Chapter 32

Chapter 32

In the other side of the villa's living room, two people were opening packages hand in hand.

Xia Xiyin picked up a robe, her fingertips running over the velvety surface—an ivory white base with fine sky blue trimming at the collar and cuffs.

The cotton was thick and soft, heavy in her palm, like a warm cloud.

At the mall, the sales assistant beside her kept promoting it, saying it was "made of good fabric" and "you won't feel cold wearing it at home."

Those words drifted past her ears, in one ear and out the other—she just felt it suited him the moment she saw it.

Unconsciously, her mind conjured up that image: Gojo Satoru, fresh out of the shower, his hair still wet, water droplets sliding down the back of his neck into the robe's collar. He casually pulled the front together, revealing a bit of his chest...

As the image floated in her mind, she couldn't help but smile and nod.

Beside her, Gojo Satoru was also examining the robe. He frowned slightly and turned to look at Xia Xiyin: "Xi Yin, I usually wear a T-shirt and shorts after my shower."

This sudden remark cut through her thoughts, yanking Xia Xiyin back from the beautiful image.

Her mouth twitched slightly, and she pushed the robe into Gojo Satoru's arms, ignoring his words.

Another piece of sleepwear in the bag caught her eye—it was the same style as the white robe, only the color was different. It had a matte black base with purple trim at the collar and cuffs.

"Jie," Xia Xiyin called out over her shoulder, her tone light and certain, "I bought you a robe, and some other clothes—come take a look."

Before she could finish speaking, Suguru Geto was beside her, bending down to take the robe from her hand.

He examined it from top to bottom, eyes downcast, studying the robe in silence.

Seeing this, questions raced through her mind one after another. Did he dislike the robe like Gojo Satoru, or was it her taste that was off?

That couldn't be it, she thought, examining the sleepwear again.

Matte black with purple trim, clean cut, soft fabric. She had picked it out at first sight, convinced it was perfect for him. Not flashy, but with detail—it matched Suguru Geto's calm and composed demeanor.

There shouldn't be a problem. So what was with the dazed look in Jie's eyes?

She couldn't help but ask: "Jie?"

Suguru Geto snapped out of it and thanked her: "Thank you, it's very nice. But this style?"

Hearing him say "nice" completely eased the anxiety in Xia Xiyin's heart.

She explained, "It's the same style as Gojo Satoru's—after all, I did buy them from the same store."

No, it wasn't just the same as the one in Gojo Satoru's arms.

Suguru Geto studied Xia Xiyin's loungewear, his gaze falling on the white tag at the back of her neck.

His fingers rubbed the collar of the robe. The two tags were exactly the same. Not only the tags, but the design and cut were exactly the same as the one Xia Xiyin was wearing.

He moved his gaze from the robe to Xia Xiyin's face. Her bright eyes blinked, free of any hint of concealment or shyness.

She had no idea—she didn't realize she had unconsciously bought matching outfits, nor did she understand what buying a robe for someone meant. She was simply charming everyone around her with smiles and gifts, innocently exuding fragrance, making it hard for him to restrain himself.

The temptress was unaware; the tempted man knew exactly what he was doing.

Suguru Geto draped the robe over his arm, picked up the bag at his feet, ignoring the white marks the handles left on his hand: "Xi Yin, I need to take a shower. So, see you."

With that, Suguru Geto vanished like greased lightning.

"Huh?"

Xia Xiyin reached out to stop him—there were still other clothes in the bag she hadn't shown him.

Especially the black tight-fitting top and coat—she had always wanted to see a hot guy wear that outfit.

Tall, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, wearing a black turtleneck that hugged from his shoulders to his wrists.

When he raised his hand, the fabric tightened, clearly outlining his shoulder blades, the muscle lines of his upper arms, and the subtle creases when his elbows bent.

Tailored dress pants paired with a flowing coat. The coat would fall from his shoulders to his calves.

