A quaint little courtyard.
The morning court session had long since ended; it was already noon.
The winding path led to a secluded spot, and the sounds gradually faded into silence.
The boudoir was heated by an underfloor system that consumed countless lumps of charcoal, making the early autumn air inside as warm as spring. The room was filled with the scents of sandalwood, rouge, and powder, mingled with the faint, sweet fragrance of a woman.
Lu Mingyuan was bare from the waist up. He held the delicate, breathless body nestled beside him, his gaze lost on his own palm.
So this was it.
To sleep in a beauty's lap when drunk, and to grasp the world's power when sober.
This was the feeling.
Though he was content in body and mind, a sliver of worry couldn't help but rise from the bottom of his heart.
When a man has enough, he begins to fear loss.
Just like him now—he had far too many reasons not to lose.
How could he allow others to snore beside his own bed?
