Chapter Text
As expected, Mingye returns to his usual affairs now that his eyesight has been restored. He's busy from dawn to dusk, with war council meetings and troop supervision and a sundry of other responsibilities that have piled up during his weeks of recuperation.
Sangjiu is quietly relieved, as much as she misses him.
She hides away in her room, longing to see Mingye, but too afraid to muster up the courage to seek him out. She's afraid to cross the line. She doesn't know where they stand now that he's back to his former self–back to the powerful Mingye who doesn't need a clumsy wife to take care of him.
He doesn't come to see her, so she knows the answer. Her heart aches as much as her flesh does.
She wanders to his audience hall to sneak a look at him, and the feeling that rises in her chest upon laying eyes on his beloved, handsome face is one of conflicted emotion. She watches him for a long time.
Eventually, Mingye glances up from his memorials, and the flutter of a pink skirt disappearing around a pillar catches his eye.
Shortly after, Sangjiu receives a message from him:
Tomorrow.
*
She barely sleeps all night, tossing and turning in her too large, too empty bed.
Morning comes with a feeling of anxiety and excitement rolled into one, overwhelming ball in her chest. She gets ready impatiently, fussing with her robes and hair ornaments until she's fed up and unhappy with the results.
Finally, a knock comes at her door. Sangjiu takes a deep breath and pulls them open.
Mingye stands a few feet away, his back to her. He turns at the sound, and when his eyes land on her, they widen slightly in surprise.
"Good morning," he says.
"Good morning," she replies. There is an awkward pause. The elaborate design of the robes she's chosen to wear today suddenly seem gauche in the bright sunlight.
She steps aside to let him enter, and closes the door behind him. Before she can say anything, he turns to her, magically conjuring something in his open palm.
"This is for you," he says, holding out a carved gift box. "For when I can't accompany you."
"What is it?" Sangjiu wonders aloud, both curious and sombre. Her stomach tightens as she accepts it.
Sangjiu opens the box to reveal a small crystal nestled in crushed silk. It glows with an exquisite blue sheen, radiating a familiar sense of power. She looks up at him in surprise.
"I refined this with a piece of my primordial spirit," he tells her. "If you wear it, it can help you slow down the accumulation of negative energy in your body."
"You used your own spirit for this?" For a moment she is speechless. Then she says, "This is too precious."
"You must guard it well," says Mingye with a smile.
A forlorn feeling overtakes her as she realises what his intention is. He's gone to the lengths of making such a valuable artefact for her– so he doesn't need to come here, anymore, obviously. He's free now, to mind his own business and stop wasting time with me.
With slightly trembling hands, Sangjiu turns to her dressing table. She puts the talisman into the clam-shell shaped jewellery box that holds her most precious treasures and sets it next to the only other item inside–the silver armour scale she once fished out of the shallow waters of the Mohe river shore.
When she turns around, Mingye is watching her.
She feels so terribly shy under his gaze, and so awkward, it's almost unbearable. She racks her brains for something to say that will ease the tension, so that when he leaves he'll at least have a good impression of her–but she can't think of anything.
So she simply steps towards Mingye and leans against him, her head against his chest.
"Thank you," she says. "Mingye…"
His chest is so firm, such a lovely place to rest on. It rises slightly as he responds, "Yes?"
Sangjiu takes a deep breath. "May I have my wish now?"
"Your wish?"
One last time, she thinks, and lifts her arm to show him her skin, dappled with a thick miasma of demonic energy. "It hurts."
Mingye looks at it, and seems to take her meaning.
"You've suffered," he replies, his voice soft.
Her breath catches, and she summons the courage to glance up at him. As their eyes meet, Mingye circles her waist with his arm, lifting her wrist to his mouth to press a gentle kiss to it. Then he kisses her mouth too, and she lets herself melt into it, exhilaration and joy and bittersweet acceptance colliding within her.
Before long, she feels his hand tugging at the fastenings of her brocade waistband. Apprehension grips her as she feels her gown loosening. The heavy, overly ornate skirt falls to the ground. Mingye's hand slides into her open robes, caressing her skin through the thin silk of her embroidered duduo.
