When Liu Yuanxun emerged from Dali Temple, supported by Gu Lianzhao, he saw Ling Qing sitting sideways on the carriage. She held a random weed she’d found somewhere and twirled it idly in her hand. Ling Ting stood nearby, holding the reins, while the two eunuchs Hong Fu had brought waited at the back of the carriage.
The moment Liu Yuanxun appeared, the Ling siblings spotted him. Ling Ting smiled and led the horse forward, while Ling Qing hopped lightly down from the carriage, calling out cheerfully, “Master!”
Liu Yuanxun gave her a faint smile in return, then boarded the carriage with Gu Lianzhao’s help.
Ling Qing followed a step behind and was about to lift the curtain to climb inside when Gu Lianzhao held it down first. “Too many people—it’s cramped in there. You ride outside.”
Ling Qing pouted, ready to complain, but then she remembered that Gu Lianzhao was different from them. He was the master’s Attendant Consort. The two of them hadn’t spent much time together lately; maybe Attendant Consort Gu wanted some private words with the master.
Gu Lianzhao had already married into the prince’s mansion and become Prince Rui’s bedmate. Compared to his usual cold demeanor, Ling Qing naturally hoped he’d show more care for Liu Yuanxun. She agreed readily and settled outside with a cheerful grin.
Inside the carriage, separated only by the curtain, Liu Yuanxun’s face was deathly pale. His eyes were open but unfocused, aimlessly vacant. Only his hand still clutched tightly at Gu Lianzhao’s sleeve.
It wasn’t until he heard Gu Lianzhao stop Ling Qing that Liu Yuanxun relaxed his grip. His hand slipped toward his side, but Gu Lianzhao caught his wrist and supported his lower back, pulling him into his arms.
Liu Yuanxun struggled to keep his eyes open, but no matter how wide he forced them, his vision remained a blur. Even his sense of his own body had dulled. Only the explosive pain in his chest reminded him: he’d endured too long and was on the verge of collapse.
But he knew that if he let this blood surge out, he’d likely fall into several days of unconsciousness again. Before, when his days had been a haze of muddled existence, passing out hadn’t mattered. But now he had things to do. He didn’t want to close his eyes and drift off like this.
In his daze, he felt himself leaning into a warm, soft embrace. A strong heartbeat throbbed clearly through the roaring in his ears, becoming his only tether to the world.
“A’Qiao, don’t… don’t call a physician…”
His voice was so faint he could barely hear it himself. Yet the hand gripping his tightened on his wrist, giving him a response.
He felt a stream of heat flow into his body. After all this time, he recognized Gu Lianzhao’s internal force. The warmth eased the stiffness and chill in his limbs slightly, but the pain in his chest intensified.
“It hurts so much…” he murmured, without specifying where. Gu Lianzhao didn’t dare hold him tightly, only supporting his back and pressing him closer to his chest. He knew it wouldn’t help, but the gesture was instinctive.
Cover it up, press it down, hide it away—no one else would notice, and maybe it wouldn’t hurt anymore. That was how he’d always dealt with his own pain. In this moment, he inexplicably felt Liu Yuanxun was a little like him. Seeing that Liu Yuanxun lacked the strength to hide it, he instinctively did it for him.
How ridiculous. He was just an uncared-for stray dog, forced to lick his own wounds when sick or injured. Liu Yuanxun, on the other hand, was a prince adored by thousands. One illness from him, and the entire Imperial Hospital would spring into action. How could he compare himself to the prince?
Yet the man in his arms had a face as white as a sheet, breathing in faint wisps that made him seem even more pitiable than when Gu Lianzhao himself had been gravely wounded.
“You need a physician,” Gu Lianzhao said, looking down at him. His voice was steady, but his gaze trembled faintly.
As he spoke, his chest vibrated. Liu Yuanxun, pillowed against it, heard him clearly, yet he still refused weakly. “I don’t want to…”
“No,” Gu Lianzhao said, gripping his wrist firmly. He repeated, “You need a physician.”
Pain throbbed fiercely in Liu Yuanxun’s chest, leaving him no strength to argue. He’d always thought Gu Lianzhao perceptive, quick to grasp his unspoken wishes. Yet now he was going against them, insisting on a physician.
Liu Yuanxun couldn’t see or hear clearly. Only his right ear, pressed to Gu Lianzhao’s chest, caught any sound. He couldn’t even voice his protest. All his remaining strength went into closing his eyes in silent dissent.
“I’ll just say you’re exhausted,” Gu Lianzhao murmured, holding him close against his chest. As he spoke, he channeled true qi into him. “I’ll say you’re too tired and fell asleep. We’ll have Physician Wang take your pulse to make sure you’re all right. We won’t say you’re ill. All right?”
