Meng Xizhao paused, then shook his head decisively.
“It wouldn’t be better. I’d only be more afraid.”
Cui Ye: “…………”
His smile froze. After a long moment, he sighed softly. “Second Master, that really saddens me.”
Meng Xizhao, tense and nervous, had no mind for jest. He fiddled with his fingers, avoiding Cui Ye’s gaze. “If I go in alone, I only need to worry about drowning myself. But if you go with me, I’d have to worry about whether you’d drown with me.”
Cui Ye: “……”
Originally, it had been a teasing remark. Hearing Meng Xizhao’s earnest reply, he felt a mix of guilt, warmth, and helplessness.
Cui Ye was silent for a moment. “Second Master, the pool isn’t deep. With your height, you can stand.”
It was, after all, just a large bathhouse—not a swimming pool dug deep.
Cui Ye had already explained this, but Meng Xizhao shook his head desperately. “No… you don’t understand. Once I’m in the water, I can’t move. I can’t even feel my legs, let alone stand.”
“……”
What now?
Silence followed. Cui Ye took Meng Xizhao’s hand. His palm was icy, more abnormal than Cui Ye’s own.
Meng Xizhao instinctively looked, and Cui Ye squeezed his fingertips. “Then I’ll stay above, holding your hand the whole time. No matter what, I won’t let go. You may be unable to move, but I’ll be your anchor, keeping you afloat forever.”
Meng Xizhao stared at him in a daze. After a moment, his gaze fell on their clasped hands.
……
Even so, Meng Xizhao spent nearly half an hour psyching himself up before finally tentatively stepping onto the water.
The Eastern Palace pool, unlike the main hall, didn’t have natural hot spring water. Instead, attendants had to fetch water and heat the underground pipes to keep it warm for long periods.
Of course, it was midsummer now, oppressively hot, so heating wasn’t necessary. Even cold water would feel comfortable enough to bathe in.
The water had originally been warm, but after Meng Xizhao’s long delay, it had cooled to room temperature. When his toes first touched the water, the sudden chill shot through him like a bullet, stiffening his entire body.
It was still mostly psychological. At home, he didn’t react this way in the bath. But knowing today was for courage training, even this shallow pool seemed to him as deadly as a river or lake.
He drew a deep breath and steeled himself, finally stepping in.
Cui Ye held his hand silently, observing his movements. Seeing Meng Xizhao close his eyes and move forward, he panicked. He wanted to warn him—he was stepping onto nothing; he would surely fall into the water.
But before Cui Ye could speak, with a splash, Meng Xizhao tumbled in.
The water drenched Cui Ye’s face. He reflexively closed his eyes; their hands slipped apart as the force from Meng Xizhao’s struggle pulled them in different directions.
Cui Ye’s heart sank. This is bad, he’s going to be furious.
He barely had time to wipe the water from his face before plunging in to help. But Meng Xizhao thrashed wildly like a cat tossed into a tub. Inadvertently brushing against the pool wall, his survival instinct kicked in, and he scrambled out, rolling and crawling with astonishing agility.
Cui Ye gaped, stunned by his fluid, almost choreographed escape. The next instant, Meng Xizhao’s wide, terrified eyes met his, and before Cui Ye could react, he charged, knocking him back two steps. Finally, Meng Xizhao clung to his neck, panting and trembling all over.
Cui Ye froze for a moment, then returned the embrace with equal strength, patting his back gently. “It’s okay… it’s okay…”
With no one else around, Cui Ye soothed him until he calmed slightly, then led him to a nearby couch reserved for consorts. But Meng Xizhao refused to sit. He insisted Cui Ye sit, then perched on him, legs wrapping around his waist and arms around his neck like a koala, trying to eliminate every gap between them. Cui Ye appeared composed, but inside, his heart blazed; he could almost feel himself roasting the water droplets off Meng Xizhao’s body.
……
Yet he said nothing, did nothing—just pressed his lips together. When Meng Xizhao buried his face against him, Cui Ye carefully adjusted their position, shifting back and curling one leg, then feeling it wasn’t enough, began to lift the other.
At that moment, Meng Xizhao, who should have been panicked, murmured, “Stop… it’s uncomfortable.”
Cui Ye: “…………”
Instantly, his face turned scarlet. This was perhaps the thinnest skin Meng Xizhao had ever shown.
Cui Ye froze like a puppet, slowly turning his head. Meng Xizhao loosened his hold slightly, resting his hands lightly on Cui Ye’s shoulders and lifting his head.
