Author: Qi Wu Gou

Translator: Xuannie Chan

Editor: Adrian S. Mei

 

NSFW

 

Chapter 1

 

As winter took hold of the capital, a fluffy snow enveloped it, falling relentlessly throughout the night. By the break of dawn, the storm had abated, leaving behind a mantle of snow that lay heavy upon the bough of the pine trees.

 

The Hibiscus House welcomed a morning that was markedly different from its usual lively nocturnal activities. An absolute stillness prevailed, and even the servants glided silently about their morning duties, their movements deliberate, lest they disturbed the esteemed guests’ sleep.

 

A profound silence reigned outside, but the stillness was even more profound within a particular bedchamber, punctuated only by the tendrils of incense smoke rising from the brass brazier.

 

Zhao Yun had dozed in a shallow sleep and woken with the day. Leaning against the headboard, he gazed at the courtesan sharing his bed. His thoughts wandered as his fingers played with the raven black hair spilt across the pillow—soft like the coat of a cub. He lifted a dark lock to his nose and sniffed. A pleasant, faint scent lingered on the dark strands.

 

The young slave was blessed with a lovely face, his features befitting a sculpted statue and radiating an air of refined elegance and breathtaking beauty. Currently draped over his otherwise naked body were shreds of a silk undergarment that Zhao Yun had torn in order to know and mark every inch of that supple, unblemished skin with his lips. The courtesan was so skinny that, when Zhao Yun held him in his arms, he felt the lightness of his frame. Yet the musculature of his chest and abdomen was toned, hinting at a strength that no typical courtesan possessed.

 

Zhao Yun had also noticed a layer of calluses on his fingers that was indicative of sword use. He was, however, not worried that the courtesan might be an assassin. If that had been the case, a move would have been made while Zhao Yun was lost in the pleasures of his naked flesh. He reckoned this had something to do with the scions of the noble houses and their discerning tastes. That would explain how a lowly plaything came to be well-versed in arts both literary and martial.

 

It was unfortunate that he had only been taught what to do outside the bedroom, because he had been a bumbling amateur between the sheets. Zhao Yun had planned on enjoying the courtesan’s ministrations, but in the end, he had been the slave instead of the master.

 

The general had been invited to the Hibiscus House by the president of the Yangzhou Chamber of Commerce for an evening of drinks and music. The drink served had been Bottled Heaven, the song sung, “Snow in Spring”—both delicacies for the senses. On a whim, Zhao Yun indulged himself to the point of inebriation. The president had two servants take him to a private room where he could rest and clear his head. 

 

As he arrived on the first floor, he caught the beginnings of “Golden Thunder Drum” in the hall below. A painted performer took the stage and drove the audience into a round of cheers and applause with his first bright, sonorous note.

 

This was one of the general’s favourite pieces. He sent the servants away. His back against a pillar, he lounged in the corridor, nursing a jar of liquor while losing himself to the song. In the span of a song, he only became more intoxicated. He only managed to find his bed for the night with the help of a courtesan.

 

He asked the beautiful man for a name. The answer came—Changhuai. Curious, he asked the name to be written down for him, but in his drunken stupor, he didn’t make out a single word of the response.

 

When he woke, the moon hung high in the heavens. His skin damp with sweat, he rose for a much-needed sip of tea and upon turning around, his gaze fell on Changhuai, asleep in his bed.

 

Seized by a sudden swell of desire, he tugged Changhuai’s robes loose and pulled the courtesan into his arms. Changhuai’s frame fitted snugly against Zhao Yun’s chest, their faces shadows in the dark. To Zhao Yun, the man in his arms was merely a vessel for his lust, not an object for his affection, so he was neither patient nor gentle. The heat between his legs had grown hard and insistent. Without further ado, he penetrated the courtesan.

 

An agonising pang jolted Changhuai out of his slumber. He thrashed limply, and the member that had begun its invasion slid out. A strange tingling pierced the fog of pain, eliciting a sharp gasp from him. His voice was coloured with anger when he spoke.

 

“What is the meaning of this? Release me at once.”

 

Zhao Yun blinked. For a moment, he was convinced that the slave was the general instead.

 

“Bold words for a pretty face.”

 

By no means was General Zhao cross; he had grown tired of men grovelling at his feet. The audacity of the lowly courtesan was a breath of fresh air—almost endearing. Although he was no gentle man, he had no desire to taint an act of intimacy with unpleasantness. He was still basking in the afterglow of his recent political triumphs. In his generosity, he decided to bestow upon Changhuai some measure of patience and ceased the offensive.

 

Changhuai did not need eyes to know the terrible size and girth of Zhao Yun’s manhood sliding between his thighs in measured, deep thrusts. He shut his eyes in fear.

 

Zhao Yun could feel the pounding of Changhuai’s heart through his clothes. He chuckled as he slid a hand under the undergarment.

 

“Feel how cold I am?” he teased.

 

Changhuai could. He shuddered from it. He grabbed the intrusive hand. “You–”

 

Heated breaths kissed the back of Changhuai’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine. His eyes shut again as he curled into himself. A soft moan spilt from his lips. Zhao Yun meted out heat and chill in turns. It was pure torture. Changhuai found himself caught between tormented lucidity and dizzy lust.

