Chapter 22
Bai Qian
At my age, few can treat me like a child, but Zhe Yan always will—to him, I’ll always be Xiao Wu or little girl.
“I’m glad you’re lying down, Xiao Wu. You need to rest. Yingpei told me you haven’t slept in days and have developed a fever,” Zhe Yan said, his voice a mix of concern and gentle reproach.
With both tenderness and nonchalance from familiarity, he took my wrist in his hand, slender graceful fingers pressing firmly yet gently to measure my pulse. His expression was that of a worried father, eyes soft yet stern, a forewarning to the scolding that fell out in a rush. “Falling ill won’t help anyone! Imagine if Ying’er returned tomorrow and found you sick. The grief I would catch from her for not tending to you properly would be..aya… scary.”
“I’ve brewed a tonic to reduce your fever and help you sleep, and shooed everyone away from the den until tomorrow.”
“Thank you. I’ll drink it later,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. I shook my head away, but he pressed on. “You’ll drink it this very instant, little girl and like it.” Zhe Yan’s eyebrows arched skeptically as he brought the small vial to my lips. Reluctantly, I swallowed every drop under his watchful gaze as the bitter mixture coated my throat. He patted my hand reassuringly and popped a sugar cube in my mouth just as he had done when I was a child. “Rest is the best medicine,” he said as he left.
The quiet of the Fox Den settled after the departing voices and footsteps, leaving me alone. The exquisite mural on the ceiling, something new, painted by Yingpei who had inherited Ye Hua’s artistic ability, was barely discernible in the dim light.
My eyes fluttered shut briefly. The White Nail Tailed foxes and Gold, Black and White dragons appeared to move, frozen in perpetual, silent dance and flight.
I blinked again feeling time lose its meaning, and I couldn’t tell if I’d been lying there for a minute or a millennium.
I blinked once more, this time my eyes were hot, heavy and groggy from medicine and fever, but it was the movement at the far side of the room, a barely-there disturbance in the dark, that drew my gaze away from the painted deities above.
There, in the spilling light from the hall outside my room, two figures stood caught in the liminal glow. Both were tall, shadows rimmed in lamplight, nearly indistinguishable except for the set of their shoulders and the way they seemed to balance and mirror each other.
Only when the nearer of the pair shifted, and his profile caught the glow of the lamp, did I recognize Ye Hua in the sharp angle of his jaw and the severity of his lowered gaze. The other, broad-shouldered, straight-backed and motionless, was Mo Yuan.
They did not speak at first. Seeing them both seized me with dread. Flashes of the worst-case scenario instantly crossed my mind. My mouth went dry as my breaths came short and fast and I barely found my voice when I croaked. “Has something happened?! Has my Ying’er returned?!”
The words emerged as a rasp, dry from anxiety and fatigue. I tried to prop myself up, succeeded only in shifting a few inches, barely enough to keep their faces in view. “Tell me everything, don’t leave anything out! What has happened!?”
“Shi qi, calm down.” Mo Yuan was the first to speak and move. He crossed the distance in three strides and his hand settled on my head, slow and soothing, the way he might have calmed a wounded bird. His fingers spread against my scalp, firm but gentle, and with his thumb he traced the line of my temple, as though measuring the heat of my fever. “Nothing has happened,” he said, his voice gravelly with his customary concern. “We were worried about you.”
The statement was so simple, so unadorned, that for a moment I didn’t know how to react. My first instinct was to dismiss him—to say that I was fine.
I turned my head to Ye Hua, whose demeanor was markedly different. He stood just inside the threshold, arms folded across his chest, his face set in a mask that could have been carved from obsidian. The set of his jaw suggested irritation, though whether it was at me or Mo Yuan or the entire situation was unclear.
“I’m fine. There’s no need to worry about me.” I replied, and when Ye Hua only arched a brow, I added, “Ye Hua, you shouldn’t be here. Go home to your wife before she comes here and makes a scene. I don’t have the energy or patience to deal with her.”
He wordlessly replied with a clenched jaw. He didn’t answer at first, which unsettled me more than any argument would have. Instead, he took a measured step toward the bed, eyes never leaving mine. He doesn’t mention or acknowledge my concern for his wife. “If you’re so fine and there’s no need to worry,” he said, quiet but edged, “then why are you trying so hard to convince us? Or yourself?”
