August 19th, Lingzhou, Shaanxi.
As evening fell, several carriages, each escorted by their own guards, happened to meet on the official road leading to Qingshui Camp.
The passengers lifted their curtains to glance at each other and, recognizing fellow officials from past encounters, ordered their carriages to stop. Smiling, they greeted one another with respectful bows.
“Lord Lin, good to see you. Are you on your way to the Qingshui Camp horse race gathering?”
“Lord Huang, good to see you as well. Indeed, the official invitation has been sent out—how could I not go?”
“The invitations were issued on August 13th, requiring all attendees to arrive at Qingshui Camp by dawn on the 20th. I’ve been pushing my horse to its limit just to make it on time. Hopefully, I can enter the city tonight.”
“Our superiors have it easy. The horse market opened on August 13th, and Lord Li arrived at the start of the month. Lord Yan is stationed at Qingshui Camp year-round. They don’t have to endure this exhausting journey like we do. Meanwhile, we’ve been riding until our horses’ legs have thinned, covered in dust from head to toe.”
As they conversed, another official dismounted and approached. “Do you gentlemen know the background of this Censor Su who sent the invitations?”
“Lord Xiao, are you unaware of Su Twelve’s reputation? Come, let me enlighten you…”
After listening to a heavily embellished account of Su Twelve’s deeds, Lord Xiao sighed. “A new official sets three fires upon taking office. Is he planning to turn all of Shaanxi into a furnace? Not just us officials from the Court of Imperial Studs and the Imperial Stables, but also those from the Tea and Horse Bureau, the Salt Tax Bureau, and even the three provincial governing offices of Shaanxi—anyone with ties to horse administration has received an invitation. I even heard that Governor Wei Tangyuan is coming. What’s the big deal about this horse race gathering?”
Lord Lin scoffed. “What else? Just a pretense! Word is, Censor Su made a list—every official on it must register for the race and pay an evaluation fee based on rank, ranging from a few taels to several dozen taels of silver. While the amount isn’t much, with so many officials involved, it adds up. And where do you think all that silver will go? Straight into his pocket!”
Lord Xiao shook his head repeatedly. “Forcing officials to participate in a race and charging an evaluation fee… I’ve never seen corruption and extortion presented so elegantly before.”
Lord Huang stroked his beard and chuckled. “Corruption is good—it’s only bad if he’s not corrupt. If he weren’t after money, then he’d be after us. Would you rather be investigated, or just pay a little silver and be done with it? That way, everyone stays happy.”
The other two officials replied in unison, “Pay. Whatever it takes.”
After a few more jokes, they noticed it was getting late and returned to their carriages. Their convoy formed a long procession as they continued toward Qingshui Camp.
—
Night of August 19th, Qingshui Camp, Lingzhou.
In his temporary residence, Su Yan summoned Lingzhou’s Canjun, Huo Dun.
By candlelight, Su Yan’s expression seemed particularly gentle, more like a scholar who composed poetry and admired flowers rather than a government official. He smiled and asked, “Huo Canjun, have all preparations for tomorrow’s horse race gathering been made?”
“Everything is arranged,” Huo Dun replied. “The venue, race track, spectator stands, participating horses, and the jud—”
He recalled Su Yan’s peculiar terminology and corrected himself. “I mean, the referees, commentators, logistics team, and security volunteers—everything is set.”
Su Yan reminded him, “Don’t forget the sponsors. Qingshui Camp is full of shops and merchants. Anyone with a bit of business sense should realize what a golden advertising opportunity this is.”
Huo Dun nodded. “I haven’t forgotten. The sponsorship fees have already been collected, which conveniently covers the event expenses.”
Su Yan nodded approvingly. “This year’s horse market is grander than ever, and you’ve managed it all so smoothly. A mere horse race gathering should be no trouble at all. Holding it on the last day of the market makes it a perfect grand finale, boosting the market’s reputation even further.”
What does the horse market have to do with this? Huo Dun thought bitterly. You’re just using this horse race as a pretext to target people!
And those so-called “race track surprises” you made me set up… such underhanded tricks! How do you even come up with this stuff?!
As if reading his mind, Su Yan smirked. “Oh, I just realized—I left someone off the participant list. Minister Yan. What an oversight! How terrible.”
Huo Dun’s face changed instantly. He forgot all decorum and lunged forward, grabbing Su Yan’s sleeve and wrist. “Lord Su, you promised that Minister Yan would be exempt from the race!”
Before he could finish speaking, the energy flow in his hand’s san yang meridian was abruptly obstructed, causing his entire hand to go numb and ache, rendering his fingers powerless.
Jinghong Zhui, who had been guarding the study door, swiftly stepped forward the moment he saw him grabbing Su Yan. With a quick flick of his sword hilt, he knocked Hou Dun’s hand away from Su Yan’s wrist.
Hou Dun turned his head and glared at Su Yan’s personal bodyguard.
