Awakenings
Qingqui
Death was the most definitive end. He remembered his sacrifice to seal the Eastern Bell and Qing Cang. This should have caused his soul to scatter and he shouldn’t be alive but here he was.
Mo Yuan awoke to see his eternally youthful brother, Zhe Yan, whose eyes still held that familiar playful sparkle. Surprise and delight were clearly expressed in his raised brow and tone.
“Mo Yuan, welcome back,” When Zhe Yan said. “It’s been 70,000 years. We have all been eagerly awaiting your return.” Mo Yuan could scarcely believe that he was hearing.
The experience was like an assault on his senses; it was overwhelming. Despite his composure, he felt bewildered. His senses were dulled and muddled, and his vision was blurry. It wasn’t just his mind and eyes. Moving was difficult, like wading through mud. His muscles ached and he quickly tired. His strength had abandoned him.
He sat up slowly because he hadn’t a choice. He was dizzy, seeing flashes of light. He looked around, realizing it wasn’t Kunlun Mountain or the Sea of Innocence; nothing made sense. Mo Yuan was on the verge of asking, but it wasn’t necessary. Observant Zhe Yan, understanding him quickly explained his presence in Qingqiu.
Zhe Yan explained why Mo Yuan was in Qingqiu. Si Yin, his disciple, whom he knew to be Bai Qian monarch of Qingqui wilderness had taken him there. She had hidden him there for 70,000 years feeding him her Fox heart’s blood to preserve his body. Mo Yuan wondered why she would harm herself for a futile cause as saving a body without a soul. Then he remembered.
It was him who had asked her to wait.
The memory of his shameless request filled him with regret. It was selfish of him. Mo Yuan’s self-centered wish to reunite with his beloved student made her cling to false hope, causing too many years of self-harm and suffering. His karmic debt to her: how could he ever make amends?
How would he make it up to her?
Zhe Yan~
He maintains his usual stoic demeanor, but how does one behave after returning from the dead?
“Mo Yuan.” He turns his gaze to me when I call his name, but I can’t hide my concern for him while knowing what he will learn might be too much for him.
I intentionally lower my voice and minimize my body movements to calm either him or me. “I understand there’s a lot to take in, and I’m unsure if you’re prepared, but this is crucial and complex. I hope you can shed some light on the matter.”
‘You must meet the one who made your revival possible. Without his elite cultivation. We wouldn’t have been able to make your elixir, but I warn you. Mo Yuan, you’re about to meet someone we believed could be you or a reincarnation of you.”
I think Ye Hua is quietly standing where Mo Yuan can’t see him out of politeness, not fear of the God of War. This young man appears completely devoid of fear.
“Crown Prince Ye Hua, Mo Yuan is prepared to meet you.” I say while wondering if Mo Yuan is truly prepared to meet Ye Hua.
Clad in black from head to toe. Despite his youth, Ye Hua’s demeanor is surprisingly mature. The sober-looking fellow, with his stiff posture and straight shoulders draped in a dragon-embossed cloak marking him as of the celestial clan, is the embodiment of solemnity.
The silent exchange between Mo Yuan and Ye Hua makes my knees tremble. I can’t even imagine how it must feel. Something like looking in a mirror. Except for Mo Yuan’s facial hair, they’re identical.
I think Mo Yuan’s unusually soft voice is gruff because of his stiff vocal cords. Its usual smoothness is absent; it’s rough. He questions Ye Hua regarding his age, birth, his mother, and whether any auspicious signs followed his birth.
When Mo Yuan compliments Ye Hua on his powerful name and suggests he call Mo Yuan his older biological brother (dege) I am stunned that a feather could knock me over but when Mo Yuan explains Ye Hua is his twin brother I feel faint.
Learning of such a story is unbelievable. Losing Ye Hua, his second son deeply grieved the Heavenly Father. His profound grief led him to sacrifice half his immortal life force, placing Ye Hua’s soul within a golden lotus in the Kunlun lotus pond for years.
This does indeed make sense.
It’s obvious they’re twins. Mo Yuan and Ye Hua are virtually indistinguishable in their body language, mannerisms, and tone of voice. I’m too stunned to speak, but it’s clear Mo Yuan is exhausted.
His fatigue etched on his face. His breath sounds winded and voice is flattering, yet he remembers the one most important to him.
