She grabbed a decorative, jade-tasselled throw pillow and hurled it aggressively at the closed bedroom doors.
"Stupid biology! Stupid novel! Stupid, arrogant, flute-playing Vanguard Commanders!" she yelled, attributing her pain to the nearest available male target simply because she needed soone to be mad at.
The heavy spirit-wood doors silently swung open.
Lin Feng stepped into the room.
He moved with the silent grace of an apex predator, stepping smoothly out of the trajectory of the flying jade pillow.
He caught the projectile with one large hand, his face a mask of complete calm.
He had changed out of his heavy court armor, wearing a comfortable, dark gray martial arts tunic that emphasized the breadth of his shoulders.
Ji’an froze on the bed, her knees still pulled to her chest.
Her eyes widened, a sudden wave of embarrassnt crashing over her.
’Oh no,’ Ji’an thought, her face flushing crimson. ’He’s going to ask what’s wrong, why I’m screaming, and to have to explain the nstrual cycle to a hardened, battle-scarred war hero of an ancient, patriarchal society... He’ll look at in disgust and will leave the room, wouldn’t he?’
"Eldest Brother," Ji’an managed to croak, attempting to unfurl from her fetal position to project a facade of young-master dignity, but a fresh cramp forced her to abort the maneuver with a sharp hiss of pain. "I am... I am fine. I was just... practicing a vocal Qi-release technique. You should leave. I am... cultivating."
Lin Feng did not leave.
He closed the heavy doors behind him, sliding the iron locking bar into place with an echoing clack.
He walked slowly toward the bed, tossing the jade pillow onto a nearby chaise lounge.
His dark, silver-flecked eyes swept over her pale, sweating face, the tense, curled posture of her body, and the white-knuckled grip her hands had on her own shins.
The stoic, unreadable mask of the commander lted away.
There was no disgust in his eyes, no discomfort, and no archaic, societal revulsion at the presence of "impure Yin."
Instead, there was only an incredibly deep and patient ocean of older-sibling understanding.
"You are a terrible liar, little bird," Lin Feng murmured, his deep baritone rumbling softly in the quiet room.
He didn’t hesitate.
He stepped right up to the edge of the mattress and sat down, the bed dipping under his weight.
Ji’an flinched, instinctively trying to scramble backward, her deeply ingrained modern and transmigrated insecurities flaring up simultaneously.
"Elder brother, seriously, you need to go," Ji’an warned, her voice trembling, a sudden, irrational surge of hormonal tears pricking the corners of her eyes. "I’m... I’m not in a state to entertain you. It’s a... a woman’s ailnt. It’s impure. I’m cramping. I’m cranky. I will probably yell at you for breathing too loudly. Just leave for now."
Lin Feng looked at her.
He reached out, his large, calloused hand gently pushing a damp, sweat-soaked strand of hair away from her forehead.
His touch was incredibly warm and devoid of judgnt.
"I commanded armies across battlefields where the blood soaked the earth up to my ankles," Lin Feng said softly, his thumb lightly brushing her temple. "Do you honestly believe I’m frightened by the natural biology of my own sister?"
Ji’an stared at him, the tears finally spilling over her lashes, a mixture of pain, relief, and overwhelming hormonal instability.
"I flipped a table at a restaurant," Ji’an sobbed randomly, her mood swinging violently into a confession. "There were girls... they were shipping us! They said I was a Playboy! I got so mad, I threw roasted duck at them! I’m a monster!"
Lin Feng let out a low, rich, and fond chuckle. "I saw. Your form was excellent. Your center of gravity was perfect when you flipped it. Father would be proud."
"It’s not funny!" Ji’an wailed, burying her face in her hands. "My stomach feels like it is being used as a training dummy by an earth-attribute brawler! I just want to die."
Lin Feng’s amusent faded into gentle concern.
He patted her shoulder once in a heavy, reassuring way.
"Lie still," Lin Feng instructed, his tone shifting back to the quiet, absolute authority of a commander taking charge of a crisis. "Don’t move. I’ll be right back."
He stood up, his dark gray tunic swishing softly, and strode out of the bedroom, slipping through the doors with practiced stealth.
Ji’an curled tighter into a ball, burying her face in the silk pillows, shivering slightly as a cold sweat broke out across her skin.
She expected him to be gone for hours, perhaps to fetch a female servant or an estate physician who would force her to drink so bitter, useless herbal concoction ant to "cleanse" her impurities.
But less than five minutes later, the door clicked open again.
Lin Feng returned to her room once again.
He was carrying a small, lacquered wooden tray.
As he approached the bed, Ji’an’s culinary-enhanced olfactory senses imdiately picked up the scent rising from the steaming, dark ceramic bowl resting on the tray.
Her breath hitched.
It was an aroma she hadn’t slled since she lived in a tiny, cramped apartnt on Earth, hunched over a gas stove in the middle of the night.
It was the rich, deep, comforting scent of dark brown sugar, slow-simred ginger root, dried longan, and the faint, sweet tang of premium goji berries.
It was the holy grail!
The ultimate, universal, cross-dinsional redy for nstrual cramps.
Ji’an pushed herself up onto her elbows, staring at the bowl with wide, dumbfounded eyes.
"How..." Ji’an whispered, ignoring her pain for a fraction of a second. "How do you know what that is? How do you have that prepared so quickly?"
In the archaic cultivation world, dicine was about balancing Qi, clearing ridians, and purging toxins.
A simple, comforting, Earth-style brown sugar and ginger syrup was unheard of, especially in the hands of a male military commander.
Lin Feng set the tray down on the bedside table.
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