Chapter 333 Wiping the Face

Chapter 333: Applying the Balm

Cheng Ge's body froze, his eyes glued to the food container, and his stomach let out an ungraceful little rumble.

He had eaten in a hurry that evening to squeeze in more practice time, and now he was indeed a bit hungry.

Cui Ji noticed his little reaction but said nothing, just gave him a small wave, beckoning him over.

Cheng Ge immediately threw off the blanket covering him, swung his legs off the bed in one smooth motion, and walked over in a few steps.

Cui Ji placed the food container on the table, opened the lid, and took out a small pot of porridge.

As he lifted the pot's cover, the warm, mixed-grain aroma filled the cold tent.

He picked up a clean bowl, ladled out a bowl of thick porridge with a wooden spoon, and slid it over to Cheng Ge.

"Today is Laba (the eighth day of the twelfth lunar month)," Cui Ji's voice remained calm, yet seemed a little less cold than usual. "I heard Yuanzhou has a tradition of drinking Laba porridge. Try it."

Cheng Ge was stunned, as if something had softly knocked against his heart, a warm feeling quietly spreading through him.

He reached out and took the still-hot bowl, cradling it in his hands, the warmth seeping through the porcelain walls.

He lowered his head, his thick lashes trembling slightly, staring at the colorful mixed beans and grains in the bowl, and murmured, "...Thank you."

He picked up the spoon and took little sips. The porridge was thick, cooked just right—soft, sticky, and sweet.

With supplies running low and even the soldiers' rations being cut, this generous bowl of Laba porridge felt especially precious.

The tent went quiet except for the soft sounds of Cheng Ge eating. Midway through, something seemed to occur to him, and he casually asked, "How's the grain supply situation?"

Cui Ji sat down across from him, a serious look crossing his face. "We recovered some, but General Han was seriously wounded."

Cheng Ge paused mid-spoonful, swallowed his mouthful, and let out an "mm," not sounding too surprised.

Old General Han had led the pursuit himself. Since the enemy had dared to raid the supplies, they must have been fully prepared, so some losses were inevitable.

Though some had been recovered, Cheng Ge knew full well it probably wasn't even a tenth of what had been lost.

Half the porridge was already gone. The portion had been modest to begin with—barely a single bowlful.

With everyone in camp tightening their belts, Cheng Ge looked at the bowl and hesitated.

Then, carefully, he pushed it toward Cui Ji. "You... want some?"

Cui Ji glanced down at the porridge but didn't move. Cheng Ge watched his profile, outlined by the candlelight.

On a whim, he scooped up a spoonful and, without thinking, held it right up to Cui Ji's lips.

Cui Ji's body stiffened almost imperceptibly, clearly not expecting such an intimate move from Cheng Ge.

Honestly, even Cheng Ge was startled by his own thoughtless move. It wasn't until the spoon reached Cui Ji's lips that he realized how far over the line this was.

Heat rushed to his ears, but pulling his hand back now would only make it look like he had something to hide—even more awkward.

So he steeled himself, his hand frozen, holding the spoon right at Cui Ji's tightly pressed lips.

The air seemed to freeze for a moment.

Finally, Cui Ji's gaze moved from Cheng Ge's reddened ears to the spoon at his lips.

In the end, he opened his mouth and, taking the spoon from Cheng Ge's hand, ate the mouthful of porridge.

His movement was natural, yet it made Cheng Ge's heart skip a beat, as if the warmth had traveled through the spoon and into his fingertips.

Swallowing, Cui Ji turned his head away, avoiding Cheng Ge's gaze, his voice still flat and unreadable: "You drink it."

Cheng Ge felt like he'd just been pardoned. He quickly pulled his hand back, though his fingertips still seemed to tingle with that strange sensation.

He lowered his head, nearly burying his entire face in the bowl, and mumbled, "...Oh."

The tent went quiet again, leaving only the sound of Cheng Ge trying to drink as quietly as possible.

After finishing his food and quickly washing up, Cheng Ge followed Cui Ji onto the bed to sleep.

Out of habit, he tugged at the blanket, dividing it in half, and was about to lie down.

Just then, Cui Ji turned and gently tugged at him.

"What's wrong?" Cheng Ge looked up instinctively.

Before the words even left his mouth, he saw Cui Ji pull out a small white porcelain bottle from somewhere, carefully twisting open the stopper. A light, pleasant fragrance spread between them.

Cui Ji dabbed a bit of the milky-white balm onto his fingertip and reached toward Cheng Ge's cheek.

Cheng Ge instinctively tried to pull back, but Cui Ji's other hand gently steadied the back of his head.

"Don't move," Cui Ji's voice was low, unusually clear in the silent tent. "Just a little."

Cheng Ge's body went rigid, his fingers unconsciously clenching the blanket as he felt the slightly cool balm being smoothed onto his cheek.

After days on the windswept training ground, his face had gotten dry, and his lips were chapped, cracked, even split with tiny bloody fissures.

He hadn't paid it much mind, and worse, he had a habit of licking his lips.

As a result, his lips had only gotten worse over the past couple of days—every smile or word that stretched them made them sting sharply.

Cui Ji's fingertips bore thin calluses, yet his movements were exceptionally patient and meticulous.

First, he spread the balm evenly over Cheng Ge's cheeks, then his forehead, then the sides of his nose.

Finally, the cool balm and warm fingertip came to rest on his cracked lips.

Cheng Ge shuddered, as if a faint electric current had shot through him from the point of contact, making his scalp tingle.

He held his breath, not daring to blink, staring blankly at Cui Ji, who was so close.

The candlelight flickered, casting their shadows on the tent wall, overlapping tightly.

The air was filled with the crisp scent of the balm and an unnameable tension.

Cheng Ge felt his heartbeat was thunderously loud—thumping, pounding, nearly drowning out every other sound in the world.

He didn't dare meet Cui Ji's eyes, frantically dropping his gaze, his eyes darting with nowhere to land.

In the end, he could only stare at the pattern on Cui Ji's robes at his chest, as if it were some impossible puzzle.

Cui Ji's gaze, however, rested on Cheng Ge's lowered face. His fingertip slowly traced over Cheng Ge's cracked lips, spreading the cool balm with careful, repeated strokes.

The sensation was soft yet strangely warm. Where the balm was applied, the skin gradually became soft and full, taking on a moist, rosy hue.

Cheng Ge felt a strange, tingling itch spreading from where he'd been touched, his grip on the blanket tightening until his knuckles went white.

The itch made him instinctively want to dart his tongue out to soothe the strange feeling.

And then, his wet, soft tongue happened to brush against Cui Ji's fingertip, which hadn't fully pulled away yet.

Cheng Ge: "......"