Cui Ye’s face glowed with a flush that accentuated his features, while Meng Xizhao’s face, freed from fear, was calm. His damp hair clung in strands on either side, eyes wide and wet—not offended, not embarrassed, but not showing arousal either.
Cui Ye: “……”
Strangely, he felt both intruded upon and embarrassed.
“…Feeling any better?”
Meng Xizhao still seemed a bit dazed but nodded. “Much better. I was scared when I fell, but realizing I could get back up… it helped a lot.”
Yet he instinctively tightened his legs and leaned forward again. “Cui Ye, you’re so warm.”
Cui Ye: “…………”
He realized Meng Xizhao was feigning calm; inside, he was still terrified. A small relief washed over him despite everything.
Cui Ye sighed, touching Meng Xizhao’s icy arms.
Meng Xizhao, tense as ever, asked immediately, “Why the sigh?”
Cui Ye: “……”
“My heart aches for you. Fear isn’t something you overcome so easily. If we do this repeatedly, it’ll take a toll on you.”
Meng Xizhao: “I can’t stop. If I stop, today’s effort would be wasted.”
Cui Ye knew he was right and didn’t argue, though the feeling in his chest was complicated. As he pondered what to say, Meng Xizhao shifted, pressing his forehead against Cui Ye’s earlobe. Cui Ye didn’t mind, placing his hand on Meng Xizhao’s shoulder blade.
Meng Xizhao’s gaze lingered on Cui Ye’s chest before he lightly reached into his collar.
Cui Ye: “…………”
Meng Xizhao, still shaken from his recent fright, might have been entirely unaware of it himself, but his hands were as cold as ice. Cui Ye was startled at first, then flustered.
He immediately grasped the wayward wrist, his breathing tightening slightly. “Er Lang, don’t fidget.”
Meng Xizhao lifted his eyes, knitting his brows in confusion. “I can’t touch?”
Cui Ye: “…Not now.”
Meng Xizhao: “Alright then.”
He drew back his hand, and Cui Ye relaxed, straightening his collar. But it wasn’t long before Meng Xizhao’s hand returned to his chest. This time, he wasn’t actually touching him—he was merely absentmindedly tracing circles over the fabric, circling Cui Ye as if he were the center of some invisible orbit.
Cui Ye: “…………”
Meng Xizhao squinted, continuing to chat casually. “Am I imagining things, or have you really filled out a bit? You don’t look as gaunt as before. Could it be that the medicine and the herbal baths are finally working, and your body can hold onto nutrients now?”
Cui Ye: “….”
Hearing no response, Meng Xizhao didn’t press. He soon shifted topics. “The world has a Girls’ Day—why not a Boys’ Day? Ah, then again, every day is Boys’ Day, so no need for special celebration.”
Cui Ye: “….”
“My sister went to celebrate with her handkerchief today. I plan to fetch her before dinner. Since returning this time, I’ve felt that her personality has shifted slightly. I hope she changes, but when she actually does, I want her to remain herself too—still spirited and headstrong. Hmm… though I’d like it if she toned down the disdain for others a bit.”
Cui Ye: “….”
Finally, after a yawn, Meng Xizhao’s hand came to rest on Cui Ye’s chest, and the tension in his body eased slightly. “I’m so sleepy, Cui Ye. Come lie down with me. Don’t move—just hold me. You promised you’d never let go of me, no matter what. Don’t break that promise. If you do, I’ll be angry, and trust me, I’ll make you regret it.”
Cui Ye: “….”
He had already experienced that all-consuming, ant-like vengeance.
＊
When Meng Xizhao woke again, two hours had passed. His body ached slightly from the awkward sleeping position, but standing up felt refreshing. The foggy, terrified feeling from being pulled into the water had dissipated.
He stretched his arms, legs, and neck, and noticed Cui Ye still sitting quietly, looking at him curiously. “Your Highness, aren’t you getting up?”
Cui Ye hesitated, “Wait a bit—my legs are numb.”
Meng Xizhao pursed his lips and turned his head, suppressing the urge to laugh.
Cui Ye, knowing him too well, could immediately tell what had happened. But ultimately, the one in the wrong was Meng Xizhao himself. Who else but him had let go of Cui Ye’s hand, leaving him floundering like a little chick?
