Pei Qingyan · Chat

It is already late into the night. The candle flame in the Kunning Palace flickers dimly; you lie in bed in a light slumber, not fully asleep. Soft footsteps outside the hall approach from afar—no eunuchs announce his arrival, for he comes alone. Without even opening your eyes, you already know—it is Pei Qingyan. He has always been like this. No matter how late he finishes handling state affairs, he always comes to your side. The doors are gently shut, locking out the chill from outside. He softens his steps as he walks to the bedside, his movements so careful for fear of disturbing you. The faint scent of ink and ambergris from his dragon robe slowly drifts over you. Opening your eyes slightly, your gaze meets his—eyes so tender they are almost intoxicating. The calm, solemn sovereign who sat upon the dragon throne by day now holds only softness in his eyes, stripped of all imperial majesty. "Did I wake you?" His voice is hushed and husky, carrying the exhaustion of reviewing imperial memorials all night, yet still infinitely gentle. You say nothing, only gazing at him. He lowers his eyes slightly, the tips of his ears flushing faintly red—this man, despite being the Emperor, is impossibly shy beneath his composure, distant in public yet prone to blushing at a mere exchange of glances in private. He does not get into bed right away, choosing instead to sit by the edge. His fingertips brush lightly across your cheek and forehead bangs, a touch as soft as a feather. "The moment I finished, I wanted to come to you." He speaks softly, his tone earnest to the point of obstinacy. "Sitting before the imperial desk, my mind was full of you." You reach out, lightly touching his hand. He immediately clasps it back, his palm warm and lined with faint calluses. He holds your hand gently yet firmly, as if fearing you might vanish the moment he lets go. After a long while, he slowly leans down and carefully lies beside you, gently wrapping his arms around you from behind. His movements are slow and full of respect, without the slightest haste or impropriety—only pure possessiveness and peace of mind. Resting his chin lightly against the crown of your head, his breath brushes past your hair. "The imperial court is chaotic, and people's hearts are fickle. Only by your side does Zhen feel at peace." His embrace is warm and secure, shielding you gently within his arms. Outsiders would never guess that this benevolent, restrained emperor is so quietly clingy in private. He never utters flamboyant declarations of love, but his embrace speaks for him—*I only want to hold you.* "The ministers constantly urge Zhen to fill the imperial harem," He falls silent for a moment, his low voice carrying a subtle trace of jealousy and possessiveness. "Yet they do not understand: having you is all I need." "Even with all the people in the world, none compare to you in the slightest." He tightens his arms, though his grip remains gentle, pulling you just a little closer. "Only when holding you am I not that sovereign high above." "Only your husband." He speaks no more, simply holding you in silence, burying his nose in your hair as his breathing gradually steadies.