“I heard it’s an imported mirror,” Kong Ling smiled. “Crystal clear and bright, it reflects people very clearly. The Dragon Tour merchants from Yongyi Harbor used to have them, but they’re rare.”
Zhou Gui also became interested upon hearing this. “I’ve also heard a bit about it.”
Jiang Qingshan lowered his head for a moment and said: “…It is a glass mirror. The four corners are inlaid with jewels. It can be used before the Buddha or to decorate walls. The mirrors sold by the Dragon Tour merchants of Yongyi Harbor are only palm-sized and cannot compare to this one.”
“A treasure indeed,” Fei Sheng said at the right moment. “My lord, let your servants also have a look.”
The hanging beads before Shen Zechuan’s eyes swayed. He held his wine cup, looking at the amber liquid inside, and said: “Bring it up for a look.”
The heavy pressure that had been hanging over the banquet eased for everyone present. The burden on their shoulders suddenly vanished. Yu Xiaozai quietly retreated to his seat according to etiquette and couldn’t help but raise his sleeve to wipe away cold sweat.
A glass mirror spared Jiang Qingshan from disaster, and after that night came an imperial family banquet. Shen Zechuan originally wanted to give the glass mirror to Lu Yizhi, but he became so busy that his feet barely touched the ground and forgot about it.
Ding Tao remembered clearly. He held a notebook and asked Li Xiong: “Did you see that glass mirror? Brother Jin said it was valuable and should be put into the treasury.”
During this period, Li Xiong often followed Chen Yang to Tea Stone River and grew much taller. Standing under the eaves, he really looked like a bear. “Mirrors? There are plenty everywhere.”
Ding Tao opened his book and drew for Li Xiong: “Tall, like this… with jewels in the four corners!”
Li Xiong only remembered the sweets at the banquet; he didn’t remember any mirror.
Shen Zechuan also did not remember. The New Year passed like a battlefield. After the New Year, snow kept falling one after another. After finally settling everything, all spare time was used to take medicine. When the cold finally eased, calculating the days, spring plowing needed to be prepared in advance again.
At night, Shen Zechuan held a memorial document, half-leaning against the bed, pretending to rest. Hearing movement, he placed the document on the small table, turned over, and lay face down on the pillow, muttering: “Where did you go?”
Xiao Chiye had snow on his shoulders. He took off his outer robe and did not answer. Shen Zechuan was half-asleep. Suddenly, something cold touched his cheek.
“Ah.” Shen Zechuan sighed weakly.
Xiao Chiye’s bone thumb ring was even colder. He said: “You don’t look energetic.”
Shen Zechuan liked the coolness of the ring. The cold seeped in bit by bit, dispersing the stuffy heat of staying indoors too long. His face rubbed lightly against the ring, eyes half-squinting in comfort.
Xiao Chiye used his palm instead of the ring.
Shen Zechuan opened his eyes and, still in that position, said to Xiao Chiye: “Hot.”
He said it was hot, and the snow on Xiao Chiye’s body seemed to disappear. That faint desire simmered through Xiao Chiye’s internal organs, making him feel hot as well.
Xiao Chiye bent his finger and brushed Shen Zechuan’s cheek: “I’ll take you out to play.”
In the palace, charcoal braziers were provided, but there was no scent, only stifling air; sitting too long made one drowsy. Xiao Xun was halfway through reciting his book when he suddenly fell asleep on the table.
Kong Ling stole a half day of leisure and sat in a grand chair studying a newly obtained ancient text.
Xiao Xun slept until the end of class. When he woke up, his face was covered in ink marks. He didn’t notice and blankly watched Ding Tao help him pack his books.
“Those boys from last time are still waiting,” Ding Tao said while holding the book bag. “Does the young lord still want to go play with them?”
The “boys” he mentioned were small hooligans under the military registry—former noble youths who couldn’t pass examinations and couldn’t fight well, scattered in the streets of the capital living idle lives, but very good at playing.
Xiao Xun jumped down from the chair. “No,” he said cautiously. “Second Uncle is here.”
Shen Zechuan would turn a blind eye and let him run around outside with Ding Tao and Li Xiong, but Xiao Chiye would not. Xiao Chiye wanted to play with him. Xiao Xun could shoot arrows into the bullseye, but Xiao Chiye’s arrow would not only miss the target—it could knock the whole target over. The games those street hooligans played were leftovers from Xiao Chiye, so Xiao Xun found no fun when his second uncle was around.
Xiao Xun left the hall and ran toward Li Xiong. Li Xiong removed his arm guard and helped him put it on. After tying it, Xiao Xun blew several whistles toward the sky.
The clouds were still the same clouds, unchanged.
But Ding Tao’s bird became excited, chirping wildly inside his sleeve. Ding Tao covered his sleeve and comforted it: “The wind is strong today, the hawk can’t hear well. Young lord, blow a few more times.”
Xiao Xun nodded seriously, turned away from them, and used all his strength to blow his whistle again.
A bird peeked from the eaves—a newly arrived gyrfalcon looked down at Xiao Xun and refused to come down.
Xiao Xun called its name: “Jue!”
Jue only looked at him for a moment, then turned its gaze back into the distance. It was still a young hawk in the bird house and had only just met Xiao Xun not long ago.
“It’s still too small,” Li Xiong said, patting Xiao Xun’s back clumsily. “When it grows up, you’ll be able to tame it.”
Xiao Xun had a good temper. He wanted to remove the arm guard, but hesitated when undoing the rope. In the end, he clenched his fist and said: “I’ll sleep with it tonight.”
Ding Tao calculated the time and led Xiao Xun to Qinghui Hall. A nanny wanted to wipe his face, but he took the cloth himself and wiped it, stepping over the threshold to find his uncles—only to find no one inside.
