Queen O's Timid Fugitive A - Chapter 32
32
The morning air was slightly cool, the sky not yet fully bright. The eastern horizon was just beginning to lighten, the gray dawn gradually fading. The air carried the fresh scent of rain-soaked earth mixed with the fragrance of osmanthus flowers.
With a creaking “yiya,” the tightly shut wooden lattice window was pushed open. The rich aroma of bamboo wine surged outward. A slender figure in a thin, flowing dress outlined a graceful form, the fabric tracing the flat curve of her abdomen and the soft, rounded arcs above. Her long, pale neck still bore faint red marks.
Perhaps disturbed from a restful sleep, her upturned eyes shimmered with a sleepy mist, her expression listless, softening her usual haughty air and adding a touch of languid charm. Her ruby-red eyes glanced toward the opposite side.
The culprit who had kept her up late and forced her to rise early was right there.
She wasn’t sure if all Alphas were brimming with boundless energy or if it was just this one who didn’t need rest. Early in the morning, she was already up, holding that wretched bamboo flute.
Xu Fusheng’s legs felt weak, so she simply leaned against a wooden chair to sit. Something flashed through her mind—her legs curled, pressed against the other’s shoulder and neck…
The young Alpha’s hair wasn’t as soft and smooth as it appeared. It was slightly coarse, with a few stubborn, stiff strands sticking out, prickly to the touch. But…
Xu Fusheng’s gaze fell on the shakuhachi flute in the other’s hands, a flicker of obscure emotion passing through her red eyes. Playing that damned bamboo might be good for holding one’s breath, but she wondered if it could train the tongue as well. Xu Fusheng had never played the shakuhachi herself, so naturally, she didn’t know its intricacies.
Unlike her usual boneless sprawl across the table, she felt the surface still carried unclear traces of moisture. Leaning back in the chair, she lifted her eyelids and lazily gazed outside.
A white-robed figure, a withered tree, and a shakuhachi flute—a perfect trio.
The desolate, far-reaching sound of the shakuhachi always carried a hint of lonely melancholy. The white-robed girl with clear, aloof features lowered her eyes, cradling the yellowish bamboo. She sat with one leg bent in front of the withered tree, as the wind swept up scattered petals around her.
The morning mist gathered around her. In the distance, the city was waking—dogs barking, water cups splashing heavily onto the ground, mothers urging their children to get up, and the sound of cartwheels rolling over stone tiles.
The solitary sound of the shakuhachi drowned out all else, tugging at the night, refusing to let it go. It was obsessive and unrestrained yet carried a wild, exhilarating freedom. Only in this moment could one glimpse the true nature hidden beneath her warm and courteous facade.
Xu Fusheng watched quietly, the spring breeze of last night still lingering at the corners of her eyes. Her gaze shimmered with rippling light, like waves spreading in circles.
This was her Alpha…
An Omega accustomed to schemes and conspiracies could hardly fail to notice the other’s deliberate approach. But it was merely a playful jest, stepping into the hunter’s trap.
The Alpha, fortunate enough to be spared, had inquired about Xu Fusheng’s daily habits the very next day and intentionally played the shakuhachi in the garden along her usual path.
Surrounded by servants, Xu Fusheng walked along the cobblestone path. She glanced toward the source of the sound. The white-robed girl stood out starkly in the night. With a wave of her hand, Xu Fusheng stopped the guards from interrupting. Her gaze landed on the rare black hair and black eyes of the Imperial Star, lingering for just a breath before moving on, her steps never faltering.
It wasn’t until later that Jiang Ciqing learned the path she walked was paved with the bones of those who came before her. She was the only survivor.
The Alpha’s methods were clumsy and naive, much like her pheromones—fresh bamboo shoots just breaking through stone, bending low, deliberately brushing their leaves against passersby, catching on their clothes and swaying lightly. She thought she’d succeeded, unaware that the other had chosen this path on purpose.
“Xu Fusheng?”
A clear, clean voice broke her reverie. The figure finally noticed her, the melody about to fade halting abruptly. Tucking the shakuhachi at her waist, she walked straight over.
