Wei Zhenfeng fell silent. Unable to see his expression, Zhao Mian felt a sudden, inexplicable panic.
Observing expressions and discerning moods was his forte: just by observing Wei Zhenfeng’s face or listening to his voice, he could always tell what the other was feeling.
But now, Wei Zhenfeng wasn’t just silent, he wasn’t even moving. All he could feel was the young man’s strong heartbeat and… a certain part of him pressing close. He could sense nothing else.
If Wei Zhenfeng truly dared to cross his bottom line, he’d drag him down to hell with him, even if it meant his own death!
Unable to bear the torment of the unknown, Zhao Mian was about to turn around to look at Wei Zhenfeng when Wei Zhenfeng took the initiative to turn him around.
At last, he saw Wei Zhenfeng’s expression..
The boyish youthfulness had completely faded, leaving only the desire of a grown man, amplified infinitely by the two beauty marks beneath his eyes. His pupils were dark and heavy, shadowed by excessively long eyelashes, yet they shone with an unusual brightness.
…He was handsome, so handsome that the pain seemed to dull in comparison.
Zhao Mian couldn’t help but tense up.
Sensing his reaction, Wei Zhenfeng furrowed his brow slightly, forcing himself to maintain a detached calm. “Hold onto me,” he ordered.
Zhao Mian didn’t want to obey. His body stayed rigid, unmoving—until Wei Zhenfeng’s expression showed a look of displeasure and urged him on in a rather special way only then did Zhao Mian reluctantly lift his arms and wrap them around the young man’s neck.
The night was deep, the air heavy with dew, and a thin layer of frost coated the stone walls. In the chill of autumn, only the hot spring, the crackling campfire, and the two youths burned with warmth.
Wei Zhenfeng adjusted their positions slightly, then, with a long stride, carried the now-unconscious Crown Prince back to the shore.
Their clothes were soaked through, but at least Wei Zhenfeng’s were still intact. Zhao Mian’s, however, were in tatters, barely clinging to his body, and had to be held together by hand to cover the marks on his body.
Wei Zhenfeng fetched a blanket from the hut and draped it over Zhao Mian. Outside the hot spring, the cold wind cut through their drenched bodies wasa enough to make anyone fall ill.
He fed bamboo tubes into the fire, stoking the flames higher until their warmth chased away the autumn chill.
His gaze drifted to Zhao Mian, still unconscious.
The prince’s long hair clung to his face, his lips half-pale as paper, half-stained with crimson blood. Curled into a small, fragile ball, his brows remained furrowed even in sleep—whether from cold or pain, it was impossible to tell. His slender frame, bathed in the firelight, looked as though it might shatter at any moment.
Even if he did shatter, that sharp tongue of his would probably stay as stubborn as ever, Wei Zhenfeng mused.
The roaring fire quickly dried their clothes. Wei Zhenfeng carried Zhao Mian back to the hut, settled him onto the bed, and then returned to his own room to sleep.
Many things that happened that night were not part of his plan.
But he had survived, and so had Zhao Mian.
Lying in bed, Wei Zhenfeng raised his hand and examined his wrist in the moonlight. The layer of blackened skin had peeled away, revealing a thin, red line that stood out clearly against his original skin tone.
The male and female gu worms would flare up on the fifteenth of every month. If he and Zhao Mian couldn’t find an antidote within the next month, wouldn’t they have to… again… on the next full moon night?
Wei Zhenfeng recalled the scene.
Four words: hard to describe.
The feeling of being inside Zhao Mian’s body had shattered his understanding. He finally understood why some people were so addicted to carnal pleasures. For him, he could understand this passion, but it wasn’t as if there weren’t other equally joyful things.
What truly lingered in his mind, though, was the expression Zhao Mian had worn then.
The usually arrogant and domineering Crown Prince was pushed to the brink of collapse, his delicate and noble face betraying a submissive and vulnerable expression. At last, overcome with frustration, he whimpered his true feelings.
His body was soft, but his mouth was stubborn—until even that stubbornness melted away.
The next morning.
Years of life on the road had left Wei Zhenfeng a light sleeper, so he woke the moment Zhao Mian entered.
He cracked his eyes open just enough to see a slender, unsteady figure stumbling toward him.
They had just experienced a Gu flare-up, with Zhao Mian on the receiving end of the Gu’s effects. He clearly passed out last night, but he still showed up this morning with “determination despite his injuries.” He must be up to no good.
Seeing how difficult it was for him to walk, unable to straighten his back and having to lean on the wall for support, Wei Zhenfeng had a bad feeling.
Maintaining his sleeping appearance, he closed his eyes and listened as Zhao Mian’s footsteps grew closer and closer, then finally stopping by his bedside.
