The Yandere Queen's Manual for Training Her Wife - Chapter 118

It was the summer solstice. The sun hung high in the sky, radiating intense heat that scorched the earth. Many people in Rong City had already switched to light clothing and short sleeves.

At the West well Villa, however, the outdoor temperature control system kept the environment reasonably comfortable.

Qin Yan was lying on a bamboo lounge chair in the courtyard, a magazine resting on her body, eyes half-closed as she napped.

Xia Mingtang was passing by with Mimi in her arms when she noticed Qin Yan’s serious sleeping posture.

She paused for a few seconds, set Mimi down to play on her own, and walked behind the chair. She rubbed her hands together and placed them on Qin Yan’s temples.

This massage technique was something she had originally learned to care for Xia Huaying, meant to soothe and calm the mind. Now she was using it on Qin Yan.

Ever since Qin Yan reverted to her nineteen-year-old self after the high fever, her mental state had not been very good. She often felt drowsy and restless even in sleep.

Xia Mingtang had accompanied her to the hospital twice. After examination, the doctor said there was nothing physically wrong with her, but if the drowsiness persisted, she might need to see a psychologist.

Hearing the word “psychological,” Xia Mingtang immediately thought of that strange man, Song Mo, who called himself a psychologist.

She hesitated. Qin Yan herself was very resistant to the idea, so the matter of seeing a psychologist was put aside for the time being.

It was summer, the indoor air was stuffy, and people naturally felt sleepy—it was probably normal.

Xia Mingtang set the villa’s surrounding temperature to 22°C, a level where she herself would need a light jacket when walking outside in the courtyard.

She stood behind the bamboo lounge chair, fingers together, tracing circles from bottom to top along Qin Yan’s temples.

After several days of practice, her massage technique had returned to peak form.

Soon, Qin Yan’s tightly furrowed brows gradually relaxed.

After massaging for another two minutes, Xia Mingtang withdrew her hands and bent over to pick up the magazine on Qin Yan’s body.

Just then, the person who had been deeply asleep stirred.

Qin Yan grabbed her with one hand before opening her eyes, a smile of delight curving her lips.

“Wife, you’re here.”

As she spoke, she gently pulled the slightly bent-over Xia Mingtang into her arms.

Having been ambushed so many times before, Xia Mingtang reacted quickly, holding the lounge chair’s armrest to avoid crushing the person beneath her.

She scolded playfully: “You didn’t even open your eyes, yet you pull me like that. Aren’t you afraid of grabbing the wrong person?”

Although they were the only two female residents of West well Villa, there were over ten staff members, including the housekeeper, cooks, gardeners, and cleaners.

“You wouldn’t grab the wrong person. Nobody else’s hands are as soft as yours.”

Finally opening her eyes, Qin Yan wrapped Xia Mingtang in her arms, speaking teasingly but in a clear, gentle voice.

Xia Mingtang extracted the magazine, letting the warmth and softness beside her wash over her.

Since returning to her nineteen-year-old self, Qin Yan seemed even more clingy. Whenever she was awake, she wanted to stick close to Xia Mingtang—literally.

If Xia Mingtang were facing the thirty-one-year-old domineering Qin Yan, she might have been able to push her away. But now, seeing this sickly, young version of Qin Yan, she simply could not bring herself to say no.

Qin Yan, taking advantage of her wife’s indulgence, sat up and continued to smother her with kisses.

The rustling of silk and cotton filled the air. Only when the pale ear lobes and cheeks turned slightly pink did she finally pause.

She shifted slightly, letting them both sit on the lounge chair, cozy together.

Qin Yan grabbed the magazine from Xia Mingtang’s hands and flipped to a page.

“Wife, I want to get a tattoo—this one.” She pointed to a pair of outstretched wings.

Xia Mingtang followed her finger. It was a pair of simple, lightly colored wings, surrounded by a faint halo, like angel wings.

It looked nice, but…

“Why do you suddenly want a tattoo?”

“I like it. Can I put it here?” Qin Yan pointed to the area above her left collarbone, smiling innocently.

“A pair of angel wings… that way, I can be your guardian angel.”

