The two of them froze.

For a long moment, Chen Wanqing didn’t lift her head to look at him, and Zhao Jing didn’t move away.

Not until there was a noise from outside.

Mrs. Zhao cleared her throat and called to Zhao Jing through the window, "Jing, your cousin said you drank a fair bit today. I’ve made some sobering soup. Do you want to come out for a bowl?"

Zhao Jing’s voice was husky. "Yes... I’ll be right out. Just a moment, Mother."

As soon as he finished speaking, he pulled away. His voice grew even huskier. "Your forehead isn’t hot, Wanqing, but just in case, I’ll go make you a bowl of ginger soup."

Without waiting for Chen Wanqing to reply, Zhao Jing picked up the water bucket from the room, stepped outside, and gently closed the door.

The courtyard was silent, as was the room. The only thing to draw the eye was the occasional flare of a candlewick.

A little while later, after even Mrs. Zhao had closed her door to rest, Zhao Jing returned with a bowl of ginger soup.

The ginger soup, sweetened with brown sugar, was pleasantly warm—the perfect temperature to drink.

"Drink the soup first, Wanqing. I’ll go get another brazier. The room gets chilly at night; a brazier will help."

"Alright."

Zhao Jing returned shortly with a new brazier.

Whether from the brazier or the large bowl of ginger soup, Chen Wanqing felt warm all over.

While she still felt the warmth, she threw on a robe and went outside.

She hadn’t relieved herself since the afternoon and was about to burst.

When she returned after washing her hands, Zhao Jing had, to her surprise, already prepared the beds.

But he had prepared "two beds."

One was, naturally, the four-poster bed serving as their nuptial bed. The other, of course, was the daybed in the room.

On the daybed lay a half-worn quilt, which looked to be the one he normally used. ’But if he sleeps with just that, won’t he be cold at night?’

Chen Wanqing stared blankly for a moment, then asked Zhao Jing, "You’re sleeping here tonight?"

"It’s fine here. You don’t have to worry about me getting cold, Wanqing. I’ll be close to the brazier, so I should be quite warm."

"It’s getting late. You should go to bed, Wanqing. You still have to get up tomorrow to serve tea to Mother."

Hesitantly, Chen Wanqing climbed into bed. Just as hesitantly, she removed her outer garments.

Down to her chemise, she quickly burrowed under the covers.

The covers were already warm. She felt around inside and, to her surprise, found a bed warmer.

Holding the bed warmer, even her icy feet grew warm in an instant.

By now, Zhao Jing had also readied himself.

He hadn’t undressed—he probably hadn’t even taken off his shoes. Still in the red robes he wore for the wedding, he lay down on the chaise longue.

Perhaps worried that he might carelessly kick the bedding into the brazier, he simply lay there without even pulling the quilt over himself.

Chen Wanqing turned over twice before she could no longer hold back. "Jing, aren’t you going to cover yourself?"

"I’m next to the brazier, so I’m not cold at all right now. I’ll cover up later in the night if I get cold. By then, there won’t be many embers left in the brazier, so it probably won’t set the quilt on fire."

His deadpan humor left Chen Wanqing speechless.

"Can’t you sleep, Wanqing? Is the candlelight too bright? Should I put out the Dragon and Phoenix Candle as well?"

Zhao Jing had already extinguished the other candles while Chen Wanqing was out. Now, only the two Dragon and Phoenix Candles remained. By custom, they were supposed to burn until morning.

’But we aren’t a real husband and wife. Can we just extinguish the Dragon and Phoenix Candle?’

Chen Wanqing said, "We can’t. Your mother would know. What would she think?"

"Then we won’t."

The room grew quiet once more. Chen Wanqing stared at the unfamiliar canopy overhead. She was so sleepy she could barely keep her eyes open, yet she couldn’t drift off. The image of Zhao Jing sleeping so miserably on the chaise longue kept her awake.

Finally, her heart won out over her head. After a long pause, Chen Wanqing said, "Jing, come sleep in the bed."

A CREAK came from the chaise longue; Zhao Jing must have sat up and looked in her direction.

He asked uncertainly, "Wanqing?"

His voice seemed laced with something else—something so complex and profound that one was simultaneously drawn to and afraid to explore it.

Chen Wanqing rolled over to face the wall, trying her best to keep her voice even. "It’s too cold. If you get sick from the chill, I won’t know how to explain it to our elders. Besides, that can’t be comfortable. If you ruin your health, I can’t be held responsible... Just hurry up and bring your quilt over. I’m exhausted; I can’t stay awake any longer."

Footsteps sounded in the room as Zhao Jing walked toward the bed.

A moment later, there came the RUSTLE of clothing being removed, followed by the sound of the quilt being laid on the bed.

When she felt the bed dip beside her and sensed a body carrying the scent of paper and ink lying down, the tension finally drained from Chen Wanqing’s nerves. Just as she was about to drift into sleep, she heard Jing ask, "Wanqing, are you still homesick? Do you need me to take you back for a visit right now?"

Chen Wanqing swatted his arm. "Jing, you’re so infuriating."

He responded with a low, happy chuckle. Listening to that deep, quiet laughter, Chen Wanqing drifted into sleep before she knew it.