When he walked, the hem would lift slightly behind him, revealing the black, tight-fitting layer underneath. Revealing a little, hiding a little. Hiding a little, showing a little.

And the finishing touch: black shoes with red soles.

All in somber black—of course, it needed a pop of color. As he strode briskly, the faint flash of red would catch anyone's eye and stir their heart.

Any woman who saw it would feel a flame kindled in her heart.

Unfortunately, the model had fled, faster than a rabbit, without even letting her finish speaking. She didn't get to feast her eyes.

But Geto wasn't the only drop-dead gorgeous guy around.

Xia Xiyin blinked and looked at Gojo Satoru beside her. Porcelain skin, a perfectly chiseled nose, naturally red lips. And most importantly, he was six foot three!

Only someone with long legs could truly rock a trench coat!

With that thought, she showed him another outfit she had prepared.

Except the coat was white—everything else was exactly as she had imagined.

"Wu," Xia Xiyin clung to his solid arm, looking up into Gojo Satoru's eyes, her tone soft as a coaxing whisper, "Tomorrow, or the day after, please wear this for me, okay? Thanks."

Meeting those hopeful eyes, Gojo Satoru was momentarily stunned. He took the outfit and glanced it over—just a normal set of clothes.

But Xia Xiyin silently contradicted him. The light in her eyes was so bright it looked like it might spill over.

She leaned more heavily on his arm. Xia Xiyin pressed her face against his arm, leaning her entire body into him.

Through the thin layer of fabric, her breath spilled out, sending a current up his spine, making the tips of his ears turn red.

Gojo Satoru picked up the bag and stood, dragging the koala clinging to his arm along.

He lowered his eyes, his tone exaggerated, dragging out the five words one by one.

"Depends on my mood."

He turned his head to look at the Divine Child sitting on the sofa and added, "Hey, you'll stay in my room—the first door on the left on the second floor. I'm going to shower."

Since their hands were still linked, Xia Xiyin was dragged along by Gojo Satoru.

As they passed the Divine Child, she met his indifferent eyes.

A thought struck her: Can a ten-year-old bathe himself?

When she was ten, one day she came home soaked from the rain. Her clothes clung to her skin, her hair was plastered to her cheeks, and she felt uncomfortable all over.

But that day, it was a weekday afternoon, and her mother wasn't home. She washed up by herself, but ended up mixing up shampoo and conditioner and couldn't adjust the water temperature properly. After showering, she felt clean but exhausted, and washing her hair with cold water gave her a fever the next day.

A Jujutsu Sorcerer's childhood might be different from how she imagined it, but what if a ten-year-old child, if left unsupervised, would get into trouble in the bathroom?

There was that time in a neighboring village where a ten-year-old loved drinking cola while bathing. There was no cola at home, so he secretly took an adult's milk tea without permission. While bathing and drinking, a tapioca pearl accidentally got stuck in his throat, and he ended up in the hospital.

Three days of high fever, plus a surgery, left him physically and mentally drained. Although it was partly his own fault, the lack of adult supervision was also a fact.

Thinking of him alone in the bathroom, with steam filling the air and the floor tiles slippery—if he slipped, a single misstep could send him falling.

His knee hitting the floor, his elbow slamming against the wall, leaving scratches on his fair skin.

A jolt shot through her body; her heart clenched painfully.

It clenched so hard that the pain made her freeze up.

Xia Xiyin wrapped her arms around the waist of the person in front of her, holding him still, and said calmly, "Little Satoru, can you take a bath by yourself?"

She paused: "If it's really not possible, I can help you from outside the bathroom!"

As soon as the words left her mouth, the living room suddenly fell silent, so quiet you could hear the moonlight shift.

The Divine Child's swinging legs went still, motionless, as if her words had fried him to a crisp.

Every muscle in his body tensed, hands gripping the sofa fabric tightly, his eyes meeting her dark, flustered eyes.

Two deep, dark wells reflected his dazed expression.

He remembered Suguru Geto's whispered warning from earlier.

