That dream again.
Xie Lingyuan.
His breath was warm against my neck. His lips, soft and deliberate, grazed the skin just below my ear.Fingertips followed—slow, reverent—sliding from the nape of my neck down the curve of my back, then curling around my waist.
He pulled me closer. My chest pressed to his. I felt every breath he took, every flicker of restraint unraveling.Then his mouth found that red mark—hidden beneath my collarbone, the one no one else knew.He kissed it. Then bit.
Pain bloomed. Sharp. Electric.I gasped, tears stinging my eyes.
Not just shame—desire.His body was against mine. His hand slid under the silk of my robes. Heat coiled deep in my belly. I should've pushed him away.Instead, I clung to him. Harder.
When I woke, the sheets were twisted, damp with sweat. My thighs were slick.My breath hitched as I touched the spot below my collarbone.There it was—an unmistakable mark.
"Another nightmare, miss?" Xiaotang's voice startled me.I yanked my collar up. My hands trembled. The mirror fell and shattered.
Seven nights.Since my coming-of-age ceremony—the ji li, when girls receive their first hairpin and step into womanhood. Since he gave me that jade hairpin and smiled like nothing had changed.
In my dreams, I call him cousin.But in the dark, he murmurs "Zhiwei."And it doesn't sound wrong.