperor’s suspicions.
A double win, in a way.
In Canglan Goddess Chronicles, one of the Heir’s many deaths was by his fiancée’s hand—a poisoned wine in the bridal chamber, staged as death by debauchery.
Engagement off, but Yanqing couldn’t be left stifled. Xie concluded only she, his aunt, could bear the task.
Having shared intimate moments, would he not wed his noble, youthful, beautiful aunt?
Consort was uncertain, but concubine was assured.
“Yanqing, open up~ Try this fresh sweet-and-sour carp,” Xie said, her eyes soft and alluring, feeding him a piece of fish with chopsticks.
“Delicious?” she asked.
“Anything you feed me is delicious,” Ji Yanqing replied obediently.
“Sweet talker~” she said, though her heart warmed, her eyes tender, her body nearly in his lap.
The aunt-nephew distance vanished.
Her faint fragrance teased his nose, stirring him. Gazing at the enchanting beauty, he burned with desire to see her moaning beneath him.
[Xie’s extra passionate tonight. Why not seize this chance to conquer her? A 26-year-old widow would offer unique ecstasy. There’s wine in the cabinet—get Ji Qingyan drunk for a double thrill…]
Tempted by the narrator, Ji Yanqing’s heart raced, his hand slowly wrapping around her slender waist, soft and supple.
Seeing their intimacy, Ji Qingyan’s silver-inlaid ebony chopsticks creaked, nearly snapping.
Devouring half a crispy chicken, she barely suppressed her resentment, her phoenix eyes red and fierce, glaring at the immoral pair across the table.
A hint of killing intent flashed in her dark pupils.
Crack—
A chilling aura hit, snapping Ji Yanqing from his lustful haze, like plunging into an icy pit.
He gently moved Xie’s creamy hand aside, scooting over. His “little brother’s” desires mattered, but his life mattered more.
Ji Qingyan’s “Killing Machine” nickname wasn’t for show.
“Auntie, aren’t we too close?” he said softly, chanting form is emptiness, emptiness is form to escape desire’s abyss.
He couldn’t be blamed for wavering.
Mature women, wives, aunt-nephew dynamics, fox-like seductresses—too many of his weaknesses. Without Ji Qingyan’s live audience, he’d have started the feast with Xie’s luscious lips.
“You’re not a maiden; what’s a little touch?” Xie said.
“But you’re… it’s improper,” he countered.
“You dislike me?” Xie’s face tilted, eyes misty with grievance, her voice trembling.
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
“Then what?” she asked, annoyed, her fox-like eyes catching Ji Qingyan eating silently, barely hiding a smirk.
“Fine, fine, my fault as your aunt. I shouldn’t interrupt you youngsters. Carry on, I’m leaving… and I’ll focus on mourning Sister Xiao Yao. Don’t come see me!” Xie choked, tears streaming, and fled.
“Auntie Xie!” Ji Yanqing panicked. Years in brothels hadn’t taught him to balance such situations, or he wouldn’t be capsizing now.
As he chased after, Ji Qingyan’s smile broke free, delighted at punishing the immoral pair.
Until a familiar voice cut through.
“If I can’t appease Auntie Xie, you’ll never get Chengying back!” Ji Yanqing snapped.