The next morning.
Su Muchen hurried back to Guichen Studio with the supply list that he and Xia Lanshi had drawn up together through the night.
Inside the guest room of the southern courtyard, the brazier burned fiercely, keeping the chill of early spring in the northern border firmly shut outside.
Xia Lanshi stepped past the heavy screen and slowly entered the inner room.
He had changed into a Confucian robe of frosty white, its edges trimmed with fine silver thread. His long hair was not completely tied up; it was loosely gathered with a white jade hairpin, giving him a somewhat languid air.
In his hands, he carried a redwood tray. A clean white cotton cloth covered the tray, upon which were neatly arranged the sterile gauze, normal saline, and several bottles of povidone-iodine solution in transparent glass bottles that Su Muchen had brought.
The moment the faint rustling sound of shoes stepping across the carpet reached him, Xiao had already opened his eyes.
Those deep, pool-like eyes sank almost imperceptibly when they landed on Xia Lanshi’s slightly weary face.
“Change the dressing.”
Xia Lanshi stopped beside the rosewood low table next to the couch.
He studied Xiao’s still-pale face, which nevertheless had regained a little color.
His voice was as gentle as ever, but there was an unmistakable firmness in his red eyes that brooked no refusal.
Xiao turned his head away, avoiding his gaze. His voice carried the characteristic hoarseness of someone who had just woken.
“Get the military physician.”
“Oh?”
Xia Lanshi placed the wooden tray securely on the table, lifted his robe, and sat down on the round stool beside it.
He leaned slightly toward the couch and looked at him with a half-smile.
“Are you dissatisfied with my service?”
His words carried a hint of lingering intimacy, as though they concealed a hook.
Xiao replied coldly, “I would not dare trouble Lord Changshi.”
“Don’t be so polite.”
Xia Lanshi leisurely extended his long, fair fingers. As he unscrewed the cap of the saline bottle, he said indifferently, “You have saved my life three times. How could such a trivial matter possibly count as troubling me?”
“I saved you for a purpose.”
Xiao’s tone was cold and stiff, attempting to use the coldest calculation of interests and rules to push away the person who had come too close.
“You are extremely important to His Highness. In the current situation in Dasheng, you must stay alive.”
He raised his eyes and looked at Xia Lanshi coldly.
“I was able to save you only because the ‘Door’ permitted it. Nothing more.”
“Even so, this life was ultimately given to me by you.”
Xia Lanshi raised his eyes slightly to look at him.
Those pale-red, translucent eyes still held a smile like a pool of spring water, yet beneath it was a stubborn firmness as sharp as a soft blade.
“Don’t refuse again.”
Before his words had even faded, Xia Lanshi had already leaned forward and closed the distance between them.
His cool fingertips reached toward Xiao’s collar, preparing to undo the ties of his loose inner garment.
Xiao’s expression changed instantly.
Almost reflexively, he raised his uninjured left hand and pressed it firmly against his collar, retreating all the way to the innermost side of the bed.
His guarded expression was like that of a beast whose territory had been violated, ready to strike at any moment.
Seeing this, Xia Lanshi paused, then laughed.
“That reaction makes it look as though I’m trying to take advantage of you.”
“I have mysophobia.”
Xiao stiffly forced out four words.
“The military physician can touch you, but I can’t? Could it be… you’re really that afraid of me?”
The smile at the corner of Xia Lanshi’s lips deepened. Completely ignoring his resistance, he leaned forward another fraction.
“Afraid.” Xiao looked directly at him. “I am afraid.”
“Don’t be afraid.”
Xia Lanshi’s voice lowered, carrying an almost imperceptible note of coaxing.
“I’ll be very gentle. I’ll do my best not to hurt you.”
Those words were too suggestive, carrying an irritating heat.
Xiao took a deep breath and suppressed the restlessness that had been stirred within him.
“I’ll do it myself.”
“Your right hand is inconvenient. Let me help you.”
“…I’ll wait for Muan to come and change the dressing.”
Xiao turned his head away, almost resignedly using Su Muchen as a shield.
“Doctor Su has been exhausted running around for your sake these past few days. Last night, he stayed up with His Highness and me examining the ancient texts until the early hours, and then returned to Guichen Studio first thing this morning to prepare supplies.”
