Ah Yin stepped back reluctantly, the lingering warmth of Song Qing's body a stark contrast to the cool evening air of the Herbal Garden. A faint flush remained on her cheeks, a mixture of lingering arousal from the forbidden hug and embarrassment at being so easily dismissed.
Song Qing turned fully to face her, his emerald eyes steady, analytical, holding a hint of weariness that cut through her pretense. He observed her carefully – the slight tremble in her hands, the way her gaze flickered away before returning to his face.
'Her intentions remain as transparent as glass,' he thought, a sigh forming internally. 'This constant maneuvering… it's born of fear, a mother's desperation. Understandable, perhaps, but tiresome nonetheless.'
He let the silence stretch for a moment before speaking, his voice calm and direct, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
"Ah Yin."
She looked up, meeting his gaze.
"Let us be clear," he continued evenly. He gestured vaguely, encompassing her earlier actions, the subtle ways she always seemed to position herself near him. "I understand why you do these things."
His gaze sharpened slightly. "The constant need for proximity. The… opportunities for touch." His eyes flickered briefly to her hands, then back to her face. "Pressing yourself against me during that unnecessary embrace."
He saw her flinch, saw the blush deepen on her cheeks.
"You believe these… intimate gestures," he stated flatly, "will somehow influence me. That they offer an additional layer of security for your son's life."
His voice lowered slightly. "You still fear for Tang San." It wasn't a question.
"I have given you my word, Ah Yin," he reiterated, his tone firm. "My path is my own. As long as Tang San doesn't force my hand in a way that leaves no other option, I have no current plans to actively seek his destruction. Your… tricks," the word hung in the air, pointedly dismissive, "are unnecessary."
He held her gaze. "You should cease."
Ah Yin visibly recoiled at his bluntness, her face flooding with a deep, painful blush. She lowered her eyes to the ground, her hands twisting together nervously in front of her. The regal bearing she sometimes subconsciously adopted, a remnant of her past life, evaporated, leaving only the vulnerable maidservant.
'He saw right through me,' she thought, mortified. 'Every action, every hope… laid bare so easily. How utterly embarrassing… But… but it hasn't only been about Little San… not lately…'
She took a shaky breath, forcing herself to speak, her voice barely a whisper. "Holy… Holy Son sees everything with clarity." She swallowed, the admission costing her pride. "Yes… you are right. Initially… my only thought… my only prayer… was for Little San."
She risked a glance up at him, her blue eyes filled with a mother's desperate plea, quickly masked again. "To… perhaps gain your favor, Holy Son. To ensure you wouldn't see him solely as… as a threat from the past. To hope that… if he ever made a mistake… attacked you, or the Spirit Hall… that my servitude, my willingness… might sway your decision towards forgiveness."
Her gaze dropped back to the rich soil at her feet. "But… recently…" She hesitated, the next words harder to voice. The blush on her cheeks seemed permanent now. "These moments… when I am near you… When there is… contact…"
She trailed off, then forced herself to continue, quieter still. "I find… I have found myself becoming quite… comfortable." The word felt inadequate. "More than comfortable, Holy Son."
She wrung her hands again. "Forgive my immense presumption… my foolish feelings… but I… I enjoy the closeness now. The warmth of your presence. That is why… why I seek opportunities. Any small excuse… to touch… to hug…"
Her voice cracked slightly. She looked up again, and now there was a glint of something else in her eyes – sadness, frustration, a deep-seated insecurity. "It… it brings me sorrow sometimes, Holy Son… that you never… initiate anything yourself."
The question tumbled out then, raw and vulnerable, shocking even herself. "Am I… am I truly so unattractive in your eyes?"
Song Qing stared. The first part of her confession was expected, almost textbook manipulation driven by maternal fear. But the second part? The admission of personal enjoyment, the hint of bruised feelings at his lack of initiation, the direct question about her attractiveness… that was surprising.
'Unattractive?' His mind scoffed internally. Objectively, Ah Yin was a stunning woman. Mature, yes, but her voluptuous figure held a unique, potent allure. Her Blue Silver Emperor heritage gave her an ethereal grace even in her subservient role. 'But attractive is not the same as desired. Or is it? She actually wants my touch? Not just as a means to an end, but for its own sake?'
This changed the dynamic. It presented… an opportunity. A different kind of satisfaction.
He saw her standing there, flushed and vulnerable, awaiting his answer. Instead of words, he acted.
He took a single, deliberate step forward.
Ah Yin flinched back instinctively, startled by his sudden movement, her eyes widening.
He didn't stop. He reached out, his movement purposeful, almost detached. His palm landed squarely on the fullness of her left breast, covering it completely through the simple, coarse fabric of her attire. He cupped it firmly, feeling its weight, its softness.
Her breath hitched in a sharp, audible gasp. Her body went rigid, eyes flying wide, staring first down at his hand, then up at his impassive, questioning face. The blush on her cheeks deepened to a furious crimson, spreading down her neck. She trembled visibly.
'He's touching me!' The thought screamed in her mind, a chaotic mix of shock, terror, and a deeply buried, shameful thrill. 'Actually touching me! So suddenly! So boldly! Like this! It's… it's…' The initial shock began to war with the undeniable physical sensation.
"Unattractive?" Song Qing repeated calmly, his voice almost clinical, a stark contrast to the intimacy of his action. His fingers flexed slightly, applying gentle pressure, thumb brushing against the nipple hidden beneath the cloth. "No, Ah Yin. Not unattractive."
He leaned slightly closer, his emerald eyes boring into hers, watching every flicker of emotion. "But you wish for my touch?" His hand squeezed again, a fraction harder. "Does this, then? Does this feel good now, Ah Yin?"