 

“How convenient…” Slowly, Zhao Yun’s hand slid southwards. His voice was but a whisper. “That you are here to keep me warm, Changhuai.”

 

The courtesan stiffened at the name and turned a quiet stare at Zhao Yun.

The general took the chance to marvel at the courtesan’s lovely eyes. Dark, yet bright, they shimmered like stars. Impulse took him suddenly. He dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss on Changhuai’s lips.

 

“ ’Tis impolite to stare, my little fox.”

 

“Say my name again.”

 

His words, starkly bereft of honorifics, carried the power of an innate authority. Unfortunately for him, Zhao Yun loathed being told what to do. His teeth sank into the courtesan’s soft earlobe. The sting and tickling wetness drove Changhuai into a shudder. A quiet moan broke his uneven breathing—one that he quickly quietened.

 

“It appears I have a demanding little fox on my hands,” Zhao Yun said. “Now, why should I do as you say?”

 

He spoke with a pleasant evenness that would fool anyone into thinking that this was simply light-hearted banter, when in truth, the general possessed a temperament as inconstant as the moon. Mere moments ago, he had found Changhuai endearing. Within the span of a brief exchange, the courtesan had overstepped himself.

 

And it was the sort of audacity that warranted a lesson.

 

Zhao Yun flipped them over, trapping the courtesan beneath him. Rendered prisoner, Changhuai fumed. He hissed Zhao Yun’s name and demanded the latter release him. That only succeeded in making the general’s eyes crinkled.

 

“You treat me like a servant, a slave, when you know exactly who I am. No other person in this establishment would dare command a general in this manner. You would be the first and last one.”

 

“You are making a grave mistake,” Changhuai argued, pushing against Zhao Yun’s chest.

 

Zhao Yun caught his thrashing limbs and pinned them down with the elegant ease and precision of a feather-light arrow to a lumbering beast. He palmed Changhuai through his undergarment and clutched the semi-hard member in his hand.

 

“Ahh…” A moan spilt from Changhuai’s lips. “What…”

 

Zhao Yun’s fingers lingered on the tip, easily stroking the manhood to full attention.

 

“There is no mistaking this.” Zhao Yun’s lips quirked as the scorching heat twitched against his palm. “Am I right, Changhuai?”

 

His voice lowered to a deep husk, the name but a soft murmur on his lips.

 

Struggling to steady his gasping breath, Changhuai was rendered speechless. A faint flush rose in his fair cheeks. Sooner than he would have liked, the tip of his manhood began to weep—a glistening tendril that wet Zhao Yun’s fingers.

 

Having spied the signs of desire, Zhao Yun slipped his hand down and probed the tight entrance with two digits.

 

Changhuai let out a soft grunt, his brow creased. Moments earlier, he had found their proximity disagreeable, but after his name fell from Zhao Yun’s lips, his eyes lost their earlier shimmer. There was a glazed look in them as he gazed up at the general. 

 

Zhao Yun’s fingers were caught in a wet, tight wall of muscle that left them numb from its clenching stranglehold. He much preferred this to the other clumsy, yapping hole up top.

 

Changhuai bit his lips and swallowed his moans. His arms found themselves around Zhao Yun’s shoulders as he caved to desire and kissed the man on the lips.

 

They were both unschooled in the art, their teeth clashing like swords in battle. Zhao Yun hissed when Changhuai nipped the tip of his tongue. Changhuai pulled away slightly, a question on the tip of his own tongue. But before he could ask Zhao Yun if he had hurt him, Zhao Yun cradled his cheek with his palm and drew him into a deeper kiss.

 

As their lips and tongues learnt the shape and heat of each other, Zhao Yun’s digits stirred with ever more urgency. Moans spilt from Changhuai’s lips as the general steadily drew desire out of him. He burnt with lust. Its blazing fire drove him mad. His eyes were shuttered tight as he sank into its dark embrace. 

 

Zhao Yun’s hand slipped from his cheek and travelled the curve of his jaw, the pale of his throat, and the dip of his collarbone before stilling above a pale-coloured nub. With a pinch and a twist, pain and desire shuddered through Changhuai. Zhao Yun had him ensnared, caught between the edge of ecstasy and hell.

 

When Zhao Yun pulled his hand away, his fingertips were glistening with a sticky fluid.

 

“What a mess you’ve made, Changhuai… Shouldn’t you do something about it?”

 

Zhao Yun pushed his fingers into Changhuai’s mouth, onto his tongue, so they would be licked clean.

 

Changhuai’s face burnt. Muffled moans lay trapped in his mouth as tears glimmered in his eyes. He gazed at Zhao Yun, eyes glassy, as he nursed on those digits.

 

Zhao Yun studied the courtesan, their eyes locked. So close—he could see the tears brightening those eyes. They looked at him—and stared straight through him.

 

Displeasure pinched at the general. He cast all thoughts of indulging Changhuai in equal pleasure. With a hand on the courtesan’s shoulder, he flipped him around before clamping palms around his waist and jerking it upwards, forcing the courtesan to lay prostrate before him.