I opened my mouth, but words failed. There was no retort for that. What was the point in arguing with a man who knew me as well as Ye Hua did? He was someone who saw through my lies, so I said nothing.
The silence and tension threatened to collapse the room. I sought a distraction and found it in the way Mo Yuan now perched on the edge of my bed. I leaned into him to make further distance from Ye Hua who was left hovering awkwardly at my feet, as though he had yet to decide whether to move closer or leave.
Feeling disoriented and confused while they remained perfectly composed was unsettling. Trying to appear unfettered, natural considering the unusual circumstances, I fumbled for my teacup, drank until there was no more and inquired without meeting their gaze, “What’s the real reason you’re both here?”
The question received no answer from either of them. I shifted in bed uncomfortably and of course Mo Yuan sensed and saw it as he does everything. He moved, placing his palm against the small of my back, and applied just enough pressure to ease me into a comfortable seated position. The warmth radiated through the nightdress, and it was only then I realized how exposed I was: hair unbound, robe in disarray, skin flushed from sleep and fever. My instinct was to recoil, to pull the covers up to my chin, but Mo Yuan’s soothing presence was anchoring, a ballast in the churning currents of my confusion and this situation.
Ye Hua, for his part, was not content to lurk at the periphery. He moved to the head of the bed, coming up behind me so that I was bracketed by the two of them. The air grew suddenly humid, charged with the kind of electricity that precedes a monsoon. Despite my attempt to seem nonchalant. I was painfully, acutely aware and could sense both their gazes—Mo Yuan’s steady, Ye Hua’s restless—trained on me, dissecting, questioning, waiting for me to make the next move.
I made none.
Instead, I held my breath and tried to make sense of the situation while secretly memorizing, reveling in the sensation of their nearness, the way their alpha presences overlapped and tangled in the close quarters of the den. I had never felt so fragile. Or so invincible. Or so aroused.
The spell shattered. Ye Hua’s warm breath ghosted my cheek as he leaned in, his voice a murmur, “Why can’t you be honest?”
I could have interpreted the question in countless ways, yet I chose the most direct approach. My calm, firm response, “I have been honest,” was greeted with a peculiar, inscrutable smirk.
Scoffing, “You’re lying,” he countered, his grip on my hand a vise, strong but strangely painless, an un-suffocating certainty. I struggled to pull away, but not truly enough to constitute it as a struggle, for I didn’t mind his hold on me. Mo Yuan’s hand firmly clamped on my shoulder, a set weight pinning me between them, helpless in the most arousing way possible, and a desperate desire clawed at me to be freed.
“Ye Hua. You shouldn’t be here,” I whispered, my voice weak against his arrogant retort, “While my brother can?” My whispered complaint was lost in the air.
Mo Yuan’s beard grazed my ear when his lips touched my temple. His deep, rumbling voice resonated through my body as he asked, “Does it bother you, Shi qi, to be cared after by both of us?”
Cared after? Was that what this was? Or was it something darker, something inappropriate, more lustful and possessive? Or was my mind jumping to places it shouldn’t?
I thought of all the years I’d spent oscillating between them, the endless push and pull: Ye Hua with his ruthless devotion, Mo Yuan with his measured patience. I’d convinced myself that love was a finite resource, that it could only be given in turns, never shared. But here they were, flanking me on either side, refusing to cede ground to one another, and I felt myself split down the middle, wanting both, terrified by the gravity of that dark want.
“Everyone should leave.” I tried again to retreat, made to scoot away from Ye Hua, but only succeeded in pressing myself deeper into Mo Yuan’s chest. He made no move to stop me; instead, his hand slowly slid from my shoulder to the base of my neck, two fingers resting lightly over my pulse.
I could nearly visualize him: the corners of his eyes crinkling ever so slight. His lips twitching into a nearly imperceptible knowing smile as he sensed my frantic heartbeat pounding against my ribs, a treacherous betraying rhythm under his fingertips. Ye Hua’s eyes, as intense as a scholar studying a rare manuscript, noted every shiver, each breath, and every micro-expression on my face as my body revealed my suppressed desires, but it wouldn’t be me unless I tried to deny the obvious.
