Chapter 142: Like

Chapter 142: Desire

The crimson official robe slipped from Shen Que's shoulders as he gathered his loose hair forward, allowing the Emperor to study his back.

Skin long concealed beneath layers of clothing was as pale as cold jade, marked by several red bruises left by the guards, slightly swollen. When Jiang Xun's fingertips brushed over them, Shen Que's shoulder trembled.

Cool ointment spread over the wounds, followed by the warmth of the Emperor's fingers. Gooseflesh prickled on Shen Que's skin, his body stiff with discomfort, his spine rigidly straight.

Neither of them spoke.

Jiang Xun lowered his gaze, carefully working the ointment into each swollen mark. Only when the shoulder was shiny with ointment, smoothed into an oily sheen by his fingertips, did he step back, his voice rough. "Done."

Shen Que pulled his robe closed and tied it, but the Emperor pushed him lightly. "Show me your knees."

"..."

Before, when advising him, Shen Que had shown Jiang Xun his legs more than once—not just shown, but allowed them to be touched, closely inspected, even thoroughly handled. Yet never had he felt this uneasy.

Jiang Xun pushed him lightly again. "Come on."

The Emperor truly carried emotional scars from his past life.

After a moment’s hesitation, Shen Que pushed up the hem of his robe.

The official garments were layered—beneath the outer robe were two more layers of trousers, the ends of the outer pair tucked into his boots. He undid them one by one, exposing his calves.

Though Jiang Xun had hurried the morning court session, it had still lasted over half an hour. Shen Que had knelt the entire time, and now his knees were swollen.

Jiang Xun pressed a hand to them, leaning closer to inspect.

The Emperor examined them with care, rubbing the joints as if handling a precious artifact. Shen Que felt prickling discomfort and shifted slightly, trying to lower his leg.

Jiang Xun said, "Wait. The bruises need to be massaged out, or it’ll hurt tomorrow."

He dabbed on more ointment, spreading it over the knee and gently massaging it in with slow circles. The pressure was both painful and ticklish, and Shen Que stopped him. "That’s enough."

The Imperial Tutor kept his eyes downcast, not daring to meet the Emperor’s gaze.

Seeing the bruises had dispersed, Jiang Xun put away the ointment. He idly flexed his fingers. "Mm, done."

The Emperor returned the medicine to its box, closing the lid with a snap, then eased under the covers. "Ready to sleep?"

Though he phrased it as a question, Jiang Xun didn’t expect Shen Que to refuse. He slid under the covers with practiced ease, wrapping himself up.

The mattress dipped as Shen Que lay down beside him.

Though the bed was meant for two, it had been hastily arranged on the Emperor’s orders and couldn’t compare to the one in the Qianqing Palace. Pillows and blankets took up most of the space, leaving them pressed together, their bodies touching.

Jiang Xun forced his eyes shut.

Before, consumed by thoughts of death, he had deliberately ignored the memories of his past life. But now, with the Imperial Tutor beside him, the lines of his shoulders and calves starkly visible, the past’s recklessness resurfaced.

The fragmented gasps, stifled moans, the sensation of fingers tracing down his waist and slipping deeper—

It had been absurd, yet...

Pleasurable.

After the fall of his previous dynasty, Jiang Xun had no mind for such thoughts. The agony of his soul had overshadowed all bodily desires. But now, a certain craving surged wildly in his mind like unchecked weeds, spreading into an uncontrollable wildfire.

The lights in the prison had long been extinguished, and suppressed memories resurfaced in the darkness. The Imperial Tutor's body pressed close beside him, burningly hot. Jiang Xun closed his eyes in a daze, barely able to tell whether it was the past life or the present.

Every time Shen Que was exhausted, he would lean against him like this too.

Back then, the Imperial Tutor would frown, also keeping his eyes shut, not daring to look at the Emperor. His face was unreadable—was it pain or pleasure? Sweat rolled down from his forehead and the ends of his hair, his skin glistening like white porcelain.

Jiang Xun slightly hunched his shoulders and scooted away slightly.

This wasn’t the past life. He couldn’t act so recklessly, nor could he be disrespectful.

As he moved, a gap formed between their blankets, like drawing a line between them. In the past, Shen Que would have reached out to adjust it for him, but today, the Imperial Tutor lay still, as if already asleep.

Yet Jiang Xun knew he wasn’t.

After the Emperor’s arrival, this section of the prison had been cleared out. The gates were shut, and even the patrolling guards avoided the area. The depths of the cell were deathly quiet—no chirping of cicadas or birds, only the steady breathing of Shen Que and Jiang Xun.

Both of them kept their breaths light.

In the soundless stillness, Jiang Xun shifted further and further away, desperately putting space between them, refusing to touch him in the slightest. When he made one final move, the pillow wedged between them slipped off the edge of the bed with a soft thud.

The sound of the pillow hitting the ground was like a signal—like water hitting a grease fire, or a spark landing on dry hay. Their breathing instantly quickened. Jiang Xun hastily reached out, making a clumsy attempt to replace it, but before he could finish, Shen Que took it from his hands.

