The meeting had just ended, and everyone was about to disperse.
Su Muchen had intended to leave with Xiao Yuan.
Then he heard Xiao’s voice from behind him. “Mu’an, come with me to the South Courtyard.”
“Okay, coming.”
He answered instinctively, then turned to Xiao Yuan beside him and said, “I’ll go over and take a look first. I’ll come find you later.”
With that, he followed Xiao toward the South Courtyard.
His steps were hurried, and he never looked back.
Naturally, he failed to notice the deep gaze behind him that suddenly darkened.
Xiao Yuan stood where he was, watching the two figures disappear side by side around the corner of the corridor.
His eyes darkened slightly. His thin lips pressed almost imperceptibly into a hard, straight line, and the air around him silently grew several degrees colder.
Chi Banyue and Xia Lanshi, who had yet to leave, keenly sensed something.
The two exchanged a knowing glance, then very tacitly found excuses of their own.
Even their footsteps were deliberately lightened as they quietly and swiftly left the main courtyard.
◆◇◆◇◆
South Courtyard, Xiao’s residence.
This had originally been nothing more than a quiet guest room. Now, antique low cabinets and bookshelves had been added.
Several sketches covered in numerical annotations were scattered across the desk, while a wooden clothes rack and folding screen stood in the corner.
More paintings had appeared on the walls, depicting the landscapes of Jiangnan.
The entire space had begun to acquire warmth, bearing the traces of someone who had made it their home, filling it with the atmosphere of everyday life.
“What is it?”
Su Muchen withdrew his gaze and sat down on a wooden chair nearby.
Xiao walked to the desk, pulled out a blank sheet of paper, and immediately began writing without looking up.
“When you return to Guichen Studio, bring me some things.”
Seeing what he was doing, Su Muchen instinctively said, “Just to be clear, no sniper rifle.”
Xiao’s pen paused.
He gave a soft laugh, but did not stop writing. “I didn’t ask you to bring that. Just some personal belongings.”
Hearing this, Su Muchen looked at Xiao’s profile as he wrote, but his heart sank.
He heard the implication in those words—Xiao truly intended to remain in Dasheng for a long time.
“You…” Su Muchen hesitated, worry appearing between his brows. “Is it really okay for you to stay here that long?”
He knew all too well the price of the Gate’s backlash.
He also understood what kind of erosion Xiao’s body would suffer if he forcibly remained behind.
Xiao’s hand paused slightly, but he quickly continued writing, his tone as indifferent as if he were talking about someone else.
“There’s no point asking whether it’s good or not. The Gate can’t be opened for the time being anyway.”
Su Muchen’s brows furrowed even more deeply. “Has anything like this ever happened before?”
“No.”
Xiao stopped writing and looked past the wooden window frame toward the vast, gray-white horizon of the Northern Frontier.
“Maybe…the Gate wants me to stay.”
He turned his head and took in Su Muchen’s worried expression. Instead, he gave a soft laugh.
“Don’t make that face.” His expression was calm, the peace in his eyes that of someone who had weathered countless storms. “Sometimes, how you live matters more. At least right now, I’d say I’m doing pretty well.”
Su Muchen fell into a long silence.
Looking at Xiao, he did not know why he suddenly thought of those years during his medical-school internship.
He thought of the critically ill patients with tubes running all over their bodies, relying on cold machines to stay alive.
He thought of the countless nights when family members wept quietly in the corridors.
Some people were technically “alive,” yet had lost their freedom and dignity.
All that remained was the faint rise and fall on the EEG monitor.
They had lost the right to choose how they would leave, forced to remain trapped inside their own bodies.
Sometimes, simply “being alive” was not the only answer.
Perhaps Xiao had understood this long ago.
Perhaps he had thought it through earlier and more thoroughly than even Su Muchen, a doctor, had.
At that moment, Su Muchen suddenly understood.
He understood—and yet his chest ached faintly because of it.
“If this is your choice,” he took a deep breath, his voice gentle yet firm, “then I respect it. As long as you feel you’re living well right now, that’s enough.”
Xiao did not answer. He merely lowered his eyes and silently continued writing the list.
“So what…are you planning to do now?” Su Muchen asked again.
On the surface, Xiao looked perfectly fine.
But in the past, he had also appeared to have no problems at all, until that incident.
Su Muchen secretly swore that this time, he would never again be fooled by Xiao’s seemingly carefree facade. He had to find out exactly how he was doing.
Xiao was silent for a while.
It seemed that even he was still groping for an answer through the fog of fate.
In the end, he gave an answer that sounded casual, yet was utterly genuine.
“Take it one step at a time.”
