"Let me do it myself," she murmured, though she made no move to stop him.
"Let me take care of you," Dai Chengfeng insisted, continuing his gentle ministrations.
After cleansing her thoroughly, he rinsed himself swiftly in the stream, then settled beside her again, drawing her into his arms. Sunlight dappled the valley; a soft breeze carried the scent of wild blossoms.
"Cold?" he asked. Though the air was warm, they remained unclothed.
Bibi Dong shook her head, nestling closer. "You're warm enough."
Dai Chengfeng smiled, gathering the discarded papal robe and draping its violet-and-gold folds over them like a blanket.
"If any Spirit Hall disciple saw this," Bibi Dong teased, glancing at the robe, "they'd faint from shock."
"Then no one will see," he murmured, tightening his hold. "This version of you belongs to me alone."
A sweet warmth bloomed in her chest. She fell silent, savoring the quiet. Never had she imagined finding such peace—naked beneath open sky, cradled in a man's arms, utterly unguarded.
"What are you thinking?" His voice rumbled against her temple, husky with contentment.
Bibi Dong shook her head, nuzzling his chest. "Nothing… just that it feels… unreal."
Dai Chengfeng's low laugh vibrated through her. He pressed her closer. "Unreal? Is it the warmth of my arms? Or perhaps just now—"
"Don't say it," she cut in, slapping a hand over his mouth. Her ears burned.
He kissed her palm, tongue tracing a teasing arc. She jerked back—but he caught her wrist, pressing feather-light kisses along her knuckles.
"Your shyness, Dong'er," he murmured, gaze molten with lingering desire and devotion, "is lovelier than all the spring blossoms in this valley."
Her pulse fluttered. As Supreme Pontiff, she'd endured lifetimes of fearful reverence—but his gaze held no awe, only tender certainty. Here, she was not a ruler. Just an ordinary woman, who was loved and cherished.
"Smooth-talker," she whispered, though her lips curved upward.
He kissed her then—not fiercely, but with slow, honeyed tenderness that spoke of devotion deeper than passion. When they parted, breathless, he rested his forehead against hers.
"Again?"
Bibi Dong flushed, pushing his shoulder lightly. "No. We're in the wild."
"So?" His fingers traced idle patterns along her spine. "This is my domain. Not even an ant enters without my leave."
His casual certainty reminded her: this man was not merely her lover. He was a sovereign of space itself.
"Your domain…" She glanced around. Sunlight, breeze, the scent of jasmine—all felt utterly real. "Is this the legendary Wind God Domain?"
He nodded. Plucking a drifting leaf, he let it dissolve into emerald motes before her eyes. "Here, I am the law. Every blade of grass, every sunbeam, obeys my will."
He met her gaze, voice softening. "But now… it holds a new meaning."
"What meaning?"
"A world meant only for us." He lifted her hand to his lips. "No Spirit Hall. No duty. No past. Only you… and me."
Her throat tightened. Tears welled. In this sanctuary woven by his will, she could shed every chain—the Supreme Pontiff, the mother, the avenger—and simply be.
"Chengfeng…"
He kissed her temple, voice thick with emotion. "Silly. Don't cry. Come here whenever you wish. Or…" He leaned close, breath warm against her ear, "we could visit your chambers… in the Supreme Pontiff's Palace…"
"You dare!" She glared, cheeks aflame. "My dignity—!"
"Let them see," he said, unrepentant, eyes blazing with possession. "Let the continent know: the Supreme Pontiff of the Spirit Hall is mine."
The raw claim sent a shiver through her—shame tangled with secret joy. No one had ever claimed her so fiercely, so unapologetically.
"Domineering," she breathed, the words melting like sugar on her tongue.
He chuckled, shifting the subject. "Hungry? All that… exertion requires replenishment."
Only then did she feel the hollow ache in her stomach. She'd eaten nothing since dawn.
"A little," she admitted.
"Wait here." He moved to rise—but she caught his wrist, eyes pleading.
His resolve softened. "Alright. What would you like? I'll have the domain's spirits prepare it."
"Spirits?"
He snapped his fingers. The air shimmered. Three snow-white sprites with gossamer wings materialized, bowing midair. "What is the master's command?" their chimes chimed.
Bibi Dong's eyes widened. Pure energy beings—no soul beast, no consciousness, only wind-element essence given form.
"Prepare light fare," Dai Chengfeng instructed smoothly, ignoring her crimson blush, "nourishing for… post-exertion recovery."
The sprites vanished in streaks of light.
"They won't remember anything," he reassured her, sensing her worry. "No self-awareness. No judgment."
She exhaled in relief. Thank the heavens.
Moments later, the sprites returned, bearing jade trays: steaming spirit rice congee, delicate vegetable dishes, a pot of fragrant fruit wine.
Dai Chengfeng lifted a spoonful of congee to her lips. "Eat. Then rest. I'll keep watch."
Bibi Dong accepted the bite, warmth spreading through her—not just from the food, but from the quiet certainty in his eyes.
Here, in this hidden world of wind and light, love required no masks.
And for the first time in decades… she felt truly, wholly free.
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