Snow fell thickly, blurring the line between sky and dawn. At the first moment of Yin hour, eunuchs inside the inner palace were already moving about.
The palace maids of Qinghui Hall stood beneath the eaves, waiting for summons from within.
The Chunsheng Emperor rarely required attendants at night. Once the inner doors were drawn shut and the curtains lowered, that chamber became forbidden ground. After ascending the throne, this supreme ruler of the Great Jing grew increasingly inscrutable. At times he would lean on his arm and listen to court reports until he drifted into sleep. Yet even with his eyes closed, he remained absolute authority upon the throne—no decision could escape his perception.
For the newly appointed officials entering court for the first time, it was only when the Chunsheng Emperor closed his eyes in feigned rest that they dared to breathe.
The new palace maid was especially nervous, her hands trembling as she held the copper basin. She had heard many rumors about Shen Zechuan, the Chunsheng Emperor. What terrified people most was not his appearance, but the presence that always lingered behind him—the head wolf of Beili, who never left his side.
“The Second Master dislikes noise,” the old matron whispered into her ear. “When the doors open later, be quick with your hands and light with your steps.”
The young maid nodded repeatedly, softly acknowledging.
Snow covered the glazed tiles in the courtyard. Plum branches leaned against the window panes, appearing slightly out of place. It was said that the Second Master himself had arranged them, and the emperor admired them daily—so even when they obstructed the path, no one dared object.
Just as lanterns across the courtyard were being lit, the maid’s palms grew damp with sweat. While she was still anxious, a “tap tap” of footsteps suddenly sounded from the roof tiles. Snow dust fell as someone landed, sprinkling over passing attendants.
The girls cried out in surprise, voices turning coy in complaint. Several young eunuchs looked up and called softly, “Grandpa Peach, His Majesty and the Second Master are still not awake!”
Ding Tao’s robe fluttered as he landed steadily on the snow. Holding a small notebook, he brushed past the maid and casually took her identity token. The maid gasped and nearly dropped her basin. When she saw it was Ding Tao, her face flushed red.
Ding Tao walked backward while inspecting the token. “Xinrui… oh, a new sister?” He leaned closer to read it. “So young—you’re actually a little junior sister.”
The old matron stomped lightly and whispered, “Tao’er, stop fooling around. Return it to her!”
“Just looking,” Ding Tao grinned at the maid. “I’ll even give you mine—eh?”
His hand went to his waist and found nothing. His expression shifted slightly—before he could turn, a sharp knock landed on the back of his head.
Bone Jin stood behind him like a wall of iron, snatched the token between two fingers, and tapped Ding Tao’s forehead while scolding, “Return it.”
Only after being hit did Ding Tao behave. He bared his teeth in pain and returned the token, still wanting to speak, but Bone Jin raised his hand again as if to strike. Ding Tao immediately dodged.
“Don’t hit me, Brother Jin,” Ding Tao said quickly. “I came to show filial respect!”
“Good son,” Bone Jin flipped the token over in his hand. “Did you go out with the young heir again to fight?”
Ding Tao’s eyes drifted away guiltily. “Nope. Master Cheng Feng made the young heir study. He didn’t dare go out.”
Bone Jin traced the scratches inside the token with his thumb, expression unchanged.
Sweat broke out on Ding Tao’s back. Afraid of causing trouble for Xiao Xun, he insisted, “It was just me being careless.”
“Small in age, bold in nerve,” a voice came from the side.
The door suddenly opened. Xiao Chiye stood there in a loose robe, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly just awakened and slightly impatient.
“Bury him where he stands.”
Bone Jin lifted Ding Tao by the collar. Ding Tao dared not struggle and could only lean forward and shout, “My—lord!”
Xiao Chiye raised a finger, and Ding Tao immediately fell silent. He puffed his cheeks while Bone Jin dumped snow down his collar, making him jump around in the courtyard from the cold.
The matron stepped forward, but Xiao Chiye stopped her. A faint bite mark was visible on his neck, still not faded, loosely covered by his fingers as he did not care if others saw it.
The wolf king stood extremely tall. The maid did not dare look up, trembling under his shadow. Rumors said this Beili Wolf King could strangle northern barbarians with his bare hands and ride dozens of miles without fatigue.
The maid once thought such stories were exaggerations—but Xiao Chiye was too tall. Even when she secretly glanced up, her eyes could only reach his chest.
Broad. Solid.
One punch from him would be fatal or half-dead at least.
Seeing the snow still falling, Xiao Chiye said to the matron, “Wait two more ke (quarter hours) before knocking.”
Inside, the curtains blocked the light. The brazier still held residual warmth. Shen Zechuan lay on the pillow, sweat not yet dissipated, the bedding in disarray.
He squinted, hearing the noise outside, and in a fit of temper pushed the pillow onto the carpet.
“Call Fei Sheng,” Shen Zechuan said hoarsely with his eyes closed. “I’ll see him in an hour.”
His neck looked even more pitiful than Xiao Chiye’s, covered in circular bite marks. The blanket only half-covered him due to the heat, revealing a reddened waist hollow, more bite marks further down.
Xiao Chiye had bitten him, held him, and turned even pain into breathless intimacy.
Winter days were short and nights long. Lanzhou could take a sip of cold wine and melt into Xiao Chiye’s embrace. He was so afraid of cold—when their breaths intertwined, he sank into Xiao Chiye’s arms like shelter from winter itself, his innocence only making him more inviting.
Xiao Chiye leaned down and gently pinched his earlobe. His wide robe easily covered both of them.
Shen Zechuan still had sweat on his neck, sliding over the bite marks. He stretched out his fingers, pressing them against Xiao Chiye’s wrist.
“Wet,” Shen Zechuan said, glancing at him with those alluring eyes, slowly drawing out his words. “It’s coming out.”
His voice still carried a faint tremble, like fingertips sliding across Xiao Chiye’s chest in deliberate calm teasing.
Xiao Chiye tightened his grip and gave a low, pleased laugh. He traced along Shen Zechuan’s neck with his nose, then said darkly, “Mm—it’s my scent.”
Fei Sheng arrived early to report duties at dawn. When the palace gates opened at Mao hour, he waited in the side hall of Qinghui Hall.
At Mao hour three quarters, Bone Jin came to call him in.
Snow had not yet stopped. Fei Sheng adjusted his collar before entering and whispered to Bone Jin, “Does it look alright?”
Bone Jin glanced at his boots. “These boots—after New Year, we should bring some to Beili. Chen Yang says they don’t freeze feet.”
Fei Sheng said, “These are from Fanzhou. You should ask Huo Lingyun.”
He then patted Bone Jin’s shoulder. “Forget it, you’ll only get a reply in a few hundred years. I’ll pass the message for you.”
Bone Jin, familiar with Fei Sheng’s temperament, replied, “What does Duanzhou lack? Your rich lands won’t appreciate our prices.”
“Boring,” Fei Sheng withdrew his hand. “Always talking money. We’re strangers now.”
He then added, “Next year, let’s renegotiate warhorse prices from Mount Luo.”
Bone Jin sighed and lifted the curtain, letting Fei Sheng in. Fei Sheng entered, knelt cleanly, and announced loudly:
“This minister Fei Sheng, pays respect to His Majesty!”
“That posture is quite impressive,” Xiao Chiye said lazily from the side, legs crossed, flipping through a booklet. “That shout almost made your lord cough out his medicine.”
Fei Sheng immediately lowered his voice. “Greetings to the Second Master!”
Shen Zechuan set down his medicine bowl halfway through. “Rise and sit.”
Fei Sheng thanked him and stood.
…