Su Yan stepped out of the cave, casually breaking off a tree branch to use as a hairpin, twisting his hair into a loose Taoist-style topknot.
In the hollows of nearby rocks, he found pools of accumulated rainwater. Since it had rained just last night, the water looked clear and fresh. He crouched down and drank his fill directly, then plucked a few large leaves, shaping them into makeshift bowls to carry some water back to the cave.
Inside, Jinghong Zhui sat cross-legged on a rock, eyes closed in meditation. He was bare-chested, with his still-damp outer robe balled up and draped over his lap.
Su Yan guessed it was because wearing wet clothes was uncomfortable. If he had a sculpted body like that, going shirtless to show off would probably be satisfying—but unfortunately, as someone with a soft, pale build, he figured he was better off keeping his damp clothes on.
He studied Jinghong Zhui’s complexion and didn’t like what he saw—his face was pale with a bluish tint, his lips nearly bloodless, and the corners of his mouth were dry and chapped.
Hurriedly, Su Yan sat down on the stone bed, about to call out for Ah Zhui to drink some water. But then he hesitated, recalling scenes from wuxia films where interrupting someone’s meditation could cause an internal energy backlash or even lead to madness. He wasn’t sure if he should wake him.
The water in the leaf bowl dripped steadily, on the verge of leaking out. Left with no other choice, Su Yan carefully brought the tip of the leaf to Jinghong Zhui’s lips, hoping he would instinctively drink.
The moment the water touched his lips, Jinghong Zhui’s eyes snapped open.
Their cold, starry depths were as close as an icy river under the night sky—beautiful and piercing.
Su Yan felt as though he had been caught in the gravitational pull of a swirling nebula, utterly mesmerized.
He forgot how to think.
He could only fall deeper, breathless, dazed, completely spellbound.
Jinghong Zhui drank the clear water from the leaf bowl in small sips, his voice hoarse as he spoke, “My lord, breathe.”
Su Yan snapped back to reality, drawing in a long breath with a flushed face from lack of oxygen. “Ah Zhui, your eyes are truly—” He swallowed the word “eerie” and replaced it with something more flattering, “extraordinary, almost mesmerizing. I nearly got lost in them.”
“It’s due to the techniques I’ve practiced. In the martial world, people call such mesmerizing arts ‘demonic magic,’ but it’s nowhere near as exaggerated as they imagine. It merely causes brief confusion in an opponent’s mind during eye contact, allowing for an easier kill,” Jinghong Zhui explained matter-of-factly. “Just now, I lost control while withdrawing my energy, letting it leak unintentionally and startling you. That was my mistake.”
Su Yan shook his head. “I wasn’t startled, just…” He chuckled self-deprecatingly, “entranced. If you ever wanted to kill me, all you’d need to do is look at me like that.”
Jinghong Zhui’s brows furrowed, his face darkening with a trace of sorrow. “Why would my lord say such a thing? Do you still think I’m the kind of assassin who would indiscriminately kill anyone for money? Do you still distrust me?”
Su Yan realized he had crossed a line. While teasing Jinghong Zhui with terms like “concubine” usually elicited little more than shy protests, any joke about his own safety was clearly off-limits. Su Yan hurriedly grasped Jinghong Zhui’s hand and apologized. “That was my fault. I won’t make such jokes again. Don’t be upset, Ah Zhui.”
Jinghong Zhui sighed quietly. “I have never been angry at my lord, nor will I ever be. I just hope you remember, no matter what happens, I would never harm you.”
“I know. I believe you. Let’s turn the page on this, okay?” Su Yan replied with a smile, squeezing Jinghong Zhui’s calloused fingers, which bore the marks of countless battles. His mind wandered absurdly to thoughts of food—particularly how much he missed crispy fried chicken….before his stomach growled audibly.
Jinghong Zhui’s ears reddened, but he didn’t withdraw his hand, letting Su Yan play with it. Then, hearing the loud protest from Su Yan’s stomach, he finally remembered. Neither of them had eaten since midday the previous day. While he could endure hunger, as it was part of his training to go days without food, Su Yan, with his delicate constitution, clearly could not.
Jinghong Zhui immediately stood up. “Wait here, my lord. I’ll find something to eat.”
“There’s nothing out there,” Su Yan said. “I looked when I fetched water earlier. This valley is barren—no animals, no fruit trees, nothing. The river is murky from the flood, and even if there are fish, they’re impossible to catch. Just focus on recovering. Once your energy returns, take me out of here.”
Jing Hongzhui had barely completed a full circulation of his internal energy before being interrupted. He knew that his lower back wound wasn’t the real issue—the real problem was excessive blood loss. His qi and blood were severely depleted, leaving his meridians as dry as a parched riverbed, making it impossible to generate enough inner strength.
Fortunately, it wasn’t a critical injury. As long as he could rest and eat to replenish his energy, his body would slowly recover.
By his estimate, even if he only drank water without food, another twelve hours of rest would allow him to regain at least ten to twenty percent of his inner strength—just enough to take Lord Su out of this valley.