Xia Lanshi’s smile faded. His bright eyes looked steadily at him.
“If you truly care about him, let him rest properly.”
Those words struck Xiao’s weak point exactly.
His fingers pressing against his collar tightened slightly.
After a brief standoff, he finally loosened his grip and closed his eyes in resignation.
He knew that when it came to arguing, no one could beat Xia Lanshi.
Seeing that he had finally abandoned his resistance, a triumphant smile flashed through Xia Lanshi’s eyes.
He leaned forward again. His fair fingers deftly undid the final tie of the inner garment, then slowly slipped the clothing down from Xiao’s shoulders.
As the clothing fell away, Xiao’s lean yet explosively powerful body, honed like that of a leopard, was completely revealed in the warm air.
Unable to adapt to this complete defenselessness and such intimate proximity, Xiao did not know whether to open his eyes or keep them closed. He could only press his lips tightly together.
He silently endured the faint tremors caused whenever Xia Lanshi’s cool fingertips intentionally or unintentionally brushed against his sensitive skin.
Time seemed to stretch infinitely at that moment.
The room was utterly quiet, save for the occasional faint crackle of the charcoal fire and the sound of their breathing at such close range.
Xia Lanshi lowered his head slightly, his expression utterly serious.
Using a cotton swab soaked in saline, he carefully peeled away the layers of gauze stuck to the wound.
The wound on Xiao’s right shoulder was exposed.
The originally deep wound had been cared for extremely well. It was clean, with no signs of infection, and was healing remarkably quickly.
Even the hideous wounds left by the black threads on his body yesterday had miraculously faded to nothing more than pale pink marks and a few scabs.
The extraordinary physique of a Gatekeeper truly possessed an astonishing rate of recovery.
Xia Lanshi’s gaze unconsciously moved downward, landing on Xiao’s exposed back.
On Xiao’s right back, the originally bewitching and sinister mark of the Flower of the Other Shore had become several shades lighter after last night’s blood transfusion and rest.
The original blood-red crimson was now so pale that it was almost a thin mist of pink, with a faint ring of golden luster around its edges.
Although it no longer possessed the same aggressiveness as before, it had gained a soul-stirring, lifelike fragility.
His gaze continued downward, following the lines of Xiao’s spine until it settled on that fair back covered in taut, defined muscle.
There were no longer any traces of the old knife scar.
But beneath the morning light, if one looked closely, a faint, almost imperceptible long white mark could be seen winding along the contours of the muscles beside his spine.
It had not disappeared.
After being worn down by the passage of years, the scar had simply merged with his skin. Without careful observation, it was almost impossible to see.
That was the injury he had suffered for him.
“Does it hurt?”
Xia Lanshi suddenly asked.
Xiao knew what he wanted to ask.
After a moment of silence, he replied without emotion.
“Forgot.”
Those two words stirred complicated emotions in Xia Lanshi’s heart.
His long lashes lowered slightly, and he fell silent.
Although Xia Lanshi made no deliberate physical contact, Xiao could still feel that overly focused, almost tangible, burning gaze moving inch by inch across his bare skin, tracing and outlining it.
He finally could not restrain himself.
Those sinister eyes snapped open, fixing Xia Lanshi with a deathly stare as he pulled out a mocking, cold smile.
“Like what you see?”
Xia Lanshi did not even blink.
As he dipped the cotton swab in povidone-iodine and carefully circled the wound with it, he gave his verdict without the slightest change in expression, even sounding faintly appreciative.
“Yes.”
The two words contained not the slightest trace of falsehood. They were so sincere that it was almost unbelievable.
Xiao was instead amused by his brazen shamelessness, and his instinctive sharp tongue began itching to strike.
“That sounds an awful lot like you’re lusting after my body, Lord Changshi.”
“Everyone appreciates beauty. Naturally, one can’t help looking a little longer at beautiful things. Isn’t that perfectly normal?”
Xia Lanshi covered the wound with clean sterile gauze. He then pulled out an elastic bandage and, with one long arm around him, skillfully wound it around Xiao’s shoulder and neck.
His movements remained gentle, his body almost pressed against Xiao’s chest.
“Don’t worry. You’re a patient. Some things… will have to wait until your wounds have healed before they can be done.”
The last syllables drifted through the air, carrying a hint of intimacy.
