Rain pattered against the eaves as Xiao Chiye said he wasn’t tired—but he still drifted off mid-murmur.
His time to rest with the Second Battalion was tight. Because Luoshan lay close to Duanzhou and the horse roads were clear, he could only barely make it back to sleep beside Lan Zhou for a while.
In the latter half of the night, distant spring thunder rolled. The rain grew heavier. Xiao Chiye had things weighing on his mind and woke at the hour of Yin. Shen Zechuan was nestled against his temple, breathing evenly, fast asleep. Xiao Chiye listened to that steady breathing for a while and, for no reason he could name, felt a flicker of dissatisfaction.
Shen Zechuan stirred halfway awake and let out a soft hum. He liked to drag out that nasal sound—each time it was impossible to tell whether it meant pain or pleasure. Xiao Chiye bit him, making him sway faintly with short, quick breaths.
“Don’t bite…” Shen Zechuan’s voice was hoarse with sleep. His eyes didn’t open as he murmured indistinctly, “It’s red.”
It really was red.
Shen Zechuan woke a little more, pinned down with nowhere to escape, bearing the force like someone caught in a downpour. There was no distance between them. Sweat spread across his chest, dampening even the bedding.
Xiao Chiye lowered his head, pressing his ear close to Lan Zhou’s lips.
Shen Zechuan was about to lose himself. In that humid, clinging atmosphere, he knew exactly what Xiao Chiye wanted to hear. His voice, thick with that soft nasal tone, murmured words of love—his eyes glazed with emotion, trembling and breaking apart in the rhythm of the rising tide.
The downside of being so in sync was that even a brief separation would stir up a storm. They had to fill the gaps of parting with pleasure to feel whole again.
Xiao Chiye wanted more.
And more.
“Mmm—”
Shen Zechuan couldn’t hold it back. His damp neck tilted slightly upward—that fragile posture of someone yielding.
Amid the noisy rain, a figure in a straw cloak approached under the eaves. When the door sounded, Shen Zechuan lifted a hand to grab the curtain—but his wrist was caught midair. Xiao Chiye held it fast, his sun-darkened arm strong as it pinned him in place.
The person outside waited a moment, then knocked again.
Shen Zechuan forced out, haltingly, “Not… not Fei—”
Xiao Chiye didn’t care who stood at the door. He wanted—he would take. Only he could see, could bite, could make Lan Zhou beg under his strength.
Their breaths tangled.
“Chuan’er? It’s already a quarter past Mao! Chengfeng’s heading out to check the fields—are you going? If you are, I’ll have your cloak ready. Drink some soup first before you go.”
Ji Gang rose early. He had already finished several sets of boxing and came over carrying soup.
Xiao Chiye hissed in annoyance, pushing aside what didn’t matter and tightening his hold on Lan Zhou.
Too deep.
Shen Zechuan mouthed silently.
A-Ye, too—
He turned his head, burying his heavy breaths into the bedding, hiding them beneath the sound of rain.
Xiao Chiye was breathing hard too. In those low, heavy breaths, he let out a dangerous laugh and didn’t stop, watching the flushed redness along Lan Zhou’s neck.
This is going to kill me.
Xiao Chiye thought maliciously.
The sense of possession thrilled him.
Ji Gang heard no response and turned to ask Fei Sheng, “What time did your master sleep last night?”
Fei Sheng thought, That’s not something I can exactly say… He held an umbrella over Ji Gang’s birdcage and replied, “Pretty late… Mister Yu just came back these days, so they were discussing affairs of the six prefectures.”
“Didn’t he retire early yesterday?” Ji Gang worried Shen Zechuan might fall ill in the spring rain. “Youjing’s back this time and will stay until the rain stops. No need to rush official business.”
“That’s right,” Fei Sheng echoed. “Master, you understand best.”
All Fei Sheng wanted was to get Ji Gang out of the courtyard quickly. The Second Young Master was still inside—if they ran into each other, it would be a disaster. He lifted the birdcage and said, “Master, this bird doesn’t look too lively. Could it be cold?”
“Full and sleepy. Same as Ding Tao’s sparrow,” Ji Gang said. But with no answer from Shen Zechuan, his worry deepened. “There’s no one inside attending him either.”
“How about I escort you to the side hall? We can have some hot tea. Master should wake soon.”
Ji Gang took back the birdcage, hands behind his back, and said, “I can’t sit still. I’ll go check on Yuan Zhuo. The medicine’s still brewing. When Chuan’er wakes, ask if he’s going out. With rain this heavy, I have to go along.”
Fei Sheng agreed repeatedly, bowing as he escorted Ji Gang down the corridor. Only after seeing him leave did he hurry back, lifting his robe and whispering at the door, “Second Young Master, it’s already the third quarter of Mao. The gentlemen will be here at Chen hour—our master—”
The door suddenly slid open.
Xiao Chiye stood there in a loosely draped robe, his neck still marked with fading red, sweat not yet gone.
Fei Sheng didn’t dare look directly. He stepped back at once and bowed. “Greetings, Second Young Master!”
Xiao Chiye casually picked up a warm cloth and wiped the sweat from his neck. “You’re urging him at Mao hour? Your master sleeps late and lightly—can he handle you tossing him around like this?”
Fei Sheng quickly agreed, “Second Young Master is thoughtful!”
Xiao Chiye tossed the cloth back onto the tray. Just as he was about to speak again, he suddenly saw Ji Gang—who had just left—returning the same way, already at the corridor’s end, staring straight at them.
Fei Sheng turned and saw him. Oh no.
Ji Gang strode forward. Seeing his ashen face, Fei Sheng hesitated—retreat or stand his ground? With Xiao Chiye watching, he forced himself to step forward, blocking Ji Gang with a strained smile.
“Master, did you forget something? You could’ve just sent someone—why come back yourself in such heavy rain?”
Ji Gang couldn’t get around him. Grabbing Fei Sheng by the collar, he flung the taller man aside.
“Master…” Xiao Chiye began.
“I am not your master!” Ji Gang roared.
His hands trembled as he looked at Xiao Chiye’s disheveled state. He staggered back half a step, pointing at him. “How dare you—how dare you!”
He had already sensed something wrong during the flogging last time, but he had refused to think those thoughts about Shen Zechuan. He had comforted himself again and again. Yet now the truth struck him head-on.
That was Shen Zechuan!
Rain soaked Ji Gang’s back. Absurdity and fury surged together. His ears rang as if someone had slapped him. He staggered again. Fei Sheng tried to steady him, but Ji Gang shook him off and shouted, “You knew? Did you know?!”
Fei Sheng forced a smile. “I…”
Ji Gang hurled the birdcage to the ground. The bird panicked inside, flapping wildly as the cage rolled down the steps.
His fists trembled, but his strength remained fierce. When he struck, the force cut through the air, leaving a metallic taste of blood in Xiao Chiye’s mouth. Fei Sheng rushed forward, grabbing Ji Gang’s arm. “Master, please calm down!”
Rain crashed loudly.
Xiao Chiye pressed his tongue against the blood and said, “If Master wants to beat me, I’ll take it. If Master wants me to kneel, I’ll kneel. But if Master still plans to find Lan Zhou a match, no one can make that happen.”
Ji Gang had been hinting about marriage this year, cautiously searching for suitable girls in Cizhou. Shen Zechuan never agreed—only said he already had someone attentive by his side. Ji Gang hadn’t seen this “attentive person” and thought it was an excuse.
He never imagined there really was one.
“You bastard…” Ji Gang trembled with rage. “I’ll beat you to death, you bastard!”