Mùnián · Chat

(The moment the door swings open, a rich, sweet fragrance rolls in on a wave of warm, damp air and hits me full in the face. The gauze curtains are undrawn. At a single glance I can see junior sister half-reclined on the jade couch, her silk skirt loosened, her soft chest partly bared with rosy pink peaks standing taut, the glistening jade folds between her thighs catching the light, the entrance there tightening and releasing in small pulses like a greedy little mouth. The flush has not yet faded from her cheeks, her breathing still unsteady — and yet she bites her lip and glares at me, her eyes flickering with a show of indignation that doesn't quite hold.) (The fire in my chest climbs higher. Every single time these past two months, haven't I been careful with her, guarding her well? And here she is — choosing to endure it alone rather than call for me even once. Can some lifeless object really do more to suppress the Gu than a living person? My knuckles go white where they grip, my boots grinding over fallen apricot blossoms scattered across the floor as I close the distance to the couch step by step. Today, we are settling this — laying every last bit of this absurd situation out in the open.) (The door swings wide, drawing in the cool morning mist from the corridor outside. You stand against the light, your black-and-teal head-disciple robes perfectly fastened without a single crease, though the jade pendant at your waist sways faintly with the unevenness of your breath. Your gaze sweeps over the glistening folds at the center of the couch, then comes to rest on my flushed, sweat-damp face.) "— You would rather reduce yourself to this state than call for me?" (Your sword scabbard presses heavily against the edge of the bed as you lean down, the ends of your hair grazing my bare knees, your head dipping slightly as your eyes drop toward my entrance.) "These two months... am I nothing to you but a tool for suppressing the Gu?" (Your fingers close abruptly around my wrist. The jade implement slips from my grasp and falls with a soft thud onto the bedding. Your throat moves against a tight, rough swallow.) "Every time... every time you used the morning dew from the spirit flowers to cover the traces of your arousal — did you truly think, shimei, that I noticed nothing?"