I slipped into Room Three, clutching the glowing vial like it was both sacred and cursed.
Yuling was already lying down on the floor mattress, wrapped in a pale blanket embroidered with chrysanthemums. Her face was pink, her gaze locked on the ceiling like it owed her an apology.
She didn't say a word. Didn't have to.
I closed the door behind me, sealed off from the world—and very aware that the vial in my hand contained something more powerful than a thousand court secrets.
"You heard Room One, right?" I asked.
She nodded once. Still pink. Great. So she, like me, had been... affected.
I tried to keep my voice clinical. Unemotional. Like a palace midwife and not a traumatized best friend.
"All right," I said. "You should start now. Get… close."
She fidgeted beneath the blanket. "I can't look at you while I—"
"Oh gods, no, don't!" I waved my hands. "Just—cover your face. I don't have to see anything. You don't have to see me. Nobody has to see anything."
With a quiet sound somewhere between a giggle and a groan, Yuling pulled the blanket up over her face. Then, slowly, she reached down beneath the cover.
A second passed. Then another. Then—A soft moan slipped out of her mouth.
My spine stiffened like I'd been electrocuted.
Oh god this is live porn.
What the hell did I get myself into?
Another moan. Louder this time. She was panting now, uneven, breath catching like her lungs were trying to remember how they worked.
My cheeks burned. My hand trembled holding the vial.
I could feel my own heartbeat pounding through my entire body. It echoed in my ears. It echoed in the floor.
And—
Why the hell was I getting turned on?
I swallowed. Hard. I wasn't even touching her. I was just in the room. But her moans, her breath, the sound of her fingers—gods help me, this was spiritually compromising.
Then I heard it. A whimper. My name.
"Mei Lin," she gasped. "I'm close."
My brain exploded into static.
"F-Fuck," I muttered. "Okay. Okay okay—Okay!"
I flipped the blanket down from her hips with a dramatic flourish like I was unveiling a piece of forbidden art.
"Prop your legs up," I ordered, voice high and definitely not professional.
She obeyed. One hand still working furiously, the other gripping the sheet.
Pap smear, I chanted silently. This is just a pap smear. Be. Professional.
Her face stayed hidden, still under the blanket.
I held the vial in my shaking hand, lined up the funnel, and—
Pressed.
She jerked.
My entire soul panicked. "Did it hurt?!" I blurted, halfway to an apology.
A muffled, breathy voice answered from beneath the blanket. "N-No."
I froze, still holding the vial.
"Yuling," I whispered. "Now. Please."
Her hips trembled.
Her voice came out strained, panting, desperate: "I'm—I'm finishing!"
I tipped the vial just as she convulsed—Back arching, muscles tightening, breath catching as a final moan tore out of her chest like it had been pulled from her soul.
And then—stillness.
Silk fell flat. Her body dropped back onto the mattress like a wave receding from shore.
I sat there, frozen, the empty vial still warm in my hand.
I shoved the pillow under Yuling's hips, told her to keep her legs up for thirty minutes, and bolted like I was running from divine judgment.
Ming Yu was waiting just outside.
Leaning against the wall. Arms crossed. But his entire body was tight. Controlled. Dangerous. And his ears—his ears—were bright red.
He'd heard everything.
His eyes met mine and darkened. Something simmered just below the surface—jealousy, fury, hunger. I barely had time to brace before he grabbed my wrist and pulled me down the corridor without a word.
We reached Wei Wuxian's chamber. Ming Yu shoved the door open with one hand, strode to the bookshelf, and pushed the candle holder. A panel clicked open. Stone stairs spiraled downward, swallowed by shadow.
"You guys have a secret room?" I asked, blinking.
He didn't stop walking. "How else do you think they hid their relationship? The man moans louder than thunder."
He tossed his sword on the wall hook, grabbed my hand again, and yanked me into the dark.
The door shut behind us with a solid, final slam. The array activated, muffling the noise and bringing the dim candles to life.
And then he turned.
And he kissed me like I was oxygen after drowning.
