The Lustful Young Master starting with Holy Maiden.-Chapter 37: Can’t help but bow head.

Mingyue’s face turned cold, but before she could speak, the Patriarch continued, "I’m not saying that is true, but how can you be sure that’s not what happened, I have known Zhao Fan for years, I never seen him as someone who will humiliate his elders, and even if he does, he won’t do that to you..."

"Y-You..." She seems flabbergasted.

"I’m not saying that your claim is wrong, but I need more evidence than just words, Mingyue, we’ve been together for three hundred years, you should know better, I don’t want to take any side, I’m your husband, I’m Zhao Fan’s father, I’m Zhao Yung’s father. I don’t want anyone to die, not even Yung,"

Mingyue was about to say something, but she knew her husband was right. She was about to speak without thinking.

"I understand, I am ashamed..."

"Good, now, before you go, I want you to think, and try to remember, what could be the evidence that can be used against Zhao Fan?" He asked.

"I..." Mingyue froze.

"Think about it, go to your room and think. Come back to me when you have more evidence,"

"Thank you, husband..." She said with a soft voice, she then got up and left the hall.

The Patriarch watched her go. His chest felt heavy, not from guilt, but from the weight of inheritance.

When Mingyue had vanished beyond the ancestral archway, Zhao Tianyuan exhaled slowly.

* * *

Zhao Mingyue walked with measured grace through the mist-veiled paths of the quiet Wind Courtyard.

The sky had lightened into soft morning hues, but the warmth of dawn did not reach her face.

Her steps were slow, robes brushing quietly over the flagstones, yet her heart surged with a storm that not even a Nascent Soul cultivator could quell.

Her husband’s words echoed within her.

I’m not saying Zhao Fan would humiliate you... but how can you be sure?

Come back when you have more evidence.

She closed the door to her chambers, letting the silence settle like a shroud over her shoulders, the members of the Zhao family were half-useful as Zhao Fan.

And so, at last, Mingyue allowed her mask to fall.

She stood before her lacquered mirror, gazing not at her reflection, but at the woman behind it... her, Lady Mingyue, the concubine of the Zhao Patriarch, once famed across five regions as the Silent Plum Maiden, known for her swordplay, her poetry, her spiritual restraint.

Now... nothing but a mother with a broken child.

"I am ashamed..." she had said and it had been true.

But shame was not defeat, well, not yet.

She still had the option, the Zhao Fan’s invitation.

She sat slowly upon the edge of her daybed, her fingers brushing over the smooth folds of her sleeves. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com

Her eyes fell to the low incense burner across the room. Thin dust of sacred sandalwood smoke curled toward the beams above, silent and aimless, for a moment she thought they were just like her.

"What am I to do?" she whispered, voice nearly inaudible.

I did what I could do... But without any evidence Zhao Fan is untouchable.

But it was worth a try.

After all, if Zhao Fan is punished by ancestral law, he will forever ever lose his position as the Holy son of the Zhao Family.

And her son has a high chance of being a holy son but it seems impossible now.

Like mentioned, she is an educated woman, she knows when to bow and when not to.

Since, Zhao Fan is untouchable, it’s better to be his ally.

She silently got undressed, looking at her naked form in the mirror.

Her hair, long and silver-white, cascaded down her back like a river in the moonlight, soft and glistening, flowing with a natural grace that no ornament could improve.

Loose strands curled near her collarbones, catching the dim glow, whispering of winter winds and plum blossoms blooming through snow.

It swayed with her breath, like willows bending near a sacred spring.

Her skin was pale, yet warm, like morning mist warmed by the first kiss of dawn.

It held a luster finer than porcelain, not cold, but living, as if the light had taken root within her flesh. Along the line of her neck, past the gentle hollow of her collar, the skin remained unmarked, save for the faintest traces of touch.

Her eyes were deep, a clear and quiet blue, not bright like fire or shallow like glass, but like the surface of a deep sea.

Her chest rose softly with each breath, full and supple, bearing a quiet weight that spoke of nurture and tenderness.

Those twin mounds curved with natural roundness, like hills beneath spring skies, firm yet gentle.

Below, where her waist narrowed like the neck of a lyre, the line curved into her hips, wide, steady, shaped for bearing, for holding, for giving.

Between them, the sacred place of her womanhood lay hidden in soft shadow, the garden no longer untouched, but still serene.

It was bare, without grass, soft as the petals of a white magnolia in full bloom, neither crude nor exposed, but quietly powerful.

A sacred grove where life had once passed, and where warmth still lingered.

Her legs extended long and graceful, smooth like sculpted alabaster warmed by the sun. Each thigh curved with elegant strength, not thin but shaped like swaying reeds by the riverbank, firm and pale.

Her knees held the softness of peach blossom, and below, her calves tapered with the quiet strength of someone who had walked barefoot across wood, stone, and treacherous path.

Her lips, soft and tinted like ripe cherries after rain, parted slightly, "Hmm... Even Zhao Fan wanna have a taste of this fairy,"

She can’t help but touch her breasts and weigh them.

She summoned a lily oil, a fragrance oil that can make her skin young and smell beautiful.

She poured the oil to her jade palms, and worked it all over her body, her large watermelon-like chest mounds, her sacred Yin cave, her thighs, her tender back hills, her arms, her legs, her feet, her face.

"Ahhh! I don’t know how to feel anymore..." Using the communication jade, she tried to communicate with her son, Zhao Yung.

In the end, You have to bow in front of power.

Zhao Yung is her only son, she doesn’t want him to live as a mortal or die early, she wants to do everything she can do to make his life as comfortable as possible.

Alas, a foolish child shall never understand the sacrifice of motherly love, blinded by the hatred and fueled by ego.

~~~~~

( Her immoral illustration has been hunged on the primordial walls of cultural holy land )

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