"Can you close your eyes?" she blurts out, breaking the kiss. His lips chase hers, but she pulls back.
Mingye blinks. His eyes flick down to her hands, fidgeting with the strings tied around her waist, securing her undergarments. He sounds slightly hoarse. "While you disrobe?"
She nods. If her sudden shyness perplexes him, he keeps it to himself. He lets go of her, slowly, and complies; taking a seat on the bed and shutting his eyes.
Sangjiu lets out a shaky breath. She retrieves a silky white chiffon ribbon from her dressing table, and sits down next to Mingye.
"Stay still," she says. She ties it around his eyes, making sure it isn't too tight.
"Sangjiu, what–" He reaches up to touch the ribbon, but Sangjiu stays his hand.
"Please. Leave it on."
She knows it is a strange request. She has no real idea what to say, and all that comes out is an unconvincing and somewhat forced excuse: "It's too embarrassing."
If he looks at her while he's inside her, when she has no self control–he'll see. He'll know exactly how she feels. She won't be able to hide it.
He'll know she loves him.
And then, if the day comes when he finds the person he truly loves and wishes to divorce her, he'll be conscience bound. It's not fair to him.
She says with more conviction, "You said you would grant any wish I had."
Mingye is silent for a moment. "Alright. I understand."
Like she's done many times before, Sangjiu helps Mingye out of his clothing. She takes off her own, too, and sits next to him on the bed, nervousness filling her. This will be the last time. She wants it to be perfect, but she doesn't know how to proceed.
Silence falls over the room. Mingye leans over, hand falling onto her knee. He strokes her leg, sliding his palm over her thigh.
"Sangjiu, I can't see," he reminds her. "You have to tell me where the demonic energy is gathering."
Her face is crimson, but he can't see her, and so she is brave and takes his hand and lifts it to her chest. He cups her breast. She arches into it reflexively, and Mingye says, "Here?" as he begins to roll the hardened nub between his thumb and forefinger. "Is this right?"
Mingye lifts his other hand to her other breast, and tugs at both nipples, teasing them until they throb under his fingers. Sangjiu endures the onslaught of sensation as he massages her breasts, pushing them together and delivering licks to each nipple in turn. Soon the licking turns into suckling, and Sangjiu can't help but throw her head back in pleasure. Her body slumps. His arm quickly winds itself around her, keeping her from simply collapsing onto the bed.
"Stay still." Mingye seems to understand that she refuses to speak–or is unable to–so he switches from asking her questions to giving direct commands, instead.
"Straddle me," he says into her ear, brushing her nipple with his thumb. She's jolted into action, driven by the assertive tone in his voice, and swings one leg over his thighs to comply with his demand.
He holds her upright and says, "Put me inside you."
With unsteady fingers, Sangjiu grips Mingye's length and positions it at her core. He slips through the wetness gathered there, and it takes her a few tries before she can take the head of him inside her slick folds.
"Deeper," he says.
She sinks down further with a tiny moan of distress. He's big, and she feels stretched as she tries to accommodate his entire length.
When she's finally fully seated, hips flush with his own, Mingye releases her nipple and slides his hand down her front until his fingers come into contact with the swollen little bud that makes her body shudder.
"Stay still," he orders, and lifts her with ease, dragging her wet channel off him inch by inch, so slowly she can feel every ridge and vein. Her insides clench helplessly, trying to keep a hold on him. "Sangjiu. Are you listening?"
"I–ahhh, I…" Sangjiu digs her fingers into the muscles of his back, struggling to form a coherent sentence.
Mingye's mouth trails along the skin of her shoulder, leaving warmth in its wake. His fingers never stop toying with her little bud, sending unbearable waves of pleasure to every cell in her body. She's so, so glad he can't see her face and can't see the ugly, shameful expressions she's making in the throes of cultivation.
She can't focus on anything except how good it feels.
He leans her back, slowly, until she's flat on her back. As he's lowering himself, he kisses her. Sangjiu wraps her arms around his neck, clinging tight as Mingye steals the very air from her lungs. She feels, rather than sees, his blindfold come loose. It slips off his face and slides to the floor.
