Chapter 31: The Princess Clings to Him.

Zhao Rongzhang enjoyed playing with the cat, mainly because she liked watching his beast-like, clumsy face display a rich array of expressions. The most amusing was when he was held by her and made to cry. Lost in the sensations she gave him, he would weep uncontrollably time and again, a mix of shame and abandon—truly a beautiful sight. Next was that time he lost his temper with her, actually trying to push her away, though he ultimately failed. It was utterly adorable.

The primary purpose was to detoxify, but dry, mechanical detoxification held no appeal. Playing with the cat, making him cry or laugh, was a great source of pleasure for her. Lately, however, this pleasure had not been realized even once. She had knelt and let him have his way all night, yet he remained expressionless. How could she be satisfied? How could she not be furious?

Hmph. Let’s see you stay expressionless, let’s see you hold back. Zhao Rongzhang stared at Little Mute’s tear-filled eyes, flushed cheeks, and lightly bitten lower lip. Her fingers blocked his release, twisting and grinding with force as if turning a wooden pillar. He wept incessantly, his soft, pale chest rising and falling in the flickering firelight. She sneered, “Little Weapon, little plaything, do you enjoy being played with?”

At these words, Little Mute’s reaction intensified. His tear-filled eyes, reflecting the crystal-clear, blazing firelight, opened slightly to gaze at her. Little Mute’s eyes could speak, and Zhao Rongzhang understood them. She heard these eyes questioning, softly crying out in pain. Zhao Rongzhang paid no heed, her gaze still cold as she toyed with his body like kneading dough. He looked at her like this for a while, finally convinced from her strength and actions that she truly saw him as nothing but lifeless meat, that she was determined to demean him, to play with him until he had no dignity left… Suddenly, he gave up looking into her eyes and turned his face away.

The arm the cat had kept clenched at his side lifted, one hand grabbing her shoulder, the other pressing against her arm. With his face turned aside, wet with tears like rain-soaked peach blossoms, he gently pushed her away. He wanted to refuse, he didn’t want this, he didn’t want to be played with by the Princess. He didn’t want it at all.

But the more he resisted, the more excited the Princess became. Last time was the same—he had been so angry, so wronged, pushing her away with all his might, yet she only wanted to play with him more, determined to bring him to the brink of death. Did she think this was fun? Was this just a more amusing way to play with her toy?

The Princess laughed again, she laughed once more. Her play grew even more excessive, several times nearly crushing him in her palm. Guan Xuan’s leg muscles trembled with pain, yet she said, “You’re so beautiful.”

Guan Xuan had already realized he had no dignity to speak of. The key wasn’t being forced to endure her play and humiliation, but that he could leave—so why didn’t he? Taking a step back, at the very least, he could have been cold enough toward her, not investing any emotion or feeling in her—so why did he pity her? Taking yet another step back, to this very moment, he could have pushed her away with all his strength, preventing her from touching a single hair on his body—so why didn’t he use more force?

He belittled and degraded himself, insisting on being her soulless toy. It was all his own choice, so how could anything she said be wrong?

This undeniable fact tormented him more than any humiliation from the Princess. Guan Xuan avoided even glancing at her, trying to ease his pain by convincing himself he was nothing but a lowly, debased object—his thoughts, emotions, feelings, and body all belonged solely to his master, his Princess. His only purpose in life was to bring her pleasure; he must stop questioning what he truly was.

Only this mindset offered some relief. He closed his eyes, his resistance fading until only his palms lightly pressed against her body, silently hoping she would be gentler, not so rough—he was in pain. Amid the dizzying sensory assault, he seemed to hear many words shaming him. And they were right—he was exactly that kind of person. He was base; the more he suffered, the more pleasure he derived. With every insult the Princess hurled, he echoed it in his heart, affirmed it, embodied it. When she called him lewd and wanton, his body proved her words true, trembling and spilling cold, raw fluid onto the Princess’s hand.

As his thoughts cooled, his eyes wept physiological tears, but his heart no longer cried for this—it had turned ashen. Fate continued its course: he must fetch water for the Princess to wash her face, prepare a soft grass sleeping mat for her, repel mosquitoes, fan her… Tomorrow, he would prepare her breakfast, carry her forward, onward. The Princess must accomplish her goals; she must win. He must serve well as her tool, her plaything.

Guan Xuan allowed the Princess to toy with his lingering sensations, waiting for her to release him and issue another command. Yet she continued kneading his foul mess, making a large area viscous and slippery, without letting go. Guan Xuan waited with downcast eyes for a long time until finally, the Princess said, “Go wash up.”

Gathering his clothes, Guan Xuan walked toward the river. The crescent moon hung bright as a hook, slicing the river water into bloody, glittering ribbons like a sickle. He saw his reflection in the water—his disheveled, half-undressed self—resembling the fish he had just gutted. They were the same. Guan Xuan removed his clothes, folded them neatly, and waded into the river to wash every part of his body clean. He then washed his clothes, dried them with inner force, and dressed himself again layer by layer. Only once he was fully and neatly dressed did he return to his Princess.

The Princess was playing with the fish that had ultimately been burnt, holding the skewer curiously to her nose to sniff. Guan Xuan no longer looked at her—he would never look at her again. When he stopped before her, he kept his eyes lowered, his thoughts drifting far away.

“Lie back down.”

The Princess’s words pulled his soul back. Guan Xuan first knelt on one knee, then lowered himself to the ground. Mid-movement, the impatient Princess pressed down on his shoulders and chest. Guan Xuan let her force him down. The Princess began stripping his clothes again—she never tired of this. Guan Xuan looked up at the vast, deep blue sky, where a cold crescent moon hung like those familiar, reappearing ghostly shadows.

