Chapter 6: “Baby, Point.” Part 2

“Fine! So that’s how it is—become a prince and get airs. Great, we’re done, I’m leaving!”

More dramatic by the sentence.

Lu Yan genuinely feared him now. One more line and the word “divorce” would surface.

“Taking them off, Ancestor. Happy now?”

Jiang Sheng snorted. “Acting all wronged-virtuous-housewife, like I’m forcing you.”

Lu Yan helplessly poked his forehead, then finally indulged him and took his clothes off.

The robe draped over the screen, back to Jiang Sheng—but that back alone was enough to make Jiang Sheng freeze.

His lips trembled.

“Husband… why are you covered in scars?”

The man’s back was covered in scars, large and small, of every shape—frightening to look at.

Jiang Sheng’s lips wobbled, on the verge of tears.

Nothing undid Lu Yan faster than his tears—well, except in bed. Whenever Jiang Sheng cried, it was like a knife to Lu Yan’s heart.

“It doesn’t hurt, baby. Did you forget? We both transmigrated. The scars were already here when I arrived. They don’t hurt.”

Jiang Sheng sat in Lu Yan’s arms, but tears still dripped down. He reached out and touched the scars, voice very low. “How could they not hurt.”

Lu Yan, a bit helpless, took his hand and raised it to his lips, teasing deliberately, “What, think your husband’s ugly now? Pity they don’t do plastic surgery here…”

Jiang Sheng cut him off at once. “I do NOT!”

He leaned in, tilting his head up to pepper Lu Yan’s mouth with quick little kisses, aggrieved. “How could I ever think my husband is ugly.”

Lu Yan went soft as melted butter.

He hooked Jiang Sheng’s chin and nibbled lightly at his lip. “I know.”

Lu Yan, bare from the waist up, bent to circle Jiang Sheng’s waist; the two drew close, the atmosphere climbing degree by degree. Jiang Sheng poked Lu Yan’s chest and huffed, “Do it?”

Lu Yan shook his head.

His hand slid down. “Not comfortable? I’ll take care of you.”

Jiang Sheng’s eyes went round with outrage; he kicked at Lu Yan. “What’s THAT supposed to mean?”

Then a thought struck him, and his face filled with shock. “I watched period short dramas—wounded in battle, can’t do THAT… Husband, are you broken? Did you transmigrate into a defective model?”

Anxious, he leaned in to give his husband a thorough inspection, only to have his wrist caught. A vein throbbed at Lu Yan’s temple; he nearly laughed out of sheer exasperation.

Low-voiced, almost through gritted teeth: “Rest assured. Works perfectly fine.”

He held up Jiang Sheng’s hand as demonstration.

Eight years of suppression; the rare relief in between, hurried and achieved only by picturing Jiang Sheng’s face.

Truthfully, from the first sight of his wife—from that first secret inhale against his wife’s stomach—Lu Yan had been hanging on by a thread.

But no.

He pressed Jiang Sheng’s palm and kissed his wife’s cheek. “We wait for our wedding, baby.”

Jiang Sheng: “…” How did I almost forget—Lu Yan is a feudal old prude.

Back when Jiang Sheng had just turned eighteen, he’d tried sneaking into Lu Yan’s bed, and Lu Yan had refused, absolutely refusing. If Jiang Sheng was uncomfortable, Lu Yan would use his hands, his mouth—while denying himself entirely.

He insisted: they would wait until they were married.

It had infuriated Jiang Sheng so much he’d sworn a cold war—and been coaxed back within two days.

And now, again?

Jiang Sheng rolled over, presenting his back, silent.

Lu Yan sighed. “Mad at me, baby?”

Eyes shut, Jiang Sheng said, “Who’s your baby? Right now I’m just a thing the Jiang Family sent over—not even worth a Chamber Maid… AH!”

He bolted upright, hands clapped over his backside, face red.

“Why did you hit me!”

Lu Yan’s face darkened. “Talk like that again and I’ll spank you again! What Chamber Maid—how many times have I told you to watch fewer of those dramas? They’ve rotted your brain, filling it with this nonsense!”

What the heck! Raking him over the coals out of nowhere!

Jiang Sheng was genuinely upset now, about to retort—when Lu Yan suddenly crushed him in a fierce embrace, hard enough to grind him into his very bones.

“Shengsheng. Whether it’s the 21st century or Great Gan, we are the same. We don’t change. You know that, baby. I will always be Lu Yan.”

The man’s voice carried a faint, urgent edge.

He couldn’t have said whether those words were meant for Jiang Sheng, or for himself.

He didn’t regret climbing to this position step by step, didn’t regret the schemes and the power struggles.

He simply didn’t want Jiang Sheng to see that version of him.

Fortunately, just as he was on the verge of becoming Great Gan’s North-Guarding Prince in truth, Jiang Sheng had appeared—and reeled him back in, once more.

Why the sudden strange speech?

Jiang Sheng blinked, voice softening. “I know. I won’t say it again. It was a joke.”

“Next month is the Empress Dowager’s birthday. I will request the edict directly, and we will be wed.”

Lu Yan closed his eyes, tone turning solemn.

“Jiang Sheng. I will make you Empress.”

Huh?

Jiang Sheng’s eyes went round, mouth falling open. “Th-that’s really not necessary.”

Lu Yan’s voice was heavy. “It is necessary.”

Had he known he would one day meet Jiang Sheng again, perhaps he wouldn’t have moved so recklessly. But now he was riding a tiger he couldn’t dismount—the Empress Dowager saw him as a thorn in her flesh; the moment he surrendered power, his corpse would likely litter the streets by the next morning.