But while he could endure hunger, he couldn’t let Lord Su starve any longer. With that thought, Jing Hongzhui forced himself off the stone bed. At last, the inappropriate reaction that had been plaguing him subsided, sparing him further humiliation. He let out a quiet sigh of relief and put his torn outer robe back on.
“Please wait a moment, my lord. I’ll be back soon.”
Before Su Yan could warn him to mind his injuries, Jing Hongzhui’s figure had already vanished from the cave entrance.
Hoping that Ah Zhui might actually catch some game, Su Yan rummaged through the dry leaves and twigs piled up on the cave floor, searching for anything he could use as tinder.
Though his fire-starting bamboo tube had been soaked in the river and rendered useless, he still had a fire striker. It had been hanging from his waist along with a jade pendant—though the pendant had shattered during his tumble down the slope, the striker remained intact.
The fire striker was a luxurious piece, adorned with gold and silver inlays in the shape of chiwen and ocean waves. It had been a gift from Shen Qi before he left the capital—both a practical tool and a decorative accessory. The striker itself was only three fingers wide, shaped like a small axe. A curved steel strip at the bottom was used to strike sparks, while a tiny leather pouch with silver-rimmed edges was attached on top, containing char cloth and a small piece of flint. The pouch’s magnetic clasp resembled the closure of a modern lady’s handbag—except this was a super-miniature version. The exterior was inlaid with agate, red coral, and turquoise, engraved with intricate designs, and even the suspension cord was made of interwoven silver links. It was an exquisite item.
Su Yan had never seen anything like it in his previous life. When he first received it, he turned it over in his hands for a long time before asking Shen Qi, “This looks expensive. What should I give you in return to be proper?”
Shen Qi had smirked. “In both capitals, this is part of a betrothal gift. You can just return it with a pair of red lacquered chopsticks—to symbolize ‘having children quickly.’”
Su Yan scoffed. “Keep dreaming! What exactly is going on in your head all day?” He had tossed the fire striker back at him.
But Shen Qi had then threatened to “force himself” on him, leaving Su Yan no choice but to accept it.
After leaving the capital, with servants and guards handling his daily needs, the fire striker had remained nothing more than a decorative piece hanging from his waist—until now.
Though the char cloth inside the pouch had been soaked and was useless, the cave itself was dry. After searching around, he managed to find some flammable plant fibers. Using the steel strip and flint, he struck a few sparks and successfully ignited the tinder, building up a small campfire.
As he carefully fed dry twigs into the flames, he took off his outer robe to dry it, mocking himself for finally escaping the primitive age of eating raw meat and drinking blood—only to progress to the Stone Age. If only he had found tinder last night, he wouldn’t have had to endure an entire night clinging to a human-shaped ice block.
Half an hour later, Jing Hongzhui returned to the cave with a pouch full of berries—and two skinned, gutted snakes, each as thick as a forearm. Seeing the fire, he was both pleased and disappointed. “This valley really is barren. Not even a wild boar. I only managed to catch these two snakes. My lord, can you stomach snake meat?”
Su Yan shot back, “What’s the ‘bug’ in the character ‘min’?”
Jinghong Zhui froze for a moment before realizing, “It’s changchong—a snake. So, the people of Min are snake-eating experts.”
Su Yan chuckled. “The Min people do eat snakes, but they’re no match for the Yue people. The Yue eat everything; rumor has it they even eat the Min.”
Jinghong Zhui took the joke seriously and advised earnestly, “If the southern regions are so barbaric, my lord must never go there in the future.”
“But I love the Consort’s Smile lychees from Lingnan. What should I do?”
“I’ll ride day and night to fetch them for you,” Jinghong Zhui replied with a serious expression.
As they talked, Jinghong Zhui roasted segments of snake over the fire until they were cooked. He handed the larger one to Su Yan. Without salt or seasoning, it naturally couldn’t compare to roasted rabbit sprinkled with chili powder and cumin. Yet snake meat had a faintly fishy sweetness to it, and Su Yan, being famished, found it delicious.
The berries, though tangy with a hint of sweetness, were palatable enough, and the two managed to fill their stomachs about two-thirds full.
After drinking and eating, Jinghong Zhui’s complexion improved slightly; the pallor of his lips now bore a faint trace of color. He turned to Su Yan and said, “I must trouble you to stay in this cave with me for one more night. By tomorrow morning, I’ll have recovered enough strength to take you out of here.”
Though Su Yan was concerned for Chu Yuan and the other guards, as well as the young attendants Xiaobei and Xiaojing, he could only suppress his worries. Adding to Jinghong Zhui’s burden would do no good.
As the sunset faded from the cave entrance and night fell once more, Su Yan laid on the stone bed, resting, yet his thoughts began to wander. He mused over what reactions the Emperor and Crown Prince in the capital might have upon learning of his fall and disappearance.
The Emperor, being steady and rational, would likely remain composed. The Crown Prince, however, with his explosive temper, might very well demand a search party to be dispatched immediately.
He could only hope that the young man wouldn’t clash with his royal father over this.
