Chapter 36

*Pheromones*
The freezing surge turned the white corridor into a snowfield.
Wind lashed her cheeks. Faced with unknown danger, instinct said run.
Zhu Yu raised her hand against the wind and walked forward step by step.
At the slightly open door a huge snow leopard blocked the gap, frost on thick fur, teeth gritted. “Her Highness is out of control again—report to His Majesty—”
“No time! Get Director Feng!”
The second leopard rode spirit force down the hall without hesitation.
Yu Yan had slid to the wall, gasping.
Gloriel half-knelt, face paper-white. The pressure nearly suffocated her; her legs wanted to kneel in submission.
She stared at Zhu Yu’s back moving into the wind. Why was she unaffected?
The leopard blocked most of the door, fangs bared, voice hoarse. “Your Highness, you cannot go closer.”
“I am the princess’s spouse. There is nothing I cannot do. She needs me.” Zhu Yu’s voice was not loud, but it carried through the storm with strange certainty.
She slipped past the leopard’s flank and pulled the door shut.
Click. Claws only scraped her coat hem.
Seeing Zhu Yu enter, Gloriel bit down and tried to follow—only to be slammed to the floor by stronger pressure. She coughed blood.
She stared at the door like staring at supreme power itself.
Why Zhu Yu and not her?
Bones creaked under natural oppression. Gloriel crawled along the wall, trembling fingers nearing the handle—until an impatient paw pinned her down.
Blood ran from eyes, nose, mouth—a horror she did not feel. She clawed forward like mad, trying to copy Zhu Yu’s success.
Drops froze as they fell.
A growl from the throat: “Back!”
The leopard arched, guarding the door like a gate god—not to keep danger out, but to keep danger in.
Inside was another world.
Time seemed frozen. Instruments wore ice. Cameras blinked red danger. Gold light refracted through clear frost; breath became pale smoke.
So cold—it reminded Zhu Yu of Bai Shuzhou’s nightmare dream.
Warm yellow light rose in Zhu Yu’s palm. Deep green vines coiled her arm gently, inviting her deeper.
Woody warmth and cold rose intertwined—pull from instinct itself.
Near the bed she saw not Bai Shuzhou but a huge cocoon of vines, sealing her from the world.
“I lost control.” Bai Shuzhou’s voice from inside was calm to the point of indifference. “Do not come closer.”
Her aura was colder than rose scent—pure, untamed spirit force, wild and alive.
Zhu Yu squeezed the supple vines, sat on the bed edge, gathered warm spirit at her fingertips, and slowly peeled layer after layer, trying to dig Bai Shuzhou out.
Patiently. One strand at a time.
A gap opened.
First, silver hair poured out, softer than silk, edged with ice light.
Then a straight nose, pale tight lips—perfect lines, all distance.
Last, pale blue eyes lifted.
“Very dangerous,” Bai Shuzhou said coldly.
Though she refused, when Zhu Yu’s knuckles truly paused, Bai Shuzhou bit her lip.
“If you hesitate, why continue?” Her voice held tension she had not noticed.
Zhu Yu answered honestly, “Ah—it froze. My hand stuck to your vine.”
Like touching an iron railing outdoors in winter. Physical pull.
Layer by layer the cocoon parted. Light leaked in, then Zhu Yu’s smiling brows, hair haloed gold, fluffy in the lamp.
“Hi.” She curled her fingers in a knock-knock gesture. “May I come in?”
She poked the vine—spirit-made; Bai Shuzhou should feel it.
Frost seemed locked in Bai Shuzhou’s brow. She bit her lip, still, only those blue eyes fixed on Zhu Yu—measuring, or trying to cross time and flesh to reach something deeper.
“You won’t hurt me.” Zhu Yu laid her warm palm down. Healing light flowed where skin met skin.
Runaway spirit force softened under her hand like warm honey.
“Mm…!”
She had been joking—but the vines really parted and dragged her inside.
Narrow space collapsed.
Zhu Yu braced above. Warm motes like fireflies lit Bai Shuzhou’s silver hair.
This close she looked fragile as porcelain art. Pale veins at her throat trembled; heartbeat loud in silence.
Zhu Yu held her breath, afraid her heat had stirred the butterfly resting on Bai Shuzhou’s lashes—wings folding, curving beautiful.
In the hush she felt warmth drawn from her palm, swallowed bit by bit. Vines bloomed strange vivid roses; soft petals brushed her skin and raised a shiver.
This time Zhu Yu knew clearly: Bai Shuzhou was actively taking her energy.
Slow. Continuous.
Hunger near instinct, impossible to refuse.
Like squeezing a treat on your finger and waiting for the proud cold cat to come lick—rough tongue, small sting, unbearable intimacy.
Tingles ran from touched skin through her whole body.
