Inside her private chamber.
Xuétáng gazed at her phone for a while longer until her eyes began to ache slightly. Although it was still morning, she had been feeling persistently fatigued lately, drifting off to sleep with the greatest of ease.
She certainly harbored no suspicions toward Uncle Qin; in fact, ever since learning of her pregnancy, she felt certain that the baby was the cause of her exhaustion.
Yet, even knowing that the child was the reason for her weariness, the realization that this little one was the fruit of her union with Lǐ Dòng filled her with a sense of contentment—she had no regrets whatsoever.
Gently caressing her abdomen, Xuétáng felt a mix of curiosity and trepidation, much like a young fawn standing on the threshold of motherhood. It still felt like a dream—a warm, satisfying sensation, as if the softest, most tender part of her heart had been brushed by a gentle spring breeze.
Recalling Lǐ Dòng's various reactions upon learning about the pregnancy, she couldn't help but break into a sweet, radiant smile, her heart overflowing with boundless tenderness for the child.
Every movement she made became instinctively cautious—delicate and graceful. She whispered a soft, playful "you rascal," while her lips curled into a smile as sweet and lovely as a blossoming flower.
But soon, a flicker of wistful reproach stirred within her. In this day and age, thanks to her wristband—which functioned as a personal, mobile AI capable of handling most tasks—she was far from truly cut off from the world. She could manage the vast majority of her work through this AI, and for occasions that required her physical presence, she could simply have Luó Qín attend in her stead.
Life was far more convenient now than it had been in the old information age, yet that "rascal" had remained completely out of touch for seven long years. He had finally managed to return home, only to slip away again—without a word—while she was still fast asleep.
And yet, the moment she thought of the dangers he might be facing out there, her worries resurfaced, and she began to nibble nervously at her soft, dewy lips. Caught in a hazy, sleep-deprived languor, the beauty found herself gripped by a restless anxiety. She fretted that Li Dong might vanish for a long time once again—a thought that burned within her like a fever, causing her willow-leaf brows to furrow deeply and her lovely eyes to well up with tears. Yet, in the next breath, she imagined his reaction upon learning she was pregnant—the sheer surprise, the overflowing joy—and a complex blend of trepidation, anticipation, and honeyed sweetness washed over her, leaving her lost in a dreamy, dazed reverie.
Once he knows that she is carrying his child, surely he won't just disappear so suddenly again, will he?
Xuetang lay back on the bed. The hem of her purple silk nightgown slipped down from her full, curvaceous hips—rounded and plump like white peaches—revealing skin as smooth and tender as snow. The fabric pooled at her slender, deeply indented waist, gliding down with such seamless ease it was as if one layer of silk were simply sliding off another.
Her legs—long, shapely, and as smooth and white as fine porcelain—rested in a soft, crossed position. Between her thighs, the plush, creamy-white flesh pressed and nudged against itself, glistening with an alluring, dewy sheen.
"Ah… oh…~"
A delicate flush crept across Xuetang's lovely face, and her alluring body began to tremble ever so slightly. A casual, unintentional shift of her legs sent a tingling, ticklish sensation—like the crawling of ants or the soft brush of a feather—rippling through her core. She could even feel a rich, silken moisture seeping outward from deep within.
Shifting her hips, Xuetang sat back up. Her fair, voluptuous buttocks, pressed together, bulged and spilled outward, creating a striking contrast with her slender, serpentine waist—a sight of such intense, heart-stopping sexiness. There was an air of languid, voluptuous charm about her, the allure of a woman on the verge of full, ripe maturity.
It was as if she had been nourished and catalyzed by some unseen force; in the span of just half a month, she had begun to blossom and ripen with astonishing speed. Xuetang gently pressed her thighs together, rubbing them against each other in a subtle, rhythmic motion. Suddenly, her smooth, shapely thighs gave a slight tremor, parting involuntarily. Between the plump, peach-like folds of her labia—and even along the inner surfaces of her thighs—glistened a sticky, crystalline moisture, forming delicate, gossamer-thin strands that caught the light with an alluring, milky-white sheen.
The air grew heavy with a scent both deeper and sweeter than musk or orchid—more luscious and intoxicating than nectar itself. Beneath this, there lingered a faint, musky, and distinctly carnal aroma—a pungent yet strangely captivating fragrance that teased the senses.
It transformed the entire boudoir into a chamber redolent of rare, exotic perfumes.
A deep flush crept across Xuetang's lovely face as she realized this scent hadn't just appeared; it had been quietly permeating the room long before she even noticed.
And just moments ago, Uncle Qin had been in here…
Overcome by a burning sense of shame, Xuetang realized she had become increasingly sensitive of late. She had put on a pair of silk panties before bed, but they hadn't been on long before a telltale, elongated damp patch appeared, centered right over her intimate parts.
Even the slightest friction sent waves of indescribable, tingling pleasure coursing through her—a jolt like an electric current, traveling deep within her body and igniting a sudden, simmering heat in the depths of her lower abdomen. When she peeled off the silk panties, the moisture stretched into long, viscous threads, as if she had been soaked in rich, creamy milk.
This sensation was all too familiar to the beautiful woman—it was the same restless, sweltering agitation she felt during her ovulation, that irrepressible urge to press her thighs together and rub them in a desperate, feverish rhythm. It was much like the intense sensation of emerging from a chrysalis—as if, in an instant, she were no longer a carefree little girl. With every few steps she took, her intimate folds would grow slick and glistening, as though oiled, forcing her to tread with careful, measured strides.