Chapter 100 Part 1

The departure was set for the hour of Chen, yet Liu Yuanxun was still drifting in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness when he was scooped up and wrapped in layer after layer of clothing. He didn’t even stir when warm water was dabbed across his face.

Inside the carriage, four braziers burned steadily, and the bed was piled high with thick tiger-skin blankets. Liu Yuanxun felt only a fleeting brush of cold wind the moment he was carried out the door before the warmth of the carriage enveloped him once more, like stepping back into a cozy room.

By the time Chen hour had passed and the morning sun fully crested the horizon, its rays spilled over the retinue of more than fifty people. The fine armor gleamed with a stern silver light, and even the spirited warhorses beneath them exuded an air of dashing elegance.

The carriage rolled forward, driven steadily by Chang An and Chang Shun, while the Ling siblings rode on horseback, flanking it on either side.

It wasn’t until they’d traveled seven or eight li that Liu Yuanxun fully roused from his slumber.

Gu Lianzhao helped him sit up, draping a tiger-skin blanket around him—the same shade as the bedding—and tucking it carefully in place. Then he slipped a hand warmer wrapped in soft flannel into Liu Yuanxun’s arms, as if determined to stuff every source of heat he could find right there until he was satisfied.

Once everything was settled, Gu Lianzhao climbed onto the bed himself and drew Liu Yuanxun gently into his embrace. In a soft voice, he asked, “Are you cold?”

“Not cold,” Liu Yuanxun replied after feeling it over for a moment. “If anything, it’s a bit warm.”

The carriage wasn’t just luxurious; it was exceptionally well-insulated. Each of the four braziers at the corners was connected to a chimney vent, all sealed tight to keep out the chill while trapping the heat inside. And the tiger skin draped over him came from a Scorching Sun Beast—no wonder he felt no cold. In fact, Liu Yuanxun suspected he might start sweating if he stayed like this much longer.

If he was already warm, Gu Lianzhao with his Pure Yang Physique must be suffering.

Sure enough, when he glanced sideways, he saw that Gu Lianzhao had already shed his outer robe, wearing only a sleeveless undershirt. A sheen of sweat beaded on his forehead, and his arms, wrapped around Liu Yuanxun, glistened faintly with perspiration.

Liu Yuanxun’s gaze had barely brushed Gu Lianzhao’s arm before it darted away like a startled deer. He wanted to ask why Gu Lianzhao wasn’t dressed properly, but he knew full well that this temperature was a real trial for someone with a Pure Yang Physique.

They’d already shared the most intimate moments, so Gu Lianzhao hadn’t expected Liu Yuanxun to blush at the mere sight of his arm. Noticing the pink tint at his ears, he said in mild surprise, “Are you feeling hot?”

Liu Yuanxun tilted his head back halfway, fixing his eyes on the papered window beside them. In a small voice, he murmured, “A little. Why don’t we put out two of the braziers? Half should be plenty.”

Gu Lianzhao truly hadn’t thought much of it. At Liu Yuanxun’s suggestion, he got off the bed to snuff out a couple of the braziers—but he didn’t notice how Liu Yuanxun’s body went rigid as he brushed past.

It wasn’t surprising that Liu Yuanxun reacted so strongly.

True, the second time they’d met, Gu Lianzhao had been stripped to the waist and placed in his bed. But back then, Liu Yuanxun had kept his eyes firmly fixed ahead, nose to heart, never once glancing at his bare torso. Even when leaning in to feed him medicine, his gaze had stayed on Gu Lianzhao’s face.

Their later intimacies had mostly happened at night. Either his eyes were closed, or the room was pitch black and he couldn’t make out the person before him. All his senses had focused on that one spot; he’d never truly looked at Gu Lianzhao’s body.

When their relationship was still new, it had been polite avoidance. Now that their hearts were aligned, it carried an extra layer of shyness and fluster that only he understood.