"Wait–" she manages to say, breaking the kiss. Sangjiu reaches for the fallen ribbon, but Mingye thwarts her by pulling her back flush against his body.
"I won't look," he cajoles in response to the aggrieved whine of protest she makes, rolling her onto her side so that she faces away from him. "I promise."
He lifts her leg, draping it over his muscular thigh to spread her wider. Sangjiu can't help the flush of heat that passes through her entire body, and when he strokes the tiny bud at the top of where he enters her, the heat turns into a fever. She bites her lips, hard, trying to keep from crying out, and grabs at his forearm, digging her nails into his arm.
The pressure builds again, until she can bear it no longer. His name spills from her lips, body twitching as she reaches that indescribable zenith again. While Sangjiu's mind empties of all thought except pleasure, Mingye lines himself up with her throbbing centre and thrusts inside in a single, deep stroke.
He lifts her leg higher, and the new angle makes further mess of her. His hips snap behind her with the sound of skin on skin, accompanied by a wet, obscene squelching that fills the room. The force of his thrusts makes her breasts bounce. They're sensitive and it hurts a little, so Sangjiu lets go of his arm and reaches up to hold onto them for support. Mingye groans, picking up his pace. His breath is hot against her neck, and she can't help but recall how his mouth felt sucking on her nipples.
Her hand grips at her own breast, rolling the tip between her fingers. She shivers as he speeds up again. He's never been so rough before.
A particularly deep thrust has her gasping for air. She lets go and sinks her fingers into the bedding, grappling for something to moor herself with, and her eyes–slightly glazed over–land on the full-length mirror across the room, facing the bed.
Like many other Shanqing realm relics, this mirror is enchanted– it has the ability to provide a clear, crystal-like image of the viewer from any angle or distance, no matter where they are in the room.
Mingye is looking directly into the mirror. He's watching her. She cries out in shock, trying to pull away from him, to roll over and hide her face in the pillow–but Mingye's grip is too strong. He keeps her firmly in place with a strong hand on her stomach, continuing to thrust in and out of her.
"No–!" she gasps, covering her face with her hands.
"Don't," says Mingye, his voice husky with need. "Please, Sangjiu. Let me see your face."
Sangjiu's heart pounds in her chest.
"Please," he repeats again, and the ardent urgency in his tone arrests her, making her peek out from beneath her fingers to link gazes with him in the mirror. The expression on his face stuns her. She doesn't have the words to describe it. She's never seen Mingye look this way, and she’s never heard him beg.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs. Sangjiu shivers, her cunt clenching involuntarily at the unexpected praise. Her face is already feverishly hot, but he makes it worse. "Look. Look at how beautiful you are like this."
" Mingye –," she gasps out his name, completely overwhelmed by the way he suddenly speeds up, working himself deep with each thrust, and the unbelievable fact that he has just told her he thinks she is beautiful.
She watches, like he tells her to, through half-closed eyelids, at the place where their bodies are joined, at the sight of him thrusting in and out of her. A wet sound comes from that place, making her face burn hot; to her dismay the wetness just seems to get worse and worse, and she knows with a certainty that it's all coming from her . She wants to dig her head into the sand and hide like she did as a little baby clam, but she can't stop looking because Mingye told her not to. He's not deterred at all by the mess between her legs. In fact, he seems to be spurred on by it, his jaw tightly clenched as he continues to rut inside her.
He stops pulling out and thrusts shallowly, grinding his hips against her bottom. His fingers do a devastating series of manoeuvres across her centre and she thinks it must be some kind of spell, because it sends spine-tingling pleasure shooting throughout her entire body, and the tight pressure that's been gathering in her core bursts. She comes with a teary, high-pitched scream.
Mingye rides out her clenching climax, his mouth latching onto her skin as her inner muscles ripple and contract helplessly. Power flows from his fingertips, pouring directly into her clit, prolonging the overwhelming pleasure. Sangjiu bucks and writhes, mindlessly allowing Mingye to rearrange her body however he wishes.
He pulls her onto her hands and knees, and in this position he penetrates deeper than ever, right into the very core of her. Sangjiu stares into the mirror, transfixed by the sight. A new, cresting wave of pleasure builds between her thighs.