In the past, he had exhausted himself calculating every possible variable, yet had still been unable to withstand fate’s cruel tricks.
This time, he truly did not know what the future would bring. All he could do was wait and see.
“There are too many variables. There’s no way to calculate them. I can only do as much as I can with what’s in front of me.”
Su Muchen nodded.
Then he cautiously asked, “And lately…how have you been feeling?”
He was still worried that Xiao might be harboring those dark thoughts.
After all, Xiao was too good at enduring things and too good at pretending.
Normally, even Su Muchen could not detect anything wrong.
Xiao lowered his gaze to the list, as though weighing something.
After a moment of silence, he finally stopped writing and said flatly, “…Good sometimes, bad sometimes.”
He turned his head and looked at Su Muchen.
Those eyes, deep as a cold pool, still held an unshakable gloom.
He gave a bitter smile and mocked himself. “A Gatekeeper really ought to be heartless. Once you have a heart, the scales of justice will tilt, and you’ll lose yourself.”
In the past, he had sneered at the Gatekeeper’s teachings.
Now, looking back, he realized they were merely the accumulated experience of his ancestors.
Only by using the coldest, most ruthless, most efficient methods could one maintain the “balance of cause and effect,” without allowing personal feelings to interfere.
But that did not mean he approved of it.
Once you had a heart, the purpose behind every action was no longer pure.
Perhaps from the moment he rescued Xia Lanshi, the scales had already become unbalanced.
But he had never regretted it.
Su Muchen wanted to say something, but he only opened his mouth before swallowing the words back down.
He had no way to judge.
After all, he was not a Gatekeeper.
He did not know whether those things were right or wrong.
Perhaps they were both right and wrong.
After thousands upon thousands of years, no one still knew whether the Gate itself was good or evil.
Seeing Su Muchen’s tangled brows and worried expression, Xiao could not help giving a bitter smile.
“Don’t look at me like that every time you see me. You make it seem like I’m about to die.”
He felt that Su Muchen was too simple and not good at hiding his thoughts. Almost everything was written plainly across his face.
“…I’m not.”
Su Muchen said it, but his voice was so weak that even he could not convince himself.
Then he sighed softly before saying, “Just think of it as my occupational habit.”
“Do your patients then have to comfort you in return? ‘Doctor, I’m not even sad. Why do you look sadder than I do?’”
Xiao could not resist teasing him.
Hearing that familiar teasing tone after so long, Su Muchen could not help smiling.
Xiao handed him the completed list.
Su Muchen took it and habitually scanned it from top to bottom, checking for anything prohibited.
Instead, he found that the densely written list consisted entirely of the most ordinary daily necessities.
Red cord, pillow, bath towel, toiletries, pill organizer, Swiss Army knife, notebook, pencil case, nail clippers, thermos, lighter, hair wax, lip balm, artificial tears, razor, dental floss, perfume, disinfectant wipes, eyeglass repair kit…
Looking at those words filled with the atmosphere of ordinary life, the tension in Su Muchen’s nerves suddenly eased.
It was as though all those heavy worries had been diluted somewhat by this thoroughly human list.
“What is the red cord for?” Su Muchen asked in confusion.
“For braiding things. Get a thin one, the durable kind,” Xiao replied.
Su Muchen nodded.
As long as it wasn’t for strangling someone.
“Everything is in my apartment, in my room. There are spare supplies in the small storage room. If you can’t find something, ask Qianqian. Take more consumables. If anything is missing, use my card to buy it.” Xiao carefully gave his instructions. “Also, have Ningning prepare a combat pack for me. She knows what to put in it.”
“Okay, leave it to me.”
“And…”
Xiao paused, his expression becoming more serious.
“The cabinet beside the computer desk. Open the top drawer. There’s a black metal box inside. Bring that over for me too.”
He stared into Su Muchen’s eyes and deliberately added, “Don’t open it.”
“Got it.” Su Muchen carefully folded the list and tucked it safely into his clothes, then joked with a smile, “Respecting personal privacy. I absolutely won’t look.”
◇◆◇◆◇
By the time Su Muchen left the South Courtyard, dusk had settled in.
Thinking that he should let Xiao Yuan know before returning to Guichen Studio, Su Muchen headed to the main courtyard study.
When the guards outside saw that it was Doctor Su, they respectfully opened the door for him.
Warm yellow lamplight filled the study.
Xiao Yuan stood before the desk, his eyes lowered as he studied the map of the Northern Frontier spread across the table.
Hearing the familiar footsteps, he did not look up. He did not change his posture in the slightest.
“Jingyuan.”