Xiao’s Adam’s apple rolled once. His chest felt stifled by those words that hid a needle beneath softness, almost teasing him.
“…Lord Changshi, please show some restraint.”
“Why are you being so polite and distant?”
Xia Lanshi tied the bandage into a neat knot, then straightened. His pale-red eyes were filled with teasing amusement.
“Didn’t you call me ‘Huaiyu’ in the letters you sent me before?”
Xiao’s entire body stiffened.
Those letters had been written when he thought they would never meet again, when he had allowed his selfish feelings to run free.
Looking back now, he had practically handed his own weakness directly into this fox’s hands.
He resigned himself to his fate, pulled his inner garment closed, and gritted out:
“…You’re formidable. I can’t win an argument with you.”
He knew Xia Lanshi too well.
This man never did anything without a purpose. Every frown and every smile he displayed before him now seemed to conceal a trap.
His expression cooled as he said coldly:
“Don’t waste your schemes on me. If you’re trying to win me over, I advise you to give up early. The Gatekeepers will not, and cannot, serve the imperial family.”
“That was indeed what I intended before. But…”
Xia Lanshi patted his sleeves and stood up, looking down at him with raised brows and a smile.
“Now that I know you’re incapable, I’ve given up.”
He deliberately emphasized the words “incapable,” and his smile became rather meaningful.
Xiao understood the mockery in his words and merely snorted coldly, refusing to respond.
But although he had pulled his inner garment closed, his right hand was still immobile. With only his left hand, he could not fasten the narrow ties at the collar.
He stubbornly tried to move his injured right hand.
The moment his shoulder shifted, a tearing pain shot through it, making him involuntarily furrow his brows deeply.
Xia Lanshi stood nearby, calmly watching his performance.
He watched Xiao stubbornly use one hand to tie a loose knot that would come undone with the slightest tug, while another knot beneath his collar remained open.
“You’re truly stubborn. You’d rather endure the pain than ask me for help.”
Xia Lanshi sighed softly.
He sat down beside the bed and leaned forward, deftly undoing the loose knot.
He tied a neat, secure knot for Xiao, then leisurely fastened the lower one as well.
He was too close.
So close that if Xiao lowered his head even slightly, his nose could bury itself in Xia Lanshi’s snow-white hair.
That faint, secluded fragrance enveloped him completely.
—The scent of ink orchid and snow tea.
It was the medicinal fragrance Xia Lanshi normally used to scent his clothes.
It was also the most familiar, most cherished scent in his memories, from those dreams in which he had been on the brink of death.
At this moment, it was like a weightless feather, repeatedly teasing and stirring his heart.
He could close his eyes.
He could turn his head and refuse to look at him.
But he could not prevent that fragrance, which had seeped deep into his bones, from invading his senses and disturbing his mind.
“…Don’t get so close.”
After Xia Lanshi finished tying the ribbons and kindly helped him fasten the sling supporting his right arm, Xiao immediately retreated again toward the innermost side of the bed, wishing he could put several zhang of distance between them.
Xia Lanshi raised his pale-red, clear eyes and stared straight into Xiao’s eyes, as though he intended to follow his pupils all the way into the deepest depths of his soul and search out the secrets he had hidden there.
Under the other’s somewhat embarrassed and angry, even faintly vicious gaze, Xia Lanshi keenly sensed something.
He laughed softly.
Planting both hands beside Xiao, he leaned forward slightly. His voice was lowered to a very soft, teasing rasp.
“I think… it’s not me lusting after your body. It’s you lusting after mine, isn’t it?”
“Xia Lanshi!”
Xiao’s gaze instantly turned cold.
Not only did Xia Lanshi retreat, he instead pressed even closer. His fingertip almost teasingly brushed across Xiao’s freshly bandaged shoulder, his tone full of frivolous mockery.
“I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to handle it right now.”
“You want to keep your distance from me, yet in your letters you addressed me so intimately. In the midst of your endless affairs, you still chose a pocket watch for me and personally engraved words onto it…”
“On every object of mine that passed through your hands, you left your mark…”
His breath was warm, brushing against Xiao’s ear like a whisper.
“You’re afraid. Because you’re afraid that once you get close, you won’t be able to control yourself—”
Xiao was completely enraged by the deliberate provocation.
