After the wedding, Fu Siyan and I slept in separate bedrooms. No one would believe it if I told them, but even now, we still haven’t “consummated” our marriage.

One night, I deliberately dimmed his bedroom lights to a sultry glow, snuck inside, and slid under his covers to wait. When the rhythmic clicking of his leather shoes echoed down the quiet hallway, my heart hammered like a snare drum. But… Siyan hesitated and turned into my room first. Stopping dead in his tracks as if suddenly realizing something, he turned on his heel and headed back to his own space.

Soon, the sound of running water drifted from the bathroom, every drop hitting me right in the chest. I couldn’t help imaging the water sliding down his broad, sculpted chest… A view like that, and I hadn’t even gotten to witness it in person once! Just the thought of it made my blood boil.

By the time I snapped out of my daydream, Siyan was already in bed, lying neatly on his side like the picture-perfect gentleman. I swallowed hard and let my hand glide along the silk sheets toward him.

“Who’s there?” His stern voice made me jump.

A second later, a pair of strong hands yanked me straight out from under the blanket. Under the moonlight, he finally caught sight of my face, his tight knit brow relaxing just a fraction. “Qiao Yihua? What are you doing in my room?”

Instead of answering, my eyes shamelessly traced down his eight-pack abs. He was wearing nothing but a loosely tied bath towel. Pale skin, razor-sharp muscle definition—irritatingly hot and infuriatingly distant. An absolute masterpiece.

“You wouldn’t let me pick you up at the airport, and now I’m not even allowed in your room?” I pouted, playing the aggrieved wife.

He froze, explaining out of pure instinct, “Qiaoqiao, you know that’s not what I meant.”

His plump lips moved softly, making my throat go bone-dry. So, I went for it. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I threw every piece of “theoretical knowledge” I had at him. As the air between us grew feverish, Siyan’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with sudden confusion. He cupped the back of my neck and pulled me back slightly. “Why so passionate all of a sudden?”

Flushed to my ears, I climbed up and sat straight across his firm waist, whispering softly, “Let’s have a baby, Siyan. With genetics like yours, it’d be a crime not to.”

The moment the words left my mouth, his gaze went ice-cold. He scoffed, shoving me off him. “You dressed up like this… just for that? Get out. I’m not your breeding tool.”

I froze. We were this close! Seeing him grab a pillow to leave, panic set in. “Fu Siyan! This is a marital obligation!”

“Which law states that marriage makes childbearing mandatory?” His tone was biting.

And just like that, we plunged straight into a cold war. To this day, I still haven’t figured out where I went wrong.

“Are you serious? You and my brother have gotten that far and you still haven’t pulled it off?”

Over afternoon tea, Fu Ting stared at me, her eyes wide as saucers.

I nodded in defeat, not bothering to deny it. After marriage, forget about intimacy—the dynamic between Siyan and me didn’t even push past polite acquaintance. Great. Now I was stuck living like a nun with a perfectly fine husband right under my nose.

Fu Ting slouched beside me, analyzing the situation like an expert. “Logically speaking, that makes no sense. My brother is definitely functional. Hey… have you ever actually taken the initiative?”

“Who says I haven’t?” I snapped back immediately.

A month ago, I hatched a bold plan. Pretending I was scared of sleeping alone, I dropped every hint in the book. The result? Siyan acted like he was missing an emotional wire altogether. When I woke up in the middle of the night, I found him sitting on the sofa right outside my bedroom door… casually reading a book. I nearly blew a fuse right then and there.

Another time, I played an even riskier card: I intentionally got tipsy to create the “golden opportunity.” We actually shared a bed that night, but he didn’t touch me. When I opened my eyes the next morning, he was standing in front of the mirror, casually adjusting his tie.

“I had Auntie Zhang make you some millet porridge,” he said, his voice entirely unbothered. “If you can’t hold your liquor, drink less next time.”

This was my first time attending a high-society banquet as Siyan’s wife. Being keep under wraps for so long, our appearance naturally drew a flood of curious glances. Siyan slid his arm around my waist, and feeling my body go stiff as a board, he leaned down to my ear, his voice laced with a subtle smirk.

“Mrs. Fu, relax a little.”

The title “Mrs. Fu” set my ears on fire instantly. But after the opening dance, he was pulled away to network, leaving me to wander off with my gown trailing behind me in search of food.

Just as I reached for a pastry, hushed whispers drifted over:

“Is that President Fu’s wife? She looks… pretty average.”

“Sweet-looking, sure, but she doesn’t hold a candle to his white moonlight. What a shame—why didn’t Fu Siyan choose Lin Ximo instead?”

“Who knows what kind of tricks this one pulled? Word is Lin Ximo is coming back soon anyway.”

That was it. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Grabbing a glass of red wine, I strolled straight over and executed a remarkably artistic “slip of the hand” right over the ringleader’s dress.

“Oh, my bad. My hand slipped,” I smiled politely, though my eyes cut like daggers. “Since you’re bad-mouthing people in public, maybe you should let your manners ‘slip’ back into place too.”

My sudden spike of attitude caught them dead in their tracks. They glared at me with pure disdain, but none dared to move.

I turned on my heel and walked into the quiet garden to catch my breath. My mind involuntarily drifted to the name I’d just heard: Lin Ximo.

What did Siyan’s “white moonlight” actually look like? Was his refusal to be intimate with me really because he was saving himself for her?