After nightfall, the council hall finally fell quiet.
Pei Yi went to patrol the city walls, carrying a lantern, its flames wavering unsteadily in the wind.
Chi Banyue carried her medicine chest toward the long shelter of the wounded soldiers’ camp. From far away, one could hear her quietly giving instructions to the medical soldiers.
The chief secretary and grain officer each returned to their respective posts.
When the last lantern was blown out, only a wisp of extremely thin white smoke remained, slowly rising into the darkness.
The entire government office seemed to sink into the night, leaving only the low moan of the wind passing through the empty corridors and courtyard.
Xiao Yuan returned to the main tent. The thick felt curtain at the entrance fell behind him, shutting out the wind and snow outside.
The charcoal fire was still burning. It was not particularly strong, casting a layer of dark-red light throughout the tent.
He did not light a lamp. He merely removed his outer robe and hung it on the rack beside the bed.
He sat on the edge of the bed without lying down immediately, simply sitting there quietly for a while.
Then he took out the pocket watch from his clothes.
When the watch cover was opened, a faint ticking sound seeped out from within, like the beating of an extremely tiny heart.
The lamplight was very dim. He did not need to see it clearly. He merely listened to that sound, feeling as though something within this wind, snow, and night was slowly settling down.
He thought of Su Muchen.
He thought of the slight crease between that person’s brows when he lowered his head to write the list, the deliberately casual tone he had used when pushing the pocket watch toward him, and the sight of his back as he walked into the rear kitchen to cook porridge.
That person was always like this. His words were plain, but his hands never stopped.
He did not know how to say pleasant things, yet he would place a bowl of hot porridge in front of him.
Xiao Yuan took out the duty roster from his clothes again.
The paper had been folded several times. He lowered his head and glanced at it. Written on it were Su Muchen and Xiao’s duty hours.
Su Muchen had said that the purpose of this roster was so that he “wouldn’t come here for nothing.” When he said it, his tone had been so indifferent, as though he were merely explaining something insignificant.
But Xiao Yuan knew that some people hid important things within their plain words, just like burying a seed in the soil, quietly and without making a sound.
Those tiny, scattered things gradually piled up within his heart.
As if falling snow in the night, layer upon layer, quietly accumulating in a place that could not be seen.
Until a certain moment, when he finally realized that they had already gained weight.
He put the pocket watch back into his clothes, stood up, and put on his outer robe.
The tent curtain was lifted slightly by the wind, and cold air silently poured inside.
He walked out. Moonlight fell upon the snow-covered ground, scattering a thin layer of silver light. Only his footprints remained behind as he walked, a trail stretching from the main tent toward the rear courtyard of the government office.
He slowly entered the abandoned storeroom in the rear courtyard of the government office.
He reached forward into the empty air.
His fingertips touched something that did not belong in this storeroom—something hard and cold: a copper ring.
He grasped it.
Cold white light seeped through the crack of the door, like a road slowly being illuminated.
The lights of Guichen Studio lit up on the other side.
He stepped across the boundary of that light.
The air inside Guichen Studio was somewhat more humid than that of Linbei City, carrying the scents of old wood, books, and coffee.
He stood inside the door. The snow remaining on his shoulders was melting, spreading circles of dark, damp marks across his black outer robe.
Su Muchen was sitting behind the counter, lowering his head and writing something.
When he heard the movement, he did not immediately look up. He first finished writing that line, then raised his eyes.
Those eyes swept from his face to his shoulders, then to his hands, as if checking something. His gaze made a complete circuit around him before finally stopping on his eyes, and his brows instantly furrowed.
“You haven’t slept again.”
Xiao Yuan walked in and sat down in front of the counter.
When he sat down, his movements were half a beat slower than usual.
“Can’t sleep.”
Su Muchen stared at him for a moment. Then he took a ledger from the drawer and opened it.
The pages were densely covered in writing, with familiar numbers in the corner.
It was his medical record.
“Can’t sleep?”
Su Muchen repeated those three words. There was a professional wariness in his tone, the reaction of a doctor hearing a patient say, “My chest feels a little uncomfortable.”
The first thought surfaced in his mind.
—Xiao Yuan was sick.
Not an external injury, not poison, but the more troublesome kind.
He pulled his chair closer and sat directly opposite Xiao Yuan, staring at him.
Under the light, the bloodshot veins in Xiao Yuan’s eyes were even more pronounced than last night. His face was clearly exhausted to the extreme, yet his body continued to hold itself together, refusing to relax, like a bowstring that had been drawn taut for too long.
