Xinyuan Hall, Wei Mansion.
The festive wedding decorations hadn't been fully removed yet. Ji Qingwu's gaze turned awkward when she saw the large bed, still spread with its wedding quilt.
On her wedding night a few days ago, two different men had entered this room.
Her memory of Wei Ting, the man of the house, had already faded, but the image of the other man—his expressions, whether in joy or anger—was seared into her mind.
The bite mark on Ji Qingwu's collarbone seemed to burn.
She avoided Jiu Jiu's notice and discreetly tended to the faint red scratch on her face before cuddling the little girl and spending the night on this very bed.
The two of them kept to their old routine from Wutong Garden: they wouldn't get up until the sunlight streamed into the room.
Ji Qingwu had been utterly drained that night in the palace. She was still fast asleep long past the hour she would normally have woken up.