“I don’t understand what you want from me,” I shrugged and sighed, a lie we all knew.
Shocking, Ye Hua grabbed my arm. A sudden, cool breath on my skin preceded his lips pressing against my palm—the one he held captive. The warmth of his mouth, softer than I recalled, lingered; a tiny scrape of teeth against my knuckles. Why wasn’t I stopping him? Why wasn’t I pushing him away when I knew better?
Mo Yuan’s arm, a comforting weight around my waist, pulled me closer. The scratch of his mustache against my jaw was a sharp contrast to the warmth of Ye Hua’s touch. “You know,” he murmured, his voice a low hoarse moan. “You always have.”
A sharp gasp slipped from my lips, developing into a soft whimper and finally a low moan as Mo Yuan’s teeth lightly grazed my neck, then sank in with a deliberate bite, marking me again at his will.
My mouth hung open in shock, and my eyes widened as I watched Ye Hua’s lips, searing like a brand, trace a path from my knuckles to my wrist. His tongue lingered at the pulse point, savoring the rhythmic throb, before his teeth delivered a sharp nip that sent a tingling sensation down my spine, forcing me to press my legs together in a futile attempt to contain the warmth that surged within me.
The possessive action felt both indecent and provoking, marking me not as a source of solace but as an object owned. Though I couldn’t understand why it was so heat inducing even cherishing, loving? A shiver ran through me as desire and decency battled within.
“The truth, Qian Qian. What do you want?” Ye Hua’s soft voice bore no trace of anger or rivalry, yet it was tinged with a hunger I attempted to disregard, a passion I recognized all too well. It was a desire I had forced myself to forget, as it was beyond my reach and no longer mine to crave.
I ought to have rejected it with all my might. This would have been the proper thing to do. I should have resisted fiercely, but my voice failed me, and my thoughts spun in chaos. Reason disappeared beneath the overwhelming intensity of their focused stares as I came to terms with what I really wanted? The answer was painfully simple, yet utterly impossible.
I wanted everything.
But I was afraid, too—afraid that wanting would shatter the fragile peace, the delicate balance we’d painstakingly established. Afraid that yielding would unleash a torrent of jealousy, hunger, minds splintering into craziness, and the bitterness of regret. That treacherous road, marked by the familiar stones of love, jealousy, obsession and regret, was one I knew too damn well.
I must have paused for too long, because Mo Yuan leaned in, his lips tracing a path from the back of my neck up to my ear. He whispered so softly that I almost missed it: “Shi qi. There’s no disgrace in this love.”
In a fluid, almost choreographed motion, Ye Hua released my hand with a graceful precision. His muscular arm snaked around my shoulders, gently pulling me into the comforting cradle of his lap. I gasped, the sound catching in my throat like a fragile bird trapped in a snare. He held me with a firm tenderness, our faces so close that our breaths mingled, and our gazes locked in an intense, silent conversation.
I knew this was wrong, but when Mo Yuan’s voice, soft yet commanding, ordered, “Kiss him,” it felt like a sacred benediction, an absolution for my transgressions. My lips eagerly, much too readily and absolutely without a shred of shame captured Ye Hua’s without considering the ramifications or his wife. I cared nothing of her and his children but clinging to this stolen moment as the world around us faded into a blur of sensation.
The sensation of his lips on mine was achingly familiar and impossibly sweet, like a memory of home brought to life. His lips pressed harder, deepening the kiss, and I tasted the salt of my own tears as they streamed down my face. His tongue gently glided into my mouth, exploring with a tender urgency that left me breathless.
My hands found their way to Ye Hua’s face, cradling his jaw, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips. How long had I yearned to hold him? I pulled him closer, desperate to anchor him to this moment, to bridge the severed connection between us that was too precious to be broken. “Qian Qian..my love..” I kissed him harder swallowing his words that were both too painful and too gripping to hear.
At the same time, Mo Yuan’s teeth grazed and bit into the nape of my neck—not breaking the skin, but enough to send a jolt of heat straight to my core. A groan escaped my lips, unbidden, and I felt myself quivering in Ye Hua’s lap, my body betraying my desperation. Both men could feel my desire, a tangible thing that hung heavy in the air like a thick, intoxicating perfume.