Mingye's fingers dig into the flesh of her hips. He mumbles something that sounds like let me in deeper . Her body no longer seems to belong to her–it simply does what Mingye wants it to do. She comes again, even more intensely this time, and feels another gush of wetness between her legs. Mingye gets what he wants, and goes deeper still, his length easing without resistance into her thanks to the added lubrication.
"Sangjiu," he groans, sounding completely unlike himself. In the mirror she can see his face. He's staring down at her back, at where he enters her, his expression intense and unreadable. He grinds himself inside her between thrusts, rubbing against the fleshy walls of every single crevice within her folds.
It's too much. Sangjiu endures two, three more strokes, and then her limbs give out. She collapses onto the bed, body twitching with the aftershocks of her release. She clenches uncontrollably around him, and soon enough Mingye follows suit.
Sweat clings to them both, unusual for cultivators. Sangjiu pants, trembling against Mingye as he continues to spurt his seed deep within her. Oversensitivity settles in quickly as she starts to feel overstuffed, wetness leaking from where he is buried inside her.
With a groan, Mingye finally slips out of her, falling onto the bed with a thud.
Triggered by the sudden feeling of emptiness, Sangjiu starts to cry.
It's over.
"Sangjiu," he says, immediately rolling her over so he can drag her into his arms. "Are you hurt?"
She shakes her head miserably.
"I'm sorry, Sangjiu–" Alarm colours his voice. "I hurt you, didn't I?"
Sangjiu shakes her head again, and cries even harder. Mingye pours his power into their cultivation link, scouring her for pain, but he finds none.
"I shouldn't have looked," he says, pressing her head onto his shoulder, as if the action will stymy her tears. "I'm sorry, Sangjiu."
Mingye holds her and coaxes her, and she can hear the growing panic and concern in him. His apologies are hushed and fervent.
"It's my fault," he says fiercely, "I broke my promise. I shouldn't have looked. I'm sorry, Sangjiu. Please forgive me."
She wants to push him away, but that would make things worse. He rubs her back. His touch is so gentle, it breaks her heart some more.
"It doesn't matter," she says helplessly, wishing she could just disappear. She's screwed things up completely. This isn't how she wanted things to end. Not like this.
"Sangjiu," he pleads. "I don't understand."
Of course he doesn't. He doesn't like her the way she likes him. She can't blame him for that. She shouldn't say the words that come out next, but she's overwhelmed and Sangjiu has always been bad at keeping things inside.
"I won't ask for this anymore," she says. "I know you're only doing this to help me. You're kind and gentle, and I'm just taking advantage of the situation."
Mingye's eyes search hers. Whatever he sees in them seems to shake him, and a light of understanding dawns. He holds her closer, rocking her, and she knows he's figured it out.
She can't bear to look him in the eye. She forces herself to swipe at the tears and say, "Please don't worry. I don't expect you to feel the same. I know my father forced you into this marriage, and I'm already grateful you're willing to help me."
There's quiet in the room. Then, she feels Mingye exhale.
"Sangjiu," he says. "Look at me."
Two fingers slip beneath her chin to raise her head so she can meet his eyes. His gaze is equal parts contrite and resolute, and the words that follow are devastating. She forgets to breathe.
"Sangjiu, I feel the same."
For a moment, she thinks she's misheard him.
Her voice cracks. "You do?"
Mingye strokes her cheek. "Your father did force me into this marriage, and I was reluctant at first. But that's not true anymore."
There's a note of pain in his voice, and self-recrimination.
"I thought you knew," he says slowly. "I thought it was obvious. Ji Ze says–"
She blinks in confusion, tears still clinging to her eyelashes. What does Ji Ze have to do with the unfortunate circumstances of their marriage?
Mingye shakes his head, as if to clear his mind. Then he starts again: "When I wake up in the morning, the first thing I think about is you. Whether you've slept well. What you'll eat for breakfast. When I can come to see you. I've never shirked my duty, and I spend half my life in the military camp, preparing for battle–but these last few months, I've not been myself. I can't wait to go home every day. I can't wait to see your face, see what you've been doing. I want to spend all my time with you."
She stares at him, not quite daring to believe what he's saying.
