Xue Lan lay like a statue carved by the divine, her skin a tapestry of soft sheen and subtle tremors. The oil Lin Mu had rubbed into her thighs glistened under the low lanternlight, and her entire body shimmered like silk beneath a sheet of moonlight. She lay on her stomach now, the weight of her perfect curves pressed gently into the plush beddings, her legs parted just enough to let the room breathe in the truth of what she was—a wife prepared, but not for her husband.
Lin Mu sat beside her, eyes lingering on every mark he had made—not in passion, but in service.
Her ass, freshly oiled, caught the glow of the room as it rose in perfect roundness from the bed. He had massaged her there last—not groped, not claimed, not owned, but attended to. Her hips, which he had knelt between for hours, were loose now. Relaxed. Her muscles no longer held tension. He'd seen to that.
His hands still smelled of the oil she preferred. Subtle and sweet, made from melting lotus petals over low flame.
She shifted slightly beneath him.
And his eyes dropped again—drawn back to the place between her legs.
Her pussy remained flushed, twitching faintly now and then, as if her body remembered his touch… or perhaps was anticipating someone else's. Her lips were swollen, delicate and parting softly against the plush silks beneath her, still slick with oil and arousal. He had stretched her slowly over the last hour—his fingers, his tongue, and not once did she moan for him. She sighed. Relaxed. Accepted.
Never moaned.
Because he didn't deserve that.
He never had.
Lin Mu swallowed the ache in his throat.
He reached for the edge of the blanket, intent on covering her… but stopped.
She had told him not to.
"I want to fall asleep open," she had said. "So my body stays ready."
So he simply sat.
He watched her back rise and fall. Her long, dark hair lay across her shoulders like ink across parchment, the strands clinging to the faint sheen of sweat that glowed at her nape.
She sighed in her sleep—content, warm, unaware of the burning arousal that pulsed next to her.
Lin Mu was still fully dressed, but his robes had grown tight. The fabric clung to him, damp at the collar and underarms. His cock, hard for what felt like hours, pressed painfully against his robes. He had not touched it.
He dared not.
He hadn't earned that right.
His hands—those same hands that had once crushed jade with a flex—now rested on his thighs, trembling faintly, oiled and warm. They had done everything for her, and yet they would not touch himself.
Not until she gave permission.
And she wouldn't. Not tonight.
Not when her dreams belonged to another man.
He turned his eyes back to her.
Her breasts, half pressed into the pillow, shifted slightly with each breath. He'd spent time there too—warming the oil between his palms before cupping them, massaging them gently to keep the skin smooth, supple. She had moaned faintly during that—just a sigh of comfort. Not arousal.
He had kissed her nipples once.
They had tasted faintly of salt. They had stiffened for a moment, then softened again.
He wasn't who they wanted.
He would never be.
And still… his cock twitched.
He hated how hard he was. How desperate.
How unfulfilled.
And yet… how perfectly placed he felt at her side.
He reached out and let his fingers drift along the curve of her thigh, barely grazing the stretch where her legs parted.
She murmured softly in her sleep and shifted again.
The movement spread her slightly more—and he saw it.
A faint trace of slickness gathering at the mouth of her sex, glowing against her folds.
His mouth watered.
His shame flared.
He lowered his face, pressed a single, reverent kiss to the side of her thigh, and pulled back.
He would not disturb her.
She was resting.
Preparing.
She had earned that peace.
He would remain awake.
Guarding her sleep.
Guarding her body, her scent, the space where another man would soon enter.
Tomorrow, Yan Zhuo would arrive.
He would take the place Lin Mu once believed was his.
And Lin Mu would be there.
He would help position her.
He would hold her hand while she moaned.
He would kiss her back while someone else filled her.
And when it was over…
He would clean her.
He would drink in the seed another man had spilled inside her.
And that would be his cultivation.
That would be his purpose.
Lin Mu didn't sleep that night.
He watched her body rise and fall with breath.
He listened to her soft murmurs.
And when she whispered another name in her dreams—
A name that wasn't his—
He closed his eyes.