“Why are you doing this?” I whispered, my voice cracking, a desperate plea to stop, but more so, if I’m being honest, a desperate wish for it to never end.
Mo Yuan’s answer was simple, a statement of fact rather than an explanation. “Because we can.”
Ye Hua, his lips pressed to my cheek, murmured into my skin, “Because you want us to.” His fingers brushed my cheek, thumb tracing the line of my jaw. “You belong to us. Mates.”
The word was like a ritual, a sacrament, or a curse. I could no longer tell the difference. I was lost in a sea of sensation, a puppet to their ministrations.
As if compelled by gravity, their hands began to move in tandem—Mo Yuan’s palm drifting up my hip to the bare slope of my shoulder, Ye Hua’s fingers working the tension from the base of my skull. I was suspended between them, powerless yet exalted, like a rare artifact caught between two warring collectors.
“Is this what you want?” Mo Yuan asked, the tip of his tongue flicking the sensitive shell of my ear.
For once, I did not try to analyze, or resist, or run or lie. I simply accepted and existed, desired by the two men who had always and were again building temples out of my ruin. I couldn’t speak, so I nodded, eyes closing against the onslaught of sensation.
They must have taken that as acquiescence, because suddenly their hands were everywhere—Mo Yuan’s fingers exploring my ribcage with clinical precision, cupping and fondling my breasts, Ye Hua’s mouth marking a path along my collarbone as he rolled the nipples of the breasts Mo Yuan was cupping and groping. My body arched involuntarily, seeking friction in Ye Hua’s lap, and an inaudible sound escaped my lips. I felt Ye Hua’s answering growl vibrate against the curve of my breasts, primal and full of want.
There was no preamble, no further need for words. The air was thick with unmistakable intent, and as their hands and mouths found new territory, I surrendered to the gravity of them, to the inevitability of what was happening.
In the chaos of lips and teeth and tongue, it no longer mattered who touched me where, only that I was touched, that I was seen, that I was claimed.
Ye Hua’s hand snaked around my throat, tilting and turning my head back until I was faced to face with Mo Yuan. “Qian Qian, you belong to both of us. Say it.”
My breath bounced off his skin when my lips parted, but this time the truth came easily, riding the crest of my own desperate want. “I belong to both of you.”
Mo Yuan’s teeth found the tender spot below my ear and bit down. I cried out; the sound swallowed by Ye Hua’s mouth as he claimed it again, his lips bruising mine in a kiss that was both challenge and promise.
We fell together, a tumble of limbs and gasps, and for the first time in my life, I felt infinite.
Their hands worked in concert, stripping away the last barriers of cloth and doubt, baring me to their twin hungers. I let them take everything. I wanted to be consumed, devoured, made whole and new in the fire of their attention.
Ye Hua’s hand found my thigh, nails biting crescents into my skin. Mo Yuan’s fingers slid between my ribs, tracing the lines of my breath, my heartbeat. I was hyperaware of every touch, every sensation amplified by exhaustion and desire.
My skin was feverish, flushed, and unashamed. Mo Yuan’s mouth marked a path down my spine, his tongue lapping at the sweat pooling between my shoulder blades. Ye Hua sucked at the hollow of my throat, his hand never leaving my jaw, holding me steady as if I might shatter.
And then, when I thought I could bear no more, Ye Hua ground me into his readiness, his body aligning with mine, the hard line of his arousal pressing against my heated sex. His breath was ragged, his control fraying at the edges. “You want this…me. You always have.” he said, not a question but an invocation.
I nodded, unable to speak, every nerve ending sparking with anticipation.
Mo Yuan came around to face me, his eyes dark with want. “Look at me,” he said, and I did. For the first time, I let him see everything—the fear, the hunger, the love. He cradled my face in his hands, thumbs brushing tears I didn’t know I’d shed. “Beautiful,” he said, and the word transformed me as he pulls me from Ye Hua’s lap.