Su Muchen approached with a smile, intending to say that he would be returning first, but his footsteps slowed slightly when his gaze fell on Xiao Yuan.
The man’s expression looked no different from usual, still calm and deep.
Yet because he knew this man so intimately, Su Muchen keenly sensed something was wrong.
He could not say exactly what it was, but Xiao Yuan’s silence at this moment carried a subtle sense of restraint.
He immediately hurried forward and looked Xiao Yuan up and down.
Then, naturally, he raised a hand and pressed the back of it against Xiao Yuan’s forehead, confirming that his temperature was normal and that he had no fever.
Xiao Yuan noticed his concern, and a faint glimmer passed through his eyes.
He took Su Muchen’s hand down and gently enclosed that cool hand within his own warm palm, the corner of his lips curving into a faint smile.
“I’m fine,” he said.
Yet Su Muchen’s tightly furrowed brows did not relax.
“You people all love saying ‘I’m fine’ or ‘It’s nothing.’ In the end, every single one of you just keeps forcing yourselves until you collapse.”
There was helplessness and heartache in his voice.
Whether it was Xiao Yuan, Xiao, or Xia Lanshi, all of them were accustomed to enduring things in silence and saying nothing, which only made Su Muchen worry more.
They were making him so paranoid that he had to watch their expressions all day.
Xiao Yuan did not argue, because it was indeed true.
His thumb gently rubbed over Su Muchen’s knuckles. His gaze lowered slightly, as though he were weighing something in his heart.
Only when he met Su Muchen’s probing gaze did he finally speak, his voice as light as a sigh.
“Today, you trusted Xiao very much.”
The words fell softly, without the slightest edge of accusation, as though they were merely casual conversation.
Yet Su Muchen paused slightly.
He nodded frankly. “Mm. He’s very capable, and his mind is clear. For many things, he’s the safest person to entrust them to.”
There was genuine admiration in his tone, the kind of trust and tacit understanding forged through years of standing side by side in battle.
Xiao Yuan nodded, his expression unchanged.
“Indeed. Without him, the problems I face now would be far more numerous.”
He spoke with complete objectivity and fairness, without the slightest trace of personal emotion.
Now Su Muchen was even more confused about where the problem lay.
Before he could think further, Xiao Yuan’s voice sounded again.
“The first time you opened the Gate…”
He released Su Muchen’s hand and looked at the map, his voice steady and utterly devoid of fluctuation, as though he were merely stating a documented historical fact.
“It was for him.”
The air in the study froze for several seconds.
Su Muchen looked up at Xiao Yuan’s profile.
Under the warm lamplight, those features were as handsome and sharp as ever.
His expression was too calm—so calm that it was impossible to see what kind of turbulence lay beneath it.
But in those usually unfathomable dark eyes, there was now the faint stirring of an unfamiliar emotion called loneliness.
What he said was indeed true.
That time, Xiao had been gravely wounded and on the verge of death. It was the first time Su Muchen had truly sensed the passage between the two worlds, and he had opened the Gate with a determination even he had never anticipated.
Su Muchen finally caught the source of that subtle wrongness and hurriedly explained, “The circumstances were special then. He was seriously injured, and—”
“I know.”
Xiao Yuan interrupted him gently.
“He was worth it. If it had been me, I would have done the same.”
That perfectly reasonable statement was like four ounces deflecting a thousand pounds, instantly blocking every explanation Su Muchen had prepared.
Xiao Yuan was being too magnanimous.
Too perfect.
And precisely because of that, Su Muchen became increasingly uneasy, feeling as though perhaps he had done something wrong.
His mind raced as he connected every sentence Xiao Yuan had spoken tonight.
From “trust,” to “the first time you opened the Gate,” to “for him.”
In the end, an answer that was somewhat absurd yet utterly reasonable surfaced.
He leaned slightly closer, carefully examining Xiao Yuan’s eyes again, and tentatively asked, “Jingyuan, are you…jealous?”
Xiao Yuan’s fingers stiffened slightly.
He remained silent for a moment, then shifted his gaze away from Su Muchen’s face. His thin lips pressed tightly together.
“I am not.”
“…”
Su Muchen grumbled inwardly: The sourness is practically flooding the study, and you’re still saying you’re not jealous.
But instead of feeling angry, he found it strangely adorable that His Highness the Prince could be so stubbornly in denial.
Suppressing his laughter, he nodded with exaggerated seriousness.
“Good. You’re not jealous. Then we’re done talking. I’m going back to Guichen Studio.”
With that, he made as though to pull his hand away and turn around.
Xiao Yuan caught him with his other hand and stared at him for a long while.
A trace of helpless surrender flashed through those deep eyes.