Liu Yuanxun didn’t reply or open his eyes, but the tight line of his lips softened slightly. He no longer looked so stubbornly resistant.
Liu Yuanxun had little guile; most of his thoughts showed plainly on his face. Gu Lianzhao had seen through him long ago. He knew how to handle someone like this.
Coax him, persuade him, tell him “your health comes first”—he might not listen. Too much coaxing only burdened him more, making him even less willing to admit his illness and seek treatment.
If Liu Yuanxun could tough it out on his own, Gu Lianzhao wouldn’t have minded whether he saw a physician or not. After all, Physician Wang’s visits always ended with the same prescriptions; it made little difference. But in this state, any more delay could be fatal.
“See a physician early, and you’ll recover sooner. Xiao Jinye is still waiting for you in the Imperial Prison. What if you delay real business by refusing treatment? And after you brought Ning Bi out of Lamp Melody Alley, you’ve left her unattended?”
His voice was low and calm, devoid of emotion or pressure. When he finished, Liu Yuanxun slowly opened his eyes.
His gaze still lacked focus, his breaths came slowly, and he could only manage words in pairs. “Then I… won’t… get needled…”
“Mm,” Gu Lianzhao said, squeezing his hand. “I promise.”
…
Liu Yuanxun didn’t know when he’d fallen asleep. He only knew he’d woken several times midway. Each time he opened his eyes, he couldn’t make out the shadowy figures around him, only that something major seemed to be happening.
“No,” Physician Wang said gravely. “We can’t get the medicine down anymore. We need to use acupuncture.”
The medicine boy with him moved to fetch the needles, but Gu Lianzhao, standing by the screen, raised a hand to stop him. “No acupuncture.”
“Lord Gu!” Ling Qing cried anxiously. “This is no time for interference!”
Gu Lianzhao looked at Physician Wang. “Acupuncture is to clear the meridians and dispel the pathogen, correct?”
Physician Wang’s brows furrowed. Though displeased with Gu Lianzhao’s interference, his status forced restraint. He nodded honestly. “Yes. The prince has a fever, and his throat is severely swollen. He can’t swallow on his own. We must treat the wind chill with needles first, then nourish him slowly.”
Gu Lianzhao’s expression darkened. “If that’s the case, why not a medicinal bath?”
Physician Wang blinked. “A medicinal bath would work too, but…”
Gu Lianzhao’s gaze flicked to the stunned medicine boy, and he snapped lightly, “What are you waiting for? Go prepare it!”
The boy jolted, forgetting to await Physician Wang’s orders, and scurried off to ready the medicinal bath herbs.
Physician Wang rubbed his face helplessly. He didn’t understand Gu Lianzhao’s insistence, but he couldn’t object. In this room, aside from Prince Rui on the bed, only Gu Lianzhao—as his consort—had the authority to speak.
A medicinal bath it was, then. It achieved the same effect, though more tedious, with more steps: preparing, boiling, adjusting the bath, stimulating acupoints… And afterward, they had to ensure the prince didn’t catch a chill, lest open meridians invite wind and undo everything.
Acupuncture was quicker and simpler. Physician Wang had treated at Prince Rui’s Mansion many times, always with needles, never a mishap. When awake, the prince himself called baths troublesome and preferred needles.
But Gu Lianzhao had spoken, so he complied and switched to the bath.
“Lord Gu,” Ling Ting said, his expression unhappy but polite for Gu Lianzhao’s sake. He gestured. “Could we step outside to talk?”
Gu Lianzhao glanced up at him. “I know what you want to ask. If you’re curious why I chose a bath over needles, why not try a needle in your own skin first?”
Ling Ting froze, speechless. Of course he knew acupuncture hurt, but it was Liu Yuanxun’s own request. They’d done it for years as routine. They’d tried persuading him but failed, so they’d gone along with it every time.
He’d thought Gu Lianzhao had ulterior motives, but if it was for the prince’s sake, Ling Ting fell silent and didn’t object further.
…
Soon, steam rose in the adjoining side room, thick with herbal scent.
Physician Wang sniffed. “It’s ready. We can move Prince Rui now.”
Ling Ting stepped forward, but Gu Lianzhao moved first, taking the lead and gathering Liu Yuanxun into his arms before Ling Ting could.
One arm under Liu Yuanxun’s knees, the other around his waist— with a slight flex, he lifted the lightweight figure from the bed.
Physician Wang paid it no mind; he even thought it proper for Gu Lianzhao to attend, as the prince’s nominal consort with internal force to aid the process.
