Chapter 56: The So-Called “Love Grows with Time” Part 1

“You…!”

Those four light words were like the last straw, harshly crushing Yan Xinfeng’s taut nerves.

An indescribable agony suddenly exploded in his cranial cavity, as if a red-hot iron awl had brutally drilled into the back of his head, with the pain bursting like sparks.

Yan Xinfeng’s vision went black in an instant, and Wei Tingxia’s face, wearing that malicious smile, blurred and spun wildly in his sight.

His tall frame swayed violently twice, unable to hold on any longer. Like a mountain losing its foundation, he toppled forward with a crash, plunging straight toward the bed.

Wei Tingxia seemed to have anticipated it; he didn’t even furrow his brows.

Not only did he not dodge, he naturally spread his arms and steadily caught the heavy body crashing down, one that carried the cold, hard aura of armor.

Yan Xinfeng’s forehead heavily pressed into his thin shoulder hollow, his scalding breaths coming in rapid bursts against his neck. The man had completely lost consciousness, weighing heavily on him.

Wei Tingxia lowered his lashes and looked at the sharp-featured face in his arms, drained of color from the intense pain.

His free hand lifted with practiced familiarity, gently stroking Yan Xinfeng’s occiput at a specific spot with nearly tender force. His fingertips slowly massaged the taut bone seam there a few times.

Feeling the unnatural stiffness and heat under his fingertips, the smile at Wei Tingxia’s lips finally settled, turning into a calm knowing, even carrying a sigh of dust finally settling.

He lowered his head, leaning close to Yan Xinfeng’s insensate ear, and murmured in a voice only the two of them could hear, confidently concluding: “See? I told you you’re sick.”

Wei Tingxia had never lied.

…

The candle flames flickered in the tent, the light dim and casting long, twisted shadows. Yan Xinfeng regained consciousness amid a dull ache.

The back of his head felt like it had been hammered repeatedly, throbbing dully, with every heartbeat tugging at that stubborn nerve. He laboriously pried open his heavy eyelids, and above him was the familiar tent canopy, with breathing sounds coming from beside him.

Wei Tingxia was right there at his side.

Before Yan Xinfeng could sort out what had happened, sounds came from outside the tent. The bedding beside him rustled faintly, followed by the extremely gentle motion of someone rising.

Wei Tingxia took a candle and walked slowly to the tent flap. Just as he pulled it open, Pei Zhou rushed over impatiently.

“Where’s the man!”

“What man?” Wei Tingxia asked.

Pei Zhou grew anxious: “Don’t play dumb with me!”

He wanted to shout, but realized this matter couldn’t be known to others, so he frustratingly lowered his voice: “Yan Xinfeng! Isn’t he with you?!”

The man in question lay on the couch, staring at the flickering candlelight before him, only then realizing he had been unconscious for quite a while—long enough for day to turn to night—which explained Pei Zhou’s urgency.

Outside the tent, Wei Tingxia finally nodded: “Yes, he’s here with me.”

Pei Zhou sucked in a cold breath; from his voice, he sounded like he was about to collapse.

He asked: “Then why hasn’t he come out?”

Wei Tingxia answered truthfully: “He’s asleep.”

Pei Zhou’s tone rose sharply: “—What?!!”

He was agitated and confused, his shadow pacing wildly outside the tent. After two circles, he stopped in place and confirmed again: “You two slept together?”

Yan Xinfeng frowned, unsure what madness had seized him.

Wei Tingxia seemed to understand a bit more and calmly said: “Your question is both rude and strange, but the answer is no.”

Pei Zhou sighed, sounding rather disappointed.

What did he have to be disappointed about?

Yan Xinfeng grew more baffled by what these two were saying. Just as he thought to get up and send the man away, he heard Pei Zhou speak with unusual resolve: “I need to go in and check.”

“Check what?”

“See if he’s been strangled to death!”

Without waiting for Wei Tingxia’s response, Pei Zhou brushed past him and charged into the tent, just in time to see Yan Xinfeng propping himself up on his elbows.

Good, not dead, not crazy, no vomiting blood.

Pei Zhou’s heart settled halfway, but he still nervously rushed to the bed and grabbed Yan Xinfeng’s hand.

“Did he poison you?”

Yan Xinfeng uncomfortably tried to pull his hand back: “…No.”

Pei Zhou wouldn’t let go: “Did he try to strangle you?”

“No.”

Suspicious glances darted between the two, and though Pei Zhou still couldn’t fully believe it, he reluctantly released his grip.

Wei Tingxia sat smiling at the bedside, reaching out with practiced ease to pat Yan Xinfeng’s shoulder, then straightened his disheveled collar for him.

Watching this scene, with Yan Xinfeng showing no sign of anything amiss, Pei Zhou’s eyelid twitched violently.

Deliberate! This demon was absolutely doing it on purpose!

“Cai Yun,” he slowly called Yan Xinfeng’s courtesy name, “When I was a kid studying, the old tutor told me that if someone captured by a demon wants to signal for help, they blink their eyes three times hard. Have you heard that story?”

The implication of the story was too obvious for Wei Tingxia to ignore.

He asked: “Who are you calling a demon?”

Pei Zhou sneered: “Guess who I’m talking about?”

Wei Tingxia blinked, completely sidestepping Pei Zhou’s words as he turned directly to Yan Xinfeng: “He’s cursing me.”

Damn it! How could there be such a person in the world!

“Don’t slander me! When did I curse you?!”