 

Changhuai had never suffered such a humiliating position. He struggled to turn himself around.

 

“How dare you, Zhao Yun,” he hissed. “I will not be treated this way.”

 

Zhao Yun reckoned that with such a lovely face, the slave must have been treated like a precious pearl on the palm of countless officials and nobles at the Hibiscus House. Their pampering and coddling must have spoilt him and taught him a foul temper and terrible insolence.

 

“How fortunate that I revel in doing exactly what others dare not do.” Zhao Yun shoved the man’s face into the pillow. His voice was as cold as a blade. “I’d advise you to stop fighting, lest you enjoy pain.”

Zhao Yun pushed aside Changhuai’s undergarments and clutched his thighs for purchase. He pushed his scalding member past the cleft and sank in swiftly like a sword in its sheath.

 

Changhuai could only gape as the monstrous shaft nearly rent him in half. The agony drove a pained, soundless gasp from his parted lips. He did not cry out. Only his eyes reddened.

 

Zhao Yun knew that this would hurt; he didn’t expect the courtesan to be quiet in his pain. Changhuai’s dishevelled robes coiled around his waist, revealing a bare back glistening with cold sweat. In the dark, the droplets glowed like pearls. A wave of lust overtook Zhao Yun. He clutched a handful of inky hair and started thrusting frenetically, setting a pace wild and uneven, withdrawing midway before plunging back in with greater violence.

 

The brief ministrations that Zhao Yun had given earlier had turned Changhuai’s insides warm and wet. Muscles clenched around his scalding member like a vice. Waves of pleasure swelled within Zhao Yun and brought him closer to the crest. He drove himself in, thrusts quick and powerful. Each pounding of the flesh was accompanied by the wet smack of skin against skin. Zhao Yun had never felt such unbridled pleasure before. It was as if the courtesan was born to take his manhood—a perfect sheath for his sword, warm, wet and tight. Each thrust felt like a smooth slide home.

 

Changhuai’s face was buried in the pillows. His eyes were shuttered tight. His dark lashes shimmered with sweat.

 

Zhao Yun drove himself in and hit a spot deep inside Changhuai. A sudden, terrible pleasure coursed through the beautiful body beneath him. Muscles quivered and tightened around Zhao Yun, forcing a sharp inhale. Despite his mental preparation, he had nearly given into his release.

 

He pulled out and turned Changhuai over before lifting a leg and propping it on his shoulder. Without a second wasted, he plunged right back in the heat.

 

Changhuai gasped. His fingers tightened around the sheets as he struggled to steady his breath. His own manhood lay stiff, unattended. It was pale-coloured and smooth. Its tip flushed like a rose and wept constant tears as it rocked with each thrust that Zhao Yun made.

 

The general advanced in unbroken assaults, each offensive ending in impossible depths. Beneath him, Changhuai melted into a mess of loose limbs, his defenses shattered, his very soul driven from the battlefield of his body.

 

Zhao Yun deliberately rammed hard against a particular spot deep, deep inside. Once, then again. The courtesan bit his lips. Zhao Yun’s eyes burnt with lust.

 

“Let me hear you,” he commanded. “I want to hear your voice.”

 

Changhuai clenched his jaw, but Zhao Yun was unbothered. He clasped his hand around that slender neck, all the while burying himself to the hilt. Their bodies collided in loud, brazen smacks amidst his unfettered lust.

 

Changhuai’s body rocked like a boat in a storm. He felt himself rising and falling with each growing tide. Endless pleasure filled him from the crown of his head to the tip of his toes. His limbs lay paralysed by his side.

 

Finally, he caved. Tears wet his lashes as muffled mewls spilt from his lips.

 

Zhao Yun went on, his pace relentless. He finally reached for Changhuai’s member. A few quick strokes, and a clear, ringing moan burst from Changhuai’s throat. A streak of white streaked over his taut stomach.

 

While shudders overtook the courtesan, Zhao Yun pulled Changhuai up so he sat in his lap. Unbothered by the dripping fluid, he kept thrusting until Changhuai was nothing but a quivering mess lost in a lingering release.

 

Zhao Yun sucked gently at the sweat beading his neck. “You have a lovely voice, Changhuai.”

 

The composure in Zhao Yun’s voice had become tender with affection. Changhuai’s lips trembled. A slow flush rose in his cheeks. He shut his eyes and returned Zhao Yun’s embrace. 

 

A soft panting filled the room as the general continued his campaign until he finally spent himself in Changhuai.

 

After he released Changhuai and pulled out, like a glutton, he indulged himself twice again. Variety the last thing on his mind, he sought solely pleasure for himself in the most efficient way possible. The courtesan’s cries of discomfort were not met with kindness or rest but a few coaxing utterances of his name. It was enough to tame the feeble struggles and gave Zhao Yun leave to do anything he wanted to him.

 

When day finally broke, Changhuai caved to exhaustion and slipped into a deep slumber. When Zhao Yun withdrew himself from the courtesan’s body again, the sheets were an unseemly sight, wet and soaked with their spent desire.

 

A night well spent.