The bodyguard’s face was as cold as a frozen pear, and he warned in an icy tone, “Do not lay hands on the lord. Show some respect!”
Hou Dun had no choice but to swallow his frustration and apologize to Su Yan.
“It’s fine,” Su Yan smiled. “Hou Canjun acted out of concern.” Then, his tone grew lighter yet sharper. “But if you have a request, you should at least show the right attitude when asking for help. First, make sure this matter is handled properly for me. And don’t forget—you and Minister Yan are still entangled in an attempted murder case. You haven’t cleared your names yet.”
Hou Dun’s last trace of defiance crumbled. He lowered his head, dejectedly excused himself, and left.
The study door swung open, and the cool autumn night breeze rushed in. The clash of warm and cold air made Su Yan sneeze several times in succession.
“The weather is getting chilly, my lord. You should dress warmly.” Jinghong Zhui fetched a stone-blue cloak and draped it over him.
Unlike a heavy winter mantle, this type of cloak had a straight collar, a front closure, and wide sleeves, suitable for both indoor and outdoor wear. As Su Yan slipped his arms into the sleeves, Jinghong Zhui habitually set his sword aside and stepped forward to tie the ribbon at the collar.
These small actions were second nature to him, performed with complete ease.
But Su Yan, still haunted by the disastrous affair on the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival, flinched the moment Jinghong Zhui’s fingers neared him. His body reacted before his mind could, retreating two steps instinctively. A phantom pain seemed to resurface in a certain place.
Jinghong Zhui’s hands hesitated midair before slowly withdrawing. His voice was stiff, almost hoarse. “Is the Lord afraid of me?”
He tried to keep his expression calm, but guilt and sorrow still flickered in his eyes. Seeing this, Su Yan couldn’t help but soften a little. He sighed. “It’s not fear, just… unbearable awkwardness.”
“Look, we’ve lived together for so long—sleeping in the same room, eating at the same table, like family. It was such a comfortable dynamic. Then one day, everything changed. Isn’t that a shame?” He attempted to reason with his bodyguard, hoping to dispel the awkward tension between them and restore their former, innocent closeness.
Jinghong Zhui hesitated before nodding slightly, only to shake his head right after.
Yes, having a bond like family was wonderful.
But when it came to Lord Su, he could never be satisfied with just that.
He had once despised himself for his insatiable greed, yet couldn’t help but crave affection in return—obsessing over it again and again, tormenting himself with longing.
Now, that reckless desire had, against all odds, become reality. Since he had already fallen into the abyss, he had no wish to climb back out. Even if the bottom was a sea of fire, a forest of blades, or a pit crawling with snakes and scorpions that would leave him shattered and mangled, he would accept it willingly.
Now that he had trespassed into the forbidden zone, there was no pushing him back to where he once stood.
Having tasted the exquisite sweetness of dragon liver and phoenix marrow, asking him to forget that soul-consuming ecstasy was impossible.
He had long since figured out Lord Su’s temperament—soft words worked better than hard, and he had no tolerance for long-term pestering. If he wanted his wish fulfilled, he had to be bold, shameless, clingy, and persistent.
Su Yan felt a jolt in his chest, burned by the smoldering fire in his personal guard’s eyes. He took a half-step back, his lower back bumping against the edge of the desk.
In a blur, Jinghong Zhui’s figure was suddenly right in front of him. Su Yan instinctively grasped the edge of the desk and leaned back, his body language screaming tension and resistance.
Jinghong Zhui bent down and, with great care, helped him tie the long cords of his cloak.
Their breaths mingled in the narrow space between them—hot, restrained, trembling.
“Does my lord hate me?” Jinghong Zhui asked softly. His voice, icy and clear, brushed past Su Yan’s ear like the sharpest, yet gentlest blade.
Su Yan’s knees went weak for some reason. He told himself it was just the strain of leaning back in that awkward position—and that the original owner’s slender waist was far too useless. Clearing his throat, he said, “Of course not. How could I?”
“When I get close to the Lord, like this—” Jinghong Zhui plucked a bit of paper from Su Yan’s hair, “—or like this—” he gently brushed away the mist from a sneeze clinging to Su Yan’s lashes, “does the Lord feel disgusted?”
Not really. And why was this man saying such self-loathing things while showing that cold, wounded look in his eyes? What the h*ll was he trying to do?
Su Yan felt his useless slender waist grow more sore and numb by the second, until at last it gave out completely. He collapsed backward like a sun-dried salted fish.
Before he could slam into the inkstone, brush, and paper on the desk, Jinghong Zhui’s hand caught his back.
Su Yan had the dazed sensation of being like one of those gnarled Huangshan pines, twisted into shape on a cliffside, teetering on the edge of danger, supported only by a small protruding rock that allowed it to stubbornly keep its form.
The rock was jabbing his chest, his rear, his whole body—but without it, he’d fall, and fall hard, likely smashing to bits.
