[To Become a River of Stars] Dong Xiange - Chapter 10 [Slightly H]

The sun gradually rose, its light piercing the lingering cool mist. Dewdrops formed on the tips of the sprawling grass by the official road, gathering into round pearls before trembling on the emerald leaves and finally falling—pat—into the soil.

The cold, hard hooves of horses trod over the fine dust of the road, stirring up tiny particles that shimmered in the air.

But Shiliu was unaware of all this. She was still deeply asleep.

The four-wheeled carriage was high and stable, its joints reinforced, and the interior lined with thick lambskin that absorbed most of the noise. She lay on the plush rug, warmed by a fragrant heat, her face gradually flushing a soft pink, like the first blush of cherry blossoms in spring.

A few strands of hair had loosened from her crooked crown, trailing delicately across the furry white rug. Shiliu slept languidly, her grey-blue Daoist robe crumpled beneath her, the layered collar slightly parted.

Somehow, a strand of hair had found its way into that opening. It tickled her in her sleep, and she shifted against the rug, but the dense, soft wool resisted, gently tugging at her robe until the collar opened further.

A glimpse of skin, smooth as mutton fat, was revealed. A delicate collarbone traced a crescent moon-like curve, extending inward before being hidden again by the loose robe.

The dull, oversized Daoist robe only accentuated that patch of skin, making it glow like warm jade—so tender it seemed it might melt at the touch, leaving only softness behind.

The brilliant morning sunlight pierced the lingering cool mist, scattering light spots on the moss-covered stones and evaporating the chill. Thin beams of light and warmth seeped into the carriage, and the temperature inside steadily rose.

Shiliu remained lost in her dreams, unaware of the passing time.

Her face rested against the lambskin, the curly, fine fur brushing against her skin.

Occasionally, it swept across the tip of her nose, sending a tickling sensation straight to her head, stimulating her tear ducts. It was an ambiguous discomfort—neither quite pain nor pure itch—that settled heavily in her heart, stirring a vague unease.

But gradually, this sensation began to shift.

At some point, her calf had slipped out from under the worn, wide Daoist robe, resting lightly against the carpet. The uniquely curly, fluffy texture of the animal fur gently caressed her slender shin.

Her knee pressed into the lambswool, flattening the fine fluff in a slow, deliberate motion, while the short fibers rubbed back against her delicate skin.

Her breathing gradually grew quicker.

The tips of the wool crept into the hollow behind her knee—a vulnerable spot of soft cartilage. It wasn’t painful, but rather a tingling numbness mixed with a strange, aching weakness that seeped into the very marrow of her bones.

She let out a soft murmur, sweet and dripping with drowsiness.

Though still asleep, her body responded, shifting more restlessly against the rug. The dull robe loosened further, revealing the crescent-moon curve of her collarbone and the smooth slope of her shoulder.

Why was it so warm? This cozy heat seemed to melt her very bones, leaving her feeling boneless and pliant, like clay waiting to be shaped by skilled hands—to be molded until all resistance dissolved, until she melted entirely into their palm.

As if in answer to her unconscious yearning, a hand granted her wish.

That hand was cooler than her skin, elegantly shaped, and it gently pushed aside the loosened edge of her robe. The moment its cold fingertips touched her skin, a shiver ran through her.

A faint sweat had gathered along her spine, and she murmured incoherently in her sleep, her words soft and blurred. But the sensation of that mischievous hand grew increasingly vivid.

It was like a drop of ice landing in a secret place, warmed by her body heat until it melted, leaving behind a lingering trail of moisture on her skin.

Yet it did not dissolve. Instead, calloused with a slight roughness, it slowly stroked the inside of her knee, teasing for a moment before journeying upward.

The engraved patterns of those callouses brushed against the back of her thigh—a place untouched by friction, exquisitely tender and sensitive. An aching fullness immediately shot up to her tailbone, wrapping around it tightly like a growing vine.

It did not stop there. Continuing its exploration, it encountered a soft, rounded curve. The hand paused, then finally closed firmly around it, palm filled with warm, fragrant softness.

He grasped Shiliu’s pale, soft butt*cks and dragged her over. This was no longer a slow, tantalizing torment—it was rougher, more direct.

“Mmm…” Her brows furrowed, her legs intertwining, knee bones rubbing against each other, the flesh of her thighs pressing together as she subtly ground against him.