The white-robed girl restrained her cold aura, donning her so-called warm and polite shell. Her cool black eyes held a trace of reproach. “Why aren’t you wearing a jacket?”
Irritated from having her sleep disturbed, Xu Fusheng merely raised her eyelids in response.
Fortunately, Jiang Ciqing was used to her spoiled nature. She walked in, grabbed a knitted cardigan, and draped it over her.
Xu Fusheng, ever lazy, didn’t even bother lifting her arms, letting the other do all the work. She resembled the pampered lords of other households, who only needed to signal they were awake before maids and servants swarmed to attend them.
This courtyard had long been abandoned, unlike other estates equipped with modern water valves. Washing up still required hot water brought in iron basins. Jiang Ciqing naturally spoke to the guards waiting outside. These were Xu Fusheng’s trusted aides from the barbaric lands, already familiar with Jiang Ciqing, so they followed her instructions without question.
Her earlier wall-climbing antics were the same. If it had been anyone else, they’d have been caught before setting foot on the stone tiles. Jiang Ciqing’s repeated successes were only because Xu Fusheng allowed it, and the Jiang family had been specifically instructed by her.
Neither spoke much, yet there was an unspoken understanding between them.
Jiang Ciqing brought in a steaming basin of hot water. The person inside hadn’t moved, still sitting like a lord on the wooden stool.
Jiang Ciqing, ever dutiful, soaked a white cloth and gently wiped the other’s face. Last night, after the rain stopped, they’d called for hot water to wash up, so now only a simple wipe was needed.
Feeling the warm fingertips glide across her skin, Xu Fusheng briefly felt as if she’d returned to three years ago, letting Jiang Ciqing tend to her like this.
“There’s an old wonton shop in Ping’an Alley with good food. Want to try it?” Jiang Ciqing set down the cloth and spoke softly.
“Whatever,” Xu Fusheng finally replied, her voice slightly hoarse, perhaps from just waking or from last night’s mischief.
That was agreement enough. Jiang Ciqing, knowing her stubborn streak, prepared to head out.
But Xu Fusheng, feeling playful, suddenly lifted her bare foot and hooked it around the other’s calf. Even through the fabric, she could feel the Alpha’s muscles tense instantly. She lightly traced upward along the curve, pausing at the ankle before hooking forward. Jiang Ciqing stumbled, her knees buckling as she fell toward her.
The prepared Omega caught her, then tilted her head to kiss the slightly parted lips. The bamboo scent was as fresh and sweet as ever. Xu Fusheng easily pried open her lips, savoring the bamboo honey within.
“Morning, Jiang Ciqing,” she teased, stealing a moment to speak.
“Morning, Xu Fusheng,” the other echoed, mimicking her.
The slender waist beneath her palm gradually relaxed. Jiang Ciqing lowered her head, pressing closer, kiss after kiss.
Outside, the white mist dissipated, and the warm sun slowly rose, the bustling sounds fading into calm.
When the Alpha grew restless, her hands wandering elsewhere, Xu Fusheng firmly grabbed her wrist to stop her, asking in a hoarse voice, “Not going for wontons?”
Jiang Ciqing paused, hesitating.
Ever adept at manipulation, Xu Fusheng lightly tapped her lips, her voice soft and teasing. “I’m hungry.”
She was the one who started it, and the one who called it off.
The young Alpha pursed her lips, a hint of helplessness in her eyes, but she indulged her, standing up with a muffled, “Let’s go.”
As always, she could never refuse her, only coaxing or obeying.
The osmanthus branches swayed, peeking over the wall. The officials rushing to court and children hurrying to school had vanished, leaving only the rain-soaked moss nestled in the stone cracks, lazily blowing bubbles.
Long boots avoided puddles, and the hand beneath the wide robe held the person behind. With light steps, they wound through the empty alley to the main road.
The small stall, fragrant with meaty broth, was deserted. An plainly dressed old man was bent over, collecting empty bowls.
This time of day was always quiet.
Those who rose early had already eaten and gone to work, while those who didn’t were still in bed, murmuring in their dreams.