No one in the room spoke against it. Ling Ting could only watch as Gu Lianzhao carried him inside.
Ordinary homes had no bed in a side room, but given Liu Yuanxun’s condition and frequent baths, a bamboo beauty couch had been set up for resting and changing.
Gu Lianzhao laid him on the couch and glanced at Physician Wang. “Please step out, Physician.”
“Eh?” Physician Wang blinked. They were all men—what was there to avoid?
But Gu Lianzhao didn’t proceed until he turned. With no choice, Physician Wang touched his nose awkwardly and faced away.
Liu Yuanxun had caught a wind chill from overexertion and slumbered for two days, burning with fever. His once-snowy skin now resembled warm, supple jade—smooth to the touch, reluctant to release.
A medicinal bath required undressing him fully. Gu Lianzhao gently removed his clothes. Though he knew lusting after a patient was beastly, the moment his hand touched Liu Yuanxun’s shoulder, he faltered briefly.
He drew a deep breath, stripped off the rest, and scooped Liu Yuanxun up horizontally. He stepped into the tub first, then positioned him to recline in his lap.
Liu Yuanxun was fever-weak and semiconscious, his body limp. He began sliding as soon as settled. Gu Lianzhao pressed a palm to his lower abdomen, anchoring him firmly, while his other hand cradled his chin, letting him recline with his head pillowed in the crook of Gu Lianzhao’s neck.
The unbound black hair flowed smooth and glossy, mingling with the water as it brushed across Gu Lianzhao’s chest before spreading out like a dark curtain across the surface, inadvertently concealing the scenery beneath.
It had been a long time since they had been intimate, and the red marks on Liu Yuanxun’s shoulders and neck had faded. Gu Lianzhao held him close in his arms. Even after clearing his mind of wandering thoughts, a wave of heat still rose within his body.
Liu Yuanxun’s slender neck arched back, his warm face turned weakly toward him. The hot breaths he exhaled felt like soft kisses landing on Gu Lianzhao’s collarbone, while the abdomen beneath his palm rose and fell gently with each breath, as if in meek response.
Gu Lianzhao couldn’t resist lightly crooking his fingers. The rough tip of his fingertip trailed across the skin, bringing a faint itchiness, but Liu Yuanxun remained oblivious, his eyes closed in exhausted weakness.
Physician Wang stood with his back to them, utterly unaware of the thoughts running through Gu Lianzhao’s mind. Overwhelmed by the steam, he grew dizzy and finally called out, “Lord Gu, are you ready?”
“Mm. Report the acupoints,” Gu Lianzhao replied. His voice had deepened noticeably from before, though Physician Wang didn’t notice. The physician recited the points that required sustained stimulation with internal force, one by one.
All the acupoints were on the back, so Gu Lianzhao had Liu Yuanxun sit on his lap. He withdrew the force from his palm, allowing Liu Yuanxun to lean forward in a prone position. With his right hand needed to massage the points, only his left remained to provide support. But simply pressing against the chest would leave Liu Yuanxun at risk of choking if his head dipped too low, while holding the jaw offered no support for the waist and abdomen, causing him to slide down.
Gu Lianzhao took a deep breath. “Wait a moment.”
Puzzled, Physician Wang fell silent anyway, pricking up his ears to listen for movement behind him. Aside from faint water sounds, he heard nothing.
Only when “All right” finally came did he resume reciting the acupoints.
…
Three quarters of an hour later, the medicinal bath finally concluded.
Liu Yuanxun’s jade-like back was now flushed entirely red, but the tight furrow between his brows had finally eased, and his breathing had grown much smoother.
Physician Wang was no longer young. After being steamed in this hot room for half the day, his vision had blurred, and he could no longer sit still.
Once the massage ended, he said eagerly, “Lord Gu, let him soak for another quarter hour, then carry the Prince out. Wait until the heat fades from his body before taking him to the outer chamber. This humble physician’s head is spinning terribly—I truly can’t sit any longer.”
Gu Lianzhao acknowledged him, and Physician Wang hurried out of the side chamber.
Shortly after he left, Gu Lianzhao released Liu Yuanxun’s crossed legs, intending to grasp his ankle. But his forearm accidentally brushed against something else. His entire body went rigid, his scalp tingling with numbness. He froze in that position for a long moment, as if rooted in place.
It was only when the person in his arms let out a soft gasp—his breathing carrying signs of awakening—that he yanked his hand back as if electrocuted. Seizing the moment while Liu Yuanxun’s mind was still foggy, he spoke first. “Awake?”
