Jiang Sheng blinked up at his Husband—and suddenly his eyes went red.
Lu Yan froze.
In the two seconds he stood stunned, fat teardrops were already splattering down.
They landed on the back of Lu Yan’s hand, making his heart skip a beat. He panicked instantly and let go. “Why are you crying?”
Jiang Sheng’s lips wobbled, his voice thick with sobs. “You were so mean to me today! That man said awful things about you and I even avenged you, and then you come back and interrogate me like a criminal! What is this, Lu Yan? Do you still want to get married or not? Do you still want to live this life or not?”
What a colossal pot of blame—Lu Yan was nearly bowled over by it.
He hurried to gather the man into his arms, coaxing softly. “I wasn’t being mean. Baby, don’t cry.”
Jiang Sheng kept his head down, tears dripping.
No feeling. All technique.
Lu Yan could only sigh in surrender. “Fine. If you won’t talk about it, don’t.”
“And stop crying.”
Jiang Sheng’s tears switched off like a tap.
When he lifted his head again, not a single tear remained—not even a red rim. He said, earnestly, “Husband, I’m a little hungry. Go make your new bride a midnight snack.”
Lu Yan: “…”
He was silent for two seconds, then fished an Emergency Pill out of his robes—the one the Divine Doctor had given him—and swallowed it.
His heart hurt from anger.
Fine.
The Wife still had to be married.
Life still had to go on.
Medicine downed, Lu Yan resigned himself to his fate and headed for the kitchen to make his Wife’s midnight snack.
Jiang Sheng sat at the little round table in the courtyard, seizing the chance to coach the other three.
“Here’s the thing—Lu Yan is the softest. When he’s angry, the moment you cry, it’s over. All forgiven.”
“It only works because it’s you crying,” Cheng Yu protested. “Forget crying—last time someone pissed himself, and the Prince only told him to hurry up and cle—”
Catching his younger brother’s glare, Cheng Yu course-corrected at lightning speed, “—to hurry up and wipe it clean.”
Jiang Sheng thumped his chest. “Then just call me when you need a cry. Small cry, five taels of gold. Big cry, ten.”
Nobody said anything.
Jiang Sheng said quietly, “What? Too expensive? You don’t even have that much?”
Cheng Jing was looking at the person standing behind Jiang Sheng. He offered a gentle hint, “Perhaps Master would like to do a big cry right now?”
Jiang Sheng said solemnly, “Small business. No trial cries.”
The words had barely landed when a hand smacked the top of his head. Jiang Sheng whipped around—Lu Yan stood there holding a bowl of steaming noodle soup, eyeing him with dark menace. “Master’s so talented, crying on command. In a moment I’ll pay you a hundred taels up front. Cry for three days and three nights.”
Jiang Sheng smiled ingratiatingly. “You couldn’t bear it.”
Lu Yan said flatly, “Little brat.”
He set the bowl on the table. “Eat, Little Ancestor.”
The other three had long since vanished without a trace.
Jiang Sheng silently cursed them as traitors, then lifted his face and smiled sweetly at his Husband. “My Husband treats me so well.”
That was simply the kind of Kitty Jiang Sheng was—when he set out to charm someone, ten Lu Yans couldn’t withstand him.
Lu Yan had no appetite, but he sat down beside Jiang Sheng anyway, dark eyes tracing every inch of his Wife as though simply watching him eat was a satisfaction all its own.
Jiang Sheng finished the entire bowl and still clung to it reluctantly, licking his lips and gazing at Lu Yan with naked longing.
Lu Yan’s noodles had always been his favorite.
So many nights he’d come home from evening study sessions and pestered Lu Yan for a midnight snack—the kitchen glowing dim yellow, Lu Yan in an apron, simmering the broth, slicing shredded meat, and finally floating two tender little bok choy on top.
Ancient times or modern, a thousand years ago or a thousand years hence, they would always be together, safe and sound.
“You can’t have any more.”
One sentence, and Lu Yan popped every romantic bubble.
He’d made a small portion—just enough to take the edge off. Any more and Jiang Sheng would overeat and get food stagnation again.
Jiang Sheng whined and wiggled, pressing himself against Lu Yan, until finally he simply planted himself on Lu Yan’s lap. “A Husband who doesn’t let his Wife eat his fill is no Husband at all.”
