Song Qingshu was a man, and a normal man at that. He immediately swept her into his arms and carried her toward the couch. Su Quan gave a seductive smile, looped her arms around his neck, and pulled down the bed curtains.
Before long, sounds like sobs and pleas drifted from the room, enough to make anyone blush and set their heart racing.
When she woke the next morning, Su Quan murmured a few groggy words to him before slipping back into sweet, deep sleep. Song Qingshu kissed her forehead, then got up, dressed, and left the bedchamber. The farewells that needed to be said had been spoken over the course of the night.
After their long night of passion, Su Quan was limp as a puddle of mud, utterly exhausted. Song Qingshu did not want to disturb her.
After leaving the bedchamber, Song Qingshu felt somewhat weak in the legs as well. He had given himself fully to both Zhao Min and Su Quan, two women born with irresistible charm. Even a body of iron could barely hold up under that.
If not for my unusual cultivation technique, which replenishes me with yin and yang energy, I probably would have died from that long ago. Song Qingshu smiled bitterly. Outsiders all envied his good fortune with women, but how could they know the hardships involved? Of course, saying such things aloud would probably just make people want to beat him up even more.
No wonder most emperors throughout history had short lives. With so many consorts in their harems, trying to shower them all with equal favor—if that did not exhaust a man to death, where was the justice in the world?
When Song Qingshu arrived at the Cold Palace, Shen Biqun had already washed and dressed. She was