Chapter 319: The Meeting (Part 2)

Chapter 319: The Meeting (Part 2)

Xiang Zhijie was practicing his sword in the courtyard.

He could already run through a full Tai Chi sword form as smoothly as flowing water, but he still couldn't quite manage to play the flute.

When his breath quickened even slightly, the wound on his belly would pull taut with a dull ache.

Luckily, it was just a flesh wound. After a few days of rest, the pain had mostly faded, and he could move around fine.

But in front of his teacher, Xiang Zhijie still played the part of a pitiful invalid who couldn't get out of bed.

Because whenever his teacher had a spare moment, he'd come lie down with his sickly student for a bit.

Sometimes he'd just pop in for a quick catnap, then slip out quietly before Xiang Zhijie was even fully awake.

Before leaving, Le Wuya would cup his face in his hands and study him with an intent, focused gaze.

After all that joy and grief, his body was low on blood and vitality, so Xiang Zhijie had been slow to come around these past few days. Half-asleep, he'd feel that warm touch on his face and mumble, "Teacher?"

"Just admiring how good-looking you are." Le Wuya stared at him. "Let teacher get a good look, put some color back in you."

Xiang Zhijie would then obediently nuzzle his face deeper into that warm palm and let him look.

Once Le Wuya had his fill of looking and was feeling pleased, he'd lean down and plant a quick kiss on him: "Fair's fair! Off to work!"

It felt way too good.

After Le Wuya left, Xiang Zhijie would always pull the blanket over his face and blush in silence for ages.

When he was little, his teacher taught him martial arts. Even now that he was grown, he was still teaching him idioms.

It was so nice.

But ever since Le Wuya went off to dig up the miners' bodies, he hadn't come by.

While he was gone, Xiang Zhijie doubled down on his meds and rest, single-mindedly waiting for his teacher to come back.

After finishing his sword form, Xiang Zhijie was slicked with a light sheen of sweat.

When he was alone, the eager brightness on Xiang Zhijie's face quietly faded, settling back into his usual proper, upright look.

He was just wiping off sweat with a towel when he saw Ru Feng walk in all stiff, arms and legs moving like a puppet.

Xiang Zhijie immediately clocked that something was off: "Ru Feng, what's up with your hands?"

Ru Feng's mouth twitched a little: "Nothing... I was just trimming grass up in a tree, and my legs went numb from squatting..."

Xiang Zhijie frowned, puzzled.

Ru Feng realized he was rambling nonsense, so he hastily switched topics in a stiff voice: "...Sir, Lord Wenren's back."

Xiang Zhijie's eyes lit up: "Where?"

"He'll be here any second."

Xiang Zhijie didn't ask anything else. He slipped off his robe, wrapped up his Tai Chi sword, and headed back inside.

He needed to get back in bed, lie there nice and obedient, and wait for that person who smelled of sunshine and pine to lean in and come "restore his color."

Once his wounds were fully healed, knowing how much his teacher hated the heat, he probably wouldn't let him burrow into his arms like this anymore.

Watching Xiang Zhijie dart into the room with light, almost skipping steps, Ru Feng was about to sigh when a figure ghosted out from behind his right shoulder and gave his left shoulder a light pat: "Thanks."

Ru Feng turned his head stiffly, doing his best not to look at the person beside him: "Don't mention it."

The person shoved an oil-paper bundle into his hands: "Brought you some snacks. Go find a spot to eat them."

Ru Feng: "...Thanks, Lord Wenren."

The person's hand didn't pull back—instead, it hooked around his shoulder: "Hey, his wounds are pretty much healed, right?"

Ru Feng sold Xiang Zhijie out without hesitation: "Pretty much."

But when he caught sight of the person's getup, Ru Feng's throat bobbed. He hesitated, then forced out a warning: "Lord Wenren, you... maybe you should tone it down a notch."

Le Wuya was slouched in an obviously ill-fitting outer robe, nodding with a dead-serious face: "I will."

Ru Feng stared at the skin peeking out from his collar: "..."

Yeah, right. He didn't buy it.

Watching Le Wuya tiptoe in with that sly, gleeful swagger into Xiang Zhijie's room, Ru Feng felt like he wasn't in the county office but in the Lankao Temple.

Lord Wenren wasn't going in there to take his Sixth Master's life, was he?

He found a spot to squat and keep watch, and while he was at it, opened the snack bundle with mixed feelings and popped a bite in his mouth.

