Zhang Zhixu: “…”
He closed his eyes, his voice coming out slightly unsteady. “Could you please not — not keep touching things in that general area.”
“It’s my own body — why shouldn’t I?” Chen Baoxiang looked left and right at herself in the mirror with total ease. “Besides, immortals don’t have a gender. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
Immortals might not. He did.
Zhang Zhixu’s face had grown warm. He grabbed the new bodice the maidservant brought and got it fastened over her as quickly as possible.
“Won’t I be cold dressed like this?” Chen Baoxiang touched her exposed collarbone. “It’s not even spring yet.”
“Wealthy households have warming braziers at every entrance, and personal hand warmers at their side at all times. Being dressed lightly is the look.” He said. “If you want to fit in, you have to do it properly.”
“I see.”
Chen Baoxiang tried on two more outfits. She had to admit the Great Immortal’s choices were genuinely good — the longer she looked, the better she liked them.
Though her body was behaving rather strangely. She was growing warmer and warmer, and there was an odd, prickling sensation low in her abdomen.
She reached for tea and drank a mouthful — didn’t help. She pressed herself against the clothes hanging nearby — still strange.
“Enough.” Zhang Zhixu took control of her body, the words coming out from somewhere he’d clenched very tight. “We’re going back.”
Already? Chen Baoxiang wailed. “I still wanted to look at the hairpins.”
“You can’t look at hairpins right now.”
“I suppose that’s true — something does feel odd.” She murmured, reaching a hand downward.
Zhang Zhixu stopped her with reflexive speed.
His breath was running hot. His heartbeat was erratic. He closed his eyes, pulled her lapel closed, and walked.
Both of them were deeply uncomfortable. He walked fast. Chen Baoxiang still managed to grab a few hairpins and ornaments as they went — though not many. At the door, the proprietor tallied everything and announced that she was owed two additional taels in credit.
Chen Baoxiang was delighted. Zhang Zhixu waved a hand: “Keep it.”
They hired a cart outside and made it back to Xun Yuan at speed.
The moment the door was shut, he wrung out a cold damp cloth and began wiping her down — neck, back, again and again — three or four passes before the heat subsided.
Chen Baoxiang sagged weakly across the bed. “Was I poisoned?”
Zhang Zhixu turned his face away. “Something like that.”
“This is a strange poison,” she said with a light laugh. “It made Young Master Pei appear over and over in my head, running back and forth.”
---