“You did curse me,” Wei Tingxia said without batting an eye. “You don’t think acting a bit covert makes it hard for others to call you out, do you?”

Pei Zhou finally felt what it was like to be too furious to speak. He looked to Yan Xinfeng for justice, only to hear him say: “Don’t bully him.”

Who was bullying whom?

Pei Zhou disbelieved, pointing at himself then at Wei Tingxia, who looked smug as could be. “I’m bullying him?”

Yan Xinfeng didn’t think there was anything wrong with his words and nodded: “Don’t keep calling him a demon.”

“…”

Fine, fine. Not even slept with yet, and already defending him. What if they actually did?

Pei Zhou stood up, not wanting to say another word to these two bastards.

“As long as he’s not dead,” he said coldly, “I’m leaving.”

His footsteps, filled with near-fatal frustration, finally faded into the distance.

The tent flap fell again, blocking out the chill night outside.

Wei Tingxia half-reclined against the headboard, let out a soft sigh, and lay back beside Yan Xinfeng. He shifted his body, pillowed his head on his arm, and fixed his gaze on Yan Xinfeng’s face.

Yan Xinfeng’s heartbeat gradually quickened in his chest, like war drums, and the lingering pain at the back of his head seemed to intensify from the tension.

He thought of many suitable things to say at that moment, but discarded them one by one after careful consideration.

After fainting this time, Yan Xinfeng was no longer angry. He felt he couldn’t blame Wei Tingxia for suspecting him. After all, he had been gone for two years, not faring well in foreign lands. Fu Chi should have been in it together with him, yet due to various matters, had no choice but to hand him back to Yan Xinfeng. Wei Tingxia must harbor resentment.

You couldn’t blame old friends for changing hearts; if there was blame, it was for the rift that formed back then, which he himself hadn’t noticed.

Yan Xinfeng sighed too and simply changed the subject entirely.

“…What did you mean by saying I’m sick?”

“The literal meaning,” Wei Tingxia blinked, his broken brow like a sharp, reconnected stroke of ink under the light and shadow. “You’re sick.”

He had told everyone about it, but no one believed him.

Yan Xinfeng blankly shifted his gaze: “How did you know?”

Ever since his condition improved, countless physicians had examined him, even with two imperial physicians specially sent from the capital to diagnose. All said his illness had greatly subsided and he could live to a hundred.

Everyone thought he was fine, and Yan Xinfeng didn’t mind those occasional pains drilling into his brain.

Only Wei Tingxia said he was sick.

“Hard to spot?” Wei Tingxia said indifferently. “I’ve known for a long time.”

Yan Xinfeng’s lashes trembled slightly at that, a bad premonition flashing in his mind.

“Was it… Fu Chi who told you?”

If Fu Chi knew his illness hadn’t been cured, that he often had headaches and his temperament had changed drastically, that would be a big problem. Yan Xinfeng would have a weakness in enemy hands—not fatal, but he’d have to be much more cautious in his plans from then on.

Wei Tingxia furrowed his brows, baffled: “What does Fu Chi have to do with it?”

After asking that, an even more pressing question bubbled up.

Wei Tingxia: “Why do you keep bringing up Fu Chi?”

“Can’t I mention him?” Yan Xinfeng countered. “He exists in reality. Why can’t I say his name?”

The issue wasn’t whether Yan Xinfeng could mention the name, but that he mentioned it too often, as if he really cared a great deal.

Wei Tingxia shook his head, his hair brushing the pillow: “Not him.”

“Then how did you know?”

Yan Xinfeng still found it strange. “I didn’t tell anyone about this.”

Wei Tingxia shot him a sideways glance: “Can’t it be that my medical skills are superb and I figured it out myself?”

Yan Xinfeng was unequivocal: “Impossible.”

His denial was too straightforward; even Wei Tingxia was taken aback. “Why?”

Yan Xinfeng presented evidence: “Eight years ago, I felt unwell, and you volunteered to brew medicine for me. I drank it, passed out for three days and nights, nearly delaying military affairs. Pei Zhou even cut white cloth for my shroud. Remember?”

Wei Tingxia: “…”

He was unconvinced. Even with the evidence slapped in his face, he stubbornly argued: “You have no proof it was definitely my fault.”

“I don’t, actually,” Yan Xinfeng said. “Just mentioning it offhand.”

Screw your offhand mention.

Wei Tingxia took a deep breath: “Anyway, stay calm and don’t overthink things.”

Yan Xinfeng had an answer in his heart but still asked: “What happens if I overthink?”

Wei Tingxia looked at him and slowly curved his lips.

The candlelight in the tent was dim, night wind scraping through, making the light and shadows sway. When the warm glow spilled over people, it seemed to veil everything in harmonious light.

Warm. Soft. Bewitching.

The eyes of the man at his pillow were two deep pools, his brows like sharp peaks overhanging the water, his handsome features fierce and striking. Yan Xinfeng unconsciously sank into the sunset-like warm glow, watching as Wei Tingxia drew closer bit by bit, his fingertip pressing against his throat.

“Overthink, and you’ll have an episode. Have an episode, and your temperament will change drastically.”

The pale, slender fingertip landed on his collar, not using much force, but as his words deepened, the fingertip began to press slowly, sliding downward.

Past the fabric’s texture, Wei Tingxia’s smile deepened as he kept staring into Yan Xinfeng’s eyes, his fingertip finally hovering over that madly pounding heart.