Then there was Shen Qi. That ruthless spymaster, who showed softness only to him and even risked his life for his sake—would he be worried sick over his disappearance?
When leaving the capital, Su Yan had been inexplicably disappointed for days upon discovering Shen Qi hadn’t come to see him off. Upon questioning Gao Shuo, he was told the man had been too busy with official duties. This explanation only deepened his dejection, leaving him with an unspoken mix of resentment and sadness. Ultimately, he shoved the feelings aside, unwilling to dwell on them further.
But earlier, while using the fire striker Shen Qi had gifted him, his thoughts had inevitably returned to him. Distracted, he had accidentally bruised his own finger while striking the flint.
Now his finger, soaked earlier in the cool rainwater, still throbbed faintly. Absently, Su Yan brought the injured finger to his lips, letting out a quiet sigh.
Jinghong Zhui’s voice suddenly broke the silence. “My lord need not worry too much. Close your eyes and rest well; dawn will come soon enough. Once we leave the valley tomorrow, we’ll head back to Hengliangzi Town and reunite with Chu Yuan and the others.”
His tone carried a trace of guilt, for he knew the situation back then had been dire. When he had rushed after Su Yan, only two attendants remained with the carriage, alongside fewer than ten Embroidered Uniform Guard, while the Tartar cavalry numbered at least sixty or seventy. The odds of their survival were slim.
But no matter his grim awareness, he could only offer comforting words to Su Yan, trying to ease his fears and sorrow.
Su Yan, too, knew their situation had been precarious. He avoided dwelling on the possibilities, fearing the onset of despair, and instead prayed for fortune to favor the brave.
He patted the rock beside him and said softly, “Ah Zhui, come sleep here.”
Recalling the awkward morning incident, Jinghong Zhui was both flustered and uneasy. His heart pounded wildly as he stiffly declined, “No need, my lord. I’ll just meditate by the wall.”
“Get over here! Don’t make me say it a third time.” Su Yan’s tone grew commanding.
Reluctantly, Jinghong Zhui shifted over, lying on the edge of the stone bed.
“Move in closer. Lie on your left side or on your stomach—don’t press on your wound.”
Seeing Jinghong Zhui still stiff and unmoving, Su Yan assumed he wasn’t used to sharing a bed. He got up and declared, “Wounded people should stay put. I’ll sleep by the fire; it’s warmer anyway.”
Summer nights hardly called for fires, and the ground was full of biting insects. Knowing Su Yan’s delicate constitution, Jinghong Zhui couldn’t bear the thought. Hastily grabbing his sleeve, he relented, “This bed is wide enough. Please stay. I’ll lie down properly.”
Su Yan lay back down, and Jinghong Zhui turned on his side. His gaze, unavoidably, fell upon Su Yan, who was bathed in the soft glow of firelight, like jade encased in a warm, golden haze.
“Sleep,” Su Yan murmured, closing his eyes. “Rest and recover. We’ve a long journey ahead after leaving the valley.”
With those words, Su Yan fell silent. Two moments later, his breathing deepened and steadied—he had fallen asleep.
Jinghong Zhui’s eyes remained fixed on his lord, his chest brimming with an overwhelming surge of emotion, threatening to spill forth. After a long while, he dared to reach out, his fingertips lightly brushing the back of Su Yan’s hand.
What he had intended as a brief touch, to quell the fire of forbidden longing within him, only fanned the flames higher.
His entire body, inside and out, burned with desire, consumed by the torment of his craving. He yearned for more, just a little more, to satisfy the hunger gnawing at his soul.
His calloused fingers trembled against Su Yan’s smooth, warm skin, as if teetering on the edge of an abyss. He knew the fall would lead to ruin but couldn’t resist the urge to leap.
This reckless impulse, however, warred with an overwhelming guilt—
Jinghong Zhui, what are you thinking of doing to your lord and savior? Is it not enough to crave a touch or a caress? Do you dare to imagine staining his purity, reducing him to ruin beneath another man’s lust, just like that detestable dog Shen Qi?!
As if scorched, Jinghong Zhui withdrew his hand, retreating so abruptly that he nearly fell off the bed.
The stone bed was far too narrow to contain the swelling tides of his hopeless yearning. He resolved to roll to a corner of the cave and wrestle with his demons there.
But Su Yan muttered something incoherent in his sleep, turning to rest his face against Jinghong Zhui’s collarbone.
Jinghong Zhui froze. He remained motionless for a long time, torn between fleeing and staying. Finally, he surrendered to the moment, inhaling the faint scent of Su Yan’s hair, and, unable to help himself, leaned down.
With trembling lips, he placed the gentlest of kisses on Su Yan’s smooth forehead.
His heart thundered as though it might leap out of his throat. Closing his eyes, he braced himself for punishment, whether it came from the man before him or from the heavens above.
Yet, no punishment came. After what felt like an eternity, Jinghong Zhui opened his eyes.
In the shadows where the firelight could not reach, he lowered his gaze to Su Yan’s sleeping face. His expression was devout and profound, as though a dark fire burned beneath a layer of ice.