The violence suppressed deep within his bones broke free in an instant.
He completely forgot about the wound on his shoulder and back that had just been bandaged. His body shot forward like a black bolt of lightning.
His uninjured left hand suddenly reached out and precisely seized both of Xia Lanshi’s wrists.
“Bang!”
A dull impact rang out.
Xia Lanshi did not even have time to cry out before the force sent him falling backward, pinning him firmly against the disheveled bed and quilts.
The bed curtains shook violently, and the thin gauze curtain fell with them, separating the two from the outside world.
Their breaths tangled wildly together at extremely close range.
Xiao knelt on one knee beside Xia Lanshi. From above, he crossed Xia Lanshi’s wrists and roughly but firmly pinned them against the pillow beneath his head.
Those originally dead, ink-dark eyes now seemed to contain blazing stars, filled with the savage ferocity of a beast about to devour its prey and scorching desire.
His chest heaved violently, and a faint crimson tint appeared at the corners of his eyes.
“Xia Lanshi, don’t think I don’t dare touch you. Your tricks of playing with power and people’s hearts in Dasheng won’t work on me!”
Xia Lanshi lay trapped among the soft, sunken bedding, his hands restrained and unable to move.
Yet his cold, immortal-like, flawless face showed not the slightest trace of panic or fear.
Instead, as he looked at the handsome face above him, flushed by anger and hidden desire and appearing particularly alluring, the corners of Xia Lanshi’s lips slowly curved into a smile that was entirely expected.
“Not a small amount of strength. Your recovery… is faster than I expected.”
Xia Lanshi raised his head slightly and met his gaze without flinching.
He laughed softly.
“I was only suspicious before. Now… I’m certain.”
Xiao saw the calmness in his eyes, the calmness of someone who had seen through everything. His heart sank, and the hand restraining him unconsciously tightened.
“Certain of what?”
“These past few days, although you’ve been lying weakly on the couch, you’ve actually been observing in secret.”
Xia Lanshi’s voice was unhurried.
“You’ve secretly memorized when the military physicians change shifts and how often the nighttime patrols make their rounds. When the guards outside the window changed, you watched and calculated the gaps in their handover.”
“This doesn’t look like a patient with serious injuries who hasn’t recovered. It looks more like… an assassin scouting the area.”
Xia Lanshi quietly looked at him, his tone certain.
“Looks like you’ve been pretending to have difficulty even standing these past few days.”
“You’re waiting. You’re not recuperating. You’re calculating… calculating how much your body needs to recover before you can leave here silently on your own.”
The room became so quiet that one could hear a pin drop.
A flash of sharp coldness crossed Xiao’s eyes.
Yet Xia Lanshi continued calmly, as though he could feel no pain, dissecting the deepest intention he had concealed.
“Although your shoulder injury has not yet healed, your explosive strength has already recovered by roughly sixty percent. You were able to overpower me in an instant. That means…”
He raised his eyes and looked at Xiao with a mixture of concern and helplessness.
“If you truly want to leave, it won’t be long before no one here can stop you.”
Xiao neither denied nor answered.
Because every word Xia Lanshi had said was exactly true.
These past few days, he really had been silently calculating in his mind.
How much his body had recovered, how many more times he could open a Door, the intervals between patrols within the administrative office, the positions of the hidden guards.
He had even repeatedly simulated the security around the ancient underground Door in his mind.
After another two or three days of recovery, he would be able to disappear from Linbei City completely, and no one would be able to stop him.
At this moment, he was somewhat annoyed with himself.
In a moment of fury, he had actually fallen into a trap.
Xia Lanshi’s deliberately frivolous provocations and humiliations just now had never been for amusement.
He had deliberately provoked Xiao into attacking so that he could test the true limits of his physical condition.
Realizing this, the hostility in Xiao’s eyes gradually faded, replaced by annoyance and a trace of helplessness.
He still did not release the left hand restraining Xia Lanshi’s wrists. Instead, he lowered his body further, bringing his thin lips close to Xia Lanshi’s ear. His voice carried a hint of vicious threat.
“Your methods are truly formidable.”
“You’re too kind. You’re not bad yourself.”
Xia Lanshi tilted his head slightly and blinked innocently. His tone was intimate and ambiguous.