Lu Yan patted his waist. “Careful how far you push.”
He studied Jiang Sheng closely. He hadn’t changed at all—round face, round eyes, sweet and adorable. Sheltered so carefully from childhood to now; that innocence of a boy who’d never known the world’s cruelties always lingered in Jiang Sheng’s eyes.
Since when had Jiang Sheng learned to hide things from him? Lu Yan wasn’t pleased. He buried a bite into the crook of his Wife’s neck—though in truth he couldn’t bear to use any real force, just catching that bit of flesh between his teeth and grinding gently.
Only after a long while did he speak, his voice slightly rough. “Jiang Sheng. You know what my bottom line is.”
Every time Lu Yan called him by his full name, his tone carried an edge.
Jiang Sheng’s lashes trembled.
Of course he knew.
Lu Yan’s bottom line was that Jiang Sheng must never, ever harm his own body.
In their first year of high school, Jiang Sheng had fallen behind in math, and he was too proud to see his name at the bottom of the rankings. So he’d come up with a brilliant idiot plan: the day before midterms, he took a cold shower, and the next day he came down with a splendid, picture-perfect fever and dodged the exam.
As it happened, their parents were away on business and Jiang Feng was off at an academic competition, so only Lu Yan was home taking care of him.
The secret had been kept perfectly—until Jiang Sheng shared his “genius trick” with his deskmate, and Lu Yan saw the chat logs.
Busted.
Lu Yan hadn’t said anything at the time. Once Jiang Sheng recovered, he shut the door and delivered a thorough lesson, spanking him until he cried buckets—Jiang Sheng slept on his stomach for days.
Lu Yan had told him, voice low and grave, “Jiang Sheng, if you don’t want to take an exam, I’ll get you excused. If you don’t want to go to school at all, that’s fine too—I’ll talk to your mom and dad. Do whatever you love. But there is one rule: you do not hurt your own body. Ever.”
If… if Lu Yan ever found out about that thing…
Jiang Sheng didn’t dare imagine his bottom’s fate.
He shuddered and said in a small voice, “Husband, I’m sleepy.”
Lu Yan said nothing more. He scooped the man up and carried him back to their room.
The next day, wedding preparations began in earnest at the manor.
Lu Yan seemed almost frantic, hauling the State Preceptor up to cast divination after divination—but the North-Guarding Prince remained unsatisfied, complaining every date was too far away, until the State Preceptor was sweating through his robes and they finally settled on one.
Half a month hence. An auspicious day.
Only then was Lu Yan satisfied, sweeping off in high spirits.
Everything else was easy—the manor’s private treasury held everything. Only the wedding garments had to be rushed. Jiang Sheng was hauled out of his warm covers to be measured, and since Lu Yan couldn’t bear to let anyone else touch his Wife, he took the measuring tape himself.
From bottom to top. From top to bottom.
Then Lu Yan went silent.
Small, but standing proud and valiant.
And Jiang Sheng still had the gall to be indignant. “It’s normal in the morning. We’re both men—you can’t possibly not understand.”
Lu Yan smiled, tilting his head. “Shall Husband help you with it?”
Jiang Sheng eyed him warily and backed up a step. “NO!”
Anyone could guess what kind of “good person” Lu Yan was—he’d absolutely use it as an excuse to torment him.
But the refusal was pointless. Lu Yan had only asked out of politeness, with no intention of honoring it.
Jiang Sheng’s was different from his—delicate and endearing. Lu Yan handled it like a treasure he couldn’t put down, giving it gentle squeezes, playing from top to bottom.
So early in the morning, Jiang Sheng couldn’t withstand this much stimulation. His eyes went red, and between sobs he called softly, weakly, for his Husband.
So dumb.
Married this long, and he still didn’t know what kind of man his Husband was?
The more pitiful and helpless Jiang Sheng became, the more wicked Lu Yan’s conduct grew.
But Jiang Sheng simply couldn’t hold out. Within moments, he surrendered completely.
Lu Yan raised his hand and, right before Jiang Sheng’s eyes, licked his finger.
Degenerate.
Jiang Sheng’s eyes were rimmed red. He wanted to call Lu Yan a pervert, but feared that would only delight him further, so he just wobbled his lips, looking wronged on the verge of tears.