He could feel Zhao Mian’s gaze on his face, lingering for a long time, his breathing growing uneven and then—
Wei Zhenfeng’s eyes snapped open as he swiftly and firmly caught Zhao Mian’s wrist, the one holding a dagger.
Again? Didn’t this guy learn his lesson?!
Fury flashed in Wei Zhenfeng’s eyes, and he was about to explode when—
Slap.
Zhao Mian’s other hand, the one not holding the dagger, struck his check with a sharp blow. Zhao Mian’s action was too sudden, and his attention had been focused entirely on the dagger, leaving him no time to react.
…A classic feint.
Having been slapped by Zhao Mian for the second time, Wei Zhenfeng wanted nothing more than to tie him up and teach him a good lesson. But then he thought, at least Zhao Mian only wanted to hit him, not actually kill him.
How resentful must the Crown Prince be, skipping sleep just to drag his half-ruined body here and deliver this slap?
Unfortunately, the Crown Prince’s slapping strength was clearly weaker than last time. The slap, delivered with all his might, didn’t even leave a mark on his face. How pathetic.
Wei Zhenfeng stared at Zhao Mian with an impassive expression, clenching and unclenching his fist before saying calmly, “Forget it, I won’t hold it against you.”
Waking up, Zhao Mian was in pain and exhausted, his head was dizzy, and he was alternating between hot and cold, but he still remembered last night’s events clearly.
Since Wei Zhenfeng liked to force him to tell the truth so much, he would say it all today.
Anyway, Wei Zhenfeng had already seen him in his most wretched and unsightly state. What was the point of stubbornly maintaining the demeanor and dignity of a Crown Prince in front of him?
“I had already made up my mind, I was ready, so why did you go crazy on me?” Zhao Mian wanted to use his usual superior tone to denounce Wei Zhenfeng’s evil deeds, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper. “Just because your name has ‘Wind’ in it, you think you can go mad whenever you please?! And you threatened me—how dare you? Do you really have no fear of death?”
Wei Zhenfeng: “…”
The anger from the slap dissipated instantly.
Such was the temper of youth: quick to ignite, quick to fade. Another boy’s raw, unfiltered honesty, paired with that absurd pun, almost made him laugh.
Of course, he knew better than to actually laugh. That would only provoke the Crown Prince further.
Wei Zhenfeng thought for a moment, then hesitantly raised his hand and gently placed it on Zhao Mian’s trembling shoulders.
He really didn’t know how to comfort people, and after holding it in for a long time, he finally squeezed out a sentence: “Alright, alright. My bad, my bad. I’m sorry.”
Zhao Mian said in a hoarse voice, “Don’t touch me.”
Wei Zhenfeng immediately removed his hand: “Then you sit.”
Hearing the word “sit,” Zhao Mian’s face became even more unsightly, and he murmured, “How can you ask me to sit…”
Wei Zhenfeng was stunned, glancing down at Zhao Mian’s waist, and suddenly felt guilty: “How about you just lie down then? Come, come, this prince will personally attend to His Highness the Crown Prince in retiring for the night.”
Hearing the words “His Highness the Crown Prince,” Zhao Mian paused. His head was throbbing terribly, to the point where he was almost losing the ability to think: “Are you trying to make me cry again?”
Wei Zhenfeng thought he had misheard: “What?”
Once the floodgates were opened, Zhao Mian couldn’t stop his grievances. He had held himself together for too long, in front of the Emperor and the Prime Minister, in front of the civil and military officials, in front of his friends and subordinates.
He was so tired, so sleepy, he really… didn’t have the strength to pretend anymore.
“I can’t cry. I’m the Crown Prince. The Crown Prince isn’t allowed to cry.” Zhao Mian said softly, “I can’t act spoiled. I can’t be clingy.”
Wei Zhenfeng faintly sensed that Zhao Mian’s words were off, but he couldn’t spare the attention to think about anything else at the moment: “Are you okay? Are you sleepwalking?”
Would a normal Crown Prince say something like that?
The image of the young man in Zhao Mian’s vision doubled. He closed his eyes, shook his head, trying to clear his mind. But when he opened his eyes, all he saw was darkness, and his legs lost the strength to support his body.
“Zhao Mian?”
Wei Zhenfeng quickly caught the Crown Prince before he could collapse, and even through the fabric, he could feel the astonishing heat radiating from Zhao Mian’s body, even his breath was hot.
Wei Zhenfeng’s expression changed slightly: “You’re burning up, you’re sick.”
He immediately scooped Zhao Mian up, laid him on his own bed, and tucked him in. “I’ll go boil some water.”
Zhao Mian curled up under the blanket, revealing half of his head: “Your Highness.”