In the end, he quietly admitted, “…A little.”
He lowered his lashes and looked deeply at Su Muchen. His originally low voice carried a hint of hoarseness.
“I know I shouldn’t compare myself to him. He is your closest family, and he once risked his life to save you.”
He paused, as though painfully dissecting his own feelings.
“It’s just…when I saw you trust someone so completely, I…I envied him a little.”
It was not arrogant possessiveness.
It was simply envy.
Envy that there was someone else who had entered Su Muchen’s life earlier and more deeply than he had, someone who had received that unconditional trust.
The word “envy” coming from Xiao Yuan’s mouth was harder for Su Muchen to withstand than any overt declaration of love.
This was a man who fought for power and position, accustomed to using strategy to obtain everything he wanted.
And for the first time, he was admitting that there was something he wanted that could not be won through calculation.
Su Muchen’s heart was struck hard, bitterness and tenderness slowly spreading through his chest.
The man before him, usually as steady as a mountain, was now using the most rational tone to say the most aggrieved words.
He put aside his teasing and clasped Xiao Yuan’s hand more firmly, his gaze focused and earnest.
“I trust Xiao because we’ve been through so many things together. And because of our blood connection, he’s like family to me.”
He paused, his voice softening.
“Xiao is sick. As his doctor and his family, naturally I’ll care about him more and be more tolerant of him. If that boundary makes you uncomfortable, then I apologize.”
“It’s not your fault. You don’t need to apologize.”
Xiao Yuan clasped his hand in return, a trace of self-mockery in his voice.
“It’s because I’m not broad-minded enough. That’s my fault.”
But Su Muchen shook his head, his gaze gentle and accepting.
“You’re human. And as long as you’re human, you’ll have emotions and desires. Having these feelings is perfectly normal. If you have any thoughts in the future, you can just tell me directly. We can communicate with each other.”
The study fell silent for a moment.
Xiao Yuan suddenly released his hand and took the exquisite pocket watch from inside his robes, gently placing it on the desk.
It was the one Su Muchen had given him.
His long, well-defined fingers rested on the watch face, his fingertip gently rubbing the cold metal edge as though it were some priceless treasure.
“I’m actually very easy to satisfy,” he said quietly.
Xiao Yuan lowered his eyes to the second hand ticking steadily around the watch face, his deep voice slow and soft.
“You give me something, and I’ll carry it close to me every day, treasuring it dearly.”
His gaze never left the pocket watch. His voice was faintly plaintive.
“It’s just that I suddenly remembered…in your world, it seems I’m always…second.”
The lamplight in the study burned softly, occasionally flickering.
There was not a single complaint, not a single accusation.
He was merely calmly stating what he believed to be an “obvious” fact.
Yet those words, delivered without the slightest hint of aggression, struck precisely at the softest place in Su Muchen’s heart, making it ache.
Seeing a prince who commanded great armies wearing such an expression made his heart both sour and soft, while also making him want to laugh.
He took the initiative to step forward, caught Xiao Yuan’s hand, and leaned most of his weight against Xiao Yuan’s chest.
The tips of Su Muchen’s ears slowly grew hot, but he still held Xiao Yuan’s gaze without looking away.
“I trust you without reservation, too.”
As he spoke, he leaned closer to Xiao Yuan’s ear.
His warm breath brushed against Xiao Yuan’s neck, and even he could hear the slight tremor he could not hide from his voice.
“And…I don’t want to hold his hand. I don’t want to hug or kiss him. And I certainly wouldn’t be…as close to him as I am now…”
He paused, the rims of his ears already burning as though they might drip blood.
“…this close.”
After saying something so embarrassing, he still forced himself not to retreat.
Xiao Yuan’s body suddenly stiffened.
The next second, something that had been dormant for a long time seemed to awaken in those dark eyes that had carried a trace of loneliness.
The wounded expression vanished from the depths of his gaze, replaced by something dangerously intense and fervent, highly aggressive in a way that seemed even hotter than the lamplight on the desk.
“Is that so?”
Xiao Yuan’s long arm swept around him, locking Su Muchen tightly in his embrace with irresistible force.
His low, hoarse voice carried the pleased tenderness of someone who had gotten exactly what he wanted.
“Then tonight, Doctor Su had better explain it clearly to me—from which step onward, exactly, did I become first?”
Trapped in his arms, Su Muchen’s face heated completely at the teasing, slightly shameless remark.
He raised his head and met Xiao Yuan’s smiling yet unfathomable eyes.
Unbidden, Xiao’s words flashed through his mind:
“Now I finally understand why the Gate Keys throughout history were so easily carried off by others.”
