The Jade Faced Cuck-Chapter 22: The Guest Arrives

The knock was soft. Unhurried. Expected.

Lin Mu's breath caught as the sound echoed through the polished wood of their chamber door. It was barely more than a tap—three measured raps—but it rang louder than thunder in his chest.

He stood from his cushion, palms already damp, and walked to the door with steps that felt both automatic and irreversible.

Sliding it open, he met the gaze of Yan Zhuo.

Dressed in a black inner robe that framed his broad chest, the man carried himself like a guest at his own banquet. Not arrogant—precisely—but assured. His eyes flicked briefly to Lin Mu's face, then just slightly downward, pausing on the subtle tension in Lin Mu's jaw.

"Senior Brother," Yan Zhuo said smoothly, inclining his head. "You said she'd be ready."

Lin Mu swallowed.

"She is."

He stepped aside.

Yan Zhuo entered without hesitation, his sandals silent against the polished stone floor. The scent of warm oil and incense curled through the air—a blend Lin Mu had mixed by hand only an hour earlier. The fragrance clung to the space between them, heavy with unspoken meaning.

And at the heart of the room, Xue Lan waited.

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She reclined on the edge of their bed—silken robe drawn open just enough to reveal the gleam of oiled skin at her collarbone and thighs. Her hair, still slightly damp from her bath, spilled like black silk over her shoulders. Her eyes were half-lidded, cheeks faintly flushed.

And her smile... was radiant.

"Welcome," she said.

Yan Zhuo's voice lowered. "You look even better than I imagined."

She chuckled softly. "That's because I'm eager."

Lin Mu stood to the side now, his hands clasped in front of him, head slightly bowed.

His posture was perfect.

His heart was not.

The silk of his underrobes pulled tight across his lower body, the proof of his shameful arousal pressing unmistakably against the fabric. He didn't adjust it. He couldn't. That would be acknowledgment. That would be claiming something he no longer had the right to claim.

Yan Zhuo noticed.

Of course he did.

And said nothing—his smile said enough.

Xue Lan turned to her husband. "He's early," she said softly. "Were you going to help me with the last tie?"

Lin Mu stepped forward silently, approaching the bed.

The sash of her robe slipped from his fingers with practiced ease. He untied it slowly, carefully, as if every motion carried weight. Because it did.

She didn't stop smiling as he peeled the fabric away from her shoulder.

"I left it loose for you," she whispered.

Behind him, he could feel Yan Zhuo's gaze on his back. On his hands. On the way he touched her—not as a husband, but as a servant.

As the robe slid lower, revealing the smooth curve of her hip, Lin Mu's breath faltered.

She was warm beneath his touch. Too warm.

Ready.

When he stepped back, his face burned.

Yan Zhuo was already removing his outer robe, folding it with casual grace before placing it aside.

"She's soft," Lin Mu said quietly. "Oiled. I stretched her earlier."

Yan Zhuo raised an eyebrow.

"Stretched?"

"With my hands," Lin Mu said. "She's... open."

Yan Zhuo's smirk deepened.

"I suppose that saves me the effort."

Lin Mu said nothing.

The bed dipped as Yan Zhuo sat beside her. Xue Lan turned toward him, one leg sliding across the covers, her fingers trailing along his chest, inviting and electric.

Lin Mu took a step back.

He kept his head down.

His breath trembled.

And beneath his robes, the pulse of shame and arousal surged hotter than ever.

Yan Zhuo stepped closer to the bed, reaching out to run two fingers along the loose edge of her robe. The silk slipped lower on her shoulder.

"You look beautiful," he said.

"I feel ready," she replied.

Lin Mu took a step back.

His place wasn't near the bed. It was in the corner.

From where he could see everything—and stop nothing.

Yan Zhuo glanced over his shoulder again. "You'll watch, won't you?"

Lin Mu nodded, throat dry.

"Yes."

"Good," Yan Zhuo said. "She deserves an audience."

Xue Lan laughed softly, her eyes sliding toward her husband. "He knows that better than anyone."

Lin Mu lowered his gaze. He couldn't look directly at her now. Not with how she sat. Not with her thighs parted just enough to expose smooth, glowing skin. Not with the faint shadow that hinted at what he had spent hours preparing—but would never claim.

The pressure in his robes tightened. He didn't adjust it.

Lin Mu shifted back further into the corner of the room, the polished stone floor cool beneath his knees. He folded his robes beneath him as he settled into place—his posture straight, spine locked, as if clinging to dignity by the thinnest thread.

In front of him, the two of them moved together.

Yan Zhuo now sat beside Xue Lan, his hand trailing across her thigh as they exchanged quiet words he couldn't hear. Her body shifted toward the touch—leaning in, softening—not like she did when he held her. This was different.

This was real.

Xue Lan's robe slipped further from her shoulder as Yan Zhuo brushed her hair aside. The spirit lanterns caught the shine of her skin—light from the oil he had spent nearly an hour working into her flesh. He had kissed every inch of that shoulder earlier. She had barely sighed.

Now, as Yan Zhuo's fingers brushed her collarbone, she shivered.

The robe slid lower. The fall was slow. Deliberate. She let it happen without hesitation.

Lin Mu's eyes dropped reflexively.

He saw the curve of her breast—soft, full, warm in the golden light. Her nipples, already stiff, tightened further as the air kissed it. The faintest quiver passed through her abdomen, her breath hitching gently.

Her arousal was real.

Immediate.

And Lin Mu's was shameful.

He was hard. Painfully, humiliatingly hard. His arousal pulsed with every quiet sound, every shift of silk and breath. He didn't touch himself. He didn't move. But the pressure in his robes was unmistakable.

He hated how aroused he was.

He hated how clearly Yan Zhuo could see it.

He watched as Xue Lan leaned forward, her lips brushing the shell of Yan Zhuo's ear, her fingers curling around the front of his robe.

"Let me," she said.

And she undid it.

He didn't see what she saw next.

But he saw her reaction.

Her lips parted slightly.

A low, pleased hum slipped from her throat.

She leaned in again, whispering something into Yan Zhuo's chest that made the man smile wide.

Lin Mu's stomach turned.

He had never heard her sound like that—not with him.

Her eyes found Lin Mu's for a moment.

And she smiled.

Not cruelly.

But knowingly.

She knew what he was feeling.

And she knew he wouldn't leave.

She turned back to Yan Zhuo.

And the bed creaked as she climbed into his lap.

Lin Mu lowered his eyes.

He would listen.

He would kneel.