Xiao Yuan paused. He had merely mentioned it casually, but Su Muchen seemed to take it extremely seriously.
He considered how he should answer.
“…Even when I close my eyes, I can’t sleep.”
Su Muchen’s brows immediately knitted together. He then opened the drawer, took out Xiao Yuan’s medical record, and began asking him questions.
“How many days has it been?” Su Muchen asked.
Xiao Yuan fell silent for a moment, as if searching through his memories. His tone was uncertain.
“Ever since leaving Hanchuan… I haven’t slept properly.”
“How long?”
“Can’t remember. About… ten days.”
He said this vaguely. Even he himself felt that it sounded like a lie.
“Ten days.” Su Muchen repeated the number, his tone somewhat cold.
Under the gaze of those eyes, Xiao Yuan added, “Sometimes I sleep for half an hour before waking up. Sometimes it isn’t even half an hour.”
As though saying it this way could make the situation sound a little better.
“How long did you sleep yesterday?”
“Half an hour.” He paused. “Approximately.”
“The day before?”
“The same.”
Su Muchen did not ask about the day before that. He no longer needed any more numbers.
The person before him had traveled from Hanchuan to Linbei City, from the battlefield to the council hall, and had hardly truly closed his eyes at all.
Everything was weighing upon him, every single matter urging him to “hold on a little longer.”
Sleeping only a few fragmented half-hours over ten days was not insomnia.
This was treating his own body like a tool that did not need maintenance.
“Do you have headaches?”
Xiao Yuan fell silent.
“Heart palpitations?”
Silence.
“How many meals have you eaten in the past day?”
Silence.
Su Muchen closed his eyes. He felt as though he was about to be angered into laughter by this man’s silence.
“Xiao Yuan.”
Xiao Yuan raised his eyes to look at him.
When Su Muchen was unhappy, he would directly call him by his full name.
“You have two choices right now.” Su Muchen’s voice was unnaturally calm. “First, I knock you unconscious. Second, you go to sleep yourself.”
Xiao Yuan: “…Three?”
Su Muchen glared at him. “There is no three.”
Xiao Yuan looked at him and suddenly felt that the anger in those eyes was not directed at him. It was more like the frustration of a doctor facing a patient who refused treatment.
“I still have military affairs.”
“Your military affairs won’t be solved because you lose one more night’s sleep, but you will become another casualty because you lose one more night’s sleep.” Su Muchen stood up. As he walked past him, he casually patted his shoulder. The force was not heavy, but the meaning was unmistakable. “Come here.”
Xiao Yuan looked up at him. “Where?”
“Second floor.” Su Muchen had already taken two steps toward the stairs.
“My room. There’s a bed. Don’t think about anything right now. Go to sleep first.”
Xiao Yuan originally still wanted to say something, but Su Muchen turned back and looked at him. That gaze clearly said, “There is no room for discussion.”
He was silent for a moment before finally standing up and following him upstairs.
The wooden stairs of Guichen Studio gave off faint creaking sounds, especially clear in the quiet night.
At the corner of the stairs hung an old calligraphy painting. The paper had yellowed, and the edges were already worn, yet it had still been carefully mounted.
When they reached the second floor, Su Muchen pushed open the door to the lounge. The room was not large, but the windows were tightly shut and the curtains were heavy, blocking the streetlights of Changning Alley and leaving only an extremely thin gap through which a vague sliver of light entered.
There was an extremely faint scent of soap in the air, a clean fragrance.
The bed was neatly made. The pillow was slightly indented, as if someone had leaned against it.
“Sleep here.”
Su Muchen pointed at the bed, then paused, as if inspecting something.
“But you won’t be comfortable sleeping like this.”
Xiao Yuan lowered his head and looked at his outer robe, still stained with wind, snow, and dust.
“I’ll bathe first,” Xiao Yuan said.
Su Muchen glanced at him and did not object.
He turned around, rummaged through the cabinet, and pulled out a set of clean clothes, stuffing them into Xiao Yuan’s arms.
“Wear these.”
Xiao Yuan lowered his head and looked at them.
They were the same style of clothes Su Muchen wore, with no frog buttons at the collar.
The trousers were also made of soft material, completely different from the brocade robes he was accustomed to wearing.
There was a faint scent of soap lingering in the fabric.
Just as he was about to ask something, Su Muchen had already pushed him toward the end of the corridor.
