Once Burned, Twice Shy
Little Min~
My empress has returned to her clamorous world. Though her inner turmoil had subsided, the battle between her logic and emotions has begun again. When we returned to the palace, she dismissed everyone. She requested that I be her sole server this evening and keep her mansion dim. She trusts me and feels safe to show her vulnerability because, with me, she can be herself, not the powerful mother of the dynasty.
Her white hair, usually kept in a neat bun, is now flowing down her back. It comes down further than her waist. Her pajamas today aren’t her usual modest ones with matching slippers. She’s dressed tonight in a sheer saffron robe, its delicate fabric adorned with intricately embroidered butterflies in a spectrum of hues and sizes. Beneath it, she wears nothing, her feet bare.
This robe has a special significance for her, as it was the one she wore in Qingshui City while living as Madam Li. It is the sole article of clothing she retrieved or decided to hold on to. I know where all her belongings are, so this garment must have been well hidden, somewhere only she knew. Looking at it brings back memories of when I first saw it on her.
I had returned to the manor to retrieve something I had dropped while cleaning Mr. Qing Yuan’s room earlier in the day. His bedchamber was located just across from the empress’s room. As I tiptoed out, trying not to make a sound, I heard slurping and moaning coming from the room she shared with fourth prince Jinghua.
They thought they were alone. The door was slightly ajar, its worn hinges emitting a nearly inaudible squeak as I cautiously pushed it open. Despite the knowledge that I should have respected the privacy of the ones I was attending to, my curiosity got the better of me. Peering into the dimly lit bedchamber, my gaze was drawn automatically to the mesmerizing scene before me. A mix of fascination and arousal coursed through my veins.
This was when her hair was still as black as night. The voluminous bun atop her head was a tangled mess, strands of hair escaping like delicate wisps of silk, despite being held together with a muted yellow silk ribbon that perfectly matched her robe.
The soft fabric had slid down her shoulders, revealing the smoothness of her naked body. Her venus dimples were on full display. She was kneeling between fourth prince’s legs. The position seemed like surrender, but she wasn’t submissive. She completely dominated over him, both body and soul. The scene was unforgettable, profound because I didn’t know an unarmed woman could wield such power over a man.
Her playful and teasing gestures were tantalizing and intoxicating. Her eyes, deep and seductive, held his gaze, drawing him further into the magnetic pull between them. His member was lengthy with desire and thick with lust. It reveled in the paradise of her ravenous mouth. Her bobbing head moved with a steady rhythm, driven by an unseen hunger. She expertly stroked his needy shaft with her right hand, repeatedly taking him deep into her throat while her free hand stayed steady, as if she were rolling something in her palm.
Her skillful hands danced over his skin, adjusting the rhythm, heightening the pleasure. As she pressed his girth between her oiled, palm-sized breasts, the sight of them, smaller than before her pregnancy, added a touch of lascivious lewdness. He was captured, his senses overpowered by her, as her velvety skin slid up and down on his throbbing erection.
He desperately pleaded for release. His husky voice was as thick as his cock, full with urgency, but she ignored his pleas. She seemed to revel in satisfying the man she loved. Her eyes had gleamed like stars with pure rapture, relishing each second, swallowing him whole like the sweetest wine.
I had become wet from watching her when she lapped at his entire length, licked and circled his sensitive ridge with her tongue, and pumped her breasts around him. She, in a seductive purr, told him she was going to suck, drain him dry, and swallow every drop of him then sunk her gaped mouth, opening her throat to accommodate his shaft entirely. When she speedily lowered her bobbing head, her saliva dripping as she enveloped him until her lips reached his mound, I nearly climaxed when he did.
It took me less than five minutes to cross the courtyard and leave, but then, surprisingly, I heard them at it again. I thought they were the perfect couple. I had been deeply disappointed to learn that he was a deceitful person, and had betrayed the empress in the most unimaginable way. Now he has returned, and with just a single encounter, he has transformed my once powerful tigress into a weak kitten.
She paces clockwise around her dining table in a trance, muttering incoherently at barely audible levels. The smooth lacquered tabletop reveals a dull circular mark, a trail left by her dragging fingertips. “Why didn’t you notice, Yueli?” she whispers, engrossed in her own thoughts. “You fool. Why didn’t you see it?”
Her mood swings wildly, fluctuating between depression and mania every few moments, and she shows no signs of slowing down or resting, continuing her endless pacing while mumbling to herself. “Nobody can act that well. Or can they…how did I miss it?”