“I just don’t know… with you pressing me down like this, Young Master, are you planning to kill me to silence me, or… do something else?”
“…Stop challenging my patience.”
The words were practically forced through clenched teeth.
Xiao was driven into agitation by his shameless teasing, utterly devoid of the restraint and dignity expected of a scholar.
He stared at Xia Lanshi beneath him.
Snow-white hair lay disheveled across the pillow. His loosened collar revealed a small patch of fair, exquisite collarbone.
Those pale-red eyes were hidden beneath long lashes, carrying a silent, almost provocative invitation.
That wordless tension made the restless turmoil inside him cry out even more fiercely.
His breathing became somewhat ragged, whether because his body was still weak or because of something else, he did not know.
The two remained locked in place for a moment, and the room fell into a silence that almost made the ears ring.
After a short while, Xia Lanshi laughed softly.
“It’s time.”
Footsteps gradually approaching sounded from outside the door.
Xiao immediately released him and stood up, using his left hand to pull Xia Lanshi up from the bed.
Just as Xia Lanshi sat up and was about to straighten his somewhat disheveled Confucian robe—
In that instant—
Xiao suddenly stepped forward.
His left arm roughly pulled Xia Lanshi into his embrace. He lowered his head and fiercely bit the side of Xia Lanshi’s neck where his collar had loosened and exposed his skin from being pinned down earlier.
Xia Lanshi was caught completely off guard.
The warm, sharp sting made him instinctively resist, but Xiao held him tightly in his arms, making it impossible for him to break free.
The footsteps outside drew closer and closer.
Yet Xiao showed no intention of letting go. Instead, almost as though venting his frustration, he gently soothed the tooth-marked wound with the tip of his burning tongue.
The sting and strange tingling sensation exploded simultaneously, causing Xia Lanshi’s body to tremble almost imperceptibly.
His heartbeat accelerated, whether because of such intimate contact or because someone was about to witness them.
Only when the door was about to be pushed open did Xiao finally release him and retreat to the inner side of the bed.
Xia Lanshi hurriedly stood up, pulling his collar closed, smoothing his disheveled robe, and fixing his loosened hair with the greatest speed of his life. His expression instantly returned to its usual calm composure.
Almost at the same time, the door opened.
A guard from Prince Su’s residence entered with his head lowered, carrying a somewhat unusual wooden tray.
On the tray was a small, exquisitely made bamboo basket with a lid, a bowl of finely chopped fresh raw meat, and a pair of bamboo chopsticks.
“Lord Changshi, it’s time for feeding.”
“Leave it there. Go out.”
Xia Lanshi spoke calmly, though his voice sounded faintly hoarse.
He glanced at Xiao with restrained irritation.
The culprit was currently leaning leisurely against the bolster, one hand resting on his knee as he admired Xia Lanshi’s somewhat disheveled, flushed appearance, amusement at having gotten his revenge still lingering in his eyes.
The guard noticed nothing unusual about the atmosphere. He respectfully placed the wooden tray on the small table beside the bed, then bowed and withdrew.
After confirming that the person had left and the door was closed, Xiao finally spoke slowly.
“Lord Changshi, your hairpin is crooked.”
Xia Lanshi raised a hand and touched it.
The jade hairpin was indeed hanging at an angle.
He could not help turning around and giving the culprit a sidelong glance with his slightly reddened eyes.
But remembering that he had been the one to provoke Xiao first, he could only swallow his frustration and silently undo his hairstyle.
As the jade hairpin was removed, his waterfall-like snow-white hair fell freely over his shoulders and down his back.
Under a ray of morning sunlight, it enveloped Xia Lanshi in a soft glow.
His snow-white hair shimmered with the cool luster of powdered jade within the halo of light. Combined with his beautiful, immortal-like face, he was almost妖異 in his beauty, making it impossible to look away.
Leaning against the bolster, Xiao’s gaze was firmly caught by that patch of snow-white hair swaying in the morning light. His Adam’s apple unconsciously moved.
Meeting that overly focused gaze, Xia Lanshi was just about to tie up his long hair again when Xiao suddenly spoke.
His hoarse voice carried a meaningful, frivolous teasing note.
“I’m actually… quite good at arranging hair. If my hand weren’t injured, I could help you put it in.”
The words were spoken slowly and deliberately.