“The water heater is electric.” Su Muchen’s tone paused. “Don’t touch it. I’ll turn it on for you. I’m afraid it’ll break if you touch it.”
Xiao Yuan did not argue.
Su Muchen walked into the bathroom and adjusted the water temperature for him.
The water heater was an everyday thing to him, but to Xiao Yuan, it was something so unfamiliar that he could not understand it.
After confirming the temperature, he turned to look at Xiao Yuan, who was standing at the doorway.
“This is for washing your hair.” He pointed at one of the bottles, pressing a fingertip against the cap to show him. “This is for washing your body. Press here and it will come out. You don’t need too much. Rub it slightly until it lathers, then rinse it clean with water.”
Xiao Yuan nodded.
“Call me when you’re done.” After saying that, Su Muchen closed the door and left.
Mist billowed inside the bathroom. A fine layer of water droplets condensed on the glass, and the light became soft and hazy as it passed through the mist, enveloping the small space in a warm yellow glow.
Xiao Yuan stood at the doorway for a while before reaching up to undo his belt.
His black outer robe slid down along the line of his shoulders, revealing the inner garment beneath, soaked through by the wind and snow. The fabric clung to his skin, carrying the lingering chill that had not faded for a long time.
He removed his clothes one piece at a time and hung the garments stained with snow and dust on the rack beside the door.
When the hot water poured down from above, he narrowed his eyes slightly.
The temperature was just right, like an invisible hand gently pressing against his shoulder blades, gradually loosening the joints that had been frozen by the northern wind and snow.
The water flowed down along the lines of his collarbones and spine, leaving trails of warmth across his skin.
He closed his eyes, allowing the warmth to spread from the top of his head over his neck, shoulders, and back, as though it were dismantling the stiffness he himself had long since grown accustomed to.
He opened his eyes and looked down at the bottle of shampoo on the rack.
The transparent bottle had a pump-style design, completely different from any container he had ever seen.
He pressed it once. His palm caught the mass of milky-white liquid, and he brought it closer to smell it—
It was that scent.
The same scent that often lingered on Su Muchen.
He spread the shampoo through his hair. When his fingertips passed through his wet, long hair, his movements became a little slower than usual.
He thought that everything here was very novel.
Clean hot water that flowed endlessly once it was turned on, with a temperature that was exactly right. It was unlike the hot water heated in the military camp, which was so scalding that people instinctively pulled their hands away, and unlike the lukewarm water in the government office, which could only barely be used for wiping oneself down before quickly turning cold.
In the northern frontier, taking a hot bath was a luxury. Usually, one had to burn firewood for most of the day just to barely gather a basin of water warm enough to keep one’s skin from trembling.
And at this moment, he stood here, with hot water continuously falling from above like rain that would never stop.
Su Muchen had not gone far. He was sitting in the room, scrolling through his phone.
His ears remained attentive to the sound of the water in the bathroom. The water continued for slightly longer than expected.
More than ten minutes later, the bathroom door opened.
Xiao Yuan walked out, having changed into Su Muchen’s white shirt and trousers.
The shirt was loose on Su Muchen, but on Xiao Yuan it fit perfectly. The shoulder seams fell exactly where they should, as though it had been tailored specifically for him.
Only the trousers were slightly too short.
One button at the collar was left undone, revealing the lines of his collarbones. His skin still carried a faint flush from the heat of the water.
His wet black hair hung loosely over his shoulders, and those few strands of white hair were especially conspicuous beneath the light, like ridges capped with the first snow among ink-colored mountains.
He stood at the bathroom doorway, looking somewhat uncomfortable.
But his expression was clearly more relaxed than before, carrying a dazed, half-dreaming quality after being steamed by the hot water.
Su Muchen put away his phone and glanced at him, suddenly feeling that this person normally dressed far too seriously.
A black python robe, a black-and-gold belt, a black-and-silver thumb ring—every single thing announced to others that he was Prince Su.
But after changing into an ordinary white shirt, he actually looked like an entirely different person.
The brows and eyes were still the same, yet one layer of something had disappeared, replaced by another.
But now was not the time to sigh over it.
“Your hair.” Su Muchen pointed toward his shoulder, gesturing for him to sit down.
Xiao Yuan looked at him as though he did not understand what he meant.
Su Muchen had already taken a dry towel and a hair dryer from the cabinet. He patted the chair beside him.
“You can’t handle electrical appliances. I’ll dry it for you.” His tone was as casual as if he were talking about the most ordinary thing in the world.