“Please empress this isn’t good for you.” My attempts to get her attention are unsuccessful. I desperately implore her to stop pacing. I try coaxing her with soup and tea, but she ignores me completely. The food and tea have grown cold after being untouched. The temperature plummets as darkness sets in. It’s nippy outside. Despite being lightly dressed, she insisted on keeping all the windows open, saying she felt as if she were suffocating.
She ordered; her palace was to remain restricted to everyone, but the emperor’s eunuch is here to deliver a message. He senses something is amiss, but we loyal servants understand discretion. We are aware of the lines that must not be crossed. He won’t ask. He’ll remain reticent and I’ll keep it to myself. As even the emperor, he has not seen my empress undressed like this, and I stand before the door, blocking Eunuch Bo’s entry, because I will not let him see her in such a state.
He acknowledges my role as the most senior member of the empress’s staff by addressing me formally as “Gugu Min.” I edge closer to Eunuch Bo so the empress won’t overhear, but it’s pointless, as he announces rhapsodically, “The plans have changed!”
“The emperor won’t be coming to the inner palace. Fourth prince entered the palace and his wife went into labor. She just birthed another son for him! The great emperor and empress dowager is overjoyed! Fourth Prince has returned, and a little prince delivered on the same night! This is an auspicious sign of good things to come!” Eunuch Bo exclaims.
“Official Bo. I’ll let my mistress know.” From the corner of my eye, I catch the empress pause, delaying from her incessant pacing as she heeds the news. A long sigh, followed by a faint sob, floats from her dining room to the doorway where I stand. She turns, leaning into the table as if she’s about to collapse. Her hair creates a white blanket on the table as her head bends downward and hangs low.
I thank Eunuch Bo and watch him scurry away, closing the door behind me. The timing is terrible. I fear this news might be what pushes her over the edge.
“How did I not see it?” She’s mumbling to herself. She is standing in the same place, rocking back and forth. I kneel at her feet. She’s not crying, but I am. My tears flow freely as I plead with her to go to bed. “Empress, sleep will make you feel better. This isn’t good for your health.”
Haltingly, she rotates her body delayed. Her movements are heavy, as if it takes too much out of her to lift her feet. She’s trance-like. It’s as if she’s in a hypnotic state. Her expression is bleak and helpless, hurting my soul as I watch her struggle with her inner voices.
“Please, empress, you must stop pacing. It’s been hours,” I urge her to rest. “Empress, you’re breaking my heart.”
“Don’t be sad, my Little Min.” Her voice is thin and muffled. It resembles her fragile hand, reaching out to stroke my head lightly. She leans her backside against the table, takes a deep breath, and pushes off with her palms. She sits on the edge, her dangling legs swaying aimlessly in the air.
Lost in her own world, she stares blankly, blind to her surroundings. Her humming is the only sound in the room. Without raising her head, she asks. Her question, tinged with a childlike vulnerability, echoes the disoriented feeling of a child separated from their mother in a crowd. “Little Min, are there such things as witches who can bring back the dead?”
I don’t know what she is asking of me. I fear she might harm herself, so I reply, “No empress, witches aren’t real and people only come back from death in fictional stories. Fake.” She mumbles, “Of course witches don’t exist. You almost fell for another one of his lies.”
Her slumped, slacked body reminds me of a stringed puppet in rests, abandoned and forgotten like how she feels. It’s distressing to witness her in this state, knowing that I can’t take away her pain. My empress, strong and resilient, rarely indulges in stimulants, but tonight feels different. I believe she deserves and needs a temporary escape from her painful reality that swallowing her up.
The royal physicians, with their keen understanding of the ailments of the elite, have prescribed a medicinal blend of opium and dama, hashish for her arthritis, a concoction that provides relief when the pain becomes unbearable. It is a delicate balance, knowing precisely when to administer the relief and when to withhold it.
In the dimly lit room, I follow the empress’s command for a dark palace. Carefully, I fill the pipe with a thick, tarry substance. The shadows in the room make the process messier than expected, but I honor her wishes and keep the palace unlit. By the window, I let the soft pale moonlight guide my hands as I fill the small bowl. Bringing the pipe to her mouth, I gently encourage her to keep the mouthpiece between her lips. However, her mouth is slack and relaxed, making it challenging to keep it in place.
I use a long tinder stick to light the bowl. Inhaling the smoke calms me down. I hope it has the same effect on her. I gently press my lips against hers and blow the smoke into her mouth. She doesn’t hold much, but I repeat it two more times. This ensures she gets the full benefit of the medicinal blend.
On the third time, she is receptive, and she inhales holding in the smoke, then drops her head back, exhaling a massive cloud of floral-scented vapors into the air. Empress finally opens her heavy-lidded eyes, a slow smile creeping onto her face as she whispers my name.
