“That makes it even more necessary to take it off.”
Xiao Chiye undid his own arm guards and set them, together with his cloak and outer robe, on the wooden rack beneath the eaves. Soldiers from the drill ground’s inner hall moved to salute him; he raised a hand to stop them, then turned back, unhurried, to look at Shen Zechuan. “Perfect timing. Let me see just how the body tempered by the Ji family’s inner method differs from mine.”
“Since we’re from the same school,” Shen Zechuan said, setting the Wolf Fury Blade to one side, “the forms are naturally the same.”
“Not necessarily,” Xiao Chiye replied. “My master blended in external boxing. By the time it reached me, it had already diverged greatly from Ji family boxing. If it were truly identical, you wouldn’t have been completely unaware that night.”
“If you want instruction, just say so.” Shen Zechuan’s feet slid, tracing an arc. “Why talk about taking clothes off? You sound like a beast.”
In that instant, Xiao Chiye felt as though Shen Zechuan had become someone else entirely. Rain overlapped with mountain mist, blurring Shen Zechuan’s features, making his long, lean figure all the more striking.
“My lifelong ambition is to be a beast in fine clothes,” Xiao Chiye said as he stepped down the stairs and into the curtain of rain. “Five years ago I kicked you—do you hate me for it?”
“If I said I did,” Shen Zechuan answered, “wouldn’t that mean I toss and turn thinking about you? I don’t hate you. Not at all.”
Xiao Chiye spread his stance. “What a pity. If you hated me, you could take revenge today.”
The cold wind howled. Xiao Chiye added slowly, “—if you’re capable.”
Rain drummed down, leaping wildly. Beneath the eaves, wings seemed to unfurl in an instant. In that moment, Xiao Chiye in the rain sprang forward first.
His punch struck empty air, yet the sheer force sent water droplets splashing across Shen Zechuan’s cheek.
Xiao Chiye missed again and swept left. Shen Zechuan chopped in to block. When their forearms collided, pain flashed through Shen Zechuan; he frowned and retreated several steps.
Ji family boxing!
Shen Zechuan pressed his lips together—then smiled.
His master’s boxing was steady and solid. Xiao Er was clearly less steady, but far more ferocious. His power was astonishing; even such a brief clash had already numbed Shen Zechuan’s arm.
Ji family boxing was meant for someone like this—body and method perfectly matched. Xiao Chiye’s physique granted him the right to look down on all others. But did winning the lottery of Heaven truly decide victory?
What Shen Zechuan trusted least was fate bestowed by Heaven!
Shen Zechuan launched a midair kick. Rain burst outward, splashing toward Xiao Chiye. The sweeping leg was fast and ruthless; an ordinary man would have avoided the edge, yielded first.
But Xiao Chiye met it head-on. He raised his arm to block—bang—catching Shen Zechuan’s leg, then stepped forward, rock-steady.
It was too late for Shen Zechuan to retract. Facing Xiao Chiye was like facing a tiger or leopard coiled to strike: the instant your resolve wavered, your gaze flickered, your move dodged, Xiao Chiye would surge forward with relentless offense, never missing a chance to strike.
It was far easier to deal with Xiao Chiye on defense than on offense!
Shen Zechuan suddenly drove down through his planted foot, forcing Xiao Chiye to slow. In a flash, Xiao Chiye heaved him into the air. Shen Zechuan arched back, braced with both arms, then snapped upright—supple as a willow in the wind—and as he rebounded, swept his leg again.
Xiao Chiye bent his arm to block once more. This time his eyes were calm. “A mantis trying to stop a cart. Should I say you don’t know your place, or praise your courage?”
Before the words fell, Xiao Chiye reversed his grip and seized Shen Zechuan’s calf. He dropped his shoulder, intent on flipping Shen Zechuan to the ground.
Already swung up, Shen Zechuan used the momentum to plant a foot on Xiao Chiye’s shoulder. His astonishing core strength flared again; his legs scissored around Xiao Chiye’s neck, dragging him down with a violent twist.