Xiao Yuan silently sat down.
Su Muchen covered his head with the dry towel and rubbed his still-dripping hair with neither too much nor too little force, then turned on the hair dryer.
The warm air began at the ends of his hair and slowly moved upward. His fingertips passed through that layer of damp, long hair, gently separating the tangled strands.
He normally dried his own short hair, which only took a few minutes.
Xiao Yuan’s hair was long and thick, so he could only dry it slowly.
The low hum of the hair dryer continued in the room. Su Muchen’s fingertips moved through the strands, his movements not particularly gentle.
“Is your white hair natural?” he asked casually, as though making conversation.
Xiao Yuan was silent for a moment before answering, “I was poisoned when I was young. It became like this.”
He said only that and did not continue.
Su Muchen’s movements did not stop, but he became a little gentler.
He suddenly remembered the first time Xiao Yuan had appeared at Guichen Studio—his entire body covered in blood, yet his eyes colder than the edge of a blade.
Those white strands mixed among the black. At the time, he had thought it was some special kind of dye. Only now did he know that it was not decoration, but a scar that would never fade.
Seeing that Xiao Yuan did not seem to want to talk about it, Su Muchen did not ask further.
In the past, he liked reading novels and stories as a way to relax and relieve stress.
But novels were ultimately different from reality. Whatever Xiao Yuan had gone through was certainly far from something that could be casually brushed aside with the two words “being poisoned.”
He did not ask again and simply continued drying his hair.
Neither of them spoke. Time quietly flowed between them.
Xiao Yuan closed his eyes. The warm air swept past his ears, and when the fingers passed through his hair, they occasionally brushed against his scalp. The sensation was unfamiliar, yet it gradually relaxed him.
Su Muchen was not in a hurry. Little by little, he dried his hair until the strands of black and white were once again smooth and soft.
“Done.” He turned off the hair dryer and folded the towel, placing it to the side. “Go to sleep.”
Xiao Yuan got up and sat down beside the bed.
Xiao Yuan stood up and walked to the bed. The mattress was softer than he had imagined. The bedding carried an extremely faint fragrance, the same scent that often lingered on Su Muchen.
When he lay down, his body sank into that softness.
Only after lying down did he realize that his body was actually far more exhausted than he had imagined.
Su Muchen walked to the doorway, his hand resting on the light switch.
“Muan.”
Xiao Yuan’s voice came from behind him.
Su Muchen’s movement stopped, and he turned to look at him.
Xiao Yuan did not open his eyes. Half of his face was buried in the pillow, and his voice was very low, so low that it seemed he was speaking only to the pillow.
“Stay.”
Su Muchen’s fingers stopped on the light switch without pressing it.
He stood there and looked at Xiao Yuan for a moment.
That man was lying on an unfamiliar bed, wearing clothes that did not belong to him, as though someone accustomed to carrying everything alone had finally lowered his defenses at one particular moment.
He said nothing.
He turned off the light but did not leave.
He sat down on the chair beside the bed and adjusted his posture so that he could sit more comfortably.
“Go to sleep.” His voice was a little softer than before, as though coaxing him. “I’ll wake you when the time comes.”
Xiao Yuan did not speak again.
After a while, his gradually steady breathing could be heard in the darkness, rhythmic and long.
The light outside the window quietly fell through the gap in the curtains.
Su Muchen sat there for a long time. He did not scroll through his phone. He simply sat quietly, listening to the breathing of the person who had finally, truly fallen asleep.
He lowered his head and looked at his own hand.
The sensation of his fingertips passing through those white strands while drying his hair still lingered, like a vague reminder.
Those white hairs were traces left by poison, evidence that Xiao Yuan had never been treated kindly.
When Xiao Yuan had said “Stay,” his voice had been so low that it was almost inaudible, like the voice of someone unaccustomed to making requests who had finally, in a moment of extreme exhaustion, accidentally allowed his true feelings to slip out.
Su Muchen leaned against the back of the chair and closed his eyes.
The night was still long.
That person was sleeping deeply.
◆◇◆◇◆
When Xiao Yuan woke, he was somewhat surprised that he had slept so deeply and without the slightest defense.
He instinctively glanced toward the side of the bed.
His sword was not there.
Only after a long while did he remember where he was.
—In Su Muchen’s lounge.
Normally, he did not dare sleep too deeply. His sword would also be placed within reach, in a position where he could grasp it without even needing to get up, constantly guarding against someone launching an attack.
