Song Qingshu’s mind raced as he quickly considered his options:
‘Should I say it was because she was too beautiful and I couldn’t resist?’
No doubt she’d slash him without hesitation.
‘Or should I invoke Tang Kou Bian’s dying words, playing the righteous role of her man, framing that night as lawful intimacy?’
Even if Gebi spared him out of respect for Tang Kou Bian, she’d surely despise him forever.
Truthfully, Song Qingshu wasn’t worried about her dagger—she had no martial skills, and he had countless ways to escape. Even if he didn’t dodge, a single layer of protective Qi would render her strike harmless.
What troubled him was the image he’d leave in her heart. After all this time together, he’d already begun seeing her as his woman. He didn’t want to lose her completely.
“Over the years, I’ve wandered far and wide, meeting many women—yet none gave me a sense of home. You were the exception. Every time I saw you waiting for me with such tenderness, calling me ‘husband’ with such affection… I began to believe it was real. That you were my wife, that we were a loving couple. But I knew it was all a lie, so I tried to avoid you. Until that night… when I forgot my mask and frightened you. Then you k!ssed me, and in that moment, I stopped caring. I just wanted you to be mine. I acted recklessly, and for that, I’m sorry.”
His voice dripped with the honeyed sorrow of unrequited love—so thick it made his own teeth ache.
‘This is all just a script! Zhiruo, Qingqing, Ah Jiu, Bing’er… Forgive me. You, too, gave me a home.’
Inwardly, Song Qingshu was already apologizing to his wives while mocking his own manipulative tactics. Still, though most of his words were calculated, one part was true—Gebi had made him feel at home.
Gebi’s jade-like cheeks flushed crimson. “So you’re saying I seduced you, and that’s why you lost control?” Yet despite her anger, she couldn’t deny it—he had been avoiding her, and she had k!ssed him first…
“No! It was my own feelings for you—feelings I shouldn’t have—that led me astray.”
Gebi stared at him, her expression shifting through countless emotions before her eyes reddened. She threw the dagger aside, hugged her knees, and began to sob.
Song Qingshu exhaled in relief—he’d made it through.
Seeing her bury her face in her arms, shoulders trembling, he sighed and pulled her into an embrace. “Cry. It’ll help.”
“Don’t touch me!” She struggled instinctively.
But this time, he held her tighter. “You need someone to lean on.”
Her body stiffened, but she didn’t resist further, collapsing against him as she wept.
Song Qingshu felt no desire—only the need to comfort her, gently patting her back.
Eventually, her sobs quieted. He glanced down to find her asleep in his arms, exhausted from grief.
Rather than move her to the bed, he held her close. There was nothing he could do to ease her sorrow—only offer warmth.
The night’s exhaustion caught up with him, and the faint fragrance of her hair lulled him to sleep.
As dawn broke, Gebi stirred awake—and froze when she realized where she was.
A quick check confirmed her clothes were undisturbed, and his hands hadn’t strayed. Then she remembered: in her dreams, she’d been trapped in an icy void, shivering with grief—until a warm voice soothed her, and strong arms became her refuge.
Seeing Song Qingshu’s bare torso, she understood—and her face burned.
Carefully slipping free, she gazed at the sleeping man, sighed, and draped a thin blanket over him before leaving.
Song Qingshu, half-awake, noticed her departure but was too drained to rouse fully.
Much later, he awoke to find Gebi seated at his bedside in mourning robes.
“Madam…?”
“I wish I could hold rites for Wogula,” she said bitterly, “but until Wanyan Liang is dead, I can’t risk alerting him. The only thing I can do is mourn in secret—though I hope you don’t find my presence ill-omened.”
“Your devotion to Brother Tang Kou Bian is admirable. How could I think such a thing?”
Now he studied her properly: snow-white robes, a face veiled in sorrow—ethereally beautiful.
“A woman in mourning is twice as fair.” The old saying rang true. He recalled Shuang’er in her widow’s garb, equally enchanting—and what followed.
His pulse quickened—then he inwardly scolded himself. ‘She’s a grieving widow! Have some decency!’
Lost in thought, he barely registered Gebi kneeling before him.
“Wanyan Liang has my brother’s trust and countless experts at his command. A lone woman like me stands no chance. But you—you’re a hero, Wogula’s sworn brother. I beg you… Avenge him!”