Chapter Text
In the days that follow, Mingye stays with Sangjiu.
It is, in short, the happiest time of Sangjiu's life since marrying into the immortal realm. She's grateful for every moment of it. Taking care of him is simple and rewarding, and although there is little progress in his recovery, he seems more relaxed than before.
They go for walks every morning in the gardens, Sangjiu leading Mingye by the hand. She climbs her favourite tree and picks the ripest, sweetest fruits for him. She teases him for not knowing he has such a treasure in his own backyard, and he smiles, acknowledging the oversight.
She practices archery in the afternoons. Mingye sits to the side, listening to the sound of her arrows striking the target. By the sixth one, she has a wonderful idea.
With a mischievous glance at the maids holding her quiver, Sangjiu calls out to him: "If I get ten in a row, you have to grant me a wish!"
Mingye doesn't say yes, but he doesn't say no, either. Sangjiu takes his silence as agreement to her terms, and blithely begins to score seven, eight, and nine perfect strikes.
Overconfidence makes her slip up, and the last arrow goes slightly astray, hitting the edge of the target. She puts a finger to her lips, and the onlooking maids mimic the gesture, their faces merry.
"That's ten! I win!"
She turns her head to gloat at him, and is startled by his sudden nearness. He's standing right behind her–she didn't hear him move at all–one hand reaching out to lift the bow she's just lowered.
His other hand circles her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. There's a flurry of hushed giggles from the maids, but Sangjiu is too surprised to pay attention to them. His palm grazes against her breast and she sucks in a breath, a sharp little jolt of desire travelling from where he touched her to the pit of her stomach. It's just an accident, she thinks. He can't see.
Mingye curls his fingers over hers and the arrow that missed its mark rematerialises into Sangjiu's hand. Together, they notch and aim, and the arrow soars in a solid line, striking the exact centre of the target.
"Now it's ten," he murmurs into her ear before pulling back. The maids are positively pink in the face, but none are blushing quite as hard as Sangjiu is.
"What is your wish?" he asks, seemingly completely unaware of the swooning going on around him.
"I'll tell you later," she says, suddenly hyper aware of his proximity and a bit embarrassed by it. The passing touch of his hand against the side of her breast lingers, and she's reminded that it's been several days since they've dual cultivated.
"Whenever you're ready," says Mingye.
She's not sure if he's talking about granting her wish, or something else entirely.
*
When Mingye tells Sangjiu that no one has ever combed his hair for him before, she's taken aback.
"What about when you were little?" she asks. "What about your mother?"
"I didn't have parents," he says. "I don't remember."
Her heart squeezes at the thought of him as a tiny little flood dragon all alone out there in the sea. How had he survived, without anyone to protect him, without even a shell to shield him from the dangers of the tumultuous ocean waters?
"My mother died when I was little," she tells him. "But I remember her. She used to brush my hair for me every night before I went to sleep."
She dips her fingers into the jar of jasmine balm laid out next to Mingye, and rubs the silky, fragrant stuff into his hair. It's beautiful and thick and strong, just like the rest of him.
"Thank you," he says. "It feels nice."
She says, completely earnest, "I'll brush your hair every night for you, if you like."
Mingye doesn't answer, but in the mirror she's placed before him, she can see his reflection. There's a ghost of a smile on his lips. Sangjiu's heart skips a beat.
She tells herself not to get carried away. Mingye is appreciative of her efforts, but this will not last. Once he recovers, he'll go back to being the God of War. He'll be busy with the responsibilities of military command, and he won't have time to leisurely spend his days with her anymore.
At best, he'll visit her once a month to help her dispel her negative energy. Sangjiu's stomach tightens at the thought. A very unkind thought passes through her mind–if only this could last forever, if only Mingye's eyes would never heal–and she pushes it away, appalled at herself for even thinking of it.
*
Sangjiu makes a discovery that has her giddy all day as she prepares to surprise Mingye with it.
"Where are you taking me?" asks Mingye, amused by her infectious enthusiasm.
"It's a surprise," she says, tugging him forward by the hand. "Come on."
He follows without further question, their fingers interlaced. Sangjiu leads him to an ornate, bubbling bathing pool situated in a secluded corner of the palace, known as the Refining Spring. The water glistens with immaculate Qi, as pure as morning dew–capable of cleansing demons and nourishing the Divine Essence of immortals.
