He clenched the wine cup in his hand, his fingers trembling slightly.
Bao Xiaoqin watched his reaction, the corners of her lips curling up faintly as a sly glint flashed through her eyes.
She leaned forward, the damp tips of her hair nearly brushing the back of Wang Xian's hand. Droplets fell onto his cuff, spreading into a small dark stain.
"Why is your face red?" she asked softly, her voice as low as the night wind brushing over strings.
Wang Xian gritted his teeth. "My face isn't red."
"Then why are your ears red?"
"...It's hot."
"Hot?"
Bao Xiaoqin laughed, her whole body trembling with laughter, the soft curves on her chest swaying gently along with it.
Whether she was wholly unaware of it—or doing it deliberately—her movements radiated a fatal allure. "This late-autumn night wind is cold enough to freeze a dog to death, and you're telling me it's hot?"
Wang Xian took a deep breath, wishing he could dump the entire jug of wine in his hand over his face to cool himself down.
Unfortunately, the wine was gone.
Angered, he cursed, "Damn it, the wine's gone... Otherwise, I'd make you drink three cups too, so you'd forget everything from yesterday—forget even your man completely!"
With a flick of his hand, the chrysanthemum in his hand drifted into the wind, passed over the courtyard wall, and fell into the depths of the lake.
The autumn water was cold. Before long, the petals too would sink beneath the surface, gone never to return.
Yet Bao Xiaoqin froze at his words.
She had never expected that there truly was wine in this world capable of getting someone drunk enough to forget their sorrows.
She stared blankly at Wang Xian—at his cheeks flushed by the wine, at his tightly shut