“Spring is approaching; everything is urgent. We haven’t even worked out the plan today, and if we leave like this, it won’t be easy to meet next time,” Xiao Chiye said. “Stay here tonight.”
Shen Zechuan smiled softly. “Don’t be reckless.”
He lingered over those four words, letting them coil with ambiguity. His tongue traced desire, his eyes clearly teasing the tides of passion, and even the fingers loosening with his words were brushing against temptation.
This scoundrel.
Xiao Chiye stared at Shen Zechuan, thinking to himself.
Now here was a truly bad seed—constantly testing the limits of his patience, cunning yet innocent, as if whispering “be reckless” right into his ear. This fox-turned-devil let its tail brush his leg, eyes glinting with mischief.
“Let’s speak seriously,” Xiao Chiye said, closing the window.
“The matter of the drains—prepare a memorial tomorrow morning. I’ll report it to the emperor.” Xiao Chiye reclined in the rattan chair, picking up his robe from the floor, carefully arranging the contents of his sleeves onto the cabinet.
“You can’t speak,” Shen Zechuan said, submerged in water. “You’re the commander of the Imperial Guards. You don’t manage construction nor care for the people’s grievances. If you report it rashly, suspicion will fall on you.”
“Then you do it. You live there; it wouldn’t be strange coming from you. I’ll just mark it as a supervising officer’s report,” Xiao Chiye said, pulling out an ivory fan. “Why are you carrying an ivory fan?”
Among scholars and literati, delicate elegance was prized. Ivory or ebony fans were considered vulgar. Even wealthy sons, whether they had means or not, would never carry sandalwood or ivory fans when going out—they preferred bamboo fans with inscriptions by master calligraphers.
Shen Zechuan said, “Just for fun. A common item suits me best.”
Having spent five years in the Temple of Punishment, he couldn’t mingle with aristocrats in elegance. He had to be a humble imitator of refinement—that was fitting. Not just carrying an ivory fan, even the jade pendants at his waist were ostentatious.
Xiao Chiye, feeling the fan, realized they were opposites.
Xiao Chiye’s tastes appeared distinct at first touch, but in truth, many things he seemed to enjoy were fleeting pleasures, never held in his heart. Conversely, the trivial matters he seemed to shirk were secretly approached with careful attention. He had no favorite dishes or drinks; others could say only, “The Second Master enjoys wine,” but which wine? That remained unknowable.
Shen Zechuan seemed indifferent, able to adapt to anything, but with subtle observation, one could uncover his preferences. He disliked strong tea—one sip and never again. He loved fish, and in private, he could pick through bones neatly like a cat.
Xiao Chiye found this amusing.
It was as if, tracing along Shen Zechuan’s waist, he could slide upward to map his chest and back; he could recognize the shoulder blades even with closed eyes.
A pseudo-tiger.
Holding the robe, Xiao Chiye thought.
A few sudden displays could startle a person; a few embraces could reveal the emotions behind Shen Zechuan’s soft flattery. Like the moon reflected in a puddle tonight—tap it, seemingly calm, yet secretly remembering every move, waiting for the right moment to strike back.
Shen Zechuan emerged, still damp. He noticed Xiao Chiye playing with the ivory fan, his own clothes neatly hung aside.
“The matter isn’t finished yet,” Xiao Chiye said, rising. “Drink the ginger broth first, then we’ll talk.”
Shen Zechuan lifted the curtain; Xiao Chiye moved the fan aside. The inner bedroom was mostly dark, only a single glass lamp left burning.
Shen Zechuan felt the heat rising. One bowl of ginger broth brought some relief. Though fine during the day, now his head felt dizzy.
“Xi Hongxuan has been transferred to the Ministry of Revenue, and soon to the supervisory office. He’s also in the Department of Examination, able to influence evaluations of officials. Was this your idea?” Xiao Chiye asked.
Shen Zechuan shook his head after swallowing the broth. “It should be Xue Xiuzhuo’s idea.”
“I have men in the Ministry of Rites and Ministry of War. If this inspection leads to transfers, it’ll be a loss,” Xiao Chiye said, looking at him.
Shen Zechuan nodded. “No need to worry too much. Except for Rites Vice Minister Jiang Xu, married into Chaohui’s household, others are inconspicuous. Xue Xiuzhuo may not fully grasp your situation; let everyone act normally. And inspections aren’t conducted by one family—officials from the sea pavilion would intervene if needed. Xi Hongxuan won’t be too blatant.”
“This inspection concerns Zhongbo. The recent heavy snow caused losses there—ten people froze to death. This year, Hai Liangyi should send officials to rectify matters,” Xiao Chiye said.
“Zhongbo…” Shen Zechuan seemed to recall. “It’s hard to manage. Sending a civil official may not counter bandits or command new troops. Careful planning is needed; Hai Pavilion must be worried too.”
“There’s no suitable candidate in the capital. As long as we don’t send aristocrats, negotiations are easier. The northeastern grain and horse routes are critical; if they fall into the wrong hands, disaster follows. We must prepare… in advance…” Xiao Chiye’s voice softened, watching Shen Zechuan’s tired face.