But at this moment, his sword was leaning against the corner of the wall like an ordinary decoration.
“Awake?”
Su Muchen’s voice came from the other side.
Xiao Yuan turned his head and saw him sitting on the chair by the window, an open ledger spread across his lap and a pen in his hand.
He did not know how long Su Muchen had already been sitting there.
Su Muchen watched Xiao Yuan sit up. His gaze lingered on his complexion for a moment before his brows slightly furrowed.
“You still look terrible.”
Su Muchen spoke without reproach. He was simply stating a fact that needed to be recorded.
He lowered his head and wrote a few strokes in the ledger. The tip of the pen made faint, scattered sounds against the paper.
Xiao Yuan glanced at the ledger.
His name was written on the cover.
It was his medical record.
In the blank space, Su Muchen had written—
Sleep disorder, chronic overwork, requires continued monitoring.
“I feel much better.” Xiao Yuan said it very seriously.
After sleeping for only this short period, he already felt that the things within his body that had been squeezed to their limits seemed to have recovered somewhat.
Su Muchen raised his head, moving his gaze from the ledger to his face.
The look in his eyes was not fierce, but carried the particular “concern” of a doctor facing an uncooperative patient.
“You’re not short on time right now. You’re overdrawing your life.”
Xiao Yuan fell silent and did not answer immediately.
He knew Su Muchen was right.
The wind and snow of the northern frontier, the moans of the wounded soldiers, the cracks in the city walls, the empty corners of the granary—those images had never truly left him in the darkness of night. Even when he closed his eyes, they continued to exist in another form.
“There are no conditions for me to sleep in the northern frontier,” he said.
This was not an excuse. It was a fact.
The city walls had yet to be repaired, the wounded soldiers were still waiting for medicine, the Northern Di could turn back at any moment, and the eyes of the Crown Prince and Emperor were still hidden in the shadows. Every single matter urged him to hurry.
How could he have time to close his eyes?
“That doesn’t mean you can stop sleeping completely.”
Su Muchen put down his pen, closed the ledger, and then picked up a stack of papers from beside the table. They had been bound into three copies.
When Xiao Yuan took the stack of papers, he lowered his head and glanced at the first page.
The handwriting belonged to Su Muchen. Each stroke had been written with more force than usual, as though he wanted to make sure every single word could be seen clearly—
Regulations for Prince Su’s Sleep Management.
“One copy for you, one to give to Xia Lanshi, and the remaining copy to Chi Banyue.”
Su Muchen knew Xiao Yuan definitely would not obediently follow the rules on his own. Someone had to supervise him.
Xiao Yuan was silent.
He looked down at several more lines. The densely packed regulations covered everything from “Daily bedtime must not be later than midnight” to “Military affairs must not be handled during the two quarters of an hour before sleep,” from “Continuous work exceeding six hours is prohibited” to “If military affairs prevent you from going to bed on time, you must make up the missed sleep hours the following day.”
Behind every rule, someone had added supplementary notes in red ink, as though the person who had written them knew that the person enforcing these regulations would certainly try to find loopholes, and had therefore blocked every possible weakness in advance.
“From now on, the minimum daily requirement is at least two hours of sleep.”
Su Muchen’s tone left no room for negotiation, as though he were announcing a medical order that had already been finalized.
“That’s too long,” Xiao Yuan said.
Two hours could be used to accomplish many things in Linbei City.
Su Muchen raised his eyes and looked at him.
There was no anger in those eyes, only the stillness of an ancient well.
“Do you want the northern frontier to live? Or do you want the northern frontier to die?”
The words in Xiao Yuan’s throat stopped.
He looked at Su Muchen. His face looked extremely serious beneath the light.
“I know there is still a possibility of war breaking out again at any time.” Su Muchen’s tone did not soften.
“That’s precisely why you need to seize the time to adjust your physical condition. At your current state, you won’t even make it to the next battle. If you fall, the northern frontier will truly die.”
Xiao Yuan lowered his head and looked at the stack of papers in his hands. Every stroke of the handwriting was neat and orderly, as though the person who had written it had deliberately slowed down to ensure that every line was clear and readable.
“I understand.”
He simply put the stack of papers away.
“I’ll try to find time to sleep,” he said.
Su Muchen nodded. Then he stood up and switched from doctor mode to shopkeeper mode.
“You still have to take some supplies back today, right? I’ll go prepare them first. Change your clothes and come downstairs to pick them up.”
