He stopped looking at her—a deliberate withdrawal of attention that somehow felt more possessive than his gaze ever had. Instead, he simply held her captive in his arms, one large hand warming the narrow span of her waist while the other reached for a wine cup with lazy grace, pouring with the unhurried movements of someone who had already won.
Ming Yi felt unmoored, trapped between maintaining her act and genuine uncertainty. She attempted to slip from his embrace, testing the boundaries of his claim, but the moment she shifted, his arm locked around her like iron wrapped in silk.
"You want a drink too?" His voice held idle curiosity.
She shook her head with vigorous denial, but he seemed to regard her opinion as decorative rather than determinative, bringing the cup to her lips anyway. "Or perhaps you're being considerate, knowing this lord can't drink anymore."
If you can't drink anymore, why are you still pouring?
She grumbled inwardly, wrinkling her nose as she sniffed the potent fumes, then reluctantly allowed a small sip past her lips.
The liquor hit like liquid fire.
She fumbled with the cup, her coordination suddenly unreliable, spilling wine that soaked through the thin silk of her garment. The fabric clung to her skin like a second layer of moisture, emanating a warm, heady fragrance that mingled with jasmine and alcohol.
Ji Bozai looked down to see her cheeks flushed the color of peach blossoms, her eyes filming over with mist. She looked like a piece of pink jade submerged in water—translucent, glistening, precious in its vulnerability.
She couldn't hold her liquor at all.
He studied her for a moment longer, cataloging the way intoxication softened her calculating edges, then held the cup to her lips for several more sips. Research, he told himself. Purely observational.
As the alcohol flooded her system, Ming Yi's eyes reddened like someone on the verge of tears. She nuzzled against his chest with unconscious trust, mumbling, "No more."
She curled against his heart like a kitten seeking warmth, her soft white hands wrapping around his waist with surprising strength—clutching him the way a drowning person clings to driftwood, as if he were the only solid thing in a tilting world.
Ji Bozai found himself unreasonably pleased by this development. He adjusted his hold, half-embracing her shoulders, and fed her a bite of food with the attentive care of someone taming a wild creature.
Yan Xiao watched this domestic tableau with visible amazement. "You intend to take her back with you?"
He glanced at Yan Xiao with mild irritation. "Why not?"
"This isn't like you at all." Yan Xiao shook his head, his expression somewhere between concerned and bemused. "You've never kept any of the previous dancing girls. Don't act rashly out of momentary spite, only to abandon her later. These women at the banquet are all pitiful souls."
How tediously moral.
Ji Bozai couldn't be bothered to mount a defense of his character—or lack thereof. Seeing the person in his arms growing drowsy, her weight becoming heavier against him, he stood with fluid grace. "You handle things with Qian Li. I'm leaving."
"You're quite good at delegating tasks to me," Yan Xiao complained, though his tone held more resignation than genuine protest.
Ji Bozai snorted lightly, adjusting his precious cargo, and swept toward the side door without the courtesy of bidding farewell to the Grand Minister. Protocol was for people with something to prove.
"That man…" The Celestial Official beside the Grand Minister tracked Ji Bozai's departure with disapproving eyes, shaking his head like a disappointed teacher. "He has talent in abundance, but lacks self-control."
The Grand Minister smiled with the wisdom of someone who understood that useful weapons often had sharp edges. "Fighters are rare. It's good that he has things he likes. Better than being interested in nothing at all."
"Your Excellency is wise."
The music swelled behind them, filling the space they'd vacated. Ji Bozai exited through the moon gate of the inner courtyard, his footsteps echoing on the imperial road paved with blue stones that gleamed like fragments of frozen sky.
"So wobbly," the person in his arms mumbled, her words slurring together.
Ji Bozai responded with deliberate suggestiveness, "It'll be even wobblier later."
This penetrated her alcoholic haze. She immediately covered her forehead with both hands, genuine panic flooding her features. "If it wobbles anymore, it'll spill!"
Her breath carried the sweet fragrance of expensive wine, and her befuddlement was so complete, so utterly without artifice, that he found it devastatingly charming.
He couldn't resist the question. "What will spill?"
"Me!"
"What are you?"
"I'm a golden cup!" She kept her forehead covered and looked up with glazed eyes, her logic operating on some dream-plane understanding of reality. "I've just been filled with wine. I can't spill."
He chuckled, the sound rich with genuine amusement, leaning close to kiss the back of her hand. His voice dropped to a teasing murmur. "If you drink it, it won't spill."
She pondered this philosophical solution for an extended moment, her brow furrowing with the effort of intoxicated reasoning. Finally, finding his logic sound, she removed her hands and offered her forehead to his lips with the solemnity of someone presenting a ceremonial vessel. "You drink a little, just a little bit."
Unable to resist any longer, he laughed—a full, unguarded sound that rang through the empty courtyard. He lifted her higher in his arms, brushing his thin lips across her forehead in a gesture that started playful before he gave in to impulse and captured her babbling little mouth directly.
Ming Yi's pupils contracted sharply—a flicker of awareness piercing through the fog—then quickly became shrouded in mist once more.
She whimpered, a sound caught between protest and confusion, trying to resist. But his movements were practiced, skilled, gentle enough that nothing felt threatening. Instead of frightening, it felt soothing, almost hypnotic, and somewhere in the midst of yielding, she lost all strength to fight.
