11. Mu Bai, the Beautiful Youth

Pan Yueyang stood by the bed, gazing at Wanwan’s sleeping face, so serene and innocent as a child’s. He reached out, gently brushing aside the strands of hair scattered across her cheek, fascinated by the silky softness beneath his fingers. Leaning down, he loosened his robe. These past days, the little one had grown fair and tender under his care, a delightful sensation. Pan Yueyang lay on his side, one hand caressing Wanwan’s cheek without pause, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. The moment was so warm, so peaceful—it was as if he were a husband returning from the road to find his wife waiting for him at home. In Wanwan’s presence, he felt a tranquility and contentment he had never known.

Could it be that he had fallen in love with her? Pan Yueyang shook his head. Impossible. He had never believed in love at first sight. Besides, if he were to love anyone, it would surely be Xueqing, not Wanwan.

But the wicked impulses of the body always prevailed; a man’s desires far outstripped his reason. He bent low, lightly brushing Wanwan’s eyelashes. “Ah, this little thing sleeps so deeply,” he murmured, his lips trailing softly over hers.

“Mmm...” Wanwan, roused from her slumber by a tickling sensation, slowly opened her eyes.

Seeing her awake, Pan Yueyang’s touch grew less gentle, his movements greedy as he teased the woman beneath him.

“Ah? Don’t—” With her master pressing down on her, Wanwan instinctively realized he intended to repeat what he had done the previous nights. Though he gave her fine food and drink, the experience was always so painful.

“Be good, now. Trust me. It won’t hurt this time—just follow my lead.” Pan Yueyang pressed a finger to her lips, continuing his caresses.

Wanwan lay stiff and trembling, nerves taut and unrelaxed. Though reluctant, she gritted her teeth and endured for the sake of a better life.

Seeing her wear an expression of noble sacrifice, Pan Yueyang suddenly laughed. “Close your eyes, Wanwan. It’s wonderful, I promise. Don’t doubt my abilities.” As if hypnotized, Wanwan dutifully shut her eyes, and under his practiced hands, she soon surrendered herself to sensation. Together, they soared to the heights of pleasure.

The next morning

Pan Yueyang rose early. Hearing movement within the room, the attendant set about dressing him, each action performed with mechanical precision. Once clothed, Pan Yueyang turned to the bed, where Wanwan still slumbered, reluctant to rise. The little one truly loved her sleep.

Suddenly, Pan Yueyang’s eyes narrowed coldly. Swift as a shadow, he stepped outside, gathering his energy at his core and using lightness skill to land nimbly atop the glazed tiles of his own roof.

“Well, your skill has improved again—faster every time!” The newcomer spoke between bites of roast chicken, tearing off a wing with greasy hands, devouring it with the gusto of a man starved for lifetimes. The chicken was so delicious, he simply never tired of it.

Pan Yueyang smiled, watching the man beside him devour the bird, oblivious to manners, oil slicking his hands as he ripped the meat apart.

Shaking out his robe, Pan Yueyang sat down patiently, waiting as the man focused on his meal. When the rooftop was littered with chicken bones, Pan Yueyang leapt to the ground—he had no desire to spend his morning admiring the view in the company of such a shameless junior.

The chicken-eater finished off the fowl with a satisfied belch, then vaulted down to Pan Yueyang’s side.

Wanwan had finished washing and dressing by now. Feng He suggested she spend more time outdoors in the sunlight rather than staying cooped up inside.

As soon as she stepped out, Wanwan saw her master and another man standing in the courtyard.

The chicken-eater’s eyes lit up when he saw her. He nudged Pan Yueyang, “Senior Brother, who’s this?”

Wanwan beamed at them, her smile wide and bright. Last night had been just as her master promised—not painful, but truly wonderful.

Bathed in contentment, her eyes sparkled. The mere sight of Pan Yueyang brought a blush to her cheeks as she recalled the previous night’s intimacy—a sight that left the chicken-eater utterly stunned.

“Wanwan, come here.” Pan Yueyang extended his hand.

Wanwan obediently walked over, naturally intertwining her small hand with his for the first time in public. His broad palm enveloped hers, giving her a sense of security she had never known.

Releasing her hand, Pan Yueyang drew her into his embrace, glancing at her profile as if to announce to the world, “This is my junior, Baili Mubai.”

The chicken-eater’s face fell. Why did all good things end up belonging to his senior brother?

Baili Mubai wiped his greasy hands on his robe. “I am Baili Mubai.”

Wanwan burst out laughing. The two men stared at her in confusion as her laughter rang out uncontrollably.

“How can you be like this? Look at you—your clothes are filthy, your hair unkempt, your beard a mess. You look so dirty, I’d never guess you were my master’s junior brother. I thought you were some middle-aged uncle!” Wanwan doubled over with laughter, clutching her aching stomach.

Baili Mubai scratched his head sheepishly. It was true—he hadn’t tidied himself up in ages.

Pan Yueyang stepped in to ease the awkwardness. “Alright, Wanwan, don’t tease Mubai. He’s always been content to go with the flow. That’s what makes him truly himself.”