Guan Xuan stared back at the ghostly figures, his expression as cold as theirs. No matter how the Princess defiled and toyed with him, his heart would no longer stir for it. All the tenderness and joy were no match for habit. As he was growing accustomed to this, the hands that had stripped his clothes did not linger long on his chest but moved to his shoulders and slid down his arms. Gazing at the crescent moon, Guan Xuan felt his chest soften and grow heavy as the girl’s body slumped against him. The Princess did not humiliate or abuse his body; she simply lay down on top of him.

Guan Xuan felt the two mounds of his chest being pressed against by the two halves of her face, now and then shifting. Her face was so soft, so warm, like a plump flower bud. Nestled like this, she lazily let out a sigh: “Be my bed.”

Cool and soft, much more comfortable than grass.

Guan Xuan watched the swaying shadows of branches in his vision, feeling the Princess’s body draped over him. Her hair brushed against his chin, tickling him with its softness.

Zhao Rongzhang tightened her arms, her eyelids drooping, and added two more sentences: “Don’t move around, close your eyes, breathe evenly. Don’t stay awake and disturb my sleep.”

The last line was already a clear instruction. When she was awake, Little Mute had to be awake; when she was asleep, Little Mute still had to remain alert at all times. Little Mute had no rest day or night, endless roads to travel, endless tasks to complete, but he too could fall ill, and Zhao Rongzhang had already seen how he looked when sick.

Without such demands, he would never sleep.

Yet Zhao Rongzhang was not particularly sleepy. Having slept through the entire day and now stirred by emotions, her mind was sharp. Listening to Little Mute’s deliberately even breaths, her thoughts drifted, and she found the skin beneath her face especially soft, smooth, and comfortable, unconsciously rubbing against it several times.

The Princess’s heartbeat showed no signs of sleep. Guan Xuan listened silently, unmoving.

Before the sun had fully risen, Zhao Rongzhang could no longer bear the light filtering through her eyelids and woke leisurely from her dreams. The moment she opened her eyes, the body beneath her also lifted its eyelids. Her chin felt slightly damp; Zhao Rongzhang touched the corner of her mouth—it was drool from her improper sleeping posture. She wiped her mouth, then wiped Little Mute’s chest, full and soft like a plump steamed bun.

In the bright daylight, waking up and looking down to see this pink-tinted skin, chest muscles like sweet white bean buns, she suddenly found them appetizing. After staring for a couple of breaths, her mouth even began to crave. However, she did not act on it. Play was play, but she could not develop too much desire for his body. The men in paintings, gnawing left and right, looked truly ugly.

Little Mute dressed himself, smoothing out every wrinkle in his clothes, gathered a nest of bird eggs, caught a wild chicken, tossed the eggs into the fire to roast, plucked and skinned the chicken, tore it into three or five pieces, skewered them separately, and roasted them. Zhao Rongzhang ate two skewers, held the rest in her hand, draped herself over Little Mute’s shoulder, and slowly ate as they walked.

The swelling had not fully subsided, so she could not walk much. She was also lazy, unwilling to walk far.

The journey passed in silence.

By the time the sun had fully risen, the dew covering everything had dried, and sunlight pierced through the layers of forest canopy to shine upon them. As they passed along a small path, they saw a farmhouse, and further ahead, more farmhouses and fields. Walking through the village, Zhao Rongzhang and the sallow, emaciated farmers sized each other up, wordless.

By the end of Shen hour, the sun was almost directly overhead. Little Mute carried her and finally reached the town. As the crowd grew denser and Zhao Rongzhang’s feet hadn’t touched the ground for days, her waist ached, her muscles felt weak, and her head spun. She took the initiative to get down and walk on her own. Little Mute followed closely behind her.

This town was far larger than the last one, with three main streets and six alleys bustling everywhere—houses and shops packed tightly together, people coming and going in a lively stream. At a glance, countless wine banners were visible, so there was no need to worry about finding an inn to stay in. Zhao Rongzhang also confirmed the town’s location within the entirety of Great Zhou, and from there, all related roads and practical information became clear in her mind.

The streets were filled with vendors selling snacks. Zhao Rongzhang saw someone knead a dough a few times, flatten it, then press it into a round, heated barrel. When it was pulled out, it had become a golden-brown, crispy flatbread. Moving closer, she could smell a savory, flaky aroma. They said this was called shaobing, one coin for one piece, three pieces for two coins. Zhao Rongzhang spent two coins to buy three pieces. She ate two and tossed one to Little Mute, but after a couple of bites, she found it too dry and threw the rest to him as well.

As she walked, she bought snacks all along the way, but after just a few bites of each, she would toss them to him. Little Mute watched as the Princess passed by inn after inn without entering any, unable to understand what she intended to do. Before they had even finished walking through the streets, he was already carrying over ten different kinds of food, far too much to stuff into his stomach all at once.

She was so poor that staying at an inn required careful calculation of every moment—how could she bear to spend money like this?

In front of a signboard, the Princess finally paused briefly, stepping back to look up and examine it. It was a medical clinic, quite spacious and decorated with considerable care. Among those entering and leaving, none wore patched clothing.

Zhao Rongzhang strode inside, sensing Little Mute’s steps hesitate. She turned slightly, a faint smile playing at the corners of her lips as she met his eyes, filled with worry and confusion. “Come on up,” she said. “Let’s properly treat your inability to shoot.”