Chapter Forty: A Tale of Romance Amidst Wind, Flowers, Snow, and Moon

After leaving Feng Yuan’s house, Ding Changqing was in a foul mood, his face full of displeasure. He found a nearby restaurant, ordered some wine, and drank as he cursed Feng Yuan.

“Feng Yuan is truly insolent, utterly unappreciative. I tried to guide him onto the right path out of kindness, yet he humiliated me so—an odious wretch with no conscience!”

Ding Changqing grumbled, his anger written all over his face, contorting his features into a grimace. His fury was not only because Feng Yuan had robbed him of his livelihood, but also due to another, more significant reason: Zhao Qingxue.

Zhao Qingxue was born beautiful, a lady from a distinguished family. Ordinarily, Ding Changqing would never have crossed paths with such a woman, but his writing gave him the opportunity. Taking advantage of Zhao Qingxue’s fondness for his novels, Ding Changqing managed to spend time with her. As the days passed, confronted with such beauty, Ding Changqing’s thoughts turned increasingly bold.

Zhao Qingxue’s beauty and wealth tempted him; if only he could marry her, his future would be secure. Thus, he sought to please her at every turn, hoping to win her over. But unexpectedly, Feng Yuan appeared out of nowhere, publishing a novel titled “Veiling the Heavens,” which immediately captivated Zhao Qingxue. Her interest in Ding Changqing’s stories vanished, and her warmth toward him cooled. She often spoke of Feng Yuan, and today had even visited his home. If things continued this way, Ding Changqing would have no chance—Zhao Qingxue might soon become Feng Yuan’s woman.

Resentment grew in Ding Changqing’s heart. He wished Feng Yuan would stop writing novels, but Feng Yuan ignored him, infuriating Ding Changqing further. To him, it was as grave as having his beloved stolen, though Zhao Qingxue was not yet his wife; he already considered himself the Zhao family’s son-in-law.

Despite his anger, Ding Changqing was powerless to change anything, and could only drown his sorrows in drink. He drank until night fell, staggering home in a drunken haze, barely able to stand.

Fortunately, his home was not far, tucked away in a small alley near Book Street. He rented a room there, having moved from the countryside for convenience in writing.

After a while, Ding Changqing made his way back to his alley, which was shrouded in darkness. He found his door by feel, fumbled in his pocket for his key, and prepared to unlock it.

At that moment, a sound came from behind—a door opening. Ding Changqing instinctively turned and saw the door opposite his open. A woman leaned out, her brows arched, eyes lined, strikingly beautiful in a red dress. Her figure was graceful and her skin snow-white, her face adorned with a seductive smile, her eyes sparkling with allure.

Ding Changqing was mesmerized at once. He had lived here for months, always believing the house opposite was unoccupied. Yet now, such a beauty appeared, and his heart stirred.

The woman did not shy away under Ding Changqing’s gaze, but smiled coquettishly and approached him, her voice sweet as honey: “Master Ding, why are you so drunk? Did something trouble you? If you don’t mind, I have prepared some wine and dishes at home, and would be glad to listen to your woes.”

As the woman drew near, Ding Changqing caught a mesmerizing scent, intoxicating and arousing, making his whole body feel hot. Her voice was so sweet it seemed to dissolve his bones.

Hearing such a beautiful woman invite him inside, Ding Changqing nodded eagerly. “That would be wonderful, truly wonderful!”

The woman in red smiled gracefully. “Then please, Master Ding, follow me.”

She led the way, Ding Changqing following, eyes fixed on her swaying hips. Her walk was enticing, and his mind filled with thoughts of desire.

Inside, the house was decorated festively, all in red, resembling a bridal chamber. In the center stood a table laden with steaming dishes, as if freshly prepared.

“Please, Master Ding, sit. Allow me to pour you a drink,” the woman said with a smile.

“Thank you, miss. Please, have a seat yourself,” Ding Changqing replied, his gaze never leaving her.

She smiled, poured a glass of wine and handed it to him. “Please, Master Ding, drink.”

“Heh, thank you,” Ding Changqing replied, taking the glass and downing it in one gulp.

“Forgive my boldness, may I ask your name?” he inquired.

“Master Ding, you may call me Xiaohong,” she replied, smiling seductively.

“Xiaohong—what a wonderful name, truly wonderful!” Ding Changqing praised effusively.

“Thank you for your kind words.”

She laughed, sitting opposite him, and they drank and chatted. Ding Changqing recounted his quarrel with Feng Yuan in detail.

After hearing his tale, Xiaohong smiled. “Master Ding, I believe I have a way to help you.”

“What way? Please tell me!” Ding Changqing asked.

“The time is not yet right. It requires a certain opportunity.”

“What opportunity?”

“It is simple: each day, bring two scholars to my home to discuss the classics with me. Ten days from now, I will reveal the method to you,” Xiaohong said.

“Why must it be so?” Ding Changqing was puzzled.

Xiaohong smiled coquettishly instead of answering. She stood, walked over to Ding Changqing, unfastened her sash, and shed her outer garment, revealing her white skin and undergarments.

Ding Changqing’s eyes widened; his hand trembled so that wine spilled across the table.

“Master Ding, will you agree to my request? If you do, I will be yours,” Xiaohong said, sitting on his lap, arms around his neck, gazing at him with sultry eyes.

Ding Changqing, thirty years old and never having touched a woman, was already stirred by her earlier allure. Now, faced with her advances, he could not resist. He nodded repeatedly. “I agree, I agree…”

Unable to restrain himself any longer, he embraced Xiaohong, kissing her passionately…