"Chengfeng…" she whispered, her voice carrying a softness she hadn't realized she possessed.
"I'm here," Dai Chengfeng replied, voice tender yet unwavering.
His fingers found the ties of her inner garment. He paused, lifting his gaze to hers. "May I, Dong'er?"
Bibi Dong held his eyes—violet depths swirling with longing and restraint. After a breath, she gave a faint nod and closed her eyes.
With reverence, he loosened the ribbons. The fabric parted, revealing skin warmed by sun and emotion. His breath caught; awe shimmered in his eyes.
A cool breeze brushed her skin. His palms, broad and sure, cradled her waist.
He did not rush. Slowly, his hands traced the landscape of her body—from waist to spine, over shoulder blades—each touch a silent vow of cherishment.
"You are so beautiful, Dong'er," he murmured, kissing her shoulder.
She melted against the sun-warmed stone, surrendering to the warmth of his lips along her neck. A deeper blush bloomed across her cheeks.
Dai Chengfeng smiled, adoring her flustered grace. "Your voice is beautiful too," he whispered.
Flustered, she tried to push him away—but her limbs were boneless. He laced their fingers, kissing her knuckles.
"Don't hide. To me, every part of you is perfect."
His words, raw and true, melted the last of her resistance. She sank into the moment, no longer the high and mighty Supreme Pontiff, no longer burdened—now, she was just Bibi Dong, who was loved and seen.
He kissed every inch of her upper body with reverent slowness.
She had never known such tenderness. As Supreme Pontiff, her heart had been a fortress of solitude. Her youth's betrayal left only scars; decades of isolation made her forget she, too, craved love.
Until Dai Chengfeng arrived.
He stormed her walls not with force, but with unwavering certainty—melting ice with warmth, rewriting shame with devotion. She'd resisted at first, fearing impropriety… but he never wavered. This love is right, he'd shown her, again and again.
"Relax, Dong'er," he murmured, sensing her fleeting thought. He kissed her temple. "Think of nothing but us."
She gazed into his eyes—seeing only pure devotion. And for the first time, she let go completely.
—
"Are you alright?" he asked softly, concern threading his voice.
Bibi Dong opened her eyes. Her violet gaze, glistening with unshed tears, held a rare, tender vulnerability. She nodded, a quiet smile touching her lips.
Dai Chengfeng settled beside her, drawing her against his chest.
She nestled close, cheek pressed to his damp skin, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.
His fingers combed through her loosened violet hair—silken strands catching the sun like liquid amethyst.
"Your hair is beautiful," he whispered.
She laughed softly. "Determined to drown me in sweet words today?"
"Not sweet words," he said, earnest. "Truth. Every syllable."
She lifted her face, eyes shimmering with affection, and kissed him—a gentle, lingering brush of lips, filled with quiet contentment.
When they parted, he rose and walked to the stream.
Puzzled, she watched as he plucked a broad leaf, rinsed it in the clear water, and returned. Kneeling beside her, he began to wipe her skin with infinite care.
His touch was reverent, tender—as if cleansing sacred ground.
Tears welled in Bibi Dong's eyes. No one had ever served her with such devotion. In this hidden valley, stripped of titles and duty, she was simply cherished.
She closed her eyes, heart overflowing.
'This man… he does not love the Supreme Pontiff. He loves me.'
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