She looked down. Bai Shuzhou still had eyes closed, long lashes shadowing her cheeks, face cold—even divine, as if receiving tribute.
Yet the vines clung greedy and intimate.
The contrast made Zhu Yu’s heart stumble.
Bai Shuzhou liked it—then stopped.
A thin voice at her ear: “What were you thinking just now? Why didn’t you fight back?”
Even through walls she had sensed Zhu Yu’s scent shift—from light fragrance to bitter grievance.
She had wanted to go out, but after treatment her suppressed spirit had hit its limit; numb legs would not obey.
She could not see outside, yet Gloriel’s sharp voice painted how Zhu Yu was shamed.
Bai Shuzhou’s senses were cruelly sharp—the girl’s choked cry, the sound squeezed from her chest under paws—all magnified when she was exhausted.
And she could do nothing.
Memories flickered: pure snowfield, the girl who sweetly called “Sister” curling in pain, chance to leave yet gripping her hand, wilted rose falling.
Then cold. Stiff. Embrace brought no warmth.
Am I not the most gifted, strongest dragon?
Why can I do nothing?
Should this damned power be a curse?
Nails dug into her palms. Eyes closed. She hated helplessness. She hated losing control.
Born to every expectation, she had not borne the duty owed.
“Are you angry because they bullied me?” Two fingers touched the back of her hand and clumsily drew a heart.
Zhu Yu felt suddenly happy.
Eighteen-year-old Bai Shuzhou could not yet hide every ripple.
Joy and anger leaked from brow and lip, a blush on flawless jade—pulling the distant moon close, touchable, alive.
Like moon in a cup—you drink and taste sweetness.
Zhu Yu watched without blinking. Angry Bai Shuzhou was adorable. Her own hurt had vanished in Bai Shuzhou’s pain, even guilt stirring.
She had wailed loud, but the knights had not really hurt her—soft pads, not claws.
“I did fight back. I wasn’t bullied. Don’t be angry, okay?”
“I was only thinking—the roses are ruined. I can’t give them to you.”
“Next time I’ll bring prettier ones!”
Rarely prim, Zhu Yu pressed her lips—but pheromones betrayed her, turning sweet and heady. Buds could not hold back; roses popped open against skin in clusters.
Zhu Yu tilted her head. Bai Shuzhou’s bitten, moist lips—no rose in the universe, all sixteen hundred kinds together, could match her.
Still she wanted flowers. Vulgar romance. One glance from that beauty would freeze forever in scent and memory.
Black hair fell on pale collarbone, still warm from her, itching the heart.
The reality pulled Bai Shuzhou back from chaos. Scattered memories aligned; notes found their places.
When Bai Shuzhou closed her eyes again, wild roses surged up and circled them both.
Flowers. Dim light. Lashes flicked—a signal.
Butterfly on the heart. Zhu Yu leaned to kiss. Bai Shuzhou lifted her face first; soft lips met.
No slow guidance now. Bai Shuzhou hid nothing—fingertips testing, then fingers interlaced.
Rose scent devoured Zhu Yu’s pheromones as they kissed, swallowing mouthful by mouthful, gentle and possessive.
The faded rose mark on Zhu Yu flared bright again. Woody notes thinned to a base and faded, as if ten thousand roses had bloomed here once.
First clumsiness was prelude. Bai Shuzhou soon set the rhythm.
No pain. No tears. Fierce and tender. Those blue eyes still exploring even in passion.
Zhu Yu learned what it felt like to be kissed airless—or she forgot to breathe.
Open her eyes and see only herself reflected in pale blue—her haze and Bai Shuzhou’s desire overlapping like amber frozen in amber.
Thud.
A dull knock returned her breath.
Dream broken—someone still outside.
No answer. Gloriel shoved the door hard. Feng Jiyan hurried behind. Even the usually stone-faced director pushed up his glasses in surprise.
“Director Feng—is this your Academy’s management?”
Gloriel waved coldly. “Drag this commoner out. Investigate! She took advantage of the princess’s illness to plot something!”
Knights exchanged looks, lowered eyes, stepped forward in a wall blocking Gloriel’s red furious gaze.
Zhu Yu started to rise and cover Bai Shuzhou—but Bai Shuzhou sat up without care, eyes narrowing slits.
“Gloriel.” Cold voice.
The haze of desire was gone. Ice and edge returned.
She did not sit fully upright—one arm lazy, silver hair sliding off her shoulder.
Pale fingers curled, wiping swollen, wet lips with idle cruelty.
No flirtation—only looking down, judging.
Her gaze skimmed Zhu Yu’s flushed cheeks first.
Then, slowly, through the knights, locked on Gloriel’s bloodless face.
Brow knit. The pressure held back during the kiss crashed down. Voice still rough, glance light:
“How dare you offend the imperial house?”