The sky stretched above them, filled with stars scattered near and far like diamonds studying the entire night sky. Several celestial bodies loomed even larger than the moon—icy blue, deep purple, pale yellow—floating in the dark curtain of night with halos of luminescence that seemed fantastical and magnificent, as though the heavens themselves were celebrating.
She gazed upward at the cosmic display, her eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment, weighted by wine and warmth and the strange safety of being carried. Finally, she couldn't keep them open any longer.
Ji Bozai settled her onto the beast-drawn carriage, his gaze tracking her sleeping face with unexpected tenderness—the kind that surprised even himself.
The driver cleared his throat carefully. "My lord, shall we head straight back to the residence?"
"No, go to the villa in the east of the city."
"Yes, sir."
Ming Yi slept with the peaceful obedience of a child on his lap, her breath soft and steady. He occupied himself by playing with strands of her hair, letting them slide through his fingers like black silk thread, then took the opportunity to examine her hands more closely.
The back of her hand was soft and white, pampered-looking. But her fingertips felt distinctly harder upon closer inspection—the telltale roughness of calluses earned through work that dancing girls shouldn't need to perform.
He lowered his eyes, pretending not to notice this inconsistency, and continued to gently caress her cheek with his thumb. Some mysteries were more entertaining when allowed to unfold naturally.
Upon reaching the villa, he issued quiet orders to the driver. "Have Bu Xiu bring my things over."
The driver departed to carry out his instructions while the maids and older women stationed at the courtyard emerged with the efficient bustle of people well-versed in their lord's habits.
They were experienced in this particular ritual. They took Ming Yi away with gentle hands—to bathe, to change into suitable garments, and to perform the examination that protocol demanded.
Ji Bozai was notoriously particular about his acquisitions. He wouldn't keep anyone marked by scars, nor would he keep anyone who failed to meet his standards of cleanliness. Beauty was abundant; pristine beauty was rare.
After what felt like an eternity of waiting, the old woman emerged wearing a knowing smile, nodding at him without speaking—the universal signal that everything had passed inspection.
He acknowledged her with a slight nod, changed into more comfortable robes, and made his way to Ming Yi's assigned room.
She was sleeping soundly, showing no signs of consciousness returning anytime soon. He reached out experimentally, and she responded with a soft gurgling sound, nuzzling into his palm like she recognized his touch even in sleep.
What a waste of a fine night.
Displaying unusual patience—the kind that would have shocked anyone who knew his reputation—Ji Bozai lifted the brocade quilt and lay down beside her, pulling her pliant form onto himself.
Her black hair had been left loose, cascading around her shoulders and making her appear even more delicate and enchanting than she had at the banquet. Her small face retained its rosy flush, but her skin was snow-white where the color hadn't bloomed. Lying sprawled on top of him, he could see the delicate architecture of her collarbones and the particularly full, tempting curves below.
His throat tightened involuntarily as he raised his hand, fingers hovering—
"My lord… your servant deserves death, but please go to the front quickly and take a look. Something has happened!"
The untimely voice shattered the moment like a stone through glass.
Ji Bozai impatiently waved down the bed curtain, his voice sharp with frustration. "We'll discuss it tomorrow."
"But someone has brought the Imperial Guards. They're right outside the door, saying they must see you immediately."
The Imperial Guards served the inner court exclusively and wouldn't mobilize without grave cause. Their presence meant something had gone catastrophically wrong.
He tensed, every leisurely impulse evaporating. Carefully, he placed Ming Yi back on the pillow as though she were made of porcelain, then rose with sudden purpose, throwing on his outer robe and yanking open the door.
"What has happened?"
"We don't know the details, but everyone who visited the inner court tonight is being questioned one by one."
Such a massive undertaking was unprecedented—alarming in its scope.
He strode out to meet them, encountering Meng Yangqiu, the leader of the Imperial Guards, who executed a formal bow with an expression of grim professionalism. "Lord Ji, there has been a murder in the inner court. We have orders to search all residences. Please forgive the intrusion."
Ji Bozai's eyebrows lifted fractionally. "Is it that serious?"
Meng Yangqiu gestured for his men to begin their methodical search before stepping aside with Ji Bozai, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "To be honest, I find it strange too. The victims were sitting right there at the banquet, and they lost their lives in full view of everyone. The people nearby thought they had just passed out drunk—you know how these banquets go. Who would have guessed that when the eunuchs tried to rouse them after the festivities ended, they found the men had been dead for hours."
To assassinate someone directly under the Grand Minister's nose, in a room full of officials and guards—that required either extraordinary skill or extraordinary audacity. Possibly both.
Ji Bozai's mind raced through possibilities. "With such skillful methods, what do you honestly expect to find in your search?"
"There was blood under one victim's fingernails. The coroner suspects he scratched the killer before dying—probably in his death throes." Meng Yangqiu's expression grew more serious. "So the Grand Minister ordered us to search everyone who attended the banquet today, fearing the evidence might disappear in a few days if we delay."
Hearing this, Ji Bozai smiled—a sharp, confident expression that held no humor—and waved his hand dismissively. "Then you won't find anything in my residence. You know how particular I am. The dancing girl I just brought back doesn't even have a single mole, let alone a scratch."
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