Outside the room, a cold moon hung high in the sky, its silvery glow like frost. Moonlight sprinkled across the snow-covered ground, reflecting a pristine expanse of white.
Gu Lianzhao half-reclined against the headboard, his body tilted slightly backward as he gently patted the person nestled in his arms until Liu Yuanxun’s emotions had fully stabilized.
He knew Liu Yuanxun had suffered a nightmare. He also knew he ought to rise and light a lamp, but he made no move to do so. He didn’t want anything to shatter this moment of peace. He simply wished to remain seated on the bed, holding the man in his arms in silence.
Liu Yuanxun said nothing either.
The shadows of the past clung to him like vengeful spirits, enveloping him layer upon layer and stirring the vulnerability buried deep in his heart. In this instant, he didn’t want to dwell on Gu Lianzhao’s status as a ger. Nor did he wish to maintain any deliberate distance. He only wanted to lean against Gu Lianzhao, drawing in the warmth that soothed his heart and brought him comfort.
Liu Yuanxun curled quietly in his embrace. Due to their position, Gu Lianzhao towered over him by a considerable margin. With just a slight dip of his gaze, he could see the dense, soft lashes and the straight, prominent bridge of the nose on the face cradled in his arms.
Prince Rui had been blessed with a gentle, captivating countenance from birth. Every feature was perfectly proportioned. Were it not for his frail constitution holding him back, that face alone would have stirred the hearts of countless admirers, drawing eager suitors from all quarters.
Yet if not for this illness, and if not for his own Pure Yang Internal Energy, how could the chance to draw close to him have ever fallen into his lap? How could he be holding the prince’s waist at night, lying together on the couch to gaze at the moon?
Perhaps the nightmare had left Liu Yuanxun breaking out in a light sheen of sweat, for the faint plum blossom scent that usually lingered subtly around him had grown a touch clearer. Gu Lianzhao didn’t even need to lower his head to catch its fragrance.
The aroma wasn’t like incense or soapberry. Simply inhaling it felt like standing beneath the Profound Moon, with snow-defying white plums blooming before his eyes. It carried a cool, aloof elegance, much like the impression Liu Yuanxun usually gave off—solitary, refined, and hard to approach.
It smelled so good. Gu Lianzhao closed his eyes and breathed deeply, as if he could etch the scent into his very lungs. He found the fragrance pleasant, but more than that, he found it pure.
Day after day, he had languished in the dim, lightless Imperial Prison, where lifting his head revealed only the grim, shadowy ceiling of his cell. There were no moons in the prison, no white plums—only endless reek of blood and the stomach-churning stench of rot and decay.
He couldn’t bear to let go of this delightful scent, nor this precious moment. He didn’t want to speak, fearing his voice would disrupt the wonderful, serene atmosphere. Yet he dared not remain silent either, lest the quiet deepen too much. Once Liu Yuanxun fully regained his senses, he might find an excuse to push him away.
Thus, he spoke. “I was thinking of channeling qi for you while you slept, but since you’re awake now, why not experience the Pure Yang True Qi for yourself?”
Liu Yuanxun was about to refuse, but curiosity won out, and he nodded.
Taking advantage of the fact that Liu Yuanxun couldn’t see, Gu Lianzhao let his gaze roam freely, landing unabashedly on the skin exposed beyond the covers.
One arm steadied around Liu Yuanxun’s waist while the other hand slowly extended to grasp his, locking him securely in his embrace like a clasp.
His touch was light, and with Liu Yuanxun still dazed, he noticed nothing amiss. He simply allowed Gu Lianzhao to take his hand, his fingertips gently resting on the pulse point.
Liu Yuanxun’s pulse was faint and erratic. Gu Lianzhao had to press slightly harder to feel that weak throb. The man himself was much like his pulse—fragile and delicate, as if without careful tending from those around him, he might melt away like thin snow under sunlight.
Gu Lianzhao held his pulse while idly circulating his True Qi. But his eyes naturally drifted to the wrist beneath his fingers.
That wrist was as white as snow, glowing under the moonlight like the finest mutton-fat jade.
Jade grew warmer and more lustrous the more it was cherished and handled. Neglected, it gradually lost its vitality.
Wasn’t Liu Yuanxun just the same? He needed to be cradled, coaxed, held close, and watched over at every moment. A single lapse, and illness struck—followed by all the fuss of nursing him back.
Gu Lianzhao lost himself staring at that wrist, though his hands moved with meticulous care and steadiness.
It was the first time Liu Yuanxun had felt Gu Lianzhao’s True Qi while fully awake. The flow was as fine as a silken thread, warm as water—an invisible stream that meandered slowly yet rhythmically through his chest and lungs.
Wherever the True Qi passed, his stagnant, chilled blood gained vigor. Once circulation resumed, his icy body began to warm.
Liu Yuanxun stared at Gu Lianzhao’s fingers, his eyes filled with awe. His constitution didn’t suit martial arts, but that only fueled his burning curiosity about them. True Qi especially—something invisible and intangible, yet palpably real—fascinated him to no end.
There was rarely a chance to ask. Now, half-reclining in Gu Lianzhao’s arms, a mere glance downward revealed the taut waist and abdomen beneath his nightclothes. Curiosity piqued, an itch scratched relentlessly at his mind like a cat’s claws.
Finally, unable to hold back, Liu Yuanxun asked, “A’Qiao, I’ve heard that martial artists store their True Qi in the Dantian. Is it right here?”
Before the words had fully left his mouth, his left hand reached out involuntarily. They were so close, and the position so convenient…
His right hand was lightly held by Gu Lianzhao, leaving his left free. Before his mind could catch up, his palm had already pressed against Gu Lianzhao’s lower abdomen through a thin layer of fabric.
