Chapter 2
LIN QINGYU HADN’T quite understood what Lu Wancheng said, yet he’d roughly grasped the meaning. Lu Wancheng had mentioned his impending death so casually—was he really not afraid of dying?
Lu Wancheng had already exhausted himself; in the end, he was still sick. He reclined on the bed, saying, “Beautiful, you…”
“What are you calling me?” Lin Qingyu asked sternly.
While attending school, Lin Qingyu had often been harassed by perverts. When somebody called him “Beautiful” or “Darling” on a whim, he’d wanted only to take out a self-made toxin that could shut people up and shove it down their throats.
Still, though Lu Wancheng called him “Beautiful,” he didn’t leer like a fool. So he wasn’t entirely incorrigible.
“How fierce you are. Not happy that I praised your beauty?” Lu Wancheng asked, his eyes closed. “Fine. I need to rest, so do as you please.”
After the day’s events, it was already past midnight. There was nothing else to do but go to bed.
Earlier, a maid had helped Lu Wancheng take off his wedding robes and had wiped his hands and face. Lin Qingyu, however, still wore his robes and headdress from the wedding ceremony, his huadian and other makeup still on his face.
Yes, he’d put makeup on—though, after repeated protests, the matron of honor had only drawn in his eyebrows and added color to his lips. Lin Qingyu’s face was naturally alluring yet aloof, and after she’d finished, his lips were red as flames and his eyebrows were as pretty as could be. Others lavished him with praise, but the cosmetics frightened him. It seemed as if what had been set between his lips wasn’t rouge paper, but instead a shackle that chained him down, a shackle placed by the marquess’s entire household…and the imperial family.
Lin Qingyu would remember this. He would also remember the matron of honor who’d insisted that he use an ointment that made a certain part of his body uncomfortable.
As for the “husband” Lin Qingyu was leaving in the dark… If what Lu Wancheng said was true—that the next six months would pass uneventfully, and that they were husband and wife in name only—Lin Qingyu could almost put this grudge behind him.
Lu Wancheng was merely a dying man. Why bother with him?
There obviously weren’t two beds in the bridal chamber, and Lu Wancheng occupied the only one available, so Lin Qingyu decided to spend the night on a soft divan.
But the Lantern Festival had just passed, and the weather wasn’t yet warm, so he would no doubt catch cold if he simply slept on the divan uncovered. He noticed an extra quilt on the wedding bed—most likely specially prepared because the manor’s servants feared that their precious young marquess wouldn’t be used to sharing a bed.
In light of that, Lin Qingyu wouldn’t bother being polite.
In his sleep, Lu Wancheng still couldn’t escape the pain of illness; his brow was slightly furrowed. Although Lin Qingyu took the quilt gently, Lu Wancheng still woke up.
When he opened his eyes, Lin Qingyu was bent over him, his hair hanging in front of his chest and tickling Lu Wancheng’s cheek a bit.
Their eyes met, and before Lu Wancheng could say anything, Lin Qingyu told him, “I’m taking a quilt.”
Lu Wancheng smiled. “Go ahead.”
Lin Qingyu carried the quilt over to the divan and spread it out. Just when he was about to lie down, Lu Wancheng asked, “Don’t you take your clothes off when you sleep?”
Though a male wife’s robes weren’t as complicated or restrictive as a female wife’s, they still consisted of several layers of loose garments and a belt—far more inconvenient and uncomfortable than normal clothing. Lu Wancheng felt tired just looking at his bride.
“Of course I do,” Lin Qingyu said steadily.
He turned and lifted his hand to undo the outermost layer of knot buttons, letting the outer robe fall to his ankles. A moment later, he wore only a single layer of nightclothes, just like Lu Wancheng.
After undressing, he turned back and looked at the wedding bed—Lu Wancheng was asleep again. Good.