Chapter 9: Chapter Nine Lie Down Properly, You’re Not Allowed to Go Anywhere

Chapter Nine: Stay Put in Bed, You're Not Going Anywhere

Wei San descended, clad in his inner garments, tightly wrapped from head to toe.

"Aren't you uncomfortable like that?"

Wei Zheng eyed him with surprise, a flicker of displeasure in his heart. How could he make his move if the man was so thoroughly covered?

The assassin lowered his head, his face flushed, and stammered, "This humble servant is fine as I am."

Wei Zheng pursed his lips, unwilling to explicitly order him to strip. He merely raised an eyebrow in regret. "Very well, then."

The imagined scene of frolicking with a beauty vanished, replaced by the assassin diligently scrubbing and bathing him.

Wei Zheng’s romantic notions were thoroughly extinguished by the oblivious assassin, rendering the entire bathing process remarkably chaste and uneventful.

After washing him, the assassin prepared to help him dress, completely unaware of how alluring he appeared in his drenched white undergarments, clinging to his skin, half-revealing, half-concealing his form.

Wei Zheng’s gaze lingered on the faintly visible crimson marks and the slender, toned waist, a warmth rising to his nose.

He feigned a cough, covering his nose. "I’ll dress myself. You go wash up quickly, lest you have to make another trip."

Wei San started to protest that this was the master’s bathhouse, and a lowly assassin like him shouldn't use it. But Wei Zheng seemed to read his thoughts and spoke with a hint of disdain, "Do you intend to return to me drenched like that?"

Wei San glanced down at his current state, scratching the side of his neck in embarrassment. "This subordinate was thoughtless."

Wei Zheng had expected him to obediently bathe there, but to his surprise, the assassin intended to return to the common bathhouse in the assassins' quarters.

Wei Zheng: "…………"

He couldn’t help but ask sincerely, "Is there something wrong with my bath?"

Wei San earnestly explained, "This humble servant’s body is unsightly; I fear it would offend Your Highness’s eyes."

Wei Zheng recalled the myriad scars on the assassin’s body and suddenly understood.

The young assassin was simply modest.

Wei Zheng’s displeasure gradually faded. He was considerate enough not to let him run back to the assassins' quarters, soaked and exposed to the night wind.

He picked up his clothes and walked toward the nearby screen, saying, "Alright, you bathe. This way, I won’t see you."

As expected, he was rewarded with a look of gratitude and admiration from the young assassin.

Wei Zheng felt a swell of satisfaction. As he tied the strings of his inner robe, he began to ponder how to coax the young assassin into using scar-fading ointment.

It didn’t take long to get dressed. The assassin was still in the bath, the gentle splashing of water, neither too loud nor too soft, yet striking the eardrums in a way that fueled his imagination.

Wei Zheng didn't consider himself a gentleman. He turned, crossed his arms, and peered through the screen, catching a glimpse of a blurry figure.

His gaze traced the assassin’s outline, the possessiveness in his eyes completely unconcealed.

It had been nearly ten days since he last was intimate with the assassin...

He lowered his eyelids slightly, his eyes darkening.

In the bath, Wei San faintly felt a chill run down his spine, as if an unseen gaze lingered, but when he tried to focus on the sensation, it vanished.

He suppressed his confusion, attributing it to the chilly night air, never suspecting that Wei Zheng, who was in the same room, might be the cause.

It was half an hour later when they returned to the side chamber from the bath. Wei Zheng reclined on the soft couch, his robe half-open, his jet-black hair cascading down to his waist, water still dripping from the ends.

"Master, please allow this humble servant to tend to your wound."

Wei San held the medicinal oil, kneeling on one knee beside him, his eyes filled with heartache as he stared at the increasingly prominent wound on Wei Zheng’s forehead.

Wei Zheng’s eyes flickered. "Alright."

Wei San, who had prepared himself for rejection, couldn’t help but show a hint of joy. He never imagined that someone as lowly as himself could get so close to his master, who was like a god to him.

"Master, forgive me," he said with the reverence of a devotee blessed by a deity, carefully brushing Wei Zheng’s bangs behind his ear.

The medicinal oil had a pungent smell. As Wei San dabbed some on his fingertip and gently spread it over the wound, his fingers trembled slightly.

He didn’t dare let his focus waver, afraid he might hurt his master if he applied too much pressure, making his movements somewhat stiff.

Wei Zheng tilted his head back slightly, his gaze fixed intently on Wei San’s cheeks, flushed red from the steam after his bath. His tongue against his canine, he felt an urge to bite them, to see if they were as sweet and soft as a peach.

Master and servant each harbored their own thoughts, neither aware of the stormy emotions hidden beneath the other’s calm exterior.

The bruise on the forehead had mostly faded, looking much less severe than before. Filled with a sense of accomplishment, Wei San withdrew his hand and closed the lid of the medicinal oil container. Only then did he notice the somewhat unsettling look in his master’s eyes.

His own reflection was captured in those dark, profound pupils, and for a moment, he felt as if he were trapped in a cage.

Their eyes met, and Wei Zheng made no attempt to conceal the hunger in his eyes. He curled his lips slightly and chuckled, praising, "I didn’t expect someone as rigid as you to have such soft hands."

Wei San’s heart fluttered lightly, and the tips of his ears reddened at the teasing remark.

He felt the look was familiar, eerily similar to that of the guard who had taken his virginity.