...Not bad, actually pretty tasty.

While Ru Feng was busy hiding out and munching on pastries, Xiang Zhijie had already settled himself neatly into bed.

When the familiar scent of pine and cypress drifted past his nose, he promptly shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

But along with the familiar footsteps came the delicate clinking of bells and jade—ding-dong, ding-dong, a real pleasant sound.

A moment later, warm fingertips brushed over his bandaged wound, sending a tingle through him.

Xiang Zhijie's abs twitched involuntarily.

He did his best to look like he'd just woken up, squinting and croaking: "Teacher, you're—"

If he hadn't accidentally bitten his tongue, the end of that sentence would've shot straight up to the sky.

The window was half open, half shut. A gardenia branch reached in through it, and golden patches of sunlight spilled across the green shadows, soft as could be.

Le Wuya was decked out in Jing tribe women's clothing, with a delicate serpentine gold waist chain draping gracefully along his waist.

His curly hair spilled over his shoulders like ink, with a few locks braided with colored cords, dangling little tassels of gold bells and silver flakes.

That was what had made that sound earlier.

Catching the brief stiffness that flickered across his face, Le Wuya immediately felt a smug little thrill of victory.

He crossed his arms and looked down at him, all relaxed and smug: "Awake?"

After a brief ripple of surprise, Xiang Zhijie quickly settled into a calm that was almost unsettling, his gaze locking onto him.

But beneath that calm surface, dark currents were churning—something real hard to read.

Le Wuya didn't notice the undercurrent for a moment, thinking to himself, teasing this little gentleman sure is fun.

Keep pretending, let's see how long you can keep that up.

For this getup, Le Wuya had done everything himself—brows, hair, foil—not a single step left to anyone else.

Clearly, when he really set his mind on getting under someone's skin, Le Wuya didn't mind a bit of trouble.

With a boldness that bordered on showing off, Le Wuya turned around.

He arched his back a little.

There, along the snowy groove of his spine, was a tree-shaped gold foil!

As he deliberately rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck, the tree seemed to come alive, its branches and leaves swaying—downright mesmerizing.

With his back to Zhi Jie, he said offhandedly, "I packed a Jing tribe men's outfit, a women's outfit, and a beggar's outfit. I figured I'd play it by ear and wear them all, but turns out only one got used. Since I brought 'em all, wouldn't it be a waste not to give each one a spin? So hey, might as well put them on for you to see."

His tone was teasing and coaxing: "You're recovering, so I figured I'd give you something to smile about..."

Before he could finish, the world spun, and he was yanked into a scorching-hot embrace.

Zhi Jie's body was still damp with sweat, pressing flush against his back.

Not that you could blame Zhi Jie.

Before getting into bed, he'd dried off with a towel and even put on a thin layer of sweet osmanthus oil.

Yet in just that short moment, he'd broken out in a fine sheen of sweat.

Steeped in sandalwood for so long, even his sweat carried that elegant, solemn sandalwood scent, tinged with desire.

Le Wuya, wrapped up from behind, still turned half his face back to taunt: "Stomachache all better?"

Zhi Jie pressed his forehead hard against his back, his voice full of helpless grievance: "...Teacher, you're bullying me."

"So what if I'm bullying you? A teacher bullying a student is only natural. What, you planning to betray your teacher and destroy your master?"

He fiddled with Zhi Jie's thumb ring, rubbing against his skin, his words carrying little hooks: "...Dare you?"

But before he could stir up trouble for long, he felt his wrists tighten.

—With just one hand, Zhi Jie had both of Le Wuya's wrists locked up.

Le Wuya looked down, startled.

For the umpteenth time, he truly realized this kid had grown up.

The thin, leaf-like palm he remembered was now, in comparison, a full size bigger than his own.

"No..." Zhi Jie's words came faster and softer, strained with the effort to stay composed, "Not here. This isn't the place."

Le Wuya: "..."

He'd come with intentions.

A few days ago, this kid had been scared out of his wits, thinking he'd died again. Le Wuya had been missing him anyway, and that day he'd rubbed up against him real nice. Why not strike while the iron's hot and have another taste?

Le Wuya: "What's the problem with here?"

Zhi Jie: "It's someone else's bed."

Le Wuya protested: "A few days ago, you were on someone else's mountain!"

"It's different." Zhi Jie insisted.

Held so tight against him, even Le Wuya was struggling: "What's the difference?!"