“I’m here, empress,” I respond, striking a match to light the pipe again. As she inhales, a moment of silence hangs in the air, and then she releases the smoke. We disappear inside a billowing cloud of smoke.
The chiffon robe slips, gliding down her shoulders, unveiling her exquisite breasts. Her perky erect nipples, comparable to the juicy halves of a vibrant red globe grape, catch the eye. She leans back; her sloped body forming a relaxed curve, with her hands planted behind her, her splayed fingers supporting her.
Her legs swing lazily as she jiggles her feet. With a casual movement, she lifts one leg that had been dangling and plants it on the table’s surface. As she releases it, it gently falls to her side. She had been hairless, bare until recently. Her fully exposed female area is now covered with the sparsest amount of silky, straight pubic hair on her creamy mound. The scent of her natural body’s perfume that’s more intoxicating than the opium.
I bring the pipe to her sensual lips for another time, feeling the smooth yet uneven surface of the bamboo with my fingertips. As she inhales deeply, her lips pucker, creating a tight seal. I can hear her exhale, a forced puff echoing in the foggy room. I carefully return the pipe, realizing she’s had enough. Her eyes stay closed, her lips slightly parted. Suddenly, a soft titter escapes her lips, but the sound is hollow and lacking genuine rejoicing, devoid of any mirth.
Kneeling under her at the table, my forehead touches her hanging ankle. Her skin, warm against my brow. “My empress is the most beautiful woman between heaven and earth.” I softly urge reminding her, “Empress must not forget you are beloved by everyone.” as the warmth of my breath reaches her tender, smooth skin and bounces back.
My tears of reverence, burning hot, flow down her shin, tracing her skin. My beloved’s foot rests in my hands as I shower it with love. It’s upsetting to see this goddess choosing to remain untouched for years. She’s made significant progress, but she’s not there yet. She might consider intimacy later, but for now, the idea of a man entering her body may feel like an invasion. I can remind her that she is still alive and capable of experiencing pleasure without penetration.
I gently plant a wet kiss on her flawless foot, untouched by binding traditions. My breath quickens as I leisurely suck on her toes, relishing every second. When I lightly tickle the sole of her foot with my fingertips, she wiggles her toes and a drunken giggle escapes her lips, a light and tinkling sound.
While ascending, I brush my lips against her leg; I kiss and suck on her skin, delighting in the flavor of her flesh and the captivating aroma of her femininity overcoming my senses as her body temperature rises. My rapid gasps intensify before turning into gentle whimpering sounds. My nipples grow hard and painful. Between my thighs, I become moist. It hurts how much I ache to touch between her thighs and pressing my face into her source of pleasure. However, my heart breaks as I notice a bruise on her inner thigh. I weep out in anguish, devastated. “My poor beautiful empress.”
She still marks herself after all this time. In Qingshui City, fourth prince left a dark purple bruise just below her upper thigh during their wedding night. She has been using her nail to bruise the area repeatedly, as if trying to preserve his mark in secret while convincing herself she was over him. While it’s simple to believe you’re past heartbreak, finding true closure is the hardest part.
“I’ll close the windows and help you get in bed because it’s cold outside,” I tell the Empress. Worried, I add, “If you get sick, Prince Haoyu will be very depressed.” Grumbling, she says, “My precious Haoyu,” sounding drunk. “I no longer have a moon or stars. But I do have my vast sky.” Her head moves, wobbling, and flings forward.
As I help her up, holding her hand, she hesitates, her brow furrowing in thought. Looking up, she stares off into space, lost in thought, a common prelude to speaking. However, her head shakes in response to a question, for the dispute taking place only within her mind. The clash is between her heart and her head. She finally nods, albeit reluctantly, as if she’s resigned to it. It appears the two voices have finally agreed.
As the robe slips off and falls to the ground, discarded, I can see that her head won over her heart. She raises her index finger to feel the jagged scar on her chest. It has been four years, yet the scar remains raised, a reminder of the time she fed the fourth prince her blood and flesh. The memory of her devotion weakens her determination from a mere moment ago.
Disagreements between the heart and head often lead to uncertainty and hesitation. Empress is not different. Her head bobs up and down, as if reassuring herself that letting go is the right choice. She resembles a battle-hardened soldier. Which is almost true. She has been in a constant struggle with herself, and her internal battle has reached a conclusion.
Resembling a wounded warrior leaving a long battle, she walks slowly and tiredly to her bed, each step heavy with exhaustion. She leaves the dim dining room behind her, and enters her bedroom, where she disappears into the darkness, like a ghost. She crawls into bed, facing the wall, her knees pulled tightly to her chest. After wrapping her arms around them, she asks me to burn the robe and get a skin balm from the imperial doctor to heal her bruise and scar. Additionally, she wants me to send some donkey heel gelatin to the fourth prince’s wife for her postpartum recovery, as well as six rolls of brocade from her dowry.
