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The same evening, Jing Shuixiang drew the short stick.
After their usual husband-and-wife routine, the two lay down on the bed.
The former elder of the Holy Tree Temple was a petite thing, all delicate curves. Among Li Yuan’s many wives she was closest in build to Yan Yu. Yet when it came to nightly combat, no one was fiercer.
Yan Yu was a gentle rabbit that could still bite, a textbook virtuous wife who could rule the kitchen and grace the reception hall. Jing Shuixiang, by contrast, was a rampaging lioness, usually imposing and every bit as savage once the bedroom door closed.
Even now she was still on top.
Li Yuan, utterly relaxed, combed his fingers through her long hair while studying her. Snow-pale skin, soft curves, eyes that fluttered like black butterflies. He lifted...
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