I stepped in behind her, fingers brushing the silk at her waist. The knot came undone easily, the robe slipping apart just enough to hint at the skin beneath. She didn't stop me—didn't move at all, really—except to tilt her head slightly, letting her hair fall over one shoulder.
"You're very composed," I said, voice low. "Always like this?"
She looked at me over her shoulder, eyes half-lidded. "I don't lose my balance easily."
"Maybe I'll try harder, then."
My hands slid the robe off her shoulders, slow, deliberate. The fabric whispered to the floor.
She turned to face me fully now—unflinching, calm, her body framed by the firelight. She didn't cover herself, didn't retreat. If anything, her chin lifted a touch higher, as if daring me to look too long.
"You're staring," she said.
"You let me."
Her lips curved—not quite a smile, not quite disapproval. "So I did."
I stepped closer until we nearly touched. One hand rested on her hip, the other lifted to brush a strand of hair from her cheek.
"If this is a game," I said, "you're very good at it."
"It's not a game," she said. "But that doesn't mean it won't be fun."
I kissed her then—no hesitation, no pretense. She kissed me back just as firmly, hands sliding up my chest, pulling me closer. Her cool poise gave way to something warmer, sharper, more urgent beneath the surface. She wasn't hesitant. She wasn't shy. She was deliberate.
When she pulled back, it was only far enough to speak.
"Don't hold back," she said. "I won't break."
"No," I murmured, lifting her easily and carrying her toward the bed, "you'll break me, won't you?"
Her laughter was soft against my throat. "That depends," she whispered, "on how long you last."
The rest of the night was heat, breath, tangled sheets—and the growing sense that whatever we were building, it had already started catching fire.
The fire had burned lower by the time we lay still, the silence soft and weightless. Her head rested on my shoulder, her hand tracing idle patterns against my chest. No rush. No tension. Just the slow, quiet rhythm of breath shared between two people not quite strangers anymore.
"You're not what I expected," she said again, voice softer now.
I turned slightly to look at her. "You already said that."
"I know. I'm still adjusting."
"To me?"
"To this." Her fingers tapped once, lightly, on my chest. "To you. To the marriage. The fact that you're… not a fool."
I grinned. "You were hoping I was?"
"Would've been simpler."
"Disappointed?"
"No. Just cautious." She shifted to look up at me fully. "You're ambitious. And clever. That makes you dangerous."
"And you," I said, brushing a knuckle along her jaw, "are all of that and more. So what does that make you?"
"Dangerous," she admitted, unblinking. "But not to you. Not unless you make me."
I laughed quietly. "You don't have to warn me, Fei. I got the message on night one."
She rolled her eyes and settled back down. "Good. I don't like repeating myself."
We lay like that for a while. Comfortable. Unexpectedly so.
"I won't ask you to love me," I said eventually. "Not now. Maybe not ever. But I do want this marriage to mean something. Not just for our clans. For us."
"You're serious," she said, not questioning it, just acknowledging.
"I am."
She exhaled slowly, then leaned in and kissed my shoulder once, softly.
"I'll think about it."
The morning light slipped in through the lattice windows, painting soft lines across the floor. The fire in the brazier had burned to embers, its warmth lingering in the air. I shifted slightly, still half-draped in a blanket, when Yun Fei's voice broke the silence.
"So," she said, her tone light and teasing, "how does it feel knowing your wife is stronger than you?"
I blinked once, groaning inwardly. "Really starting with that, huh?"
She stretched lazily beside me, dark hair tumbling over her bare shoulder. "Just curious. Foundation Building versus Qi Training ? The realm don't lie."
I rolled onto my side, resting my head on my hand. "Sure, but you're also older. How does it feel being married to someone younger, Granny?"
She smacked my arm with a pillow. "You're lucky I like you."
"Very lucky," I said, leaning in to kiss her shoulder before slipping out of bed. "Come on. I'll show you something."
We stepped out into the courtyard garden behind the guest residence, the early spring air carrying a faint chill. She pulled a silk shawl over her shoulders as I led her toward the old peach tree.
Its gnarled trunk was streaked with age, but the blossoms were blooming full and bright, soft pink petals catching the morning sun.
"It's beautiful," she murmured, brushing her fingers across a low-hanging branch.
"Second-grade spiritual tree," I said. "Said to have been planted by my grandmother. She picked a peach from it the day she broke through to Foundation building."
Yun Fei raised a brow. "And here I thought you only had a robe store to your name."
I laughed. "I do. Well, sort of. A small shop in Clear Sky City. I managed it for a while before coming back here. Nothing grand, just something to keep me busy."
"Small store," she repeated, clearly not buying it. "You really don't brag much, do you?"
"Let's say I like surprising people."
She leaned against me slightly, eyes still fixed on the blossoms. "This is nice. No elders. No banquet. No audience."
"For now," I said. "You'll meet the rest of the family today. Be prepared."
She gave me a sidelong glance. "Should I be scared?"
"Terrified."
She chuckled, her breath stirring the petals overhead. The moment settled—warm, peaceful, and a little unreal.
"Granny, huh?" she said again, smirking.
I grinned. "You started it."