Feng Mountain had built a military training ground since the Xinde era. It was a place Xiao Chiye once exchanged for several warhorses. He originally built a small hut at the hot springs on Feng Mountain for rest, and after the first year of Chunsheng, it remained his territory; he expanded the hut into a residence.
Shen Zechuan slept until night fell again, buried motionless in the bedding. Xiao Chiye wore casual clothes, a corner of his robe tucked in, sitting in a chair picking through pearls and jade.
After a while, Shen Zechuan said: “The Hu Lu tribe moved east. Redi Lake is empty. The remaining tribes are fighting for it.” He propped himself up, moved the glass lamp cover off the small table, and played with it using his fingers. “You’re building eight garrisons in front. There’s no reinforcement at the front and back, and the roads are not smooth. The Ministry of War has concerns. The cabinet memorials have reached my hands, wanting you to reconsider.”
“They’ve gotten smarter,” Xiao Chiye said without finding any jade he liked and put the box aside, propping himself up to look at Shen Zechuan. “They know I won’t listen, so they go around behind my back.”
“Internal and external cultivation,” Shen Zechuan said with double meaning. “Only then can wishes be fulfilled.”
Xiao Chiye looked at Shen Zechuan’s slightly loosened collar. After sleeping, even the buttons were undone. From this angle, he could see Lan Zhou’s collarbone and chest in the dim light. Shen Zechuan stirred the flame; when he bent down to look at the wick, his neck would also be exposed.
That smooth, soft neck—every time Xiao Chiye bit it, Shen Zechuan would show an unbearable expression, as if waves of pleasure were piling up, and another bite would drown him completely in emotion.
“Ah Ye.”
“Ce An.”
Shen Zechuan was in Xiao Chiye’s arms and hands. Xiao Chiye nipped at him, and he licked back. Sweat soaked the bedding. Shen Zechuan called Xiao Chiye’s name in panting breaths, his tongue full of Xiao Chiye’s taste.
Shen Zechuan put out the small flame, but Xiao Chiye did not respond for a long time. He couldn’t help but look at him, revealing a questioning expression.
Ah.
Xiao Chiye watched without moving.
That expression was also very alluring, as if he didn’t understand those wicked, improper thoughts, urging him to go further.
“The eight garrisons must be built,” Xiao Chiye said, thumb rubbing against his bone ring at his temple. The cool touch of the ring on his neck kept him at a strange threshold. “Only then will the roads be clear. Let Wang Xian handle it; he understands.”
Shen Zechuan held the glass lamp cover and suddenly remembered something. “Where did that glass mirror from Jiang Qingshan go last time? When spring comes and the roads are open, send it to my sister-in-law.”
“Too far and troublesome,” Xiao Chiye said, sitting up. “I’ll take you to find it.”
The glass treasure mirror was not lost. Xiao Chiye had taken a liking to it and brought it into this residence. But its place was special; without him leading the way, Shen Zechuan could not find it.
The mist on the glass covered the mirror surface. Shen Zechuan could not see himself clearly. Even though he was pressed so close, he could only see a blurred reflection—and that was not even his own shadow, but Xiao Chiye’s, who completely enveloped him.
Shen Zechuan’s nose touched the mirror. At that moment, he exhaled warm breath. Water droplets flowed through the fog, tracing lines across the surface.
Xiao Chiye pressed down on Shen Zechuan and asked: “Lan Zhou, Lan Zhou, did you find it?”
Shen Zechuan’s fingers curled slightly. Through the gap, he finally saw himself. He was flushed everywhere. In his panting, sweat and water droplets mixed together, as if he was being kneaded apart by Xiao Chiye.
Shen Zechuan licked his lips, his affectionate eyes looking through the mirror at Xiao Chiye. His curled fingers moved along the reflected image downward, and finally he silently said to Xiao Chiye:
“Er Lang.”
“So fierce.”
Sweat beads on Xiao Chiye’s shoulders slid along his muscles. He bit Shen Zechuan’s earlobe, forcing him into this extremely confined space.
Shen Zechuan’s forehead pressed against the mirror, eyes blurred by sweat. Between his lips and teeth, he mumbled “Ah Ye,” sounding both like seduction and pleading. His cold illness had just recovered, still slightly nasal, and his breaths fell into Xiao Chiye’s ears—wet and sticky.
Xiao Chiye kissed his neck.
Shen Zechuan’s restrained hand was held. Xiao Chiye fixed his wrist and heard the sound of his palm sliding on the mirror.
“Mhm.”
Shen Zechuan’s waist was pinched red. He couldn’t catch his breath. The jade bead on his right ear was shining, unclear whether from sweat or Xiao Chiye’s mouth.
“Lan Zhou,” Xiao Chiye called him.
Shen Zechuan’s sweat and tears kept falling. Xiao Chiye tilted his head to kiss him, and he lifted his neck in response. They were so close they were inseparable.
Xiao Chiye brutally smeared a clear patch on the mirror surface, pressing in. He advanced fiercely, his strong chest crushing Shen Zechuan. That arm was too powerful, leaving him nowhere to escape, forcing him to watch himself being invaded.
Xiao Chiye’s gaze, Xiao Chiye’s breath—everything about Xiao Chiye always turned fierce and domineering. The wolf within his bones seemed to fuse into flesh, as if he would swallow Shen Zechuan whole.
That expression.
Xiao Chiye grabbed Shen Zechuan’s face, eyes dangerous and ruthless.
Mine.
Shen Zechuan’s fingertip lightly pushed against Xiao Chiye’s wrist, tracing circles in this intense and chaotic moment. He touched Xiao Chiye’s sweat and took it into his mouth, as if unaware of danger—even if he was swallowed whole, his gaze still seemed to say:
Anything is fine.