Especially the word “put,” whose final sound he intentionally lowered, carrying an embarrassing ambiguity and suggestion.
The implication was shamelessly obvious.
Xia Lanshi’s fingertips paused slightly.
How could he possibly fail to understand the shamelessness hidden in this man’s words?
His hands did not stop. He deftly gathered his snow-white hair again, inserted the jade hairpin properly, and gave him another displeased glare.
Those pale-red, clear eyes carried seventy percent warning.
Yet as the light in them rippled, it resembled a soft blade that seductively pierced straight into Xiao’s heart.
Xiao glanced at him and was about to look away when he saw Xia Lanshi step forward and reach out to uncover the bamboo basket.
Inside, the basket was lined with a nest of soft dry grass. At its center curled a small snow owl about the size of a palm, looking somewhat sickly.
The moment the little creature saw Xia Lanshi, it immediately flapped its still-incomplete, messy down feathers, opened its enormous beak, and let out a faint, urgent “chirp, chirp,” begging to be fed.
Xia Lanshi picked up the bamboo chopsticks, deftly picked up a small piece of raw meat, and patiently placed it into the little snow owl’s mouth.
Xiao’s gaze lingered on the fluffy, somewhat ugly little creature for a moment before he turned his face away again, his expression unreadable.
Xia Lanshi keenly caught the small movement.
As he continued feeding the chick, he asked, “Although this little fellow is usually very picky and only eats what I feed it… would you like to try feeding it too?”
“No.”
Xiao coldly refused.
Xia Lanshi directly ignored his refusal. He simply picked up the entire wooden tray, sat down beside the bed, and brought the bamboo basket close to him.
“Take it away.”
Xiao frowned and turned his face away again, his resistance obvious.
He was most afraid of touching these young, fragile lives.
Yet Xia Lanshi seemed determined to break through that lifeless shell with which he had enclosed himself in darkness.
He pushed the basket forward again and teasingly asked:
“Isn’t it cute?”
Worn down by him, Xiao could no longer be bothered to argue and gave it a sideways glance.
The little snow owl inside the bamboo basket was still in its chick stage, its entire body covered in down that looked like a messy ball of steel wool.
Its large golden eyes were wide open, while its enormous red beak was stretched open without the slightest trace of dignity. A smear of raw-meat blood even stained the corner of its mouth.
It was not merely unrelated to the words “cute” or “beautiful”—it was actually somewhat comical-looking.
“…Not cute.”
Xiao gave his verdict coldly.
Yet when his dead, ink-black eyes met the little snow owl’s clean, pure golden-yellow pupils, something deep within his heart seemed to be gently touched.
Almost unconsciously, he extended his left hand.
His slender fingers paused in midair for a moment.
Just as his fingertip was about to touch the soft down, his movement suddenly froze.
He looked at his own hand.
What flashed through his mind were countless blood-soaked nights.
This was a hand that had taken countless lives, a hand covered in sin.
How could it possibly deserve to touch such a clean life?
Self-loathing surged over him like a tide.
Xiao gave a self-mocking smile and somewhat dejectedly prepared to withdraw his hand.
Who could have expected that the little snow owl, which looked like a ball of steel wool, would be so impatient?
Seeing something moving before it, it suddenly stretched out its neck.
With a sharp “snap,” its large red beak precisely bit down on the tip of Xiao’s withdrawing index finger.
The chick’s beak was not sharp. The bite only caused a faint dull ache, but it left Xiao completely stunned.
He stared at the little creature that was stubbornly biting his finger while glaring up at him provocatively with its golden eyes.
Deep within his heart, where deathly silence had reigned for so long, a rare trace of amusement unexpectedly surfaced.
“So weak… yet quite fierce.”
Looking at it, the corners of Xiao’s lips lifted gently for the first time since he had entered the room.
Then, as though remembering something, he softly added:
“Just like someone.”
Xia Lanshi pretended not to hear the indirect insult.
He lightly poked the little snow owl’s rump with the chopsticks, making it release his finger, then calmly continued feeding it.
The room fell quiet for a while, leaving only the faint smacking sounds of the little snow owl swallowing its raw meat.
After a long time, amid this rare peace and warmth, Xiao finally spoke first.
“No name?”
“Not yet.”