"Xi Yin is a sincere person, but don't keep looking into her eyes. Especially you, you're just a child—you won't be able to resist."

The young Divine Child hadn't taken it to heart.

All the things the adults said—don't do this, don't do that, be careful of this, watch out for that—he listened and immediately forgot. Their fears, their caution, their vigilance—none of it concerned him.

Only others feared the Six Eyes; no one warned him to be wary of anyone.

So he didn't pay attention. The words went in one ear and out the other, leaving no trace.

Now, it was too late.

He only knew that if he looked any longer, he would—he would—

He didn't know what would happen.

He only felt as if her gaze were water, surging from all directions, wrapping around him completely. He didn't want to struggle, didn't want to escape. He just wanted to sink into it, to the deepest place, and never come out.

A sweetness rose in his throat, lodged halfway, neither rising nor falling.

Today, the Divine Child had confirmed his preference for sweet things, but that was only on his tongue.

The shape, temperature, and weight of sweetness—those, he still didn't know.

Feeling her gaze, the Divine Child remained silent.

Xia Xiyin twisted a strand of hair around her finger, feeling troubled. A person so refined and elegant, hearing such a blunt comment from her, must have been startled.

She hadn't spoken clearly—she only meant to wait outside the bathroom, not to do anything.

Her ideal type was someone over eighteen, sunny, gentle, and considerate—a college student. But for her, age was a strict requirement!

She hurriedly opened her mouth to clarify, but afraid of making things worse, of being tongue-tied and saying something shocking that would be misunderstood. The words bobbed in her throat like vegetables in a wok; they burned, yet she couldn't get them out.

Suddenly, the world spun around her in a dizzying whirl.

Distinct, long-fingered hands pressed against her waist. Fingers hooked around her waist, the crook of his hand clamping her side, holding her firm.

Her body rose into the air; the whole world flipped. Her vision turned upside down—the ceiling became the floor, the floor became the ceiling.

In her panic, her free hand grabbed his neck to steady herself. Her stomach was pressed against his broad shoulder, the pressure digging into her gut.

Her upper body hung down, hair falling loose, almost touching the ground. Head down, feet up, she was carried on his shoulder like a cabbage fresh from the supermarket.

"Go—Gojo Satoru!"

An indignant, flustered cry echoed through the living room.

Gojo Satoru lowered his eyes, shifted the person on his shoulder, and said, raising his voice, "I can hear you, Xi Yin."

Her arm around his neck was so tight it made it hard for him to breathe, but he didn't care. He just carried her, turned, and walked toward the stairs.

Xia Xiyin's vision swayed violently. The floor swayed, the walls swayed, the moonlight swayed. She saw one of her slippers fall off, landing beside the couch—forlorn.

Tears clinging to her lashes blurred her vision.

The Divine Child, sitting on the sofa, eyes wide open, stared unwaveringly at the person on his shoulder.

Xia Xiyin sensed that that indifferent sky had cracked open, a sliver of light seeping through. It was like he wanted to smile, but didn't quite know how.

She wanted to speak up, to explain, to ask Gojo Satoru to put her down.

But her words were shaken apart by the motion.

With every step he took, she shook; with every shake, the words she wanted to say broke in half. By the end, she couldn't say anything at all—only fragments of sounds left her mouth.

She could only let him carry her, let herself dangle like a sack of flour, swaying back and forth on his shoulder.

By then, Gojo Satoru had reached the stairs. With each step he climbed, her hair swayed with his movement, hanging in her face, tickling her.

She wanted to reach up and brush it aside, but if she moved, she couldn't keep her grip on his neck. And the hand on her waist tightened, holding her so firmly she could barely move.

Giving up halfway wasn't in Xia Xiyin's nature, but jostled in midair, she had no choice but to submit to the dark forces.

Helpless, Xia Xiyin could only kick her feet randomly, venting her frustration.

Her mind had been shaken into mush, so much so that when she was thrown onto the bed, she didn't even register it at first.