A low chuckle reached her, slipping into her ears and tickling her eardrums, making her ears burn unconsciously. In her dazed state, a flicker of shame arose, amplifying her senses and cloaking everything in a haze of ambiguity.

Shiliu struggled to wake up, but her head felt heavy, as if sinking into a deep abyss of fog. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t open her eyes.

Before she could react, that hand suddenly squeezed her butt*ck fiercely, the warm, soft flesh spilling between his fingers, enveloping his knuckles completely. It was as if her body was carefully, eagerly lavishing attention on his fingers—utterly satisfying.

How could anyone let go of such tenderness?

He kneaded her butt*cks freely, letting that little thing roll and press in his palm. The breath above Shiliu grew gradually heavier, low and panting, enough to make one’s heart flutter nervously.

Shiliu whimpered like a kitten, her voice fine and soft, teasing the ears. The consciousness that had just tried to struggle awake sank once more under the heat of desire, like falling into honey—her entire body coated in an inescapable stickiness.

She didn’t know what she was begging for, didn’t know what she wanted—only that she felt unsatisfied.

The person above her seemed to read her mind, straightforwardly stripping off her clothes with agile and unabashed movements.

In no time, her Taoist robe hung loosely open, her lower body bare and pressed directly against the short fleece of lambswool.

In her haze, Shiliu felt an urge to resist, but when she tried to push back, she realized her hands were tied—she couldn’t move.

Her slight struggle was noticed by the person above. A warm breath drew near, and a light scold whispered behind her ear, “Disobedient.”

The tone wasn’t harsh—it even held a hint of laughter—but it inexplicably stirred fear in Shiliu. She waited, though she didn’t know what for.

The person turned her over, grasped her peach-like, rounded butt*cks, and lifted her up abruptly.

Now, Shiliu’s bare bre*sts pressed against the lambswool on the ground, her lower body suspended in the air, legs slightly parted as he pressed between them.

Shame spread through her. Her hands bound, she weakly tried to support herself with her elbows, but for every inch she raised herself, the person behind her maliciously dragged her back down.

Instead, her bre*sts, tender like fresh spring bamboo shoots, hung in the air due to the position, suspended just a hair’s breadth above the lambswool.

It was as if they were engaged in a push-and-pull—Shiliu’s body became a grindstone of flesh, not heavy or hard but soft like clay.

His body pressed between her legs, his hard hip bones carving into the tender flesh of her inner thighs. Bone against skin, like a knife slicing through tofu.

Her bre*sts became the millstone, but this millstone was too delicate, unwilling to crush coarse grain, only hovering faintly.

The fine tips of the lambswool were sharp like needles. Each time they seemed about to touch the tender, tofu-like flesh of her bre*sts, they always fell just short.

Even without contact, the fine hairs on her skin stood on end, as if charged with static, making her pores tingle.

A fine sweat broke out on Shiliu’s forehead. Restlessness rose from within her body, every part of her as if simmering in gradually heating warm water. She wanted release—just a satisfying relief, anything would do.

But she didn’t know what satisfying relief was.

Finally, her arms softened inch by inch, her spine aching from the strain. Her slender, bamboo-like shoulders and neck slowly sank down.

The sharp, fine tips of the lambswool on the ground finally succeeded, piercing into the tender, nearly invisible ni*ples. Just a shallow poke, and the soreness was unbearable.

“Ah!” She groaned and fell.

Her ni*ples were pierced with satisfying sharpness. Countless fine, curly wool strands brushed densely against her pale, tender bre*st flesh, sweeping over the sensitive, flushed are*las. One particularly sharp strand plunged deeply into the small ni*ple.

The beauty of lambswool lay in its fine, soft texture, like a tongue licking every inch of skin—but without the lubrication of saliva, it brought a dryness that stimulated to the point of tingling scalp.

But its flaw was also its fineness and softness. With pressure, it sank down, only capable of teasing and provoking her bre*sts impotently, unable to provide a satisfying release.

It rubbed her erratically, now light, now heavy, like a tongue deliberately feigning weakness—stirring desire but offering no resolution.

“Don’t…” Shiliu struggled, finally managing to speak, but her words were slurred, soft enough to drip water.

The person behind her, his hands gripping her pale, round butt*cks, suddenly thrust forward violently. A hard object, layered behind clothing, charged with thunderous force, crashing squarely against her bun-like moist opening.