Xia Lanshi set down the chopsticks but did not immediately call the guard in to take the bird away.
He looked at Xiao, his expression gradually becoming serious and profound.
Then he slowly took a letter from within his wide sleeve.
It had been carefully preserved, but had never been sealed.
He held it out before Xiao.
“Originally… I intended to write you a letter and ask you its name.”
Xia Lanshi’s voice was soft, almost like a sigh.
Xiao took the letter.
When he saw the unsealed edge, his eyes trembled faintly.
In that instant, he understood everything.
It turned out that in this world, he was not the only one who had left behind an unfinished letter on that snowy night when he thought he would never see another tomorrow.
In his unfinished letter, the last thing he had wanted to ask was whether Xia Lanshi had named the little snow owl.
And in the letter Xia Lanshi had sent to the other world, he had written that he wanted to ask Xiao for its name.
Two people, in different worlds and different times, had somehow shared the same unspoken understanding and the same regret.
Xiao fell into a long silence.
He lowered his eyes and looked at the faint red mark left on his fingertip by the little bird’s bite.
What surged through his mind was the endless regret he had felt that day, lying in the cold snow as his soul was about to dissipate.
At the time, he had thought everything was over.
Now the sky had brightened, and he had survived.
And the person before him was giving him, with all the patience he possessed, another chance to speak the regret that had never been voiced.
The inner room was so quiet that only their breathing could be heard.
After a long while, Xiao slowly raised his head and looked into Xia Lanshi’s clear, unchanged red eyes.
In a tone that was almost one of surrender yet utterly serious, he softly said:
“…If the little snow owl hasn’t been named yet, how about calling it ‘Snow Night’?”
The moment he heard those two words, Xia Lanshi’s eyes widened slightly.
Snow Night.
It referred to the snowy night when the two of them reunited in the northern border of Dasheng, the night when they had nearly been separated by life and death.
But to Xia Lanshi, those two words also struck directly against the snowstorm-filled night when he was ten years old—the night that had changed the course of his entire life.
The cause of the past, the fruit of today.
At this moment, through the ugly yet fierce little snow owl, the two had miraculously overlapped.
Xia Lanshi looked at Xiao, and the trace of coolness in his eyes completely melted like spring water.
He smiled.
His reply was so warm and gentle that it seemed capable of melting all the frost in the northern border.
“Snow Night. That’s a very good name.”
The little snow owl tilted its head and gave a tiny chirp.
As though responding to its new name.
Xia Lanshi covered the bamboo basket and, while arranging the wooden tray, casually said:
“Snow owls have a particular habit.”
“…What?”
“Once they recognize someone, they stay with that person until death, faithful for their entire lives.”
Upon hearing this, Xiao fell silent again.
The weight and heat behind those words left him not knowing how to respond, unwilling to respond, and unable to respond.
His mind uncontrollably filled with countless memories.
The blood he wanted to forget but could never forget.
If he had been the person he once was, if he had merely been an ordinary man, he would certainly have been able to answer without hesitation.
But now…
Xia Lanshi looked at his lowered eyes and his quiet profile, which was filled with resistance and helplessness.
He sighed silently in his heart.
He picked up the wooden tray containing Snow Night and prepared to leave.
“Rest well.”
He walked several steps, but stopped beside the screen without turning back.
His white lashes lowered, and his voice carried a hint of sadness.
“I don’t want to lock you up with chains, because your entire life… has already been deprived of enough freedom.”
“However, I hope you will at least consider not leaving without saying goodbye.”
He paused for a moment before speaking softly.
“That way… His Highness, Doctor Su, and I would all be saddened.”
After saying this, he did not linger any longer and walked out of the room.
Xiao watched his departing figure.
Beside his hand, he happened to touch the letter Xia Lanshi had just given him.
He did not know how to respond to Xia Lanshi’s heavy feelings.
Nor did he know what to do with this letter.
Leaving seemed like the best choice.
He should make amends for the mistakes he had committed.
He should abandon the obsession in his heart.
He should…
That voice echoed through his mind once again—
“Failed again.”
His fingertips tightened slightly.
His gaze darkened once more.
Xiao lowered his eyes and stared at the letter for a long time.
In the end, he tucked it beneath the bolster, together with the moon-white handkerchief.
As though by doing so, he would not have to see it.