“Hmm?”
Zhao Mian’s voice was muffled: “Why didn’t you take the antidote by yourself?”
Wei Zhenfeng said casually: “We played together as kids. I even gave you a gift when we were younger. I thought… maybe we were friends.”
Friends?
Although Zhao Mian wasn’t fully lucid, his instinct to badmouth other countries remained intact. He pulled the corner of his mouth and sneered with the last bit of strength: “Do you Beiyuan people… all sleep with your friends?”
Wei Zhenfeng: “…Just go to sleep.”
Unable to fight the exhaustion any longer, Zhao Mian fell into a deep slumber on Wei Zhenfeng’s bed.
In his dreamlike state, he seemed to have left the bamboo forest, returned to the Nanjing Palace, returned to his home.
His body had shrunk, as small as he was when he was five or six years old.
He was crying, crying so hard. He couldn’t remember why he was crying. He used to cry often as a child—when he got hurt during martial arts training, when he was frightened by a prank, even when he broke the wooden horse his father had personally made for him on his birthday.
There were too many possible reasons. He didn’t know which one had triggered his tears this time. To investigate, he stepped out of his bedchamber.
He saw two figures, two figures he was extremely familiar with, the Emperor and the Prime Minister in their younger days.
A surge of joy rushed through him at the sight of his fathers, whom he hadn’t seen in so long. He dashed toward them, but his steps faltered as their conversation grew clearer.
The Emperor and the Prime Minister seemed to be arguing.
His fathers rarely argued. The last time was about the selection of the Crown Prince’s study companion. What was it this time?
“Mianmian said he doesn’t want to live alone in the Eastern Palace. Why must you insist on him moving out?” His father’s gaze at the Prime Minister practically spelled out the words “Are you even his real father?” “He’s only five.”
The Prime Minister said: “The Crown Prince should live in the Eastern Palace. Five years old is not young.”
The Emperor said: “I used to live with my parents until I was eighteen.”
The Prime Minister said helplessly: “You can’t always use the customs of your hometown to raise the future ruler of a nation.”
His father seemed to concede that the Prime Minister had a point. After some thought, he reluctantly compromised, his tone strained. “Then… can we meet in the middle? Mianmian is half from my hometown too. How about letting him move to the Eastern Palace when he’s nine?”
This time, the Prime Minister showed no intention of yielding as he usually did. His voice was grave as he said, “Zhao Qi.”
The Emperor stiffened momentarily before defiantly retorting, “What business does the Prime Minister Xiao have with me?”
The Prime Minister said: “Today, the Marquis of Anyuan entered the palace and encountered Mianmian in the Imperial Garden.”
The Marquis of Anyuan was an old general among the Nanjing military officials, who had fought for Nanjing for many years, his face was covered with large and small old scars, and he had lost an eyeball, his appearance could truly be described as unsettling.
“He likes Mianmian. Before returning to the capital to report on his duties, he specially searched for skilled craftsmen across the northern borders to make a bow for Mianmian. However, when Mianmian saw him…”
The Emperor guessed the rest: “Mianmian was scared and cried?”
“No, he almost did but he held it in.” The Prime Minister said calmly, “He kept his eyes down and didn’t dare to look at the Marquis of Anyuan. His voice was as low as a mosquito’s hum when he spoke, and he took the Marquis of Anyuan’s gift and hid behind me.”
The Emperor: “…”
“Do you think this is a good thing? Qi’er.”
The Emperor was speechless, his eyes dimmed, and he fell into extreme conflict.
The tense atmosphere between the two made Zhao Mian unable to bear it any longer. He ran to the Emperor in one breath, and hugged the Emperor’s legs with a thud.
His father looked down and supported him, surprised, “Mianmian?”
“Father, I was wrong. I’m sorry to the old Marquis, I will apologize to him. I am willing to move to the Eastern Palace. I won’t cry anymore. Please don’t fight with Father.” He grabbed the Emperor’s dragon robe, tilted his head up as much as he could, making a solemn promise to both his father and the Prime Minister. “I won’t act spoiled anymore, I will try my best not to be clingy, Father, don’t be angry…”
He met the Prime Minister’s gaze, and whether it was an illusion, he actually saw a hint of reluctance in it.
The Emperor quickly bent down and hugged him into his arms, saying with great heartache: “No, no, no, Mianmian, you can cry if you want to cry, you can act spoiled if you want to act spoiled, Father will always be with you if you want to be clingy… As for the rest, we’ll talk about it when we grow up.”
He buried his head in the Emperor’s arms, smelling the unique dragon musk scent on the Emperor’s body, nodded, and then shook his head quickly.
From that day onward, for the next twelve years, he never cried again.