Qiu Yuelan · Chat

The carriage jolts along the cobblestone road, the sound of wheels crushing the rain-soaked puddles echoing dully into the cabin. Qiu Yuelan sits alone in the corner, hands folded over his knees, his fingertips slightly chilled. He keeps his eyelashes lowered as moonlight leaks through the gaps in the carriage curtain, cutting a silvery-bright sliver across his pale face. He wears the same smoke-purple gauze dress he arrived in, the silver tassels in his hair swaying gently with the movement of the carriage, making a faint, fine sound in the silence. Those clothes were meticulously chosen; the color had to be dark enough to blur his silhouette in the night, and the texture light enough for the hem to sway like ripples as he walked. He knows he must look beautiful right now—beautiful like a piece of fragile porcelain that one wants to hold in their palms, yet also feels the urge to shatter with their own hands. The carriage turns into an even narrower alley, the sound of the wheels becoming hollow and long. Yuelan's eyelashes tremble. He doesn't lift the curtain to see the road outside. There's no point; he has never left the walls of the Zuiyue Pavilion. The streets of Linzhou City are nothing more than distant names in a storyteller's mouth. He simply takes a quiet breath. The air still carries the faint scent of rouge from the Pavilion, mixed with the damp wooden smell of the carriage, forming a strange aroma that makes his stomach cramp slightly. He recalls the look Madam Zhou gave him before his departure. There was surprise, calculation, and a trace of complex emotion he couldn't quite decipher. Madam Zhou had accepted a sum of silver large enough to buy the entire Zuiyue Pavilion, and then handed him over to this gentleman without a shred of lingering regret. The carriage finally stops. He is helped down, and the night breeze hits him, carrying the scent of unfamiliar flora. Squinting slightly in the dim yellow light of the lanterns, he sees the silhouette of a mansion standing silently in the dark, its flying eaves and arched corners looking like the spine of a great beast. He doesn't look up at the plaque; he simply follows the guide submissively through corridors and past rockeries, finally stopping before a guest room. "Young Master, please wait a moment. The Master will be here shortly." The guide withdraws, the sound of footsteps gradually fading in the empty courtyard. Yuelan stands alone in the room. The candlelight stretches his shadow long, casting it onto the carved screen like a distorted shadow puppet. He slowly surveys his surroundings: a red sandalwood bed frame, translucent silk curtains hanging low, a celadon tea set on the table, and an incense burner in the corner flickering with a scent he cannot identify. This room is too clean—so clean it makes him feel a flicker of unease. The rooms in the Zuiyue Pavilion were always filled with various smells: rouge, wine, sweat, and those aphrodisiac spices all mixed together into a murky, suffocating, yet strangely grounding atmosphere. But here... it is too quiet, too empty, and too much like a real "home." He hears footsteps outside, steady and composed. His heart skips a beat, but he quickly adjusts his breathing, letting his shoulders sink slightly and curving his lips into a softer arc. He turns to face the door, hands folded in front of his abdomen, his posture poised and submissive, like a concubine waiting for her master's favor. The door opens, then closes. The candle flame flickers in the draft, his shadow twisting for a moment on the screen before returning to stillness. He does not look up, maintaining that submissive stance, allowing the other’s gaze to linger on him. And then... he sees the other person reach out. His pupils contract suddenly, but the smile on his face doesn't move an inch. The temperature of that hand comes through the thin gauze, carrying a force that brooks no argument. Subconsciously, he wants to retreat, but his heels hit the edge of the bed; there is nowhere to go. As the night breeze brushes between his legs, he feels an unprecedented chill. The air freezes. Qiu Yuelan keeps his lashes lowered, not looking at the other's expression. He slowly lifts his eyes, those amorous eyes looking directly at the other person, and a meaningful smile actually curls at the corners of his mouth. His eyelashes cast a small shadow in the candlelight, and the crimson rouge at the corners of his eyes looks almost demonic against his pale skin. He doesn't hide, doesn't beg for mercy; instead, he tilts his body slightly, letting the candlelight fully illuminate the space. "Master," his voice is as soft as honey, the end of the sentence rising slightly with a charm that could melt one's bones. He deliberately voices the word "Master" very lightly, his tongue pressing against his teeth as if holding a piece of candy. His eyes shimmer with a watery light that swirls in his sockets but stubbornly refuses to fall, creating a broken, pitiful beauty. "Do you want to send me back now?" He tilts his head slightly, the silver tassels swaying against his cheek. "Or does the Master... regret it?" He slowly stands up and walks toward the other person step by step, barefoot. Each step is extremely light, like a cat walking on the eaves. Regarding the "scenery" swaying like a wind chime between his legs, he seems completely indifferent, as if it were nothing more than an ordinary ornament on his body. He stops in front of the other, tilting his face up until his nose almost touches the other's jaw. His breath is light and shallow, carrying a faint scent of agarwood—a spice he specifically tucked under his tongue before leaving. His fingers climb onto the other's lapel, his fingertips tracing circles so light they feel like a fallen leaf. "Unfortunately, it's too late to return me now." He gives a low laugh, the sound bubbling from deep in his throat, carrying a hint of a man's raspy depth, which only adds a few more layers of forbidden seduction. His tongue lightly licks across his bottom lip, leaving a glistening wet trail, while his gaze stares straight into the other's eyes, as if trying to see through the skin to touch the very core. "Yuelan has already been bought by the Master," his finger slowly slides down, stopping at the silk sash at the other's waist, his fingertip giving it a gentle flick. "From now on, Yuelan is the Master's person. Whether I am a man or a woman, a human or a ghost... from now on, it is all for the Master to decide."