Since promotion, Shen Zechuan had been running between posts. Nights often spent at Lotus Flower Tower, dealing with Xi Hongxuan. Xi Hongxuan, with beauty in his arms, held a leisurely post, composing for Li Jianheng, skipping morning court. But Shen Zechuan stood daily at the emperor’s side, negotiating with craftsmen and carrying out duties—often missing meals.
The residence on East Dragon Street had eaves blocking light; he had no time to tend it. Only yesterday did he realize the courtyard was flooded; bedding was damp and uninhabitable. He could send Qiao Tianya to the Temple of Punishment to stay with his master, but he himself could not.
By the new year, he hadn’t gained weight—he looked thinner.
Xiao Chiye studied him for a while, reaching across the table to touch Shen Zechuan’s cheek. It was burning, far beyond “slightly warm.” The rash on his neck was still untreated. Xiao Chiye wanted to speak but restrained himself.
Shen Zechuan, awakened by touch, tried to steady himself. “…Mm, we must prepare… Your Highness…”
Before he could finish, Xiao Chiye bent forward. Solid arms lifted him effortlessly. A bowl on the table tipped over; Xiao Chiye kicked it aside leisurely. “Second Master will take you to the bridal chamber.”
Shen Zechuan wiped sweat from his brow, hanging onto him. “Have we finished the serious talk for tonight?”
“Yes,” Xiao Chiye pressed his back against him. “Now it’s time to repay debts.”
He bent down, placing Shen Zechuan onto the bedding.
Shen Zechuan blocked the light with his hand. “Not so bright.”
“Bright makes it clearer.” Xiao Chiye began removing his clothes.
Shen Zechuan’s chest was exposed; a cool sensation ran along his neck. He watched Xiao Chiye, who dabbed ointment on the rash—like oiling jade, smooth and intoxicating. Xiao Chiye realized he was no gentleman.
“We’ll need to tie you up so you don’t move; otherwise, the medicine is wasted.” Xiao Chiye closed the ointment box, took a cloth, and methodically wiped his fingers, muttering, “This life, Second Master only serves you.”
Shen Zechuan slid under the covers, turning his head to sleep.
Xiao Chiye sat a while, then extinguished the last lamp. He wrapped Shen Zechuan in his arms.
“Tied up,” Xiao Chiye said. “Try to kick, and I’ll toss you out.”
Shen Zechuan touched the window’s soft light, feeling Xiao Chiye’s firm grip on his wrist. “You’re strong.”
“Hm,” Xiao Chiye said after a pause. “I advise you not to touch downward.”
Shen Zechuan paused, then said, “I meant your badge.”
“Badge?” Xiao Chiye tilted his head, whispering in his ear. “Badge?”
Shen Zechuan burned at that.
Xiao Chiye teased, “Can’t handle whispering, yet fight over a few words? And you dare mock me as inexperienced?”
Shen Zechuan paused, then said, “Why don’t we switch positions?”
Xiao Chiye squeezed his waist, and they flipped. Shen Zechuan sat atop him; Xiao Chiye released him, smiling.
“Undress,” Xiao Chiye guided his hands. “Do as you wish.”
Shen Zechuan’s breathing quickened—was it fever or heat? “Tonight—”
Xiao Chiye pressed his forehead to his, kissing him deeply, guiding his hands. Shen Zechuan shivered, struggling as Xiao Chiye laughed, making him fume.
Xiao Chiye flipped him again, pressing him beneath. The bed creaked, the covers sank; Shen Zechuan’s palms sweated.
Afterward, the intoxication of desire whispered between them. Shen Zechuan hated the tingling heat but pushed and pulled him in turn.
Xiao Chiye peeled back clothes along his back, as imagined from the rattan chair.
Shen Zechuan wrapped his neck around him, biting, noses brushing. In this wild, reckless moment, intimacy surpassed ordinary bounds.
“You lunatic,” Xiao Chiye murmured, kissing him.
The storm softened into tender kisses, lips melting defenses. Shen Zechuan, in intermittent murmurs, fell asleep.
Xiao Chiye rubbed his cheek, propped himself slightly. Shen Zechuan clutched his hair, sleeping soundly. Xiao Chiye gazed at him, thoughts running deep.
Desire is a shackle.
Xiao Chiye had invited Zuo Qianqiu to the capital, merely to ask his master a question.
Can desire be broken?
Yet he never asked.
Because even Zuo Qianqiu could not answer—only he himself could. So many claimed he was born in the wrong era, but here he was. Having desire was not his fault.
He was human.
His name was Xiao Chiye.
He was the opposite of Shen Zechuan, yet somehow entirely the same. Only Shen Zechuan could understand all of Xiao Chiye’s suffering without words; from their first kiss, they both knew.
Xiao Chiye kissed his brow, then his nose.
Whatever this feeling was called, they claimed it, pressing closer through struggle. Desire was insatiable, suffering unending. Cheek to cheek, ear to ear, it numbed pain—yet it became addictive, as if mere proximity could soothe all agony.
After their indulgence, they began to shed outer layers, revealing themselves fully. Once divided channels became puddles, seemingly bridged with a jump or a reach, merging into one.
Xiao Chiye kissed Shen Zechuan again. In sleep, Shen Zechuan tugged lightly at his hair.
The white moon rippled in the puddle, filled with fresh wind. The faithless rogue and the fickle lover rested beneath the moonlight, sleeping soundly through the night.