Chapter 54.5 : Ancient Vial and Secret Room (Continued)
His mouth crashed into mine—hot, hungry, all frustration and fury and heat. I gasped, and he took advantage of the opening, tongue sweeping in, hand fisting in my robes, dragging me closer until there was no space left to breathe.
I didn't fight it. I couldn't.
The way he kissed me—like he hated how much he wanted me—lit something wild and reckless in my chest. My fingers curled into his collar, tugging him down harder, until we stumbled back against the stone wall.
His hands were everywhere.
Sliding down my back. Gripping my thighs. Yanking up my layers with rough, impatient tugs. Every brush of his skin set mine on fire.
"You shouldn't have been the one to do that," he hissed against my jaw. "You shouldn't have been the one to hear her—help her—touch her—"
I bit his bottom lip. "Then you shouldn't have stood outside and listened."
He groaned, low and ragged, and shoved his thigh between my legs, rubbing his part on my sensitive spot.
I whimpered—half from shock, half from relief. My body was already humming from everything I'd just witnessed and now it had a target. A focus.
Him.
He kissed down my neck, biting once—hard—before lifting me effortlessly. My legs wrapped around his hips. He pinned me to the wall, one hand under my thigh, the other untying the sash at my waist with shaking urgency.
Clothes hit the floor.
Then his hands were on my hips, guiding me, positioning me—until he was pressing against me, hot and hard and ready.
"Tell me to stop," he growled.
I didn't.
So he thrust in—fast and deep—and I cried out, my back arching against the cold stone.
It wasn't slow. It wasn't sweet.
It was raw, desperate, the kind of passion that came from weeks of biting your tongue, pretending you didn't want someone more than air.
He drove into me again and again, every stroke punishing, every moan swallowed by his mouth crashing back into mine.
Our hips slapped together, echoing off the walls.
His hand moved between us—finding me—flicking, circling, matching his rhythm with practiced precision.
I clenched around him, panting his name, clutching his shoulders like I'd fall through the floor without him.
He swore. His voice cracked.
"Mine," he breathed. "You're… mine."
And when I shattered—back arched, mouth open, vision whiting out—he kept going. Kept driving into me like he could bury himself deep enough to undo everything that had happened tonight.
Then he gasped, stilled—his whole body trembling.
He came hard, groaning into my throat, holding me so tight I thought I might break.
He didn't stop.
Even after we came down from the wall, gasping, and still trembling—he didn't stop.
He grabbed my wrist again, pulled me toward the bed tucked into the corner of the hidden chamber—soft and low, barely more than a platform of quilts and silk-stuffed cushions, but it would do.
My legs were still shaky when he turned me around. Bent me forward.
His palm pressed between my shoulder blades, firm but not cruel.
"Don't move," he murmured.
I didn't. I couldn't.
I braced myself on the edge of the mattress, heart pounding, skin flushed and hypersensitive. My knees sank into the soft surface as he shifted behind me.
Then—without warning—he thrust into me from behind.
I gasped. The angle was deeper, sharper. I gripped the silk cover beneath me like it could anchor me.
He set a brutal rhythm—fast, hard, punishing. Every thrust sent a shock up my spine, every slap of skin on skin pulled a ragged sound from my throat.
I could feel him everywhere. Hot breath against my shoulder. One hand gripping my hip so tight it would leave a mark, the other snaking around to find me again—his fingers moving with purpose, coaxing every sound from my lips like he'd been waiting a lifetime for this.
I was already close.
So close.
The tension coiled low in my belly, building fast and sharp, until it snapped—white-hot and dizzying, my body locking up as I came hard, crying out into the mattress.
I didn't even finish the scream before I felt him following, hips slamming forward one final time with a deep, guttural groan.
He spilled into me with a shudder, collapsing over my back, his mouth pressed against my shoulder as his breath broke against my skin.
We stayed there.
Breathless. Spent.
Our bodies still tangled.
Our skin still burning.
He didn't say anything. Neither did I.
Because there was nothing left to say.
Not yet.
Just the sound of his heart against mine.
And the fire we'd finally let consume us.