The shopkeeper, usually tidying up during this lull before the next rush, looked surprised to see Jiang Ciqing and Xu Fusheng approach but greeted them warmly. “Big bowls or small?”
“Two big bowls of wontons, both with eggs,” Jiang Ciqing answered promptly, then glanced at Xu Fusheng before adding, “One with extra meat.”
The shopkeeper frowned, troubled. “Can’t do that. The wontons are pre-made.”
“No need, then,” Jiang Ciqing said, unfazed. She wiped the table and chairs with a cloth before letting Xu Fusheng sit.
The stall had been open for over a decade, its low wooden stools and tables riddled with wormholes. Jiang Ciqing and Xu Fusheng, with their legs bent, sat awkwardly, their knees higher than the tabletop, looking a bit pitiful.
Xu Fusheng, silent until now, propped her chin on the back of her hand, watching with a smile, clearly in a good mood.
The old man blanched tender greens in hot broth, then added plump wontons. A chipped porcelain bowl held the steaming broth and greens, mixed with other seasonings.
Jiang Ciqing held Xu Fusheng’s free hand, head lowered, her thumb and forefinger tracing along her knuckles, sliding to her fingertips and back again, over and over.
It was a mundane game, yet she seemed endlessly fascinated.
When Xu Fusheng tried to pull her hand back, tickled, Jiang Ciqing held her fingers tightly, refusing to let go, utterly shameless.
The old man scooped up wontons, added eggs, and scalded chopped raw meat in boiling water. He tapped the meat with a small spoon, making a crackling sound, then covered the pot to simmer briefly before adding it to the wontons. Sprinkling seaweed, dried shrimp, and green onions completed the dish.
When the steaming bowl was set on the table, Xu Fusheng, who’d been claiming hunger, finally felt it. She casually took the porcelain spoon Jiang Ciqing handed her, not bothering with thanks, and began scooping wontons.
She had a bad habit: she loved the meat but not the skin, yet she enjoyed eating wontons.
When Jiang Ciqing first learned this, she found it absurd and incomprehensible. Seeing Xu Fusheng eat two whole wontons, she sighed in relief—only to look down and see her tossing the skins into her bowl.
Staring at the thin skins floating brazenly in her soup, Jiang Ciqing pursed her lips, sighed helplessly, and scooped whole wontons into Xu Fusheng’s bowl.
The broth was fresh and sweet, not greasy. The skins were thin and soft, melting with a light touch of the tongue. As for the meat…
Jiang Ciqing vaguely recalled the meat in these wontons was always fresh.
The warm sunlight draped over the two sitting side by side like a veil. A few strands of silver hair drifted onto the other’s shoulder, tangling with her black hair. Their clasped hands never parted, their posture slightly awkward, yet neither moved to change it.
The scene was too beautiful. The old man, resting on a high stool, saw them and smiled wistfully, as if recalling something nostalgic.
After finishing her bowl, Xu Fusheng reached over with her spoon, splitting a round egg in half. The runny yolk slid out, mixing with the broth.
“Xu Fusheng…” The Alpha beside her spoke weakly, her voice barely a warning.
“Hm?” Xu Fusheng replied with a bright smile, not feeling the least bit guilty.
Jiang Ciqing opened her mouth, words on the tip of her tongue twisting into something else. She wiped the broth from Xu Fusheng’s lips and asked softly, “Full? Want more?”
“Enough,” Xu Fusheng replied, her motion of stealing half the egg smooth and natural.
For some reason—perhaps it tickled her—Jiang Ciqing, now missing half an egg, laughed. Her hand under the wide robe slipped between Xu Fusheng’s fingers, curling to interlock tightly.
Even when bullied, she laughed happily.
“Foolish dog…” Xu Fusheng muttered under her breath, glancing aside.
“Ancestor,” Jiang Ciqing replied in kind.
The breeze swept through the alley, the warm sun high above, as hurried footsteps came and went.
The empty bowls sat on the table, the spoons wobbling as if reluctant to let the lovers, hand in hand, leave.
The old man gazed at the empty alley, sighed softly for some unknown reason, and bent to clear the dishes.