Liu Yuanxun didn’t open his eyes, but he could sense he wasn’t lying in bed. He twitched his fingers and realized he was submerged in water. As sensation gradually returned, the medicinal scent in his nostrils sharpened.
“I…” What happened?
He managed only one word before his parched throat gave out, preventing him from saying more.
Gu Lianzhao lowered his legs into the water and explained softly, “The night we returned to the manor, I summoned Physician Wang. He said you’d overexerted yourself and needed gradual recuperation, so he left some medicine and departed. But that very night, you developed a high fever, so I called him back.”
Liu Yuanxun paled upon hearing he’d had another fever, but then Gu Lianzhao continued, “Don’t worry—no needles. It’s a medicinal bath.”
The tension and relief sharpened his awareness completely.
And with awareness came the full realization of his position.
Naked as he was, he was sitting—squarely—on the Ger’s thigh.
A thunderous boom echoed in Liu Yuanxun’s mind, his entire body flushing crimson in an instant.
Whether from the bath softening his limbs or the lingering weakness of his illness, even now that he was awake, his body felt limp and powerless. The living warmth beneath him wasn’t some lifeless stool—it had heat, it shifted. Liu Yuanxun didn’t need to turn his head to know exactly what kind of posture he was in.
Though his feet touched the bottom of the tub, they were too weak to support him. He could only lift a hand to grip the rim, trying to put some distance between himself and Gu Lianzhao—at least enough space for the other man to exit the tub.
He managed to steady himself and even stand, but he had overestimated his body, ravaged by severe illness and steeped in hot water for nearly half an hour. The moment his legs lifted from Gu Lianzhao’s thigh, his arms gave out. His whole body tumbled back into Gu Lianzhao’s embrace.
The man behind him let out a muffled grunt. Instinctively, his hands clamped onto Liu Yuanxun’s waist and pulled him firmly closer, utterly destroying the hard-won distance.
Liu Yuanxun’s heart pounded like thunder. The rush of blood made his vision dim, and the hand braced on the tub slipped into the water. Yet a taut string remained in his mind: a Ger’s body was constructed no differently from a man’s, and he knew full well what he had just pressed against.
This blunder was entirely Liu Yuanxun’s own doing—a golden opportunity. Gu Lianzhao had planned to watch coldly and see what excuse he might offer. But that frantic, feeble heartbeat sounded like a hair on the verge of snapping. He feared that without reassurance, the heart in his arms might truly falter.
Gu Lianzhao sighed. “Just sit still for a bit. No moving, all right?”
Liu Yuanxun nodded slowly and heavily, his body rigid as a block of wood. “Are you… all right?”
“It’s manageable.” Gu Lianzhao didn’t commit fully—after all, they were pressed too closely for any change to go unnoticed. Yet he wasn’t so noble as to take the blame himself. “You dropped too suddenly. I couldn’t dodge, so it’s a bit uncomfortable. It’ll pass.”
Guilt flooded Liu Yuanxun. He wanted nothing more than to turn and bow in apology right then. He was a grown man, after all, and knew full well how delicate that area could be. He didn’t dare move a muscle, his ears burning as if aflame.
Gu Lianzhao wasn’t faring much better. Liu Yuanxun’s pale neck, steamed pink by the vapors, exuded temptation everywhere. But he had more endurance than Liu Yuanxun, and the shield of his Ger identity provided perfect cover. Liu Yuanxun would only think he’d offended him, never suspecting that the one truly taking advantage was the man who had kindled desire first.
Only a few breaths passed, but to Liu Yuanxun, it felt eternally long. He remained stiff there, toes curling, not daring to stir. Awkwardness and guilt left him dizzy and disoriented. He desperately wanted to urge Gu Lianzhao along, to ask if he was recovered yet—but the sensations from his body told him plainly: no, not even close.
“A’Qiao… I…”
“It wasn’t your fault.” Gu Lianzhao cut him off preemptively, his voice low and unusually gentle. “You’re just ill, too weak to manage on your own, and you needed someone to care for you. I couldn’t very well call Ling Ting, could I? If it had been him… it would only have been more awkward.”
Awkward.
Yes—awkward.
The word soothed Liu Yuanxun. Such an accident was uncomfortable for them both, but there was no impropriety involved—just an involuntary physical response from the mishap.
He exhaled slowly, his taut body gradually relaxing.
Gu Lianzhao could hardly miss the change. He could have prolonged it, savoring the sight of Liu Yuanxun awake a little longer. But as he glanced down at the reddened back—still tender from the acupoint massage—a thought pierced his inflamed desire: the beauty in his lap wasn’t merely a beauty. He was a patient.