Maybe "thrown" wasn't the right word.

It was a gentle drop—gently set onto the bed. But the feeling of weightlessness still made her see stars. The ceiling, the window, the moonlight all blurred together, spinning into a fuzzy circle.

Xia Xiyin sank into the bed, the quilt forming a deep hollow beneath her. The pillow was knocked askew. Her hair spread out across the white sheet like black silk fabric.

Seeing this, Gojo Satoru placed the bundle of items by the bedside, looking at her legs still in the position they'd been thrown into—one stretched out, the other slightly bent, toes curling against the sheet, tense.

A blush crept across her face. Her eyelashes fluttered, one after another, like startled butterflies.

To vent her emotions, even while gasping for air, her chest heaving, she raised a fist to punch him. Though her soft, weak punches hitting him were like an ant trying to shake a tree, she never gave up.

Xia Xiyin kept grumbling to herself about this infuriating man—she was only worried that Little Satoru might fall, not that she had any ill intentions toward him!

Besides, even if she *did* have ill intentions, she wouldn't have the capability for it!

"...Satoru, no more, never again. You can't carry me up the stairs... it makes me too dizzy..."

As she thumped on his firm chest, she had no idea how Gojo Satoru felt, but her own hand ached as if she'd hit a wall.

She glanced at the man beside her. Backlit by the moonlight, his features were bisected by the bridge of his nose, his brows and eyes hidden in shadow, unreadable.

Gojo Satoru's rosy lips moved slightly: "Xi Yin, he can bathe himself. I wasn't some useless brat when I was a kid..."

The words seemed squeezed from his throat, hesitant and rough, revealing his displeasure.

Though she couldn't see those strikingly beautiful eyes, the bitter tone, the pursed lips, and the faint outline of his lips all made Xia Xiyin understand what he was thinking.

Jealousy?

She found it almost unbelievable—would someone like Gojo Satoru ever feel jealous? And of himself?

That ever-lazy, couldn't-care-less, self-centered person. The one who never bothered to read anyone's expression, never needed anyone's approval. The one so strong he didn't need anyone's protection.

*Him*, jealous?

She shook her head abruptly, tossing the thought into the trash bin of her mind.

One of life's three great illusions: that he likes me.

Jealousy only comes with affection, but affection can take many forms. Maybe it was possessiveness? Maybe it was habit? Maybe it was just—a misjudgment.

Just a misjudgment. Xia Xiyin took a deep breath, steadying her emotions.

She was getting increasingly skilled at the method Dazai-san had taught her for controlling her heartbeat.

A soft sound escaped from her nose: "Mm."

Time passed. Whether it was the moonlight shifting or him stepping forward, the silhouette moved. From the shadow, he slowly stepped into the moonlight.

Gojo Satoru's slightly furrowed brows came into view as he murmured, "Xi Yin, you're biased."

The word "biased" was spoken softly, barely audible, like the hum of a mosquito—yet it landed in her ear like a soft drumbeat landing on her ear.

But when it reached her heart, it felt like a stone crashing into a deep pool. *Thump*. Countless splashes erupted.

All those suppressed thoughts, everything she had trampled into the trash bin, surged back from that *thump*—so suddenly she was caught off guard.

Her body moved on instinct, and she sat up straight. One hand hovered briefly in the air before pressing against his brow.

Her fingertips touched his slightly raised eyelids. She smoothed away the furrow between his brows, eased whatever burdened him, and gathered that hint of grievance—one she had never seen in him before—into her palm.

Finally, she closed those captivating eyes.

Xia Xiyin leaned back, and she pulled him forward with their still-joined hands. His knees pressed against the edge of the bed, his hands supporting him on either side of her.

Her fingers slid down from his eyes, stopping at his chin, gently cupping it.

A ticklish sensation, like a feather brushing past, spread from his chin through his entire body.

It made him instinctively want to open his eyes, but a single word stopped him.

"Satoru, close your eyes."