In the dance of shadows and flickering lamplight, they pressed against me, their bodies searing mine, a fever dream come to life. Mo Yuan’s lips crashed onto mine, his kiss a storm, demanding and possessive, a primal claim that left me breathless. A hoarse moan escaped me, swallowed by his hungry mouth, my hands shaking as I clung to his shoulders, desperation in every fumbling finger. Behind me, Ye Hua’s hands explored my body, his touch a wildfire, igniting my skin, leaving me aching and wanton.
I was lost in them, a creature of sensation, unraveled and reborn with every kiss, every touch, every whispered promise that scorched my flesh. My back met the soft fur of the bed, their hands and lips never leaving my body. Mo Yuan broke the kiss, his eyes dark pools of desire to take in the sight of me. His lips captured mine again, his tongue delving into my mouth. Ye Hua’s hands pushed my thighs apart, his fingers then his mouth finding my slick, molten heat. When he pressed his face into me and groaned between sloppy licks, “So fucking sweet.” A choked cry escaped my lips, swallowed by Mo Yuan’s eager mouth as my hips throbbed against Ye Hua’s, releasing a silent, desperate plea for more.
They passed me back and forth, playing me like an instrument, their touches and kisses a symphony of seduction. Mo Yuan’s hands found my breasts, his fingers pinching and tugging at my hardened nipples, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through me. Ye Hua’s tongue and fingers plunged into my core, his thumb circling my clit as he bit the inside of my thighs, a relentless rhythm that drove me wild. I was a writhing, wanton thing, lost in a haze of lust, my body theirs to command.
Their lips, warm and soft, hard and demanding crush against mine, one after the other. I stand on the brink, my muscles taut, a coiled spring about to release. Mo Yuan’s hand, cool and smooth, glides down my skin, his fingers intertwining with Ye Hua’s, stealing my breath. Their rhythm builds, fingers pumping a heated tempo, thumbs swirling against my clitoris; a wave of intense pleasure crashes over me.
Crying out, a sharp, earsplitting scream rips from my throat, my body convulsing violently beneath their weight. The wave of pleasure crashes over me, leaving me boneless and spent, a limp thing. Their relentless touches, however, prolong the exquisite agony, drawing out each shudder and gasp. The air vibrates with the sound of pleasure and movements, and I know with certainty—they are far from finished. I am a vessel, an offering, a supplicant begging for more.
Their bodies, hot and hard against mine, press against me, their erections a promise of more. I’m intoxicated by the smell of their sweat, their arousal mixes with my own. I feel the smooth texture of their skin against my hands as I reach for them, encircling their lengths. A low groan rumbles from them, their hips deliberately thrusting against my hands. The taste of them fills my mouth as I bend, my tongue licking, then sucking on each in turn while they finger me, in turns, at once, but that isn’t enough.
I desired absolute inner fulfillment. I need the bliss and the pain. “Please,” I whispered, my voice ragged, a desperate plea. “I need you inside me.”
Mo Yuan flips me over onto all fours but low, positioning himself at my entrance, his body a promise, a claim. “Tell us you’re ours, Shi qi,” he demands, his voice a growl of possession.
“I’m yours,” I breathe, a surrender, a promise. “I’ve always been yours.”
“Good girl,” Mo Yuan groans, his voice a deep, gravelly whisper rumbling in the hushed room, a sound intertwined with our ragged breathing. He sinks. The powerful and painful thrust joins us, a scorching, breathtaking pressure that steals my air. His slow, deliberate, satisfying strokes ignite me, stretches me. Each delicious inch savored. My fingers dig into the bedding, twisting the fabric as high-pitched whimpers and moans escape—a raw cry breaking free as he stretches me to the limit. His overwhelming dominance floods my senses; my muscles clench involuntarily around him.
What has happened to me? How can I be doing this while staring at Ye Hua, but he stands before us, his gaze unwavering and free of any trace of jealousy. His eyes, almost black with arousal, pierce through the air, holding us in place. With a firm yet gentle touch, he guides my head downward towards his throbbing manhood. The weight of his hand on my head is reassuring, firm, and filled with authority, which is unneeded because I’m begging him. “Please Ye Hua.” I groan out urgently between panting breaths.
As I draw closer, the earthy, masculine scent of Ye Hua’s skin envelops me, invading my senses with its intoxicating aroma. It wraps around me like a warm embrace, stirring a primal desire deep within me.