“Where is Seventeen?” He wants to know since she is the main reason he came back.
I know they are twin brothers, but I’m uncertain how much I should say in front of Ye Hua. “Mo Yuan, one thing at a time. You’ve just woken up. We have plenty of time to discuss other matters.”
Using my hands, I adjust my pale peach robe. It’s not my intention to offend Ye Hua. “Mo Yuan needs rest, so perhaps you could finish your conversation another time.” I suggest politely guiding Ye Hua toward the exit.
Ye Hua is an observant young man. He quickly grasps what I mean without me spelling it out. We exchange thanks: I for facilitating his brother’s meeting, he for his cultivation used for Mo Yuan’s elixir. He bows low and deep to both his twin and me then leaves as quietly as he came in.
I wait until I can’t sense his immortal breath. Only when I know we are alone, I tell Mo Yuan what he wants to know most, news of his seventeen.
“Mo Yuan, Xiao Wu is missing. She’s been gone for a couple of years. She, who hasn’t stepped foot out of Qingqui or my orchard for 70,000 years, is gone. Vanished without a trace. We’ve been searching for her, but what complicates matters is..”
I lower my voice further, whisperings even though it’s just us. “She is engaged to marry Ye Hua.” I stop needing to take a sip of tea suddenly feeling parched from Mo Yuan’s protective glare or what I think is a protective glare.
“I fear that the Eastern Imperial Bell’s unusual activity around her disappearance is significant. I fear Xiao Wu may have used your spell to reseal Qing Cang.”
Mo Yuan’s eyes suddenly appeared deeper set, his skin became paler, and he looked more gaunt. His voice trembles. “Is she still alive?”
To my nod, I see relief wash over his face. “Yes, I saw her star last night. She’s alive, but who knows where she could be?”
The relief in his eyes I saw moments ago transforms swiftly into a regretful glassy stare. “I didn’t expect her to have to use it. She fed me her blood for 70,000 years and I sent to her death,” Mo Yuan said, his voice thick with worry and regret.
Placing a reassuring hand on Mo Yuan’s shoulder, I said, “We’ll find her. Mo Yuan, don’t worry. We will find her and bring her home. She’s going to be overjoyed to see you again. She never lost hope.”
SuSu Mount Junji
Imagine waking up in an unfamiliar place with no memory. How would you feel? Terrified? Confused, right? That’s exactly how I feel when I wake up alone in a deserted forest near a small thatched cottage years.
I don’t know who I am or where I come from. I am uncertain if I even have a family or if anyone is looking for me.
The void that is me, the complete emptiness makes me wonder if I am dead. Maybe my memory loss is caused by drinking water from the River of Oblivion. It seems like the most logical explanation for my situation.
Since I believe I am dead, I stay put on the bridge, waiting for a deity or demon to find me. I can’t remember how I lived, If I was a good person or bad, which leaves me uncertain which way I am going to be sent.
I linger for hours, then I explore the cottage and marvel at how solid everything seems, considering this is the afterlife.
Dusty cobwebs, long undisturbed, cling to my fingers. The powdery dust makes my nose feel irritated. My footsteps echo softly on the floor. The mattress creaks and sags under the weight of my hand.
The afterlife is not what I had envisioned. I had anticipated a more ethereal encounter. However, as I find myself interacting with the tangible elements of the world through touch, sight, and smell, I begin to realize that I might not be dead. It is not only the physical sensations that make me question my state, but also my genuine thirst.
I am quite certain that ghosts do not experience thirst.
My throat is so dry that it’s hard to swallow. My mouth feels incredibly dry, as if I’ve slept with my mouth open for days and when I hear the gentle babbling sound of nearby water, I’m reduced to tears.
I’ve tasted nothing sweeter. Kneeling by the crystal-clear stream, I cup my hands and drink deeply, the cold water refreshing my parched throat. Tears well up in my eyes, mingling with the taste of the most refreshing water I have ever experienced. I splash the cool liquid on my face. When the sensation of the droplets running down my skin revitalizes my senses, I realize that I am alive.
I am neither a ghost nor truly alone; the sounds of awakening wildlife confirms their presence in the dense forest. As the day turned into dusk and night falls, the sounds of nature – leaves rustling, birds calling, and unseen creatures growling – grows louder, drowning out even the sound of my breath.
