Chapter Seventy-Five: Dreams Come True

The room was filled with a hazy mist, steamy vapors curling through the air, shrouding everything in a dreamlike veil reminiscent of an immortal’s abode. Occasionally, a cheerful melody would drift out from the haze—“Scrub, scrub, scrub, scrub…”—carrying with it a hint of lighthearted delight.

Huarong rubbed her arm with one hand, her joy plain to see. “The water’s just right. If only someone were here to scrub my back, this would be perfect.”

It was rare for her to enjoy such leisure. All those life-and-death matters she’d once been preoccupied with were now cast far from her mind; what could be more satisfying than a comfortable bath?

But as soon as the words left her lips, the bare half of her body exposed above the rim of the tub suddenly felt a subtle pressure, a sensation spreading gently across her skin.

“Who’s there?” Huarong’s brows knit in alarm, her body tensing.

Yet in the next instant, she felt a hand settle on her shoulder, the thumb and forefinger pressing and kneading with a subtle rhythm that brought an indescribable comfort.

“No way, I was only speaking in jest—did someone really come to scrub my back and give me a massage?”

It felt like a dream. Although Huarong was surprised, what concerned her most was, “Who’s giving me this massage?”

She was soaking in the bath, bare as the day she was born, and the emperor was here too—so where did a third person come from?

“Could it be…” Her expression changed as she turned around, only to see Jun Yeli’s hands resting on her shoulders, performing his service with remarkable diligence.

“Your Majesty, what are you doing?” Instinctively, Huarong nearly shot up from the tub in fright, but remembering her current state of undress, she forced herself to suppress her panic.

She half-rose, then quickly crouched back down, clutching desperately at the last shred of her dignity, and shrank to the far side of the tub.

The warmth of Jun Yeli’s touch vanished in an instant, leaving behind a fleeting sense of loss.

Seeing Huarong cowering and on edge, he let out a soft laugh. “Why are you so nervous? Didn’t you just say you wanted someone to scrub your back?”

“But, Your Majesty, weren’t you waiting outside? Why did you come back in so suddenly?” Huarong’s wary eyes fixed on him, unwilling to let him come a step closer, though her mind couldn’t help but race with wild imaginings. “Even if I wanted someone, I didn’t mean you!”

It was as if her fears had summoned him—the work of fate, or perhaps just her own ill luck.

Jun Yeli only shrugged nonchalantly, wiping his damp hands on a white cloth beside him. He gazed at her with an open, unrestrained look that left her feeling flustered.

In that moment, Huarong couldn’t tell if the heat in her cheeks was from embarrassment or something else; her face felt as if it had been branded by a hot iron, burning and flushed almost to purple.

“It’s pouring outside. The rain was blowing in and soaking me—if I’d stayed out any longer, I’d have been drenched through. And as it happened, I heard you wishing for someone to scrub your back, so I’ve graciously obliged. Aren’t you pleased?” He spoke with such straightforwardness, as if the thought of boundaries had never crossed his mind.

Huarong felt almost like crying. “Are you really here to help, or just to take advantage of me?”

His face might as well have had the word “lecher” written across it. She found it hard to accept the situation.

“Enough, we’re husband and wife; why be shy about such things? Did you really think I had any untoward intentions?”

“Didn’t you?” Huarong eyed him warily, the two of them locked in a silent standoff, as if they’d been enemies for generations and neither was willing to yield.

An awkward silence settled between them, the air heavy and oppressive, tinged with an unspoken discomfort.

Suddenly, a peal of thunder rumbled, the sky outside dark as ink. A flash of lightning lit up the world, splitting the night.

Startled, Huarong shrieked and shrank deeper into the tub. “Heavens, what on earth is with this weather tonight!”

She’d expected a romantic ending, but instead found herself in the setup for a horror story. Was this atmosphere accidental, or was there some hidden scheme?

Now, whether she stayed or left, she was stuck—truly caught between a rock and a hard place, with no idea what to do.

She could only look at Jun Yeli with trembling teeth and plead, “Could you step out for a moment? I’m just about done and I’d like to get dressed.”

Jun Yeli nodded. “Of course. When you’re done, come out quickly—the weather’s not great tonight.”

With that, he turned to go. But as he reached the door, Huarong suddenly thought of something and called after him, “Wait! Do you have any clothes I can wear?”

It was a foolish question—why would a man have women’s clothing in his room?

Her own garments had been soaked after only a short time in the rain; putting them back on would be even worse.

Her question, however, seemed to remind Jun Yeli. “Wait a moment. I’ll fetch you something.”

“Do you really have something?” Huarong craned her neck, peering around anxiously. In a moment, Jun Yeli returned, carrying a white sleeping robe. He handed it to her. “Wear this.”

He offered no explanation, handed over the robe, and left at once—just like a callous lover who turns cold the morning after.

Huarong rolled her eyes at his retreating back. Only after confirming he was truly gone did she hurriedly snatch up the robe and fumble into it in a flurry of movement.

Meanwhile, Jun Yeli sat at the table, one hand holding a cup of milk tea, the other a book, reading by the soft glow of the lamplight.

The golden sheen of the lamp cast over his profile gave him an almost otherworldly handsomeness.

Huarong paused for a moment, taking in her surroundings—the house had only a kitchen and a bedroom, no separate quarters. Tentatively, she called out, “I’m ready.”

Her words immediately caught his attention. He turned to see her swathed in the white robe, which hung loosely on her slender frame—she looked as if she were wrapped in a quilt rather than dressed in clothes.

“Is that comfortable?” Jun Yeli frowned slightly; the robe really did look rather ridiculous on her.

It might have been better not to ask, for Huarong’s reply was tinged with resignation. “If I’m not mistaken, this must be your robe, Your Majesty. You’re tall and broad; I’m small and delicate—how could I possibly fill it out?”

What’s more, the robe carried a faint, distinctive scent that belonged to Jun Yeli alone.