The amount of goods that could pass through the door each day was limited, while Linbei City was desperately short of supplies. They could not waste even a single day’s transport capacity, so Xiao Yuan had to come over to collect goods every day.
“Okay.”
Su Muchen immediately left the room.
When Xiao Yuan changed back into his own clothes, his movements were somewhat slower than usual.
His black robes seemed to have been slightly tidied.
He fastened his belt. When his fingertip brushed across the cold silver buckle, he suddenly stopped.
His gaze crossed the room and fell upon Su Muchen’s bed.
The bed was still in the same state as when he had left it. The pillow was slightly indented, and one corner of the bedding had been lifted and then lowered again.
The clothes Su Muchen had lent him, after being changed out of, had been folded and placed on the low stool at the foot of the bed.
He looked at the folded clothes, then glanced at the bed, as though only now truly seeing them.
He suddenly realized what he had done.
He had slept in Su Muchen’s room, on the bed Su Muchen had slept in, worn his clothes, used his bathroom, and even asked him to stay.
All of these things piled together suddenly carried a weight he had never imagined.
Xiao Yuan stood there in silence for a long time.
He was Prince Su.
Since he was old enough to remember, the first thing he had learned was never to let anyone see his weaknesses.
When he was young and in the palace, even when a fever left him delirious, he did not dare close his eyes because he was afraid someone would approach him while he was unconscious.
Later, when he was young and stationed in the northern frontier, even when seriously wounded, he would keep his sword within reach, maintaining a thread of vigilance even during light sleep.
He had never allowed himself to completely relax anywhere. He had never allowed anyone to see him completely defenseless.
That was the survival rule he had learned over more than twenty years of life.
Do not depend on others.
Do not let your guard down.
Do not let anyone get close enough to hurt you.
But just now, in this room, he had slept more deeply and dreamlessly than he had in all those years.
Like a wolf that had completely lowered its defenses.
He had even spoken the words “Stay,” his voice so low that it sounded almost like a plea.
And Su Muchen had not left.
He had stayed, sitting there quietly and waiting until he truly fell asleep.
Standing in that quiet room, Xiao Yuan suddenly felt that this small lounge in Guichen Studio was more like a—than any residence he had ever had in Dasheng.
He did not want to say that word aloud, because saying it would feel like admitting something.
But in his heart, he knew what it was.
It was something he had never possessed, something he had almost forgotten how to name—a place where he could close his eyes without fear.
“…This isn’t right.”
He took a deep breath and withdrew his gaze.
He smoothed away those soft emotions that should not have surfaced at this time, one by one, pressing them layer upon layer back into the deepest part of his heart.
He was Prince Su.
The northern frontier was still waiting. The wounded soldiers of Linbei City, the granaries, the city walls, and the entire court’s blades and shadows were all weighing upon his shoulders.
Those soft emotions did not belong to him now.
At least, they should not be uncovered at this moment.
When he walked downstairs, his footsteps had already regained their usual steadiness.
Su Muchen was standing there counting the supplies.
Hearing the footsteps, he did not raise his head. He merely made a few marks on the list.
“Move this batch over first. I’ll organize the rest.”
Xiao Yuan said nothing. He walked over, bent down, and lifted a wooden crate. His movements were swift and practiced, as though everything were completely normal.
The two of them passed the supplies back and forth, loading them onto the cart one by one.
Their coordination was so seamless that it was as though they had done it many times before.
Su Muchen felt that Xiao Yuan was quieter than usual.
Although he had never been a man of many words, there was now another layer within his silence that was difficult to describe, like a deliberately widened sense of distance.
Su Muchen could not help wondering whether he had been too harsh when he spoke just now.
Or had he made the Sleep Management Regulations too excessive?
He secretly glanced at Xiao Yuan.
The other man was lowering his head and tightening a knot in the rope, his profile exceptionally focused. No emotion could be seen.
After the supplies had been loaded, Xiao Yuan straightened and brushed the dust from his sleeve.
“I’m going back.”
“Mm.” Su Muchen responded.
Xiao Yuan said nothing more, like someone in a hurry to leave the battlefield.
Su Muchen stood where he was, watching that figure disappear through the door.
He suddenly felt that he could not quite understand what Xiao Yuan was thinking.
Just moments ago, he had been willing to sleep here, and had even said “Stay.”
But after waking, that sense of distance had quietly appeared between them.
Like a door that had not been completely closed, leaving a crack—but no indication of whether he should reach out and push it open.