But he knew the unique burdens of the Pure Yang Physique—forcing clothes on him in this heat would only make it worse. So Liu Yuanxun said, “A’Qiao, if you’re hot, why don’t you go ride a horse outside? Staying cooped up in here all the time must be boring for you.”

“Not boring at all,” Gu Lianzhao replied. He closed the air vent on top of one brazier and turned back. “How could it be boring when I’m with you?”

He wished this road would stretch on forever, keeping just the two of them sealed away in this carriage that held nothing but each other. Yet he also feared Liu Yuanxun might find him dull, or too stiff and awkward.

When it came to romance, it wasn’t just Liu Yuanxun who was clueless. Gu Lianzhao himself had stumbled into it through desire alone—devouring every inch of him in the heat of the moment, only to flounder when it came time for sweet words and tender talk. All he knew then was to bury himself under the covers.

At the thought, Gu Lianzhao’s steps faltered as he approached the bed’s edge. Rifling through the barren memories of his early life, he managed to dredge up something that might pass for normal lovers’ play.

“A’Xun,” he said, a rare hint of embarrassment coloring his voice, “would you like… to play a game of Go? Though I’m not much good at it—afraid it might not be up to your standards.”

“Sure,” Liu Yuanxun said without hesitation. He slid off the bed, still wrapped in the tiger-skin cloak, and shuffled in his slippers toward the storage cabinet on one side. “I think Ling Qing said the Go set was kept around here.”

Gu Lianzhao hurried to say, “Don’t get up—I’ll get it.”

“It’s fine. I can’t stay in bed forever.” Liu Yuanxun smiled faintly as he pulled open the drawer and handed Gu Lianzhao the Go board and a basket of white stones. “We’re heading to the table anyway; might as well get up now.”

Gu Lianzhao had just turned to set the items down when a faint whoosh of air sounded behind him. He whipped his head around to the clatter of stones spilling across the floor. Liu Yuanxun stood there, the basket of white pieces still in hand, his face as white as paper. His entire right arm hung limp at his side, as if severed.

A chill shot from Gu Lianzhao’s feet straight to his head, freezing him in place. It took him a long moment to recover, and only when a stray stone bounced against his foot did he step forward in a daze, gently taking hold of Liu Yuanxun’s right hand.

Liu Yuanxun forced a smile. In a light voice, he said, “It’s nothing. The injury from before must not have fully healed—the arm just ached, and I lost my grip. Could you pick up the stones for me?”

“It’s already healed.” Gu Lianzhao’s voice trembled. “I know your arm is fine. I applied the medicine myself, tended to you every day. No one knows better than I do.”

Seeing the glint of tears at the corners of Gu Lianzhao’s eyes, Liu Yuanxun couldn’t help but raise his left hand to wipe them away. But as soon as he lifted it, Gu Lianzhao caught that hand too, clasping both together tightly and gazing at him imploringly. “Don’t lie to me. Tell me the truth—what’s wrong?”

For as long as Liu Yuanxun stayed silent, Gu Lianzhao held his breath. Until that gentle voice finally spoke, shattering the last fragile thread of hope in his heart. “A’Qiao, you know… I’m ill. When it flares up, this is what happens.”

“First the hand, then the legs. Maybe in the end, I’ll just become a cripple… Don’t cry.” Long years of illness had taught Liu Yuanxun to swiftly accept his body’s decline. He hadn’t wanted to hide it from Gu Lianzhao and had even anticipated that he might struggle to face the truth. But he hadn’t expected Gu Lianzhao’s tears to fall so quietly, yet so fiercely.

Gu Lianzhao kept his head bowed, clutching Liu Yuanxun’s hands and rubbing them desperately. Bean-sized teardrops rolled from his eyes, splashing onto Liu Yuanxun’s pale, rigid right wrist.

Seeing that rubbing did no good, he lifted that jade-carved hand to his lips, brushing it softly with his mouth in a vain attempt to coax life back into it.