The thought of a wolf or bear eating me linger in my mind. I curl up in a tight ball scared and alone in the darkness of my bed. I ponder the grim reality of my situation.
My options are limited to just two. I have a choice: passively die of starvation, or discover an unknown inner resilience, despite my uncertainty about who I am. There is a higher chance of me starving or getting eaten by a forest animal, yet despite overwhelming odds, I choose to live.
The first year is the most challenging. There are more nights I go to bed hungry than full. Some nights, the pain of hunger and its noisy protests in my empty belly are loud enough to keep me from sleeping.
It is a gradual process learning to survive. I am surprised how much more efficient and self-reliant I become with every passing day. Through perseverance, despite the hardship; I hunt and cook small animals for meat through repeated attempts.
I discover dry wood burns better and produces less smoke than damp wood. Despite suffering from severe diarrhea and stomach pains after experimenting with unfamiliar herbs, I can identify edible fruits and roots.
Living alone has gradually become a journey of adaptation and learning for me. My days are always filled with busyness, a perpetual search for something to eat, as my survival truly hinges on my food supply.
However, when night falls, an overwhelming sense of melancholy and hopelessness washes over me, intensifying the weight of my unbearable loneliness. It feels as if I might suffocate under its weight one day.
Since I woke up here, I haven’t encountered another human being, only animals. To combat my loneliness, I bring injured animals home and provide them with care. While collecting soft, fragrant moss to help heal my animals, I stumble upon a small black snake nestled in a cave. It appears lifeless and limp, leading me to believe it may be dying.
Concerned that it might be cold, I handle it carefully and place it on my bed to provide warmth. Surprisingly, I find myself sleeping with it in my arms. I realize it’s just a snake, but my loneliness has reached a point where this companionship brings me comfort.
The snake’s presence during my slumber eases my loneliness and strangely offers me solace, as if I’m being embraced throughout the night. And few days after I find the snake and years after not seeing another person, I come across a petite grey-haired woman in the woods with her donkey.
We’re both surprised and a little cautious about each other, I think. We silently assess each other. The deadlock is broken by her. Uncertainty, she inquires, seemingly apprehensive about the response, “Young lady, are you human, a monster, or a deity?”
I respond with laughter that makes the birds fly away from the suddenness of the sound. Though her question amuse me, the simple act of being spoken to moves me to tears. Unable to respond, my identity is unclear, yet I can say with certainty I’m neither monstrous nor divine.
“I won’t eat you, if that’s what you’re asking.” I reply, after finding my lost voice. “Thank goodness.” The woman replies. “I might be tough to eat because I’m old, but to a hungry monster, I may look like a glistening cut of roasted pork belly.”
Her name is Ma Ah Lan, although she preferred Grandma Ma. Beneath the canopy of golden larches, we eat berries from my gathering bag while I listen to her. Having spoken only to myself and animals for so long, I devour every word she says, as if I have been starving and I have.
I am desperately starved for human interaction.
Grandma Ma tells me she lives in a village a half a day’s walk from my cottage. I never considered exploring, but the nearness of a village surprises me. Grandma is passing through coming back from her daughter’s. The daughter lives in another village two day’s walk away in the opposite direction.
“That rotten daughter of mine.” Grandma Ma gripes bitterly. “She was to marry per customs, but she ran off and eloped with that no good Deng boy. I carted all these things for her bridal bedchambers there for nothing. That worthless child of mine is the bane of my existence.”
As if under a spell, I am mesmerized by every word she utters. When Grandma complains about her spoiled daughter with language peppered with profanities, her gripes sound like music. And when she tells me she has to leave before it gets too dark, I almost beg her to stay longer.
Perhaps my loneliness is apparent to her. She knows nothing about me. I have been relieved the conversation hadn’t turned to me; I have nothing to add. I have nothing to share, not even a name.
“Young lady, I must go.” Grandma grunts and stretches from sitting too long. “It was a true pleasure meeting you, and thank you for sharing your berries. They are like the ones I used to gather with my grandmother when I was a child. I had forgotten, but now you have gifted me with a lost memory.”
She goes to the little cart attached to her donkey and pulls forth a red crimson quilt and gives it to me with a playful wink.. She says, “Why not surprise your husband with a remembrance of your wedding.”