Xiao Chiye’s palm slid along that straight line, catching at the curve he’d just forced. The resilience that flowed into his hand was unbelievably smooth.
He wanted to touch Shen Zechuan.
Because he could not make sense of it. Ji family boxing or Ji family blade—anyone who trained year after year would show it in their muscles. Yet Shen Zechuan concealed it so completely, he looked as though he had never practiced martial arts at all. He even fooled Chen Yang and Qiao Tianya into thinking him qi-deficient, sickly and weak.
Shen Zechuan lifted himself off the ground and drove an elbow back at Xiao Chiye’s head. Xiao Chiye tilted away, avoided the blow, but did not release his grip. He yanked Shen Zechuan tight against his chest, hand sliding from the waist upward, toward the chest.
The Eastern Pearl was still hidden there!
Shen Zechuan rammed back, hooked Xiao Chiye’s arm, and threw him over his shoulder into the rain.
Water splashed up, soaking hair and face.
Shen Zechuan tried to retreat, but Xiao Chiye’s long leg hooked in, tripping him toward himself. Shen Zechuan’s body pitched—then, in the blink of an eye, rebounded like a plucked string, skimming the water to steady himself.
Xiao Chiye surged again. A hook punch cut through empty rain, yet as Shen Zechuan spun to retreat, Xiao Chiye caught a wisp of long hair between his fingers.
The strand was rain-soaked; it slid lingeringly over Xiao Chiye’s fingertips, leaving behind a damp, tickling itch.
“Enough,” Xiao Chiye said suddenly, closing his hand as he looked at Shen Zechuan. “The rain’s heavier.”
Shen Zechuan glanced back. “Had your fill of touching?”
Xiao Chiye replied evenly, “Neither soft nor hard.”
Shen Zechuan mocked, “I thought you were about to strip me.”
“If I really wanted to strip you,” Xiao Chiye said, “we’d be baring all right now.”
He raised his other hand and flicked Shen Zechuan’s thin blade dangling at his side.
“The Ji family’s inner method is meant to follow the blade. You carry things like these every day—you’ll never beat me in this life. If you can’t beat me, how will you take revenge?”
Shen Zechuan’s blades were originally hidden along the outside of his thighs. He lowered his gaze to them, then looked back at Xiao Chiye. “Killing and fighting damages harmony. Isn’t it pleasant to act mad and sell foolishness together?”
“I’m afraid you’ll hide a blade behind a smile and catch me off guard,” Xiao Chiye said.
“Only the word lust has a blade in it.” Shen Zechuan spread his hands. “Second Young Master is an upright gentleman—what is there to fear?”
Xiao Chiye placed the thin blade into Shen Zechuan’s palm and said lazily, “You just called me a beast in fine clothes. Why do you keep treating me like a gentleman?”
Shen Zechuan moved to withdraw his hand.
Xiao Chiye caught his wrist. “Seeing how obedient you were today, Second Young Master will take you somewhere comfortable.”
“Governor,” Shen Zechuan suddenly said, his expression solemn. “Please. I’m not into men. Let’s part on good terms—why cling like this?”
Xiao Chiye froze, then tilted his head and saw the drill ground’s inner hall windows plastered with curious faces—Imperial Guards gawking.
The Assistant Commander of the Imperial Guards—the scar-faced man who had led the slaughter of the Eight Camps that night—clung to the window, leading the jeers.
“Looks like fighting, acts like lechery—Governor, what are you doing? You lecture us every day, yet we’ve never once seen you smile!”
“Clingy!” They exchanged looks and hooted. “Clingy’s different! The Governor’s twenty-three—no wife at home to dote on him. All that vigor’s got to go somewhere—of course it’s different!”
Sensing Shen Zechuan about to bolt, Xiao Chiye hauled him in hard, smiling without warmth. “I am clingy. Lan Zhou, why run? I’m not done clinging yet. ‘Not into men’ just means you haven’t tasted the sweetness. Second Young Master will teach you.”
When it came to shamelessness, Xiao Chiye bowed only to Li Jianheng. Who couldn’t play the tyrant forcing himself on someone? Trying to embarrass him with such tricks was an insult.