Liu Yuanxun watched him quietly, his heart aching, but more than that, filled with sorrow. He didn’t want to regret the choices he’d made, yet seeing Gu Lianzhao weeping so silently made him question if he’d been too presumptuous.

If he’d never accepted these feelings from the start, would Gu Lianzhao be spared this pain? Would he not have to watch someone else endure the same torment his Consort Mother had…?

“It’s all right,” Gu Lianzhao said suddenly, as if sensing his regret. “Don’t be afraid. It’ll be fine. Plenty of cripples in this world live just fine. Worst case, our days get a bit messier. I’ve been through worse.”

He released Liu Yuanxun’s hands and guided him back toward the bed. The tears in his eyes were forced back, turning the rims bright red and veining the whites with bloodshot threads. His voice took on a fierce edge. “The able have their way of living, and the crippled have theirs. Don’t be afraid. If your hands won’t move, I’ll be your hands. If your legs give out, I’ll carry you. If you can’t swallow anymore, I’ll chew it up and feed it to you—like with the medicine, pushing it bit by bit down your throat.”

He eased Liu Yuanxun onto the bed and knelt astride his legs, knees parted on either side. Cupping his face, he stared deep into his eyes—those eyes red as if bleeding—and spoke in a voice both unfamiliar and achingly tender. “A’Xun, don’t be afraid. You have me. It’s all right. I’ll be with you, always.”

Each word landed like a hammer blow, making Liu Yuanxun’s heart throb with pain, yet after a long silence, he let out a soft laugh. “Chewing it up and feeding me—don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

If he hadn’t smiled, it might have been bearable. But that smile broke the dam, and Gu Lianzhao’s pent-up tears burst forth. His hands trembled as they held Liu Yuanxun’s face. “Not too much. As long as I’m alive, I won’t let you suffer a single grievance. As long as you don’t drive me away or scorn me, I’ll be your hands and feet. All right?”

Liu Yuanxun tugged at the corners of his mouth, trying for a reassuring smile, but as it formed, so did the tears rolling down his cheeks.

Gu Lianzhao leaned down to kiss them away, one by one, tasting salt on his lips as they brushed gently, intimately against Liu Yuanxun’s—a comfort deeper than any embrace.

Gradually, strength trickled back into Liu Yuanxun’s right hand, but this numb spell had lasted far longer than before. Perhaps next time, or the time after, it wouldn’t return at all.

He flexed his fingers and wrapped his arms lightly around Gu Lianzhao’s waist. Closing his eyes, their lips still touching, he trembled—showing his vulnerability for the first time before another. His warm voice shook with fear as he whispered, “I’m so scared.”

How could he not be? The calligraphy and painting he prided himself on—he could no longer wield the brush. The qin he loved—he hadn’t touched in ages. He was a living person, forced to watch himself become a silent, motionless log.

Yet he didn’t even have the right to voice his fear.

This was the path he’d chosen. The fate he had to bear. The chance he’d thanked the heavens for in countless midnight awakenings.

But he was still afraid.

So afraid.

Gu Lianzhao kissed him tenderly, soothing him. Though still young, his tone was resolute enough to rebuild the shattered sky over Liu Yuanxun’s world. “Don’t be afraid. Leave it all to me. I’m here. No need to fear, okay? A’Xun, look at me.”

He drew back slightly, straightening his kneeling posture. From this angle, he loomed taller over Liu Yuanxun, his shadow engulfing that frail form entirely. Staring into those misty, helpless eyes, his heart twisted with pity and grief.

He couldn’t speak the full truth, couldn’t bluntly promise that day would never come. All he could do was repeat those three words: “Believe me.”

Perhaps it was the conviction in Gu Lianzhao’s voice, or perhaps Liu Yuanxun was simply too fragile in that moment. Somehow, he found a spark of faith in those words—a confidence that even if the illness fully claimed him, he wouldn’t face it in utter humiliation.