I don’t tell her I don’t have a husband. thank her and wordlessly hand her the rest of the berries and watch her go until she becomes a dot and vanishes over the hills. She had been blown to me like a breeze and left the same way.
Meeting grandma has been an unexpected pleasure, but her departure makes my isolation feel worse and heavy on my heart. I remind myself to appreciate my chance meeting as fleeting as it was and hurry home to check on my improving snake. It has started moving again recently.
=====
The baby bluejay I took in after finding it had fallen out of its nest believes I’m its mother and has become my only companion in the vast solitude of the woods where I have been living for the past three years.
The bird, which I haven’t named yet because I expect it to leave me, doesn’t know how to catch worms. It enjoys following me around when I dig for grubs in shady areas under the shrubs, knowing it’s his lunch. However, today something has grabbed its attention. It has flown back to the cottage and is singing loudly in a way I’ve never heard before.
Despite the temptation to stay and bask in the gentle rays of the sun filtering through the thick foliage, I resist and turn my face towards the sun, feeling its warm rays kiss my skin as I walk back home.
As I call out to my bird, perching higher than usual on the nearby evergreen, I ask, “Hey, why did you leave me today? I do all the work and you just…” My words fail me when I stumble upon a young man lying on my doorstep.
He is the second person I have come across since waking up in these woods all those years ago. Any other normal unmarried woman in my situation would have been frightened or cautious upon finding a strange man even in such a vulnerable state, but not me. I think my isolation has nurtured a sense of fearlessness within me rare for women.
As I slowly approach him, my heart sinks. He is half-dead, his body battered and broken. Blood soaks through his clothes, saturating them with its pungent scent. Had he not been moaning in pain, I might have mistaken him for lifeless.
Without a second thought, I gingerly lift his body that is frail, but he’s heavy for me to lift on my own. To my surprise, his eyes flutter and open. He can stand with my help and I carefully lead him inside, disregarding any concerns that he might pose a threat.
Ye Hua~
I am surprised she didn’t run away in fright at the sight of my blood because I overdid it. Instead; she has brought me to her bed, of which I am quite familiar.
She is no ordinary woman.
I’ve been with her for a few months. I’m the small black serpent that sleeps beside her, transforming into my true self to embrace her at night.
While recovering from my fight against the Golden Scarlet Lion, she discovered me in my dragon form. I just needed a few days of rest, but the potent flesh-eating herb, usually effective in combination with other herbs, was applied alone. The poultice she used to heal my minor injury ended up making it worse. That’s not the only injury she gave me.
She has pricked my heart as well.
“Does it hurt?” “She asks with tears in her eyes, and I’m just mesmerized by how close she is and how gently she’s wiping my bare shoulder, making my heart race like never before.
I didn’t know women looked this beautiful when they cry.
“A little,” I reply and when she leaves to change out the bloody water, I use my magic to heal myself, worried I may have gone overboard.
She comes back with a basin of clean water but stops in her tracks. She set the basin aside on the small table by the bed. Leaning in, she gently traces the now-healed scars with her fingertips.
“How is it possible?” She asks and states incredulously. “You’re healed.”
I know nothing of women. That’s not to say women don’t covet me, which they do, but none has intrigued me until this woman.
Given my lack of experience, third uncle Lian Song suggested this method, so here I am faking an injury to garner her sympathy. I’m not theatrical as uncle, but I act surprised and quickly glance at my shoulder.
”I’m healed. Young lady’s poultice must be a mixture of the miracle herb to heal me this quickly. It’s a miracle.” I declare, but I’m not sure if she heard me. Her wide-eyed gaze is transfixed on my wound that has miraculously healed, and she is leaning in closer.
Her touch makes my skin break into goosebumps and my nipples become erect. The lightness, the gentleness of her fingertips dancing across on my healed skin makes my jaw clench involuntarily.
Despite telling myself to calm down, her presence evokes confusing and strange sensations. It feels like a new beginning, and that’s why I’m here. I feel like my heart doubles in size when I’m with her.
Stop staring at her Ye Hua. I remind myself, but I can’t. She must have sensed it because she’s staring back at me with those innocent eyes full of curiosity and trust. I wonder if she can see the desire in my eyes. Can she hear my racing heart that’s pounding so loudly it’s deafening? Can she feel the tension building between us?