"The last battle," he says, voice constricted with emotion. "I almost didn't make it. But I kept thinking, Sangjiu is waiting. I did my best–and I survived, so that I could come back to you."
His hand cups her face. "I have no parents, no family, and few friends. War is all I know. Forgive me, Sangjiu, for being clumsy with you. It's my first time being a husband."
A buoyant feeling lifts the painfully heavy weight she's been carrying in her heart since the day she asked Mingye if she had overslept on their wedding night and missed him. The tenets of their marriage have always felt like an insurmountable fortress around Mingye, keeping her forever at bay. Now, with his words and his beseeching eyes pushing her up, she feels herself reaching over that wall at last, reaching out to touch Mingye's chest. "Truly?"
Mingye's face is utterly serious. "I swear."
His heart beats hard and fast beneath her fingertips. She thinks in amazement, he's telling the truth.
"Being married to you is the greatest fortune of my life," he confesses. "It must be my reward."
"I'm lucky to be your wife," she whispers back.
He leans in, and kisses her gently. Sangjiu sinks into the kiss, heart soaring. When they break apart, she longs for more.
Mingye's eyes are focused on her lips. He sounds breathless. "As for doing this to help you… of course I want to help you. But… Sangjiu… isn't it obvious?" He pulls her closer, and presses his lower body to hers. "I simply can't get enough."
This time, his kisses are even more demanding, lending credence to his words. He's not holding back anymore. Their consummation is quick and intense, filled with the confident, blissful knowledge that their feelings are mutual.
He fills her so, so wonderfully, and the pleasure he gives her is mindblowing as always. The worst part always follows–Sangjiu whimpers when he withdraws, loathe to be separated from him. She curls into a little ball, achingly empty.
Mingye realises, belatedly, and consoles her by wrapping his body around hers and slipping himself back inside her. He drops kisses on her temple, brushing the stray hairs away from her sweaty face. She drifts off into satiated slumber.
Hours later, she wakes up to a pleasurable pressure between her legs. She's full. Mingye, still inside her, is hard again. He's not fucking her, not exactly, but he is moving his hips in tiny circles, grinding his length deep within her channel.
"Are you awake, Sangjiu?" His voice is low, full of intention.
Sangjiu lies still, spooned in Mingye's embrace. It feels so delicious to be half-asleep and connected intimately with her husband. She doesn't want this moment to fade away, so she pretends.
Mingye's hand slides up her stomach. He whispers into her ear, "Sangjiu… may I?"
I simply can't get enough.
She's asleep, and Mingye can do whatever he wants. She presses her face into the pillow. Ever so slightly, she nods and curls up, arms and legs tucked to her chest, as though she is ensconced in a shell.
Mingye wraps himself around her, one arm working its way under her knees, pushing them even further towards the centre of her body. She feels him even more acutely in this position, working his hard length into her depths with slow, measured thrusts.
It feels good. He's thick and deep, filling her in the way she wants him to. She loves the safety of being inside his embrace, loves the strength in the arm that is wrapped around her half-bent body, keeping her snug and firmly in place.
Soon, her breath aligns with his movements. When he drives into her, she pushes the air out of her lungs, filling them with Mingye's aura. When he pulls out, she inhales, preparing herself for the next delicious thrust. The connection between them strengthens with each cycle, until they are pulsing as one, completely in sync.
The pleasure builds and builds and builds, until it comes to an exquisite peak that has both of them gasping. The world disappears, and all that exists is Mingye's breath and his pulsing power and sheer, unadulterated euphoria. Sangjiu floats, her mind empty, body weightless.
(It is the first time Sangjiu and Mingye have achieved the true culmination of dual cultivation: the ascension to a higher mind, where nothing is present but the mutual bliss of two cultivators, joined in mind and spirit.)
Some time later–she's not sure how many minutes or hours have passed–Sangjiu comes to, roused by the sound of Mingye's robes rustling. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, putting on his clothes.
"I love you," she calls out softly to him, unable to keep the words bottled up inside her any longer. "I've always loved you."
Mingye turns his head. The smile on his face takes her breath away.
He looks back at her, like in her deepest, oldest dreams of him, and he says the words back.