Although Mingye can't see, he can surely feel the marvellous aura rising from the pool. She bounces on her heels like a child showing off a precious toy, and says eagerly, "What do you think?"
With a perfectly neutral expression, Mingye replies, "This is a perfect place for dual cultivation."
Sangjiu opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.
It was not what she intended, but nevertheless… a little curl of heat ignites itself in the pit of her stomach as she looks at him, standing there in all his virtuous, blindfolded glory. His robes, dampened by the clouds of mist rising from the pool, cling to the handsome lines of his shoulders and chest.
Sangjiu swallows thickly, both her saliva and her sense of shame. "You're right. This is a good place for cultivating."
Mingye says lightly, "It's been over a week, hasn't it?"
"A week?"
"Since we cleared your negative energy. You must have a lot built up by now. Let me check."
He lifts her wrist to his mouth and presses a kiss to the fluttering pulse there. A warm burst of his energy sinks into her skin, sending a shiver through her.
"As I thought. Quite a lot of build up."
Sangjiu flushes.
He lets go and murmurs, "My clothes."
She undoes the waistband of Mingye's robes, and pushes the heavy layers off, laying them in a pile at the edge of the pool. She removes her own as well, and feels shy despite the fact that he cannot see her.
She takes him by both hands, and carefully walks him down the steps of the pool. The water is the perfect temperature–hot enough to sink into Sangjiu's bones and warm away all the aches of doing hours of archery and sword practice. She relaxes instantly, glancing up at Mingye to see if he feels the same.
It's a mistake to look at him. Droplets cling to the side of his jaw and neck, and his robe is completely translucent in the chest-high water. Sangjiu doesn't need to look down at herself to know she's the same. As good as naked.
Although the pool rarely has visitors and sees very little foot traffic, it's still out in the open… Sangjiu suddenly feels too exposed.
"What is it?" Mingye asks, running his hands up her arms. "You're tense."
Sometimes she thinks he can read her mind. Sangjiu ducks her head and says, "It's nothing."
"Do you trust me?" asks Mingye. The trailing silk of his blindfold drifts on the water's surface, waving gently.
Sangjiu nods, and then remembers to use her voice. "With my life."
The corner of his mouth tilts upward in a little smirk–he's pleased by her answer–and her stomach does that funny thing it does when she looks at him and it feels like butterflies are taking flight inside her abdomen.
He leans in and says in a voice that is a few shades deeper than normal, "Sit on the upper steps for me."
She obeys, climbing up the steps of the pool and sitting gingerly on the top one. Mingye follows slowly and carefully, his hands outstretched, feeling his way until his fingers land on Sangjiu's ankle. It tickles, unexpectedly. She tries to hold in her giggle but fails.
Mingye's mouth curves again. "What's so funny?"
She doesn't answer, so he raises one eyebrow and scritch-scratches his fingernails along the bottom of her foot. Sangjiu giggles again, unable to repress herself, playfully splashing him with her other foot.
Mingye grabs it, both eyebrows raised now . He edges closer, kneeling on the bottom step. It puts him face-level with her knees. She presses them together, suddenly even more self-conscious of her bare body–not that he can see, but she's embarrassed anyway.
He tilts his head like he senses a challenge, and firmly pulls her legs apart by the ankles. Before she can react, he's crawling up two more steps and is kneeling between her legs, spreading them wide with his palms. Sangjiu's face floods with heat as she watches him push aside the translucent edges of her inner robes, and then lean in to press a kiss to her inner thigh.
Her heart pounds in her chest. "Mingye?"
"Just as I thought," he mouths against her skin, breath tantalizingly hot. "All your demonic energy is gathering here, isn't it?"
She tries her hardest not to whimper as he strokes the top of her thighs, sucking little red marks into the pale, soft flesh. She's practically throbbing as she watches him suck his way closer and closer to her aching core.
He does what she thinks he's going to do. He pushes her thighs further apart and inhales deeply–Sangjiu's cheeks burn–and then he puts his mouth right over her slick folds, kissing her where she feels the emptiest.
"Breathe," he reminds her between licks.
She can't remember how. Mingye's tongue swipes from top to bottom, gentle and slow. He sucks on her flesh, letting their joint energies pulse in tandem with Sangjiu's racing heartbeat. His thumb flicks at her clit, once, twice, thrice, and then presses down in hot, tight circles that make Sangjiu's hips buck. Mingye puts a steadying hand on her thigh, keeping her in place as he teases at her entrance with his tongue.