“I have some congee.” She backs away from me and I soften my gaze so as not to scare her away. “I’ll get you something to eat, then you can rest. Sleep is the best medicine.”
=====
She doesn’t have a name. It’s unusual, but I don’t ask why she doesn’t and when she asks me to name her. I give her the name of Susu for her pleasant, calming, unassuming neutral attire, which is a refreshing change from what the immortal females wear.
Susu has a kind heart. She cares for me after she searches for food. She takes too long and when I go looking for her; she tells me she got lost. This has happened before. She tells me once she got lost for eight days.
How in the world did she make it before I came along?
She permits me to sleep in the bed while she sits at the table, head on her arms, but I move her to bed once asleep. If she wakes up in my embrace puzzled, I lie and say she came to bed with me willingly. Ye Hua where is your shame?
Our time together is mere weeks. Compared to the timescale of Nine Heavens, our time is fleeting. It’s not long before SuSu notices improvement in my wounds. I can’t help but feel a sense of unease, as if I have overstayed my welcome.
It’s not long before she inquires about my departure, and my attempt to gain her affections has failed.
“Susu, how would you like me to compensate you for saving my life?” I ask.
Her bewildered stare is her reply. She finally breaks the silence and replies, “Piles of gold?”
I find her suggestion amusing, for no amount of gold could ever equate to the value of my life. With a smile on my face, I assure her that my life is far more precious than all the riches in the world.
I ask her what payment she wants again and hold my breath bracing myself for her response, half-expecting her to demand that I leave her alone.
However, to my surprise, she utters the most heavenly words I’ve ever heard: “Pay me with your body.”
She takes my breath away. Her eyes looking down make her eyelashes and pouty lips stand out, just asking for a kiss.
When she blushingly asks if her family has arranged a marriage for me, I reply, “It’s nothing to worry about.”
In a whirlwind of excitement, we eagerly venture into town to purchase the essentials for our union: vibrant red candles, ceremonial red wedding attire, and a red bridal veil for her.
With a sense of reverence, we bow to Heaven and Earth, solidifying our bond as husband and wife. And now, as I step into our bedroom, I am greeted by a sight that takes my breath away. She sits on the bed, her red bridal veil cascading down her hair, a symbol of our love and commitment.
The room is filled with the soft flickering of candlelight from the many red candles, casting dancing shadows on the walls. The bamboo-framed bed creaks gently beneath my weight, as if whispering tales of future unions.
I’m nervous. I gingerly sit beside her, feeling the coolness of the bed against my skin. I can hear the faint rustle of her fingers nervously fidgeting in her lap.
With a steady hand, I reach out and slowly lift her veil. As the veil lifts, her red full lips are exposed, glistening in the soft light, followed by the graceful curve of her nose and the depth of her eyes. Finally, the veil rests on the top of her head, revealing her radiant face, a portrait of love and devotion with an expression of innocence that makes me shudder.
I excel at almost everything, except for pleasing women. I understand procreation, but having never laid with a woman, I lack confidence.
I’ve overheard men whispering, their conversations filled with crude remarks, far from the realm of romance and certainly not about their wives.
Tenderly, I tell her to close her eyes, and she does as I ask.
The room falls into a hushed silence, broken only by the soft rustling of fabric as she adjusts herself. Her lips, plump and rosy, call out to me, beckoning for my touch. They glisten, flushed not only from the wine, but perhaps also from the anticipation that hangs in the air.
The sweetness of my first kiss is intensified knowing she’s my wife.
With a tender touch, I cup her chin, feeling the warmth of her skin against my fingertips. Slowly, I lean in and our lips meet for the first time, merging as we learn the steps in this delicate dance of making love.
The surrounding air seems to hum with a pleasing gentle energy as our bodies gravitate towards each other.
I could lose myself in her kiss. The velvety softness of her mouth, reveling in the sensation as our lips brush and graze against each other is like nothing I’ve felt before. The taste of her lingers on my tongue, a sweet and intoxicating flavor that leaves me craving more.
Overwhelmed with a newfound desire, I kiss her again, and this time she responds, her lips yielding to mine. In this moment, the world fades away, and it’s just the two of us, lost in a sea of love and desire. Every touch, every kiss, becomes a testament to our sacred union.