Zhi Jie bit his lip, and after a long moment, squeezed out a hoarse whisper: "Back then, I thought you were a ghost. Otherwise, how could I bear to drag you into the mud?"

Le Wuya, recalling the scene, was stunned: "..." You'd even lay hands on a ghost?!

But Zhi Jie's voice softened oddly, with a nearly devout restraint, murmuring against the skin of his nape: "Teacher, I'll hold back. Later, when we're somewhere proper, we'll take care of it, alright?"

Le Wuya had come to seduce him, never expecting him to actually pull off that composed, unflappable gentleman act.

But hearing him speak in that almost coaxing tone, Le Wuya started to get annoyed.

...This kid can hold out way too long, can't he?

The type who puts on a proper front but hides a wicked streak inside—if he holds back too long, he might just unleash something big and nasty.

Le Wuya's mind involuntarily flashed to that crooked, hundred-year-old tree, and then to the burning, aching feeling between his legs that day. Even with his fearless nature, his legs went weak and trembled, giving out twice.

No! He needed to let off some steam! Letting it build up was asking for trouble!

Le Wuya: "Then... can we just lie here for a bit?"

Zhi Jie obediently said, "Mm."

Le Wuya went limp, shuffled backward a little, steeled himself, gritted his teeth, and settled into his arms.

Zhi Jie was indeed not made of wood or stone—he responded.

The arms around him tightened, and the flesh at his side sank under a large hand, faint red marks blooming at the edges of the fingerprints.

But Le Wuya's waist couldn't handle that kind of touching either; a jolt of numbness shot from his waist to the soles of his feet, making his toes curl and clench involuntarily, and he couldn't help kicking the bed: "Mm..."

Zhi Jie immediately let go: "Teacher, forgive my rudeness."

That said, his palm still lingered greedily on that skin with a nearly magnetic pull, slowly stroking down his waist.

Le Wuya's taut toes were nearly cramping; with a struggle, he tried to get up and bolt.

Zhi Jie behind him let out a muffled grunt: "Teacher, don't move..."

Le Wuya snapped, exasperated: "You're blackmailing me!"

His breathing was so ragged he could barely control it: "No... it's my stomach... Teacher, don't move, let me catch my breath..."

Le Wuya: "..."

Resigned, he turned around in Zhi Jie's arms and, unable to resist, pinched his chest through his clothes in retaliation, then gritted out, "Behave yourself!"

With that, his lips, coated in a light tint, covered Zhi Jie's, slowly guiding and steadying his breathing.

While Le Wuya fumbled and lost his footing, He Lianche also came back defeated.

The entire Dansui yamen was under Le Wuya's control, and his caravan wasn't even allowed to pass by the front of the office.

Just a wall apart, yet they couldn't meet. Helian Che held back his restless fury, told his men to get settled, and went off to look for a spot to climb over.

Due to the strict plague prevention, the streets still had few pedestrians.

As he circled around to the rear wall of the Dansui government office, a cold, scrutinizing, wary gaze came at him from the side.

Helian Che's instincts were wolf-sharp—he stopped dead and whipped around!

And the watcher made no effort to hide himself.

Qiu Sinian leaned against the mottled brick wall, his dark gaze fixed on Helian Che.

...He remembered this man.

This was the only blood kin his master had in this world.

And the one who'd shoved him toward death's door.

Helian Che, of course, also remembered Qiu Sinian.

The last time they had met was within the stern confines of the Dayu imperial palace.

The man, clad in the black official robes of a Changmen Guard, had stared at him with sinister eyes—a vicious cur at the dog emperor's heel.

Running into him here out of nowhere, Helian Che didn't hesitate to grab the deerskin dagger at his belt.

But the Qiu Sinian before him now had shed every trace of that sharp hostility and groundless hatred.

He assumed no defensive stance, but instead pointed wordlessly up and to the side, then, with a flick of his toes, flipped up onto the roof as nimbly as a hawk, vanishing in an instant.

Afraid Le Wuya might catch this man's attention and be harmed by the dog emperor once more, Helian Che's heart tightened. Seeing the coast was clear, he backed up a few paces, then, like a tiger about to spring, launched himself onto the nine-foot wall.

Inside the wall, an old, leafy jujube tree leaned against it.

With its help, Helian Che could land effortlessly and unimpeded.

Crouching on the wall, Helian Che: "?"

He tilted his head slightly, a hint of confusion flickering across his face.

What was this?

Is he baiting me in to kill me?