The world fades into roaring white noise as she shudders with explosive pleasure–waves of it racking over her body. Sangjiu clenches her thighs around Mingye's head, desperate for something to anchor her as her climax rips through her. Through it all, he keeps his mouth firmly pressed to her, sucking and licking and using his strong palms to push her thighs open again.
She looks down at him, and the sight of his blindfolded face between her legs, determinedly lapping at her release, makes everything all that much more intense. Sangjiu is certain she'll remember this moment until the day she dies.
It's astonishing, really, how many ways and methods there are to dual cultivation.
Mingye resurfaces after several final, lingering kisses to her folds. He gently lowers her legs from his shoulders and says, "Better?"
Her bones are liquid, and all she can feel is a pleasant, numb buzz in between her legs. Mingye seats himself on the pool steps beside her, licking the remains of her essence from his lips.
It takes her some time to collect herself, but once her senses have returned, she asks, "Can I do it for you?"
It's her turn to sink to her knees in front of him. She tugs down the waistband of his pants. His erection bobs in the water. Sangjiu reaches for it, marvelling at how silky soft his skin is, a contradiction to the hard girthy weight of him.
"Sangjiu," he says with a groan. "You don't have to–"
She does, though–she wants to. Reciprocate, that is. She wants to help him as much as he's helped her.
She looks up as she strokes him, admiring the line of his neck as he tilts his head back, mouth open. What kind of look would be in his eyes at this moment, if he could see her? A shiver passes through her at the thought.
Focus, she reprimands herself. Mingye needs to recover. He's done so much for you.
Sangjiu leans closer and darts her tongue out, delivering a tentative lick to the tip of his hard length. It tastes strange, unlike anything she's ever tasted before. Mingye is very still, as if waiting for her to continue.
So she does, licking him again and again. She gains courage from the way Mingye's fingers dig into the stone of the pool steps. Her name spills from his lips in broken pants, and if she didn't know better she would think the tension in his expression is from pain, rather than pleasure. But she does know better, now– she knows that the kind of intimate cultivation they practice treads a fine line between the two, that pain and pleasure co-exist as two halves of a delicately balanced whole.
She hovers on this precipice whenever Mingye touches her. She wonders if he feels the same.
Sangjiu kisses open-mouthed under the heavy crown, trying her best to emulate him–she slides her tongue through the slit at his tip, tasting something slimy and a touch more bitter than the sulphuric undertones of the pool waters.
Mingye's body twitches. She thinks he must be close to achieving completion, and feels that telltale buzzing in his aura begin to circulate through their cultivation bond.
She hollows her cheeks and sucks on the tip of him. The groan that comes from him goes straight to her throbbing cunt. Sangjiu reaches down and cups herself. She's ashamed of her own weakness, ashamed to be touching herself while she should be focusing on Mingye, healing Mingye, but she can't help herself.
Her fingers circle her clit, emulating the way he touched her. It's not nearly as good, but it relieves some of the aching pressure. She's grateful he can't see her touching herself as she works her lips over his length–glad he can't see how greedy and shameful she is.
"Sangjiu–" She feels his hands on her head, fingers threading into her hair. "I'm sorry, I–"
Sangjiu forgets to touch herself as she watches Mingye's hips stutter in the foggy water. He pulls free of her mouth, gasping, and his cock pumps its release into the water. Sangjiu is mesmerised by the sight.
He reaches for her, hands grasping wetly over her slick skin, pulling her into his arms. She willingly sinks into his embrace, letting him push her face into the crook of his neck. His hands stroke her hair, and he murmurs something unintelligible into her ear. Her fingers find their way back to her swollen bud, circling it again as Mingye's voice drives her pleasure higher.
Her second climax sweeps over her, so intensely she starts to shake in his arms.
"Sangjiu," he says, a hint of something urgent in his tone. "Sangjiu, look at me."
She lifts her head, her breath coming out in pants. The sun peaks, emerging incandescently from behind glowing clouds and casting golden rays down on Mingye's face. Mist flows over him, and he looks ethereal, the perfect image of a God. Every cell in Sangjiu's body wants to worship at his feet.
It takes her a few seconds to realise–
His blindfold is loose, one end trailing off his ear. His eyes are open. They're as clear as the sunlight reflecting off the frothy waters.
Slowly, she raises her fingertips, until they brush against his eyelashes. Mingye blinks, his gaze piercing her. His smile is blinding.
"You can see," she breathes.