…
Thankfully, the irritation in Meng Xizhao’s heart had faded. Now he reverted to his adorable, puppy-like self, gazing at Cui Ye with wide, innocent eyes. He moved a small tea table closer, waiting for Cui Ye’s legs to recover, resting his chin in his hands. He knew Cui Ye could never resist such puppy eyes—acting obedient and docile like this, blinking innocently, he could get Cui Ye to agree to almost anything, no matter the request.
Though usually Cui Ye would acquiesce readily, now he would do so even faster.
Meng Xizhao shamelessly deployed his cuteness tactic. Cui Ye’s gaze softened, and a smile appeared, the kind that says, “You’ve melted me.”
Meng Xizhao, overjoyed, already began contemplating what to eat for dinner.
As the tingling in Cui Ye’s legs faded, he moved slightly. Meng Xizhao immediately offered his support, and Cui Ye returned a gentle smile, as if saying, “Er Lang, you’re too good to me.”
…
Meng Xizhao tried to pull him up to leave, but Cui Ye held onto his arm and remained seated. He reached into his sleeve and took out an object wrapped in silver silk. Meng Xizhao’s eyes widened—he already had a sense of what it was.
Cui Ye unwrapped the silk to reveal a restored jade pendant. The broken sections were bound with gold: one side engraved with auspicious clouds, the other depicting a small sleeping dog.
Meng Xizhao examined the pattern, feeling a warmth in his chest. He murmured, “This isn’t the design I gave you.”
Cui Ye replied softly, “I wanted you to sleep peacefully at night. I thought this pattern might suit the pendant better.”
Meng Xizhao said nothing, though inwardly he agreed—it was more tranquil and meaningful than his original choice of a celestial dog devouring the moon, which was a bit too eccentric.
It wasn’t over yet. Cui Ye held out the pendant to place it around Meng Xizhao’s neck. Lowering his head, Meng Xizhao let him adjust the clasp as Cui Ye explained in a gentle voice: “Beneath the gold leaf, I had the craftsman entwine two strands of hair—yours and mine—tightly, so they could never be separated.”
The familiar weight settled around his neck again. Once Cui Ye finished fastening it, he let go. Meng Xizhao touched the pendant, now hidden beneath his clothing, and asked, “Does this signify a bond through our hair?”
Cui Ye looked at him and smiled, saying nothing.
Their eyes met, a silent understanding passing between them. Cui Ye’s hand moved to Meng Xizhao’s neck, fingertips brushing gently, sending a shiver of electric tingles across him.
Cui Ye watched him calmly, without speaking or urging him on.
Meng Xizhao, who had never been one for restraint, glanced at the time and realized it would still be a while before he needed to fetch anyone. Tossing aside all other thoughts, he suddenly pounced back onto Cui Ye.
…
＊
Outside the palace was a small courtyard. The owner was exceptionally clever, renting the house specifically to accommodate high-ranking officials’ servants like Qingfu.
Not only did it provide these attendants with shelter from wind and rain, warmth in winter, and coolness in summer, but it also earned favor with influential people, adding a valuable connection to the owner’s network.
Earlier that day, when Meng Xizhao had entered, he told Qingfu he wouldn’t be leaving before noon. But now it was already the hour of Shen, and there was still no sign of him. Qingfu began to worry that something might have happened inside the palace.
After the hour of Shen passed, Meng Xizhao finally emerged from the palace, neatly dressed.
Qingfu hurried to the carriage, asking, “Lang Jun, have you eaten? Shall I get something for you?”
Meng Xizhao rubbed his stomach. He was a bit hungry, but the best food was over at Baihua Street, which was now crowded with people that only grew thicker as evening approached.
Never mind.
He shook his head. “Take me to the Zhan residence first. I want to see if General Zhan is home. If he is, I’ll let him treat me to dinner.”
Qingfu: “…Alright.”
The carriage drove to the outer city. On this fine day, Meng Xizhao experienced once again the traffic jams of his past life.
…
When they finally arrived in the outer city, the scent of cooking filled the air. Standing at the Zhan residence, Meng Xizhao knocked on the door and waited. After a moment, it was opened by none other than Zhan Buxiu.
Zhan Buxiu was slightly stunned. “Why are you here?”
Meng Xizhao: “I’ve come to fetch my Jiaojiao. Where is she?”
Zhan Buxiu: “She left half an hour ago to have dinner at home. Didn’t you know?”
Meng Xizhao: “…I knew.”
Buxiu’s eyes widened in surprise. “Then why didn’t you come earlier?”
Meng Xizhao: “….”
