Thunder was restless, its nature ever-changing. Chu Qingjian had always dared to think and act. Put kindly, that was courage; put unkindly, it was recklessness.
Looking back over the first few decades of her life, that temperament had landed her in plenty of trouble. Fortunately, both her own abilities and the clan behind her were second to none, so she had seldom suffered any setbacks.
No matter how Jiang Yang had reasoned or pleaded with her earlier, she had never wavered. Her mind was firmly made up. Now that he had stopped resisting and seemingly resigned himself to his fate, she placed her hands on her own body.
She had always regarded relations between men and women as little more than the harmonizing of yin and yang. Though she had never experienced it, she knew precisely which vital points, acupoints, and meridians were involved in the process. Strictly speaking, it counted as another form of cultivation.
A moment later, she raised her hands and turned her wrists, slipping off her shawl and slowly laying it on the couch. Only a chest-high court dress remained over her upper body, its bamboo-green fabric swaying amid accents of green jade.
Her exposed arms were slender and strong, every contour balanced against her skin without a hint of boniness. Her voluptuous curves tapered with extravagant grace, their hanging fullness alluring, firm and taut, like gold and jade melting in a blazing flame.
The sight left Jiang Yang staring in a daze. A dry tightness caught in his throat, making it itch and tempting him to swallow.
His keen six senses subjected him to an altogether different stimulation. Every shade of springtime beauty filled his eyes, while a rich, subtle fragrance brushed his nostrils, its hazy allure tugging at his heartstrings.
His gaze seemed almost