For a moment, she remained frozen, caught between ingrained propriety, fear, and the burgeoning heat his touch ignited. Then, almost involuntarily, a slow nod. Her breathing became shallow, ragged, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his hand.
A choked moan escaped her lips, low and throaty. "Y-yes… Holy… Son…" Her eyelids fluttered closed for a heartbeat. "Ahhh… It… it does…" Another moan, louder this time. "It feels… good…"
She opened her eyes again, meeting his gaze. The shame was still there, swirling with confusion, but overlaid now with undeniable, burgeoning arousal. Her lips parted slightly.
"Please…" she whispered, the plea torn from her depths. "Holy Son… M-more…" Her voice dropped, husky with need. "Be bolder… Please… if you wish it."
She lowered her gaze again, reinforcing her stated position, perhaps seeking refuge in it. "I… I am only your maidservant, Holy Son." Her voice trembled slightly. "My body… my purpose… it is to fulfill your desires. Whatever… whatever you want from me… I must obey."
Song Qing watched her complete capitulation, the trembling eagerness in her frame, the way she framed her desire as duty. It was a potent combination.
'Willing,' he thought, a cold satisfaction stirring within him alongside a purely physical lust. 'Eager, even. And framing it as servitude absolves her – and me – of any emotional entanglement. Perfect.'
The thought of Tang Hao surfaced again, sharp and vindictive. 'His precious Ah Yin… reduced to this. Begging for the touch of his enemy. Offering her body as a mere servant's duty.' The image was intensely satisfying on a cruel, primal level.
He contrasted this feeling sharply with the complex swirl of possessiveness, affection, and desire he felt for Bibi Dong and Qian Renxue. 'This is different,' he acknowledged internally. 'No love here. No tangled emotions. Just… indulgence. Taking what is offered so freely. Simpler. Cruder. But undeniably appealing.'
A cold smirk touched his lips. His hand squeezed her breast again, deliberately rougher this time, eliciting another sharp gasp and moan from her. "Begging me now, are you, Ah Yin?" he murmured, his voice low and mocking. "So eager for your Master's touch after all?"
He leaned closer, invading her personal space, his voice dropping to a low growl that vibrated against her skin. "I admit," he said, his eyes raking over her figure, "the thought of taking this lovely, mature body… perhaps right in front of that worthless husband of yours, Tang Hao… making him watch as his sainted wife writhes and moans under my hand… That holds a certain… powerful appeal."
He saw her flinch violently at the mention of Tang Hao, her face paling slightly before flushing again. The cruelty of his words landed, as intended.
He chuckled darkly, a humorless sound. "But…" he continued, his gaze returning to her flushed face, her glazed eyes, her trembling lips, "since you seem so very desperate for my attention right now… And since you are so insistent on fulfilling your… duty…"
His eyes darkened with intent. "Perhaps I can oblige your request. Consider it… part of your service to the Holy Son."
Before Ah Yin could fully process his words, or the chilling implication behind them, he withdrew his hand from her breast. Then, with swift, decisive movement, he scooped her up into his arms.
She gasped in surprise, her arms instinctively flying around his neck for balance. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a chaotic mix of fear, shame, and overwhelming anticipation flooding her senses.
He carried her effortlessly, moving away from the clearing where the Three-Eyed Golden Lion still meditated peacefully, oblivious. He strode towards a denser, more secluded part of the Herbal Garden, where ancient trees and thick, broad-leafed plants created natural alcoves.
He set her down gently on her feet in a small, hidden clearing, surrounded by towering flora. With a wave of his hand, drawing upon his innate connection to the garden, ancient vines snaked down from overhead branches, intertwining with large leaves, forming a thick, living curtain around them. The space became instantly private, hushed, isolated from the rest of the garden, bathed in the soft, filtered glow of distant spirit lamps.
Ah Yin stood trembling slightly in the center of this green enclosure, her eyes wide, watching him. The air felt thick, charged with unspoken intent.
Song Qing turned to face her, his expression stripped bare of any softness, leaving only cool assessment and rising predatory intent. His emerald eyes roamed her figure, lingering on the curves beneath her simple attire.
He reached out, his fingers finding the ties of her modest servant dress. There was no finesse, no seduction in the movement. Just efficient purpose. He unfastened the ties, pulled the fabric away, letting it pool at her feet on the soft mossy ground. He did the same with her undergarments, stripping her bare with a detachment that was almost clinical, yet profoundly intimidating.
She stood before him, completely naked, her voluptuous, mature body exposed to his gaze in the dim light. The full, heavy breasts, the soft curve of her belly marked subtly by past childbirth, the gentle flare of her hips, the clean shaved pink pussy – all laid bare for his inspection. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself instinctively, though the air wasn't cold.
He stepped forward, crowding her space, forcing her back against the living wall of vines. He didn't kiss her. His gaze remained locked on her body, specifically her breasts.
He lowered his head, his mouth closing firmly over one taut nipple. He suckled strongly, possessively, like a hungry infant, yet with none of the innocence. His hands simultaneously moved to cup her buttocks, squeezing hard, kneading the soft flesh.
"Ah! Master!" Ah Yin cried out, the sound loud in the enclosed space, echoing slightly off the leaves. Her head thrashed back against the vines, her hands flying up to grip the thick stems for support. Her back arched involuntarily, pushing her breast deeper into his mouth.
This was not the tender worship he had shown Bibi Dong, nor the possessive claiming mixed with affection he shared with Qian Renxue. This was different. This was indulgence.
This was him taking exactly what she had offered – her body, submitted as a maidservant – and using it purely for his own satisfaction, fueled by a dark, vindictive pleasure derived from her connection to his enemy.
And Ah Yin, trapped by her own words and desires, could only moan and yield.