Her voice, thin and breaking, barely audible through the uncontrollable sobs she had been holding back. She whispers between weeping, unable to speak the name of the deceased prince, Haomu. The buttery soft clothes were meant for the infant, made by her own hands. “The receiving clothes for….. Please deliver these to the fourth prince, with all the other gifts include my congratulations and best wishes for his newborn son.”
My heart tells me to ask her to keep little prince Haomu’s baby clothes, but my head says it might be better for her to part with them. To start anew. As I pick up her robe, tears stream down my face. I hear the click of prayer beads striking against each other and catch a golden glint behind me. It’s the emperor’s dragon coat standing by the doorway. He gestures for me to follow him to my room. It’s a secluded spot, away from prying eyes, as I use it alone.
I have sense to know our conversation should be confidential. I shut the door behind us and kneel at his feet. He stands in the quiet room, wordlessly extending his open palm to me. Without lifting my gaze from the ground, I immediately reach out and surrender the garment to him. By sound alone, I know he’s holding the robe to his nose. I can almost see his nostrils flaring as he inhales her essence, deeply savoring in the alluring scent of the woman he desires but has not yet yielded to him.
Though he’s been patient, never pressuring her, his desire for her grows stronger. She has been oblivious, unaware, while she sleeps soundly next to him chastely, under separate blankets so their bodies don’t touch. He watches her for hours. His lingering gaze on her face betrays the yearning and passion he holds hidden from her.
He is like dry kindling. He waits for her, the winter’s spark to set him ablaze.
The empress believes she is just one of her husband’s many wives or being his cousin, another sibling since publically he treats her as he does his princess sisters with the fatherly aura he emanates. I find it puzzling that she cannot see the truth. The emperor, her husband, composedly waits for her to realize that she is not simply one among many, but the only one who truly matters to him.
When I bring this up with her, she insists that everything would change if she submitted herself to him sexually.
“Men use their promise to love to gain sexual favors, and women give themselves physically to earn that love. The most enticing woman is one who has evaded capture. I don’t believe in romantic love and it doesn’t have belief in me.” She had said. “Once burned. Twice shy.”
It’s a cruel twist of fate that her husband is the twin of the man who burned and made her forsake love.
“Little Min, please continue taking care of the Empress as you have been. I can see your genuine concern for her. However, remember that the empress belongs to me, the emperor. Your care and affection should not surpass her ankles. Do you understand?”
I lift my head slightly to establish eye contact, ensuring he sees the earnestness in my eyes as I reply, “Little Min understands, and I stand by you. Little Min is on your side, your wingman.”
“My wingman?” He echoes me, pausing before reiterating himself. “Do not surpass her, ankle.” He says this in his usual formal manner before leaving, taking the robe with him.
The empress had selected Noble Consort Shao to be the emperor’s bed companion for the evening. As I envision him insisting Noble Consort Shao wear the robe to pleasure him in the pitch dark, and taking her while pretending she’s his beloved empress, my lips curl into a smirk.
I despise that witch, Noble Consort Shao! The sight of her strutting with an air of superiority, her posture as stiff as a board, and her nose held high in the air. It’s enough to make my skin crawl. She thinks her gaudy clothing and jewelry makes her important, but doesn’t realize that true elegance is like the empress, who values simplicity and humility.
Noble Consort Shao’s attempt to cover up her unattractive face with heavy makeup mirrors her effort to hide her true personality behind a facade of sweetness. She’s the embodiment of wicked. If she even suspects a servant is coveting of the emperor, she will doles out the harshest punishment. She’s lucky to have such a kind and generous empress. I would have executed her for the murder of young prince Haomu.
I rise and gesture with my middle finger extended towards her palace. “Take that, you hateful bitch! I hope the emperor fantasizes about my mistress while he cums on your fugly face!” I curse clearly when I hear a familiar throat clearing sound. It’s the emperor, and he’s still here! I quickly drop to the ground, trying to become the floor and my face plants flat on the back of my piled hands.
“Emperor, please kill me! Little Min deserves nothing but death.” I whimper and wait, but the emperor simply clears his throat. “Don’t send prince Haomu’s clothes to fourth prince’s wife. When she’s back on her feet, the empress will wish she hadn’t done this.” He instructs me stoically and exits, deliberately stomping his boots with louder and more distinct steps than usual, ensuring that I realize he is indeed leaving this time.