Gojo Satoru wanted to retort, "You say close, I close? Who says so?"

But the hand cupping his chin trembling made him swallow the words that had risen to his throat.

The sensation spread across his face. She cupped his face with one hand, all five fingers spread, yet couldn't cover even half of it—but she pressed harder, until her skin pressed flush against his, with no gap between them.

She pressed her smooth forehead against his. Her warm breath landed on his face, carrying her familiar citrus scent that wrapped around him like a thin mist, enveloping him entirely.

He didn't move. Her voice was so close that he could feel her lips vibrating.

"Satoru, Yueshi Village has its own rules. The first one is: never trust strangers easily, and never think yourself so powerful that others will trust you. I've always remembered that—from elementary school until now."

"But when two strangers broke into my home, somehow my wariness was stolen away. And whoever stole it wasn't satisfied—they kept pounding at it every day, robbing me of peace."

"I've come to accept this fact, simply because I feel like I've met someone I can truly trust."

The moment she finished, his eyes flew open.

His gaze locked onto her face, unblinking.

When you look up at the sky in broad daylight, you shouldn't be able to see fireworks. But somehow, Xia Xiyin saw them. The azure sky hid the fireworks' explosion, but their thunder still echoed through the sky.

At that moment, Gojo Satoru's hand—the one supporting his weight—lifted slightly, then fell back to his side.

He remained frozen in place, unsure what to do, only pressing his smooth forehead closer to hers.

Xia Xiyin's hand cradled the back of his head, gently pulling him into an embrace. She paused, then suppressed a soft laugh as she spoke: "I've always wanted a little brother, and I'm not biased."

As she spoke, she stroked his soft white hair, again and again.

"You're the same. Both of you are Satoru. Nothing more."

Gojo Satoru buried his face in the crook of her neck, drowning in the fragrance coming from her body, inhaling deeply.

Not enough. He pressed deeper.

Deep until the tip of his nose touched her collarbone, deep until his lips brushed against her skin.

Her warmth passed to him from there—hot, soft, as if it would melt him into it too.

The breath against her neck gradually steadied. Xia Xiyin felt the lips pressed against her skin move, felt teeth graze her flesh. A voice as faint as a mosquito's hum reached her ear, but she couldn't make it out.

"Satoru? What did you say?"

Gojo Satoru's voice was muffled, coming from her neck. "...Xi Yin, say it again. The last part."

Xia Xiyin paused. "What?"

Gojo Satoru lifted his face slightly from her neck, revealing his unfocused eyes. "The last part," he said, his voice low and hoarse. "Say it again."

With that, he buried his head back into her neck, as if escaping a great danger.

Seeing this, Xia Xiyin tilted her head to rest on top of the head nestled against her neck, her eyelashes brushing against his white hair.

She spoke, her voice soft and gentle, each word falling distinctly into his ears.

Xia Xiyin said, "Only because I felt I had met—someone I could trust."

Then, she added, "I met the person I wanted to meet."

The lips pressed to her neck curled into a slight smile, and then he bit down gently.

On that soft, warm, fair skin, he branded a striking red mark.

In the blink of an eye, that red mark spread into a blotch on her neck—bright and vivid. Like a claim, like a brand, like a silent declaration.

"Me too."

He spoke those four words with a hint of a smile and smug satisfaction, with the relief of finally getting it out.

As he said it, Gojo Satoru seemed to recall something, and his tone turned slightly flippant: "...Geto, too."

Xia Xiyin blazed like a sunset, from her forehead to her neck, turning a deep peach.

She wanted to argue, to explain, but the words wouldn't come.

Because those words—'someone I could trust,' 'the person I wanted to meet'—were not just for him, but also for Geto.

To avoid making it worse, Xia Xiyin chose to bury her head in the sand and give up trying.

Gojo Satoru finally lifted his head from her neck, their eyes meeting: "I don't mind. Geto doesn't mind either."

"As long as you're here."

Author's Note:

None.