Only that seat could keep Jiang Sheng safe.

Jiang Sheng naturally understood none of these calculations. He tilted his head, sounding put-upon. “Fiiine. But why do I have to be Empress? Aren’t I the boss? I want to be Emperor too.”

Husband gets to be Emperor.

I want to be Emperor too!

Lu Yan’s heavy mood evaporated; laughing, he bent and kissed him. “Fine. Whatever baby says.”

And so neither of them napped that noon. Jiang Sheng nested in Lu Yan’s arms, mumbling that he missed Mom and Dad, and his brother, a little.

Lu Yan soothed him, “Your brother’s looking after them. They’re fine.”

Jiang Sheng tilted his head up and kissed his chin. “Good thing I came over. What would you have done here all alone?”

The man’s body stiffened; his throat bobbed.

“Yes,” he said, hoarse. “Good thing you came.”

Inside the manor, all was harmony—unaware that outside, undercurrents surged.

The North-Guarding Prince storming the Jiang Family in such force—no one was blind, and the news spread like wildfire, soon on every tongue.

“Speaking of which, that Second Young Master of the Jiang Family—starved and frozen in his own home, mistreated all his life. But the man has skills! Barely inside the manor and he’s got the North-Guarding Prince utterly bewitched—the Prince stormed their gates himself to avenge him!”

The Divine Doctor cracked sunflower seeds, doing his street-storyteller impression with dramatic flair.

Cheng Yu squatted before him, a little rueful. “Not my shift today. Missed all the excitement.”

“Don’t worry. The Jiang Family business isn’t over. Your chance will come.”

Cheng Jing had wandered over at some point, arms crossed, snorting. “If you ask me, just cripple those Jiang Family bastards and be done—avenge the Master properly. But no, the Prince insists on restraint.”

Cheng Yu said in a low voice, “Have you noticed? Since yesterday, the Prince has gotten so… gentle?”

The three huddled together, gossiping about their Prince in full swing—yet not one dared say a word about Jiang Sheng.

“So, think the Prince will still go to Guanyun Temple?”

The Divine Doctor sounded wistful.

They’d all assumed the Prince was devoted to his wife—years on, never a second glance at anyone. Who’d have thought that in the end, it was only the new flame’s smile he’d see.

“What about Guanyun Temple?”

Whose brainless question was that? Cheng Jing snapped, “The Prince goes to Guanyun Temple to miss his wife, that’s what—”

He turned his head—and met a pair of round, bright eyes blinking up at him.

Cheng Jing sat down hard on the ground. “Master…”

Jiang Sheng had squeezed in at some point, squatting between the three of them—a perfectly cozy picture from a distance.

Wife?

Jiang Sheng’s expression turned serious!

How had he forgotten THAT!

At Guanyun Temple, he’d heard the North-Guarding Prince came to light a Longevity Lamp for his wife!

Cheng Jing’s mind held only two words: [Doomed].

The Prince had just found a new love—would one sentence from him plant a rift already?

“Master, the wife has been missing for many years,” Cheng Jing hurried to patch it. “Please don’t take it to heart.”

Jiang Sheng actually didn’t mind.

He could guess this “wife” was himself.

He trusted his husband completely.

He deliberately shrugged. “It’s fine. I’m very magnanimous.”

Cheng Jing shot him a look of admiration.

Jiang Sheng produced a bottle of ointment and pressed it into his hands. “Here. For you.”

Cheng Jing blinked. “Huh?”

Jiang Sheng smiled at him, eyes curving, a little embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to bite you yesterday. I was just so scared—maybe bit a bit hard. Put some medicine on it. It shouldn’t scar.”

It wasn’t needed at all—not everyone was as delicate as Jiang Sheng, and for a battlefield man like Cheng Jing, it was nothing.

But he hadn’t expected Jiang Sheng to come bring him medicine specially.

Flustered, he took it, stammering, “Thank you… thank you, Master.”

Jiang Sheng propped his chin, then suddenly asked, “So—did your Prince only start lighting the Longevity Lamp for his wife this year?”

Cheng Jing was admiring his medicine bottle, answering without looking up. “No, the Prince has gone for years. Back when His Highness was first titled North-Guarding Prince, he was already lighting lamps at Guanyun Temple.”

Only after saying it did he notice the prolonged silence beside him. He turned his head and saw Jiang Sheng with head lowered, lost in thought.

Cheng Jing was about to speak when Jiang Sheng lifted his head again, smiling at them as if nothing were wrong. “So, any habits your Prince has picked up these years? Anything special happen?”

Digging for intel on the Prince, huh…

Cheng Jing hesitated. “Well…”

Jiang Sheng said earnestly, “I just want to understand the Prince better, so I can… mm, serve him better!”

“…”

Lu Yan had gone to make Jiang Sheng Iced Milk Curd. One turn of his back, and his wife was gone.

His face turned ugly; he snapped, “Can’t even keep track of where the Master went. Some attendants you are.”

The servant knelt, miserable. “The Master wouldn’t let us follow.”

It wasn’t just Jiang Sheng—Lu Yan too. Whenever he couldn’t see the other, it felt like a hand squeezing his heart, near suffocation.

The two of them probably both had a severe case of separation anxiety.

Face dark, he circled the grounds and finally found four people squatting in a huddle at the corner of the back courtyard wall.

The roundest back of the head belonged to his wife.

Lu Yan was instantly charmed; his irritation evaporated.

Lips curving, he strolled over, about to scoop the man up from behind—when he heard Jiang Sheng chattering away, “So where’s the Male Brothel? Do they have male models?”

Lu Yan: “?”