Flower Stealing Master

“Fresh water is the most precious thing on a ship at sea,” Song Qingshu said with complete seriousness. “Having a whole bucket prepared for bathing is already quite an indulgence.”

“Is that really so?” Zhou Zhiruo gave him a look of measured scepticism.

“I swear on my integrity.” His eyes, however, had drifted of their own accord to where she stood — having spent so much of her inner energy, she was soaked through with sweat, her clothes clinging close, the graceful lines of her figure visible beneath. The fine strands of hair pressed damp against her cheek gave her an unintended, unwitting charm.

“Your integrity…” Zhou Zhiruo suppressed a smile, then frowned. “What about Elder Sister Qi?”

“My Zhiruo is as pure as jade and fresh snow — there couldn’t possibly be anything unclean about you. I’m sure she won’t mind.” Seeing Zhou Zhiruo still hesitate, Song Qingshu went on cheerfully: “You wouldn’t know this, but back in my homeland, one of the greatest basketball players of the age once publicly declared he would be willing to drink the bathwater of a certain famous actress.”

“Shameless wretch.” Zhou Zhiruo went red and made a dismissive sound. She couldn’t quite follow what a basketball player or an actress were, but she could picture the sentiment well enough.

“Mingong Du, the man had a certain quality to him, one must admit,” Song Qingshu said with a private thought of apology. Sorry for dragging you into this, A-Du. But those were your actual words.

“All right, all right — you go stand over there.” Zhou Zhiruo had no desire to continue this line of conversation.

“Why should I —” Song Qingshu moved toward her immediately. “We’ve been husband and wife long enough. What’s there to be shy about?”

Zhou Zhiruo shifted lightly on her toes and was out of reach in an instant, her skirts swinging, as light as a butterfly. She glanced toward where Qi Fang sat and lowered her voice. “She can see, you know~”

“She’s in meditation. She doesn’t know anything that’s happening over here,” Song Qingshu said shamelessly.

“Get away from me — stop being ridiculous~” Zhou Zhiruo bit her lip, face flushed, and pushed him firmly toward the door.

Seeing she was genuinely getting annoyed, Song Qingshu went without further argument and stood with his back to her near the entrance, reflecting that women of this era really were extraordinarily modest — there were certain perfectly enjoyable things in the privacy of a room that they simply couldn’t bring themselves to attempt.

Though, he thought immediately after, that modesty and shyness was exactly part of their particular charm.

Finding that Song Qingshu really wasn’t looking, Zhou Zhiruo pressed her lips together and quietly began to undo her sash, as though afraid that a single sound might invite his imagination.

Her robe fell away. She slipped into the wooden tub and exhaled a long breath of relief.

She had spent herself thoroughly helping Qi Fang open her meridians — she had been ready to collapse into sleep the moment she lay down. The sweat was the only reason she had forced herself to last this long. Submerged now in warm water, she lasted only a few minutes before her head drooped against the rim of the tub and she drifted into sleep without knowing it.

Behind him, Song Qingshu heard the quiet sounds of water and felt his thoughts begin to wander. He kept his eyes forward, not wanting to push his luck with her — but after a while, when all sound had ceased, the silence proved too much. He turned.

Zhou Zhiruo’s head rested against the tub’s rim, eyes closed, fast asleep. The snow-white curve of her shoulder rose above the waterline, luminous in the lamplight — it was difficult to say which was more crystalline, the water or the skin.

Song Qingshu felt a wave of tenderness. He came to stand behind her, began gently kneading her shoulder, and sent a thread of true qi flowing quietly into her.

“Mmm~”

Even in sleep, she made a soft, involuntary sound of comfort.

“It’s all my fault she’s worn herself out like this.” Qi Fang’s voice came from nearby — she had finished her circulation and come over to check, her expression full of guilt.

“It’s all right. I’m helping her restore her foundations now — a couple of days’ proper rest and she’ll be fully recovered.” Song Qingshu turned to give her a small smile, and then his eyes stilled.

Zhou Zhiruo’s work on Qi Fang’s meridians had left her just as soaked with perspiration — more so, if anything, and the subsequent circuits of qi movement had made it worse. She looked as though she had been pulled from a river, the fabric of her clothes plastered to her figure and leaving nothing of its contours to the imagination. The particular fullness of a nursing mother’s figure was especially conspicuous.

“Come and use the water as well, my lady,” Song Qingshu said, making a reasonable effort at a normal tone. “One bucket between us — please don’t stand on ceremony.”

Qi Fang’s cheeks coloured. “I’ll… wait a little while,” she said quietly. The words were barely out before the damp air off the sea found her and she shivered involuntarily.

Song Qingshu’s voice took on a more serious note. “The situation now is nothing like before. If you catch a chill at this critical stage, the qi sense you’ve just developed could disperse entirely — and everything Zhiruo just spent herself doing would be wasted.”

“Is it really that serious?” Qi Fang was genuinely startled. A chill for herself she could weather — but the thought of undoing Zhou Zhiruo’s exhausting effort on her behalf made her feel wretched.

“I may be modest about many things, but I do have some standing to speak on matters of cultivation. Under normal practice, the Emei Nine Yang Art would take you three to five years to reach what you’ve achieved just now. But since it was accomplished through external assistance, if it isn’t properly consolidated over the next few days — and particularly if a chill exhausts your vital energy at this stage — the newly opened meridians could close up and revert entirely.”

“I’ll… I’ll wash then.” Qi Fang still felt uncertain, but his delivery was so authoritative she didn’t dare risk it. “Can you… turn around?”

“I can’t let go of Zhiruo right now,” Song Qingshu said, with a gesture toward his sleeping wife. “Besides, my lady — is there a part of you I haven’t seen by now?”

“…Fine.” Qi Fang kept her eyes down and, suppressing her embarrassment, began working at her clothing. She couldn’t bring herself to remove everything, and slipped into the tub still wearing her innermost layer, arms crossed over her chest, face burning.

“Is bathing fully clothed a custom from my lady’s village?” Song Qingshu’s amused voice came almost immediately.

Qi Fang’s head snapped up. “When did you — how are you in here?” Song Qingshu had somehow shed his outer robe and climbed into the tub without her noticing.

“So you wouldn’t be embarrassed, obviously. Now we’re both in the same state. It evens out.”

“How does that even out?” Qi Fang muttered — but there was nothing to be done about it, and she turned her attention to washing as quickly as possible.

Song Qingshu smiled at her without particular concern, then moved through the water to Zhou Zhiruo’s side and settled gently against her.

The sleeping Zhou Zhiruo’s brow contracted slightly, as though something had reached her through the warmth of her dreams. Her eyes opened. When she saw who it was, she bit her lip and pinched him once on the chest, her gaze hazy. “Stop misbehaving. Elder Sister Qi will see~”

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