As our lips meet in a deep and longing kiss, my hands begin to explore her face and neck. The sensation of her trembling beneath my touch brings a new heat to my loins.
Driven by newfound desire, my hand ventures further, slipping into the collar of her dress, delicately tracing the alluring curve of her collarbone concealed beneath the fabric exploring uncharted territory. Her milky skin like silk makes my breath quicken.
Trying to untie her dress, I become aware of my lack of experience in undressing women, making me feel insecure. My hesitation begins, then her hand gently finds mine. In harmony, we worked together to undo the complex pankou buttons on her dress.
As each button is released, anticipation surges, accelerating my breathing and escalating my inner fire. My fingers shake with desire as they graze the sheer fabric covering the woman before me, the last button undone.
The sheer delicacy of her undergarment offers a tantalizing glimpse of the treasures that lie beneath, heightening my arousal and stirring a longing within me. I cup and caress SuSu’s breasts, skimming my fingertips over her hardened nipples delicately as my tongue parts her mouth.
Our tongues intertwine for the first time, exploring and caressing each other. We discover the flavors of each other’s mouths for the first time.
I feel lightheaded from being aroused. She has me completely intoxicated. Somehow, I find myself undressed, leaving us both bare and exposed. I carefully lay her down on the bed, then lie down beside her, our bodies touching. A passionate kiss ignites, my needy hands caressing her curves and contours.
Her soft, airy moan burns my soul, sending shivers down my spine. The way she responds to my touch, her breath quickening and her body arching towards me, is an invitation I cannot resist.
My attention is drawn to her breasts, so perfectly shaped and enticingly perky. I cup them gently in my hands, savoring their softness, as I lean in to kiss her sensitive nipples. The moment my tongue makes contact, they harden against the warmth deliciously.
Driven by an intense desire to know every part of her, my hand ventures further down her body, stopping just before reaching her most intimate area. The hunger builds, making every nerve in my body tingles. But I bide my time, relishing in the sweet torture of denial. I want to savor every moment, to make her yearn for my touch.
Finally, unable to resist any longer, my fingers brush against her velvety place of wetness. The sensation is electrifying, and I can feel her desire mirrored in my own. Her slickness envelops me, the delicate texture drives me wild with desire. My sex jerks with each stroke of my finger. I can feel her pleasure building, her hips swaying in rhythm with my touch.
There is no one else in the world. It’s just her and I, lost in the depths of our desire.
As I continue my discovery of her, her moans become louder and her warm breath tickles my ear. With a soft and deliberate movement, I gradually insert my finger inside her, being considerate of her pleasure and comfort. She grimaces as a finger enters and exits her, delving into her innermost being.
No one has been with her before me. Her innocence tightens around my finger as her moans and tilting hip movements match my actions, intensifying our shared desire.
Susu~
I don’t love Ye Hua. His question about payment for saving his life left me speechless. I requested gold, believing him incapable of such a grand request. He claimed his life was more precious than gold or silver, leading me to demand his body as payment.
He didn’t pause. He seemed to have wished for me to make such a request. He accepted my outlandish proposal, and we are now husband and wife.
Tonight, our wedding night, is ablaze with unspoken passions. As I lie here, a mix of nerves and intrigue swirl within me. The sight of Ye Hua, his eyes filled with desire, intensifies the heat in the room.
He is awaking me.
My body rouses to new sensations, a strange mix of pleasure and discomfort. Our kisses grow bolder, our tongues intertwine in a heated dance, adding to the desire building within us.
Ye Hua positions himself between my thighs, his presence looming over me like a shadow. I can feel the weight of his body against mine, a soft pressure that sends shivers down my spine. The scent of passion lingers in the air, mingling with the faint musk of desire.
As he delicately parts my folds, the moment he enters me, the pain envelops me like a suffocating embrace. It’s as if a thousand needles pierce through my being, igniting a fiery torment that consumes me from within. Each movement he makes sends shockwaves of agony through my body, leaving me gasping for air.
I can’t help but release a sharp inhale, a sound that escapes my lips like a hiss reverberating in the room. Tears stream down my face, their warmth contrasting with the cold sweat that beads on my forehead.
“I’m sorry I’m hurting you,” he whispers tenderly, his warm breath caressing my skin. His eyes reveal a mixture of concern for my pain and an intensifying, fiery desire.