But when he saw that trace of lingering concern deep in Xiao Yuan’s eyes, his heart still softened helplessly into a pool of spring water.
He stopped thinking.
“From…”
Su Muchen’s lashes trembled slightly, his voice as soft as a murmur.
He took a deep breath, as though making some momentous decision.
Those hands that could remain steady even when handling medical instruments in the face of the most critical situations were now trembling with nerves as they gripped the front of Xiao Yuan’s robe, wrinkling the smooth fabric.
Then he tilted his head slightly upward.
Under Xiao Yuan’s slightly stunned gaze, he closed his eyes and, with a hint of youthful awkwardness, took the initiative to press his soft lips lightly against Xiao Yuan’s.
It was an extremely light, extremely gentle kiss.
There was no forceful taking, no urgent demand.
Only pure and direct reassurance.
There was even the faintest tremble born of embarrassment.
It lasted only an instant.
Su Muchen quickly pulled back half an inch, his entire face and neck flushed crimson.
He did not dare look at Xiao Yuan’s expression. Instead, he lowered his head and buried it against that broad, solid chest, then used a voice only the two of them could hear to earnestly finish what he had left unsaid.
“From this step onward…you’re first. And you’re the only one.”
Xiao Yuan’s gaze suddenly darkened.
He had never expected to receive such an excessively obedient and direct surprise.
His Adam’s apple moved with difficulty, and the arm around Su Muchen’s waist suddenly tightened.
The desire that had been stirred and the tenderness filling his heart collided violently, throwing his reason into complete disarray.
How could this person be like this?
Always so easily stirring his desire.
Always shattering the restraint he was so proud of.
But in the end, he only let out a soft sigh, lowered his head, and rested his chin lightly against Su Muchen’s soft hair.
His palm moved slowly along the other’s back, again and again, soothing him.
The study fell quiet once more.
Outside the window, the night was deep and silent.
Inside, the lamplight flickered gently, warmth filling the room.
The two embraced quietly for a while.
Leaning against Xiao Yuan’s broad shoulder, Su Muchen suddenly spoke softly.
“Actually.”
Xiao Yuan lowered his head slightly to look at him.
“There’s always been something about you that Xiao envies.”
Xiao Yuan paused slightly.
“What?”
Su Muchen lifted his head slightly from his embrace and looked into his eyes.
A trace of pity appeared in those clear eyes, a sigh for Xiao’s fate.
“As a Gatekeeper…from the moment he was chosen, so many things had already been forcibly given up…”
Su Muchen’s voice gradually lowered, filled with unmistakable sorrow.
Much of the tolerance he now showed Xiao came from his sympathy and guilt toward that fate.
The study once again fell into a long silence.
Xiao Yuan remained silent.
Suddenly, Xiao’s eyes flashed through his mind—the eyes that were always cold and expressionless, as though nothing in the world could truly matter to him.
He had once thought that was the arrogance and confidence of the strong.
Only later did he truly understand.
It was the desolation left behind after cruel fate had repeatedly ground him down and stripped things away from him, forcing him to abandon the emotions of an ordinary person.
That man did not even have the right to hope for a “future.”
Faced with such a cruel, predetermined fate, the faint sourness and comparisons of gain and loss that had occupied his heart moments ago suddenly seemed insignificant.
Xiao Yuan’s arms tightened again, pulling Su Muchen a little closer.
But this time there was no trace of aggression.
He simply wanted to give the person in his arms the most solid warmth and support, to let him know that no matter what happened, he was here.
“I truly am much luckier than he is.”
The deep voice had completely shed all calculation, leaving behind only endless gratitude and remorse.
“I’m sorry. From now on, I won’t ever make things difficult for you over this again.”
He gently pulled Su Muchen slightly away, allowing their eyes to meet without obstruction.
“You, Huaiyu, Xiao, and Banyue are all important to me.”
Xiao Yuan looked into his eyes and spoke each word with absolute certainty.
“I trust you all, too. You won’t sell me out.”
Hearing this, Su Muchen first froze slightly, then could not help laughing softly.
Wasn’t this exactly what he had said to everyone during today’s meeting?
In truth, Xiao Yuan did not need to explain any of this to him.
He had always understood.
In the past, Xiao Yuan had once been seriously wounded, yet had still ridden recklessly to rescue Xia Lanshi.
Just a few days ago, Xiao Yuan had asked no questions. He had personally led his guards and taken Su Muchen to pull Xiao back from the gates of death.
This man usually spoke very little and kept his thoughts deeply hidden.
But he had long since used one action after another to prove how much he valued this bond that was like family.
He held the same determination to cherish them and accompany them even at the cost of his own life.