“Ah Zhui…” Su Yan sighed in defeat. “Can’t we each take a step back? You’ll still be my guard, I won’t drive you away again. Stay if you want, leave if you want. Isn’t that enough?”
But this time, Jinghong Zhui refused to submit. He pressed, “Does my lord find me disgusting?”
“That night, when I held your waist, when I kissed your back, when I entered…” He forced himself to speak through the heat burning in his face, his ears so red they looked ready to bleed. Embarrassed and ashamed, he still made himself continue, “Entered your body, and even… even spilled on your face…”
Su Yan snapped: “Stop! Never mention that part again! Godd*mn it, it was traumatic enough already—I barely managed to brainwash myself into forgetting it! Don’t make me slap you!”
Sensing Su Yan’s rising fury, knowing he had stepped on a landmine, Jinghong Zhui immediately shrank back. “It was all my fault. Even if I die, I won’t ever… ever aim at your face again—”
Smack! A sharp, clean slap. Su Yan did it decisively and with flair.
…hand hurts.
Jinghong Zhui gently rubbed Su Yan’s stinging palm while still supporting his back. Relentlessly, he asked again, “I know I’ve sinned deeply. No matter how much you beat me or punish me, I deserve it. But I still want to know—aside from being angry, do you find me vulgar, ugly, and repulsive?”
Su Yan gritted his teeth in helpless frustration. “No! I’ve never thought you were lesser than anyone else—not in looks, not in status, not in character, or in any way…. Happy now?”
Jinghong Zhui said, “My lord is kind to comfort me, and I am grateful. But I am of low birth, plain in appearance, and my temperament is not pleasing. For my lord to speak so highly of me only makes me feel even more unworthy.”
If I scold him, he gets upset. If I praise him, he doesn’t believe it. What the h*ll do you even want to hear?! Su Yan really wanted to slap him a few more times to vent his frustration, but that would only make his own hand hurt more. In the end, he let out a desperate groan, “How about you lift me up? My waist is about to snap…”
Only then did Jinghong Zhui pull him back from the desk.
His palm remained pressed against Su Yan’s back, continuously channeling warmth into his body, using his internal energy to soothe his meridians and dispel the chill.
Su Yan sighed in comfort but grumbled internally, How did I not realize before that he’s so d*mn difficult…
Jinghong Zhui stared at him with a tense expression, his cold and beautiful eyes still tinged with the faint flush at his ears. Then, with a tone as if he were marching to his death, he said, “My lord, I want to kiss you.”
Su Yan: “?”
Su Yan: “……”
Su Yan: “Jinghong Zhui! What the h*ll is wrong with you—”
The hand on his back quickly moved to cradle the back of his head, holding him firmly in place as Jinghong Zhui’s lips pressed against his, stiff and forceful.
He knew he should lick, suck, pry—but after forcing his way past Su Yan’s teeth, he was at a loss, his tongue blindly fumbling around, anxious and panicked, timid yet reckless.
…Like a lost child. Hungry, lonely, humble, desperately seeking warmth that did not belong to him.
Su Yan suddenly felt a twinge of pity.
He sighed silently in his heart and took the other’s tongue into his mouth.
Jinghong Zhui’s body trembled slightly, his free hand clenching into a nervous fist, unsure where to place it. After a moment, realization dawned, and he suddenly pulled Su Yan into his arms, pressing him tightly against his own body.
His internal energy was deep and enduring—he could go almost fifteen minutes without taking a breath. As a result, he nearly kissed Su Yan into suffocation.
Like a fish flung onto land, Su Yan weakly flailed his fists against him. Only then did Jinghong Zhui snap out of it and release his lips.
Half-dead, Su Yan gasped for air and mocked, “Getting hard just from a kiss? Are you a virgin?”
Jinghong Zhui answered honestly, “I was, until four days ago.”
He brought up that night again. Furious, Su Yan shot back, “No wonder! Your skills are absolute garbage! Back in my time, guys like you—big dick, bad technique, and freakishly long stamina—would’ve had their wedding night end in divorce.”
Jinghong Zhui, whether he understood or not, immediately lowered his head and admitted his mistake. “I was ignorant. My lord, please teach me?”
“Teach my *ss!”
“Using the *ss… to teach” Jinghong Zhui stammered. “That… would also work.”
His expression was still sharp and stoic, but his ears burned red. Heaven knows how he managed to fuse such conflicting auras—cold, unyielding masculinity and bashful, shamefaced sincerity—into one face so seamlessly.
Su Yan was mortified. “Keep dreaming! Get lost!”
Jinghong Zhui recalled his past dreams, both indulgent and shameful. But since his lord had asked, he answered truthfully, “I often dream of my lord. In my dreams, my lord is very kind. I kiss my lord’s toes, and he does not get angry…”
The ever-so-kind Su Yan promptly kicked him out of the room like a stray dog.