He dismissed the thought almost instantly, berating himself inwardly for daring to compare his master to that scoundrel.

To avoid thinking about it further, he remembered that his master’s hair was still wet and suggested, "Master, please allow this subordinate to dry your hair."

He remained kneeling on one knee. Upon hearing this, Wei Zheng sat up straight, and when their eyes met again, he was looking down at Wei San from above.

Wei Zheng pressed his lips together slightly and agreed.

Wei San used his internal energy to dry Wei Zheng’s hair strand by strand. The smooth locks slipped through his fingers, and for a moment, he zoned out, giving rise to a sudden urge to secretly keep a strand of his master’s hair.

The moment he realized what he was thinking, he was so shocked that his pupils trembled. He felt utterly wicked and vile—how could he be so disrespectful to his master?

The hair was about eighty percent dry. As if the strands in his hand had burned him, Wei San quickly withdrew his hand, retreating three steps away from the couch with an almost fleeing manner.

Wei Zheng noticed his odd behavior but, after observing him for a while, could only tell that Wei San was feeling ashamed and regretful.

So... what interesting thought had his young assassin been entertaining just now?

Wei Zheng’s curiosity was piqued, but he wouldn’t press for answers immediately. The assassin was easily flustered and might flee if pushed too hard.

After all, he and the young assassin had all the time in the world. Whatever he wanted to know would eventually come to light—there was no need to force it now.

Wei San was filled with guilt and only wanted to escape as quickly as possible. But just as he was about to ask for permission to leave, his master frowned in distress.

"Your current identity is that of a male favorite I took. Now the entire capital knows I’m infatuated with you. If I brought you back but don’t favor you night after night, don’t you think people would grow suspicious?"

Wei San, guided by Wei Zheng’s words, initially felt that he made sense but faintly sensed something amiss.

"But this humble servant..."

He pondered for a long while, trying to sort out the logic, but Wei Zheng interrupted his train of thought and pressed his advantage home.

"Since you are my male consort, you must quickly adapt to being close to me. Otherwise, when we face the Crown Prince and the Emperor in the future, how can we deceive those two old foxes if we remain so distant?"

Wei Zheng stood up and moved closer to him. Wei San instinctively stepped back but suddenly remembered that the person before him was his master, so he forced himself to stand his ground.

Wei Zheng wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him into an embrace, leaving no room for refusal. The man in his arms shrank back slightly but obediently did not resist.

"Good, just like that. You're doing well," he said with a pleased smile, his palm stroking the assassin's hair, running his fingers through the silky strands from top to bottom.

He was the very image of a cunning wolf luring its prey into a trap.

Wei San, trapped in his embrace, felt his mind go blank. His nostrils were filled with his master's cool, assertive sandalwood fragrance, which seemed to make his waist go weak.

Wei Zheng didn’t push too far, releasing him after just a short while.

"You did very well just now, but to make it more convincing, we’ll need to practice a few more times so you can adapt sooner."

He wore the expression of an upright gentleman, as if he had genuinely been rehearsing for a future performance.

Wei San’s mind was already a muddled mess, so he naturally accepted whatever his master said.

When he came to his senses, he found himself somehow lying on the bed with his master, who was propped up on one elbow, tucking him in.

Wei San instantly sprang up, so flustered he nearly rolled right off the bed.

Wei Zheng swiftly pressed a hand to his shoulder and said leisurely, "It’s late. Where do you think you’re going instead of sleeping?"

Wei San stammered, "This lowly one... I can sleep on the floor."

How could an assassin like him share a bed with his master? If the commander found out, he’d surely skin him alive.

Wei San didn't dare at all.

Wei Zheng narrowed his eyes slightly, finding the young assassin infuriatingly rigid. He pulled the assassin back onto the bed and pressed him down. "Lie still. You’re not going anywhere."

Wei San hesitated, his gaze flickering toward the edge of the bed, clearly still entertaining the idea of sleeping on the floor.

Wei Zheng, displeased, simply wrapped an arm around him and pulled him into an embrace.

"Be a good bed warmer and don’t move around."

Wei San instantly froze, not daring to move a muscle. Then he heard his master add in a drowsy, muffled tone, "I’m tired. Don’t disturb my sleep."

Perhaps truly exhausted, Wei Zheng fell into a deep and steady sleep after saying this, leaving Wei San holding his breath nervously.

Clutching the corner of the quilt, he stared wide-eyed with bewildered peach-blossom eyes, utterly unable to comprehend how things had come to this.

His gaze fleetingly fell on the arm draped across his chest before darting away, his heart suddenly pounding like thunder.

He couldn’t quite identify the emotion stirring within him; his mind was blank, remembering only his master’s words not to wake him.

The next day, Wei San opened his eyes drowsily. Having slept poorly due to extreme tension, dark circles hung under his eyes, making his already pale complexion appear even more haggard.

Wei Zheng had already woken up. Lying on his side with his head propped on one hand, he teased in a leisurely manner upon seeing Wei San awake, "That complexion of yours certainly fits the image of a night of indulgence."

Wei San’s face flushed crimson instantly. The mischievous Wei Zheng pretended to ponder for a moment before adding, "But this alone doesn’t seem convincing enough. We’ll need to leave some marks to make others truly believe I thoroughly enjoyed you last night."

Wei San, understanding the deeper meaning behind his words: "————"