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Is there a sight more adorable, more pleasing to the eye, than the one unfolding before Jinshi right now?
In their bedchamber, upon their shared bed, his wife lies half‑reclined, pillows propped behind and beside her for support. Their child, Wenxin, lies against her chest, while she nurses him—quiet, save for the occasional faint cooing, his tiny hand clutching at her robe with the weakest of grips.
The robe Maomao wears is one of his own—dark purple. It drapes loosely over her shoulders, one side slipped down to expose her breast so she can feed the baby freely. One hand cradles his small back, while the other strokes his hair as she hums the lullaby she’s always used.
Her voice is soft tinged with the faintest hints of drowsiness, and her eyes never leave him—absorbed in watching his expression. Both are entirely immersed in each other that they do not notice him standing frozen at the doorway, only a few steps away.
That sight does things to him he cannot control; his heart races, his breath stumbles, warmth spreads steadily through his chest, rising to his face as his lips tremble upward involuntarily.
Jinshi holds his breath, placing his hand over his mouth to suppress whatever sound threatens to escape him—he can’t even tell if it would be a gasp of awe or a stifled laugh. All he knows is that it comes from deep within. He realizes that if he doesn’t pull himself away this instant, he won’t be moving anytime soon. And that stepping closer to them instead, sitting with them, is a much better idea, where he can enjoy the moment and savor it up close.
His day at work had been hard and draining, made worse by the tiresome necessity of listening to some court ministers insist that he should consider the interests of the throne, and seriously think about taking a concubine beside his wife, who, by the way, is still in the midst of her recovery after childbirth. Which, according to them, means he is presently deprived of certain needs, and that there is no shame or harm in seeking to fulfill them elsewhere, while she rests.
Listening to them is something he cannot avoid, no matter how much he detests it, but he would never be convinced by such nonsense, nor comply with any of their demands or rather pressure.
In truth, all they want is to serve their own selfish ambitions and gain advantages at the expense of him and his wife’s feelings, fragile and weary as she is after giving birth to his second child, a male heir no less—something they’ve maliciously brushed aside.
So to be greeted by such a scene upon returning home feels like a reassuring pat on his heavy shoulders, lifting all the burdens, sweeping away all the unpleasant thoughts, and makes him forget everything—even if only for a few blissful moments.
Jinshi clears his throat as he steps toward them. “I’m back.”
Maomao looks up quickly, startled; so she really hadn’t noticed him.
Her expression softens right away, despite the tiredness in her features. She smiles at him, The warmth in her eyes, which just moments ago had been directed at their baby, now turns toward him.
“Welcome back.”
He smiles in return, the corners of his mouth relaxing at last, the scowl that had shadowed his face all day fading away.
He climbs onto the bed beside her and wraps his arms around her, resting his head on her shoulder. Closing his eyes, he breathes in relief for a long moment. Maomao says nothing and simply rests her cheek against his head.
A deep sigh escapes him, before he lifts his head at last. He looks into her eyes, the corners of his eyes narrowing, his shoulders relaxing. Jinshi reaches up to brush the strands of hair from her cheek, tucking them behind her ear. Maomao smiles gratefully.
He glances at Wenxin and sees his eyes fluttering, half-shut with sleep. From the way he suckles weakly at her breast, and the slackening of his tiny hand, he’s clearly very drowsy. Even so, Jinshi cannot resist reaching out to stroke the infant’s head with his thumb, making a gentle humming sound, hoping for a reaction.
Watching him intently, Maomao places her hand over his and speaks quietly, careful not to disturb the baby: “Is something wrong? You seem different from how you were this morning.”
Burying his face in her hair, Jinshi murmurs, “Nothing at all.”
The moment the pleasant scent of camellia oil reaches him, it wraps around his senses completely, until he finds himself unable to focus—unable to think of any proper reply.
He inhales deeply into her hair and kisses it. From there, he moves to her cheek, pressing his lips to it. Slowly, taking his time. His nose and mouth trail their way along her skin—to her jaw, her chin, then to her neck and bare shoulder—where he plants scattered, feather-light kisses.
Maomao huffs, murmuring faint, indistinct words he can’t quite catch—likely a half-hearted complaint, trying to push him away and remind him of the now-sleeping baby in her arms. The warmth of her skin beneath his lips seeps into him.
When he reaches her chest, he first slides the robe lower and pauses to inhale there, rubbing his nose from side to side, then presses a small, delicate kiss to her now-free breast.
Jinshi lifts his gaze to her, taking in the sight of that cute blush spreading from her cheeks to her ears and down her neck. He whispers, breath uneven: “You have no idea what seeing you like this does to me… wearing my robe, nursing our child…”
He clears his throat and continues, voice rough: “You look utterly bewitching—cradling him in your arms, stroking his head, that tender expression softening your face… The blush that bloomed because of me, the sweet scent of your chest—it all overwhelms me…”
Avoiding his gaze, Maomao turns her head aside: “You’re exaggerating! How could you even find the scent sweet? There’s nothing special about it!”
Before he can reply, she seizes the chance to adjust her robe, carefully rising from the bed with Wenxin in her arms to place him in his cradle.
She chose to ignore everything he’d said—responding only to the last remark, just as the sly cat she is!
Still, that doesn’t bother him. Jinshi knows perfectly well that he’s already pierced through her composure, melting her restraint as he has countless times before, and that her heart must be thumping like a rabbit’s now, forcing her to use the baby as an excuse to stand up.
He moves toward her, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his chin atop her head.