Quick as his movement was, it couldn’t outpace a martial artist’s reflexes. Gu Lianzhao had clearly anticipated the touch, yet in that moment, he inexplicably did nothing to stop it.
The instant Liu Yuanxun’s hand made contact, Gu Lianzhao let out a muffled grunt and jerked his head sharply to the side.
Liu Yuanxun jolted in fright, freezing like he’d been acupoint-struck. He didn’t even dare swivel his eyes, tears threatening as he stammered, “Wh-what’s wrong… Did I do something I shouldn’t by touching you? A’Qiao… don’t scare me…”
His voice trembled fiercely, born of both panic and fear. As a child, he’d read plenty of tales where martial artists suffered Qi Deviation if their qi flow was interrupted—fatally so!
Curse his muddled brain—it hadn’t occurred to him in time!
Gu Lianzhao drew a deep breath, striving to sound calm despite the rasp in his voice. “It’s nothing. I just had a hitch in my qi.”
Liu Yuanxun panicked further. “A hitch in your qi? You haven’t gone into Qi Deviation, have you?”
What in the world?
Amused by Liu Yuanxun’s frantic, helpless expression, Gu Lianzhao fought back a laugh. “That is indeed the Lower Dantian, but it’s also…”
“Also what?” Relieved to hear he wasn’t hurt, Liu Yuanxun looked up, only to find him still facing away.
“Does Your Highness truly not know?” Gu Lianzhao suddenly turned, meeting the upward-gazing eyes of Liu Yuanxun.
Moonlight like water bathed Liu Yuanxun’s face, tracing his flawlessly perfect contours. The sight was so harmonious with the moon’s glow that Gu Lianzhao stared, momentarily entranced, before snapping back to himself.
Liu Yuanxun shook his head in bewilderment, answering with pure, honest simplicity. “I don’t.”
Meeting his gaze, Gu Lianzhao paused, then said meaningfully, “That’s where a ger gives birth to children…”
Gers differed from ordinary men only in their ability to conceive and the red mark at their brow. Because of this, producing heirs was arduous for them—they struggled to carry to term and faced a perilous ordeal at birth, passing through the gates of hell.
As pregnancy advanced, a faint red line would appear on their abdomen. At delivery, they had to be cut along this line to bring the child into the world safely.
Liu Yuanxun’s hand had pressed exactly half an inch below the navel—the precise spot for a ger’s cesarean.
Liu Yuanxun went rigid. After a long stunned moment, he yanked his hand back. Shame and embarrassment flushed him hot as fire; he wished he could burrow into the ground and hide.
Gu Lianzhao always covered the red mark on his brow with a headband and never shied away in his movements like typical gers. Coupled with their nightly shared bed, over time, Liu Yuanxun’s constant mental reminders to “keep distance! keep distance!” had faded.
But Gu Lianzhao was still a ger!
How could he casually touch someone else’s belly like that?
Racked with regret, Liu Yuanxun wanted to apologize. But as he withdrew his hand, he realized he wasn’t just pulling back a hand—it was his entire boneless body slumped in another’s embrace!
His waist was held firm, his wrist gripped tight. Unsure if he could interrupt the qi transmission without harm, he was trapped—unable to advance or retreat. His body grew stiffer by the second. Unexercised as he was, his waist and abdomen lacked any strength; he couldn’t even tense up to pull away a little.
But he’d forgotten Gu Lianzhao was a ger. Had Gu Lianzhao himself forgotten? Did he truly not care about his chastity?
Just over a month ago, on this very bed, Gu Lianzhao had hated him to the bone. If not for Feng Huai’an standing guard outside, Liu Yuanxun truly feared he might have snapped the ropes and slit his own throat in retaliation.
Yet now, they were intimate as one. Leaving aside how he’d silently permitted Gu Lianzhao’s closeness, the change in Gu Lianzhao alone was earth-shattering.
“Th-that, A’Qiao…” Liu Yuanxun’s throat bobbed, his voice hoarse and dry. “How much longer?”
Gu Lianzhao asked coolly, “Is Your Highness tired?”
Liu Yuanxun replied stiffly, “Not really. I’m just worried about wearing you out.”
“Not tired.” After a brief pause, Gu Lianzhao added, “Just a bit longer. It’s almost done.”
Liu Yuanxun was steady by nature, so he couldn’t fathom someone as moody as Gu Lianzhao.
Just moments ago, Gu Lianzhao had brimmed with tenderness, moved by his pleas, reveling in his dependence. Fingertips on his pulse, his heart had swelled with satisfaction, even generously thinking: As long as Liu Yuanxun asked, he’d give him anything.
But now, Gu Lianzhao seethed inwardly, exerting every effort to stay composed. The newly awakened Liu Yuanxun had gone rigid with rejection. Even with the qi on his hand that could ease his discomfort, he still refused it. He still wanted to flee.
Why?
Why did a single call from him soften Gu Lianzhao’s heart, while Liu Yuanxun remained utterly unmoved by anything? Was there truly nothing to captivate him, to rattle his composure?
Gu Lianzhao had always seen Liu Yuanxun as waterlike. Tonight, though, he realized he was more like ice cradled in spring waters—seeming warm, but unyieldingly hard at the core.
He had just felt his entire heart melt for Liu Yuanxun. Now, he hated him.
He hated how shamelessly Liu Yuanxun burrowed into his arms every night, how he showered him with kindness without reason, how he churned his heart into chaos yet stood aloof from it all.