“What’s that?” he purrs, a smirk playing on his lips. The words, “Say you love pleasuring me orally while Mo Yuan’s inside you,” hang heavy in the air, thick with a brazen confidence that stings. My cheeks burn; the urge to slap him is almost overwhelming, a physical tension coiling in my shoulders. His audacity—a suffocating wave of heat—is breathtaking. Yet, his smug certainty is a chilling reality; my desperate bluff is called. This game of love is his..theirs to win.
Mo Yuan pulls out, leaving an emptiness, and leisurely rubs himself against me, sending shivers down my spine as they both tease me, coaxing me into a state of desperate need. I drop my head, unable to meet their gaze or to let them see the mindless, lascivious animal they’ve turned me into.
“Please.. please…I need you both at the same time,” I finally admit, my voice trembling with shame, desire, and uncontainable lust. “I love..” my voice is but a strained whisper but the words flow effortlessly in a rush from my lips. “love pleasuring you orally while Mo Yuan’s inside me.” As Mo Yuan tenderly strokes my back and whispers in his velvety voice. “Good girl,” I whimper and squirm on my knees, nearly reaching climax as every part of me tingles.
Ye Hua gently raises my head, supporting it from underneath until our gazes meet. “You are most beautiful when you’re honest,” he whispered. “Dege, let’s not keep our lover waiting.” Mo Yuan, who was leaning, rubbing against me, sinks back, filling me to the hilt as Ye Hua’s cock slips between the seams of my lips.
Wantonly, I hungrily take his desire into my greedy mouth, the warm, yielding flesh rock hard against my tongue. Rolling my tongue along the underseam, licking the length from root to head, the salty tang of pre-cum, a heady scent that spins my head. My tongue swirls, savoring the firmness and the silken smoothness a thrilling contrast against my lips. Steadying myself on one hand, I stroke him faster, wetter, the friction hot against my skin, his length deep in my throat, blurring my vision with tears, my drool warm against his balls. A rhythmic thrusting—Mo Yuan’s insistent pressure against my aching core, the slick warmth a vibrant heat and friction between us—soaking me as I fervently bob my head on Ye Hua’s beautiful cock. It’s a symphony of pleasure, a dance of surrender and overwhelming claim, a feverish heat building, consuming us all.
As Mo Yuan’s grip on my hips tightened, he guided, pulling me into him with each unrelenting thrust, causing my knees to lift off the bed in response to his needs. The intensity of his strokes increased, becoming more urgent and sporadic, his body growing tense with anticipation like a tightly wound coil ready to release. In a guttural voice, he declared, “So beautiful.
“I’m going to….” his words carrying a mixture of promise and possession. “Inside me,” I beg, my walls fluttering around him, a desperate plea. “Fill me.”
His feral roar, a hot, thick vibration in the air, prickles my skin. The crushing pressure, the searing heat—unbearable. Desire, a dam about to burst, threatens to drown me. I fight to prolong the exquisite agony, but Ye Hua’s husky groan, deep and resonant, as he holds my head against his pelvis. His breath, hot and ragged, fans across my skin as he penetrates my mouth. “Mo Yuan, knot inside her, plant your seed while I come in her mouth,” he rasps, igniting me like a firecracker.
I explode.
Then, the orgasm—a tidal wave of searing pleasure, stealing my breath, leaving a fiery brand on my soul. The raw intensity leaves me trembling, skin slick with sweat, flushed crimson. This isn’t just an orgasm; it’s a breathtaking, dizzying madness, a vivid, unforgettable claiming—a dream of such searing intensity it leaves me breathless and trembling.
It’s just a dream.
As I remove my fingers from my hardened nipples and move them between my quivering thighs and sex, which is still slick with arousal, I open my eyes to the quiet room. The ceiling mural gazes back at me, a silent witness to my desperate and depraved fantasies.
“Bai Qian, have you lost your mind?” I called out into the silence, my voice echoing off the cold walls. “Indeed, I completely have,” I answered myself, the words a stark admission of my descent into madness. Maybe it’s the lingering effects of resurrection? Or the fever muddling my mind. A reverse harem with Mo Yuan and Ye Hua? What am I thinking? I’ve lost my damn mind.