The Imperial Tutor lowered his eyes and said, "Let me."

He returned the pillow to its place, guiding Jiang Xun to lie back down, purposefully shrinking the gap. Then, tentatively, he reached out and brushed Jiang Xun’s shoulder.

Seeing no resistance, he finally pulled him into an embrace.

Jiang Xun closed his eyes again, but he couldn't ignore the warmth at his back. He struggled to suppress his body’s instinctive reactions, afraid of offending his teacher. Yet a body that had once known pleasure wouldn't be denied so easily. Frowning, Jiang Xun turned his back to Shen Que and began gripping the pillow tightly, stopping just as he reached the edge of the bed.

But then, he heard a faint sigh.

The Imperial Tutor pulled the Emperor back and said helplessly, "Stop struggling. You’ll just fall off again."

For some reason, his voice was slightly hoarse.

His embrace was searingly warm, as if Jiang Xun had been scalded. He dug in his heels to create space. "No, I—"

Before he could finish the word "I," the Imperial Tutor had already adjusted his hold, pulling him closer.

The way he held him placed his hand just above Jiang Xun’s abdomen—and if it slid any lower, it would...

At this point, nothing could be hidden anymore.

Shame and embarrassment flooded over Jiang Xun. In a fluster, he pushed Shen Que away and blurted out an excuse. "Senior Tutor Shen, with so many eyes on the capital tonight watching the Eastern Depot, it’s not appropriate for We to stay here. I must take my leave and return to the palace."

It had been a long time since Jiang Xun had called Shen Que "Senior Tutor Shen," or used the imperial "We" in front of him. He looked flustered and guilty, but Shen Que cut him off. "Your Majesty."

He sat up, his robe had come untied somehow. The moonlight was just right, glistening in the pale light on his exposed skin. Jiang Xun glanced at it and couldn’t help but recall the past life.

Back then, this very skin had been marked with a trail of red—from his collarbones all the way down.

Jiang Xun averted his gaze and stammered, "The situation is too volatile tonight, with many forces watching closely. Upon careful consideration, staying here with you like this is indeed inappropriate. I must take my leave—"

"Your Majesty!"

Shen Que looked at him. "I want this."

"......"

Jiang Xun unconsciously repeated: "What?"

In that dazed moment, he was already encircled by Shen Que and tucked back under the blankets.

The Imperial Tutor whispered softly: "I want this."

Born into a noble family and esteemed as the Imperial Tutor, Shen Que possessed the most reserved and subtle demeanor of a scholar. His love and hatred were both deeply restrained, hidden beneath his gentle countenance. This confession had exhausted all his courage.

Jiang Xun, curled under the blankets, gazed at him in wonder.

The Imperial Tutor's body lay smoothly outstretched, clearly offering himself.

With closed eyes, he murmured: "Your Majesty, whatever you do, I like it."

"......"

Jiang Xun timidly extended his hand, tracing his collarbone.

Shen Que let him have his way.

He allowed Jiang Xun to push aside his garments, following the curve of his waist, let his legs be touched and then parted, and finally permitted the Emperor to hesitantly close the distance for a kiss...

Their lips met in a slow, deep kiss.

Jiang Xun seemed hesitant about something, pausing midway to tilt his head and check if he was alright.

At such a moment, how could it not be agonizing?

Each hesitation only heightened the tension.

Shen Que, not naturally inclined to take the initiative, was compelled to raise his arms and embrace the Emperor, surrendering himself when he could bear no more, urging the Emperor to continue.

Jiang Xun's body was just out of adolescence—though sickly, still possessed a youth's vigor—and one who had endured years of deprivation, only to suddenly rediscover ecstasy. By the end, it was Shen Que who reached his limit first.

He lay flat on the bed, drawing shallow breaths, gazing at the bright moon outside the window.

Jiang Xun, sated and content, nestled into his arms and whispered: "Teacher."

"......"

Shen Que didn’t understand why Jiang Xun chose to call him "teacher" at this moment. Spent in body and soul, he couldn’t even lift a finger, yet the Emperor’s disheveled head nuzzled against him again, calling out once more: "Teacher."

As if, unless Shen Que responded, he would keep calling endlessly.

This improper master-student dynamic was already excessive enough; being called "teacher" while bearing the evidence of their passion was even more so. Shen Que had no choice but to reply: "Hmm."

The Emperor then asked: "Am I your most special student?"

Jiang Xun was fixated on being Shen Que’s student. Perhaps in his desolate and lonely years, Shen Que had been the first to play the role of a mentor. When Jiang Xun sat covered in dust in a corner of the Hongwen Hall, facing the monotonous scenery of the palace and the identical expressions of eunuchs and maids—all wearing masks of numbness and fear—only that elegant scholar in crimson court robes, holding a scroll, stood out. Through him, Jiang Xun caught his first glimpse of the world beyond the palace walls.

Jiang Xun might not be Shen Que’s favorite student, but he could be his most special one.

—After all, no one else could reduce the pristine and dignified Master Shen to such a state.

Shen Que let out a breathy laugh and answered: "Yes."

He gathered the Emperor closer: "The most special student, and also... my favorite student."