He didn’t give Shen Zechuan a chance to reply—just dragged him off.
Behind them, Dantai Hu rubbed his scar and asked a nearby soldier, “Who’s that? Never seen him in our Imperial Guards.”
“Surname Shen,” the man said with a wink. “The one from Zhongbo.”
Dantai Hu’s smiling face went cold. He braced himself, craned his neck, then turned back and spat, “That’s the Shen clan that ruined Zhongbo? What’s the Governor doing with him! Shen Wei killed so many—eight heads wouldn’t be enough! The Jianxing Prince’s manor got smashed, and he’s here in Qudu living it up—while along the Chashi River line, orphans who lost their parents are still gnawing mud! Damn it—why didn’t you say so earlier?!”
Xiao Chiye took Shen Zechuan up Maple Mountain.
A narrow stone stair cut through the woods. Water soaked through their soles, chilling to the bone. Xiao Chiye didn’t look back; he pushed aside maple leaves streaming with water and slipped down a side path. The mud dragged at their shoes; they went in uneven steps, one deep, one shallow.
After half an hour, Xiao Chiye finally stopped.
The thatched hut in the rain-mist was small, clearly not meant for living.
Turning sideways, he said to Shen Zechuan, “You saved me once at the Nanlin hunting grounds. As repayment, I’ll give you half of this place.”
“What I want is hard silver,” Shen Zechuan said. “…not a bath together.”
“Money and fame are all external,” Xiao Chiye said. He stretched, lifted the cloth curtain, stepped inside, and began stripping at the doorway. “Even the Emperor hasn’t enjoyed this place.”
Shen Zechuan lifted the curtain and saw Xiao Chiye already bare to the waist. The lines of muscle across his shoulders and back were clean and sharp, as if carved by a blade.
Aside from a small peaked clothes rack, the room opened directly onto a hot spring. Xiao Chiye’s clothes hung on one side of the rack; the other side was clearly left for him.
Xiao Chiye kicked off his boots, glanced back at Shen Zechuan, and said, “Are you turning your back to undress, or watching me?”
Shen Zechuan loosened his belt and turned away. The Eastern Pearl fell into his palm; he slipped it into his sleeve pouch. The gaze on his back never moved. Shen Zechuan paused, then shrugged off his outer robe.
Xiao Chiye watched the garment slide to the floor. At last, the pale white of Shen Zechuan’s neck extended downward—like pear-blossom xuan paper soaked in moonlight. His back looked thin and smooth.
Xiao Chiye thought—
That was it. He had been staring at the back of Shen Zechuan’s neck all along, as though waiting for this moment.
How could a man’s nape produce such breathtaking beauty? It exceeded everything Xiao Chiye had ever seen—astonishing him, confounding him.
The little wolf of Libei had sharp teeth, yet had never bitten such a neck, never bitten such a person. His gaze slid downward, as though carrying the pressure of a caress, tracing from Shen Zechuan’s nape along the faintly undulating line, sliding endlessly down.
Sliding.
Xiao Chiye’s mouth went dry. He jolted awake and tore his gaze away.
Am I insane?! he thought.
East Dragon Street was full of girls—each a genuine beauty. How could the sight of a man’s back set his hunger ablaze?
Xiao Chiye had always despised those led astray by beauty. Every elder he admired was resolute of will, a model of upright virtue, all possessed of unflappable composure.
Like his father. Like his elder brother. Like his master.
As famous generals rose and fell, he had never respected Qi Shiyu—because Qi Shiyu lusted after women. After the Zhongbo campaign, the man he hated most was Shen Wei, also because Shen Wei was depraved and lecherous.
Yet now dizziness crept in—the instinct captured by beauty, stirred by desire, rising again.
Xiao Chiye struggled to restrain his eyes, feeling keenly the conflict between spirit and lust. He did not love this man, yet for this man’s beauty he found, for the second time, the desire to hold him, ravage him, tear at him with his teeth.
“Not getting in?” Shen Zechuan asked, unaware, turning back and approaching him openly.
Xiao Chiye snapped harshly, “…Mm!”