Xia Mingtang thought: …how adorably dramatic.

But she didn’t object directly—nineteen years old, after all, everyone has their rebellious phase.

She remembered wanting a tattoo at that age too. The moment the needle pierced her skin, she had yelped and quit.

“Why don’t we make a sticker first? Real tattoos hurt a lot.” Xia Mingtang suggested from experience.

“No.” Qin Yan shook her head vigorously. “I want it on my skin, one that can’t be washed off!”

Seeing no way to persuade her, Xia Mingtang asked a friend who liked tattoos for recommendations and found a reputable shop nearby in western Rong City.

Though only a street away, the shop felt peaceful, detached from the bustling city.

Inside, the décor was simple—cold gray walls and floors gave a slightly chilly feel. Various tattoo designs hung around, which Qin Yan admired intently.

The receptionist glanced up from her phone and nodded briefly.

Xia Mingtang didn’t mind and went straight to the point:

“Hello, we’re looking for Master Xu.”

Xu, recommended by a friend, was reputed for skill and patience, willing to accommodate all customer requests.

The shop wasn’t busy, and with a clear request, communication was quick.

Ten minutes later, Master Xu appeared, high ponytail, wearing white gloves.

Qin Yan was already seated on the bed, pulling down her left sleeve to reveal the area for the tattoo.

Master Xu had seen the design and approached professionally.

“Your skin is thin here; it will be quite painful.”

Before Qin Yan could reply, Xia Mingtang inhaled sharply.

“Master, is there a less painful spot?”

Xu opened her mouth, but Qin Yan interrupted immediately:

“Right here. I’m not afraid of the pain.”

Above the collarbone, every intimate moment afterward would allow Xia Mingtang to see it first.

Xia Mingtang wanted to say more, but Xu had already opened the toolbox, glancing at her briefly.

“I’m here to tattoo, not to watch a love show.”

She began drawing above the collarbone.

Many shops now print designs onto transfer sheets, but Xu preferred freehand work.

Xia Mingtang, powerless to intervene, hoped Qin Yan would cry out at the first needle prick, but…

Nineteen-year-old Qin Yan had far more endurance than she imagined.

After sketching, Xu used a sterile needle to inject the ink.

Even one prick made Xia Mingtang’s eyes twitch.

Yet Qin Yan smiled at her, holding her hand for comfort.

Though the needle pierced her skin, tiny beads of sweat appeared on her smooth forehead, yet she made no sound.

The process lasted over an hour. Xu, satisfied, said:

“I haven’t seen such a patient client in a long time. Look at the result.”

She handed Qin Yan a mirror.

Through it, Qin Yan saw a pair of wings with a faint golden glow, fluttering slightly with her breath.

Since it was freshly done, some tissue fluid had oozed out, and the design was not yet fully clear.

Xu covered it with cling film and gave standard instructions:

“No raw or spicy food, keep it dry, clean with a damp towel only. Don’t scratch, even if it itches. Let it heal naturally. Contact me if there’s any problem.”

“Okay, thank you, Master Xu.”

The two left the shop, hands intertwined without letting go.

Qin Yan noticed the sweat in Xia Mingtang’s hand and took out a handkerchief, wiping her forehead gently.

Xia Mingtang froze for a moment, realizing that as the bystander, she was sweating more than Qin Yan, the one getting the tattoo.

Though none of the needles pierced her skin, she felt as if she had her own tattoo.

She had promised Qin Yan so readily, partly to humor her like a child.

She expected to regret it once the needle pierced the skin—but Qin Yan didn’t. She didn’t even give Xia Mingtang the chance to regret it.

Several times Xia Mingtang wanted to speak, but Qin Yan would gently squeeze her hand.

Looking at the wound under the cling film, Xia Mingtang felt heartache.

“Most people start with stickers or earrings to act cool. You went straight for the collarbone.”

Qin Yan, happy to see her wife worry, smiled inwardly but restrained herself from laughing.

“It’s not to act cool.”

She shook her head, sunlight casting a faint shadow beneath her long lashes.

A tattoo that can’t be washed away—this way, even if one day I’m no longer me, there will always be a trace of me accompanying you.

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