Lu Yan laughed. “What’s wrong? Not satisfied?”
Furious, Jiang Sheng lifted a foot to kick him—but his waist and legs had gone boneless, and instead Lu Yan caught his calf and dipped his head to bite the soft flesh there, several times.
After all that torment, he called for water to wipe Jiang Sheng down. Breakfast had nearly become lunch.
Jiang Sheng was terrified the servants would guess what had happened, and ate with guilty eyes darting everywhere.
Fortunately every servant’s face remained perfectly normal, and Jiang Sheng finally relaxed.
Lu Yan found it amusing. That was just like Jiang Sheng—every little scheme written across his face. Did he never consider that the servants of this manor would never dare look sideways or gossip?
He served Jiang Sheng some food. “Eat properly. We’re going out later.”
Jiang Sheng’s eyes lit up. “Where are we going?”
Jiang Sheng was like one of those little toys with a wind-up motor—incapable of sitting still for a single moment.
It had been the same back home. Lu Yan would often, mid-meeting, find himself staring at the location app on his phone, watching the little dot that was Jiang Sheng trace its path across the city.
In summary:
Zigzagging absolutely everywhere.
“To Guanyun Temple.” Lu Yan looked at him. “To pray for a Peace Cord. The ones at Guanyun Temple are very efficacious.”
Jiang Sheng nodded—then suddenly remembered something. “When I escaped back at Guanyun Temple, a Hunter family halfway up the mountain saved me. Can we go thank them?”
He’d mentioned this back when Lu Yan first found him. Lu Yan had sent silver over the very next day. But since Jiang Sheng brought it up, he nodded anyway. “All right.”
The weather was overcast today. Lu Yan bundled Jiang Sheng up until he was a little glutinous rice dumpling, and only then let him out the door.
Jiang Sheng tilted his head back to study the sky. “Why doesn’t it ever snow here?”
“It rarely snows in this region.”
Lu Yan stroked his cheek. “Let’s go.”
The procession was a grand affair. Taking Jiang Sheng out, Lu Yan practically wanted to relocate the entire manor. He’d packed every variety of pastry, a little stove, a cook—the carriage came in maximum configuration so Jiang Sheng could lie down and sleep.
Lu Yan held a book, flipping through it idly, while Jiang Sheng lay with his head pillowed on Lu Yan’s leg, tugging at the jade pendant on his Husband’s belt to play with.
Restless as ever, before long his hand was sneaking inside Lu Yan’s robes—no sooner in than it was caught and pulled back out.
Jiang Sheng blinked up at him. “Husband, what are you reading?”
He finally asked.
Lu Yan set the book down without a flicker of expression. “A collection of strange tales.”
Jiang Sheng’s attention was duly captured. “What’s it about?”
Lu Yan’s tone was even. “A man’s wife dies, and in his grief he believes the words of a demon spirit. He performs a rite, offering himself in sacrifice, hoping to be reunited with his wife.”
Jiang Sheng went quiet.
“What’s wrong? Want to read it too?” Lu Yan gave his ear a pinch.
Jiang Sheng rolled over and shut his eyes. “Husband, I’m a little carsick. Stop talking.”
Lu Yan’s brow arched, and his eyes darkened.
At first Jiang Sheng was only pretending to sleep, but the carriage swayed and rocked, and before long he had genuinely dropped off into a deep sleep.
He dreamed of Lu Yan again.
Yellow sand and blood churning, threatening to swallow everything. Jiang Sheng screamed Lu Yan’s name, but the sound was devoured by the roar of battle.
And then he saw it—a Feathered Arrow punching through Lu Yan’s chest. Jiang Sheng sprinted desperately to reach him, to hold him—but his body was like empty air, passing straight through.
Jiang Sheng jolted awake, drenched in sweat.
The carriage had stopped at some point. He was alone inside. He sat dazed for a while before blearily sitting up, Lu Yan’s great cloak still draped over his shoulders.
Low voices drifted in from outside.
Jiang Sheng lifted the curtain and saw Lu Yan standing with a monk, their conversation making the man’s expression grave.
He blinked, and was just angling to eavesdrop when Cheng Yu, with his hawk eyes, bellowed like a town crier, “Master, you’re awake?”
Lu Yan’s gaze snapped over instantly.