Jinshi whispers sweetly, “No, to me it is special… everything meaningful lies right here…”
He turns her around to face him and runs a finger down her chest. “The skin here is so soft, so warm… and with it, the scent of our baby, the lingering warmth still clinging to your chest, mingling with it…”
Maomao shakes her head, grasping his hand, lips trembling. “Ah, Jinshi—that tickles!” she stammers, breath catching. “I understand what you mean, just stop…”
Seeing how she reacts to even such innocent teasing—the way she trembles, stutters, and flushes—he forces himself to withdraw his hand before losing control, though not without flashing her a mischievous smile that earns him a frown.
He chuckles, leaning down to erase that frown with the lightest brush of his lips. Before he pulls away, she surprises him by pressing her lips to his in a quick peck, her hands clutching at his chest, gazing downward and lashes lowered.
What a woman—she knows exactly how to drive him crazy!
But this time, he won’t give her what she’s wordlessly asking for. Instead, he kisses her nose lightly, then her forehead, and keeps scattering kisses across her face.
letting out a breathy laugh, Maomao pushes him away: “Stop that, please! Haven’t you had enough yet?!”
He catches her hand and murmurs: “It doesn’t seem like I could ever get enough of you…”
He lifts her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, and teases: “By the way, why are you wearing my robe instead of your own?”
Caught off guard, Maomao yanks her hand back and retreats toward the bed, lying down. Shrugging, she answers: “After bathing, I found Wenxin crying, so I hurried and grabbed the first thing I found ready in front of me.”
He follows her to the bed, replying with obvious amusement: “Which happened to be my robe, not yours—when I wasn’t even expected home at the time…”
She doesn’t respond right away—only moves closer and leans her head against his chest, her arms slipping around his waist. A soft sigh escapes her. “Anyway, it’s comfortable for me like this.” Her cheeks coloring as she adds with a pout, “Enough questions already! Are you the only one who gets answers, while you ignore what I ask you?”
He hugs her back, fingers threading through her hair. He swallows hard as worry starts creeping in.
Jinshi doesn’t want her to know about the ongoing talks regarding concubines—not now, when she’s still recovering. “What do you mean? What was your question?”
“I meant earlier, when you came back—” she cuts herself off and leans forward, burying her face in his hair. She inhales there and moves lower to sniff his clothes, before lifting her head to examine his expression, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. He can almost swear he saw cat ears twitching atop her head as she did it.
Uneasy, he asks, “What is it? Is something wrong?”
Maomao's brows furrow, the corners of her mouth drooping. Quickly, she turns her back to him, lying on her side, murmuring quietly—her voice trembling at the end: “Nothing at all… We should sleep now.”
Stunned, Jinshi protests: “Maomao, that’s not fair! You can’t just go to sleep after making me worry!”
He draws a shaky breath. “Don’t you even want to hear the answer to your question?”
She exhales and mutters, “There’s no need. I already know it. I’ve heard the rumors—”
Turning to face him, she continues, her tone reproachful yet shaded with a faint sorrow only he would notice: “So don’t ever do something like that again, especially not now, when they’re pressuring you to yield to their demands.”
Jinshi asks in confusion, “Please, explain—what did I do?”
Maomao sits up, and so does he, waiting as she approaches him. With a sigh, she climbs into his lap, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, looking warmly into his eyes. “I mean coming back to me like this—freshly bathed, changed into new clothes, hair combed and neat…”
She lifts her hand to ruffle his hair.
He exhales in relief and speaks in an apologetic tone: “I just didn’t want to trouble you with such things when I return late, adding to your burdens while you’re already dealing with so much—”
Maomao interrupts him by pressing a finger to his mouth. Her whisper comes gently, yet carries an underlying fierceness. “That’s not a burden. I can do that much for you, just as I care for our child now. You could even do it here—not elsewhere. What would those ministers say if it happened again? They’d use it against you and try to force their daughters on you.”
She shakes her head in regret, the beginnings of a blush coloring her cheeks: “Besides, haven’t you realized by now that I like doing those things for you myself? It’s the only thing I can do for you, when you bury yourself in work and wear yourself out for our sake…”
Maomao ends her words by bending down to press a gentle kiss to his chest, resting her head there, her hands clinging to him with unusual strength.
Encircling her back with trembling hands, Jinshi whispers hoarsely: “Just know this—you are already doing so much for me, and you have always been my support throughout our marriage…”
Lifting her chin to meet his gaze, eyes steady with resolve, he tells her: “And you must know this too—I won’t yield, nor let them have what they want. Not for this, nor for any other reason…”
He leans forward, resting his forehead against hers, his voice shaking: “One woman is enough for me—one mind, one heart, one body—you, and you alone… are the one I want, and always will. You have to believe that.”
Maomao nods, cupping his cheeks in her hands, a tender smile curving her lips: “Jinshi, I already do. You’ve always gone to such lengths—some of them even insane—to prove it to me.”
Only then does Wenxin wake up crying, and at once his mother goes to him, taking him into her arms and returning to their bed.
As soon as she lies down and slides the robe off her shoulder, adjusting the baby against her chest, Jinshi moves close and wraps his arms around them both from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder, his hand tracing slow circles over her belly.
Silence fills the room, broken only by the soft rhythm of their breathing, the faint sounds the baby makes as he feeds, and Maomao’s low humming.
In a haze between sleep and wakefulness, Jinshi hears his wife’s soft whisper:
“Don’t go to work tomorrow. Stay with us…”