The air becomes filled with a metallic scent, the unmistakable smell of blood – my blood. It reaches my nostrils. Pushing aside the physical discomfort, I gather his lips with mine, holding him tightly as I close my eyes.
Strangely, the pain became a strange, deep pleasure. We engage in a passionate dance, our bodies moving and undulating in perfect harmony. I wrap my legs around his waist, seeking a deeper connection.
Every forceful thrust is followed with a hoarse guttural groan, a manifestation of his pleasure that reverberates within me, mingling with my own. I cannot contain the ecstasy any longer; I cry out, my voice echoing through the room.
His name escapes my lips, the only word that matters in this moment, as my pleasure reaches its crescendo. And in that climactic instant, he groans my name as he fills me with his essence.
He passionately makes love to me twice more, his fervor evident in the way his body moves against mine. His movements grow more demanding, daring, and intense. My body yields to his entirely.
As he delves deeper into my warmth, I ache. He leaves me throbbing inside and out, sensitive, but it’s not unpleasant. We fall asleep in each other’s arms and the sensation of him thrusting into my soreness again is what wakes me in the morning.
Like I said, I don’t love Ye Hua, but I love his company.
I’m becoming accustomed to sleeping in the warmth of his arms. I crave his touch and his body. I’m often the one to initiate bodily pleasure and maybe this is how it is for newlyweds.
We make love constantly with a fervor as if our very lives depends on it.
Ye Hua’s caresses taste like hunger, as his fingertips delicately trace the curves of my body, igniting a fiery desire within me. His kisses, filled with an undeniable urgency, leave me breathless, yearning for more.
We explore each other’s bodies with an insatiable hunger, our eyes locking in an intoxicating dance of desire. Our hands, intertwined in a passionate embrace, explore every inch of each other, fueling the flames of our longing.
The taste of his skin, the touch of his hands, and the warmth of his lips send waves of pleasure coursing through me, making me realize how incomplete my life was before him.
It doesn’t take long for me to realize the depth of his captivating charm, as I find myself helplessly falling in love with him.
In the seclusion of our isolation, our physical love is unbound by inhibitions or societal expectations. Our raw, unadulterated passion consumes us as we surrender ourselves to the intoxicating rhythm of our mutual desire.
But our bliss is short-lived. Our beautiful newlywed abruptly ends after half a year. One day while in the forest, I’m gathering pine cones full of nuts when Ye Hua suddenly vanishes without a single word. All that is left is his arrow and bow, where he was standing minutes ago.
I wait in the same spot all night. I go back there and wait, hugging the bow and arrow the only traces of Ye Hua left behind. I pray to the Gods for him to return to me and he does, six months later.
“Susu?” he calls. I haven’t heard my name for half a year. I should be angry, but I run into his arms and sob.
I want to know where he has been. His vagueness only leaves me more confused than before, providing no clarity to my burning questions. My initial instinct is to bombard him with a barrage of inquiries, demanding the truth. However, the overwhelming desire to have him back in my life supersedes my pride.
Despite the ambiguity of his absence, I focus on the present feeling grateful for his return.
As we sit down for dinner, a tense, uncomfortable silence engulfs the room, amplifying the strain between us. Yet, this discomfort is soon replaced by a desperate longing for each other. He starts a series of passionate lovemaking, a repeated act that seems to intensify with every encounter.
I am overwhelmed, consumed by a wave of pleasure. It’s as if I experience multiple climaxes, or perhaps it’s one continuous climax that never ends. I relish in his touch, feeling an unmatched sense of inner fulfillment that only he can provide. The reconnection we share feels essential to our very existence, as if we have both been deprived of this connection for an extended period.
Sleep evades us, and even when we manage to drift off, he abruptly awakens me. His words shatter the tranquility of the night as he tells me he must leave again after only one day with me. This time he will be gone for a year and half.
Lingering questions arises within me – why don’t I tell him to never return? Why don’t I muster the strength to command him to go to hell? Who does he think he is, coming and going as he pleases?
These questions linger on the tip of my tongue, but I find myself unable to speak. My voice eludes me, and so I remain silent. I wordlessly accept his gift—a petite bronze mirror he presents to me. It is a symbol meant to provide solace during my moments of yearning. He tells me to confide in it whenever I long for his presence, assuring me that, if possible, he will respond.