“No, I think Miss Wanwan is quite right,” Baili Mubai replied, grinning foolishly at her.

“Come here—” Wanwan beckoned mysteriously, wriggling free of Pan Yueyang’s grasp and pulling Baili Mubai toward the house.

Pan Yueyang followed, his expression dark as he watched the two of them laughing together. He didn’t like Wanwan’s sudden warmth toward another man—it made him irritable, and the fire in his eyes burned as he trailed behind, as if the two had forgotten he existed.

“Feng He, could you help me with something?” Wanwan pleaded sweetly, tugging at Feng He’s sleeve.

Feng He glanced at the general’s darkened face, then at her mistress and the young man, awaiting Pan Yueyang’s instructions. After all, he was still the master of the house.

Pan Yueyang gave a slight nod, hands clasped behind his back, curious to see what Wanwan was up to, but granting Feng He his silent approval.

“Yes, what does Miss require?”

“Hot water, for him!” Wanwan whispered mischievously in Feng He’s ear. “He needs a bath—he’s filthy!”

Feng He nodded, off to prepare the bath. Wanwan called after her, “Feng He, could you also find some grooming tools? He looks like a little old man, hee hee…”

“Who says I look like an old man?!” Baili Mubai jumped up indignantly. He was in his prime!

“Come—” Wanwan pulled him toward the bronze mirror. “See for yourself. Don’t you look like a little old man?”

Sure enough, Baili Mubai stared at his reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing himself. But he feigned shock, jumping back with an exaggerated gasp. “Who’s that old man?”

Wanwan burst into peals of laughter, nearly doubled over. “See? Our master is so young and handsome, and you—his junior brother—look like an uncle!”

The two of them bantered back and forth, all but ignoring Pan Yueyang, who grew increasingly disgruntled. But when he heard Wanwan compliment his youth and good looks, he immediately straightened, confidence restored.

Yet, it seemed he was only a bystander, as the two continued to joke and laugh together.

Watching Wanwan today, Pan Yueyang felt lost. She always seemed so timid and startled in his presence, but he had never seen her so happy as she was now—laughing out loud, playing with Mubai like two innocent puppies.

Puppies—yes, that’s exactly what they were, two little pups who’d never quite grown up.

Feng He soon returned with hot water, a razor, and a fresh set of clothes.

“Thank you, Feng He,” Wanwan said, handing the items to Baili Mubai.

Baili Mubai stared at the bundle, wide-eyed. “Wanwan, do I really have to do this?”

“Yes!” Wanwan pushed the things into his arms with extra force.

“All right…” Baili Mubai hung his head.

Pan Yueyang, who had remained silent all this while, watched Mubai head off to bathe, then suddenly pulled Wanwan to his side.

“What is it?” Wanwan looked at her master’s brooding face in surprise.

“It’s nothing.” Pan Yueyang had meant to scold her, but looking into her clear eyes, he restrained himself.

“I…” Wanwan blushed, embarrassed. “Master, I don’t even know your… name.”

Thunderstruck.

It was a question that nearly made Pan Yueyang’s back go out. He sighed, imagining a flock of crows circling his head.

“Pan Yueyang.”

“Mubai’s name sounds nicer,” Wanwan muttered.

“Wanwan, do you like Mubai?” Pan Yueyang asked, searching her face intently.

Yes, very much! Wanwan nodded enthusiastically.

At that moment, Baili Mubai emerged from behind the screen, head bowed, muttering, “Wanwan, do you think I look better now?”

Watching him awkwardly patting himself down, Wanwan abandoned her conversation with Pan Yueyang and skipped over to the chicken-eater. “Wow, Mubai, go look in the mirror!”

Baili Mubai rubbed his clean-shaven chin, feeling uncomfortable, and crept carefully up to the mirror, half-afraid his new appearance would frighten even himself.

Wow—who was the handsome youth in the reflection? Hair tied neatly in a topknot secured with a silver hairpin, the rest falling smoothly down, revealing a high, full forehead. His brows were sharp and thick, lashes long and slightly curled, eyes glinting with mischief, nose straight and prominent, lips thin.

Gone was the slovenly look—even Feng He blinked in disbelief. Was this really the same man? Never judge a book by its cover!

Pan Yueyang, seeing the shock, delight, and admiration on the faces of the two women and one man in the room, felt utterly displeased.

“Wanwan!” His face was as dark as if the world owed him a fortune.

“Yes?” Wanwan snapped back to herself, grinning at Pan Yueyang’s thunderous expression. “What’s wrong… Master?” She hesitated, unable to bring herself to use his name, finding “Master” far more natural.

“Call me by my name,” Pan Yueyang insisted, not caring who was present—he couldn’t stand her calling “Mubai” so easily and naturally.

“…Pan… Pan Yue… yang…” she stammered, finding the name awkward and unnatural on her tongue—“Master” was so much easier to say. She frowned at once.

Suddenly, Pan Yueyang bent down and brushed a light kiss on Wanwan’s cheek—a silent declaration that this woman belonged to him.