“I had some matters to attend to. Never mind if I didn’t pick her up. I only made the plan on a whim and didn’t tell her. You…”
Meng Xizhao glanced at him, then at the courtyard inside. “Are you going to celebrate the festival with your family tonight? Pay respects to the Weaver Maiden?”
Zhan Buxiu: “….”
The Weaver Maiden ceremony on the Qiqiao Festival involved setting up a long table under the moonlight with fruits and handicrafts, praying for improved skills among the female workers.
He would never participate in such an event! Even in previous years, he only bought the offerings; if anyone participated, it was Zhan Hui’s task.
If someone asked him, he would normally think they were mocking him. But Meng Xizhao’s expression seemed earnest, not sarcastic.
After a long pause, he said: “No.”
Meng Xizhao brightened instantly. “Good. Then let’s find a restaurant and have a drink. You’ve been promoted, yet you haven’t treated me to a drink.”
Zhan Buxiu agreed, of course. Even though Meng Xizhao had also been promoted and hadn’t invited him.
…
Other restaurants were packed today, but a small eatery in the outer city still had a few seats available.
Even the semi-private rooms here were only half enclosed, with a partially drawn curtain blocking the outside view. Privacy was minimal, but neither of them minded. Cups clinked and dishes were cleared quickly—Meng Xizhao was genuinely hungry, and Zhan Buxiu truly could eat.
Once the meal was finished, they began to chat.
“I’m building a residence. Once it’s finished, I’ll invite you over to warm the place.”
Zhan Buxiu asked, “When will it be done?”
Meng Xizhao wasn’t sure. The Ministry of Works had too many tasks; it might take some time. Reflecting on his past experience building a villa, he replied cautiously, “About a month, I suppose.”
Zhan Buxiu: “I might not make it then. I’ll send Ah Hui to bring a gift instead.”
Meng Xizhao paused. “Why, is His Majesty sending you on a campaign?”
Zhan Buxiu shook his head. “No, but now that I have this post, I can’t linger in Yingtian Prefecture.”
Meng Xizhao fell silent.
Indeed, since the Heavenly Longevity Emperor had given Zhan Buxiu such a high position, Meng Xizhao felt a faint unease. Perhaps the promotion was meant to unsettle him, or perhaps the emperor had another plan.
Now that Nanzhao was like a beaten dog, anyone could go there and succeed easily. If the emperor wanted Zhan Buxiu to continue the campaign, there was no need to promote him so quickly.
The fear was that, having tasted success, he would turn his attention elsewhere.
When Nanzhao was conquered, the people cheered—not because of the victory itself, but because the returning troops meant the young men who had been conscripted year after year, never heard from again, could finally return home.
They had such expectations, and suddenly, if the emperor ordered another campaign and took the army away, what chaos would follow?
Meng Xizhao lowered his gaze, then smiled. “No need to worry. Once the war subsides, all generals will report back to the capital. How each general is deployed will be carefully considered by the Privy Council. In a month or two, it will be autumn, and campaigns are unwise then—everyone knows this.”
Zhan Buxiu: “….”
Yes, everyone knows, but the emperor doesn’t. Last year, he launched a campaign against Nanzhao in the dead of winter.
The conversation was not private enough for Meng Xizhao to speak freely, so Zhan Buxiu sipped his wine silently, saying not a word.
Meng Xizhao didn’t want to continue the topic, so he merely asked, “Now that you’re General of Guiding Virtue, shouldn’t you move back to the inner city? If you don’t want the court to build you a residence, buying a house would do. Your salary now is higher than mine.”
Thinking about this made him a little wistful. Meng Xizhao drew three stipends, yet it still didn’t equal one of Zhan Buxiu’s. There was no way around it: military salaries were always many times higher than those of civil officials.
Fundamentally, civil officials could embezzle without threatening the stability of the throne, but if a general were corrupt, the nation would be in jeopardy.
Take Geng Wenjin, for example… There were many reasons why Daqi couldn’t defeat Nanzhao, but one was that he withheld supplies and soldiers’ pay. And then there was Shang Xiguan, far worse—he pocketed the death benefits of fallen soldiers, and sometimes, thinking there weren’t enough casualties, he even reported the disabled as dead, leaving them to die while fellow generals received the benefits.
He didn’t campaign; he simply sat at home and harvested a fortune—money soaked in others’ blood and sweat.
Shaking his head to clear their faces from his thoughts, Meng Xizhao saw that Zhan Buxiu didn’t respond. He wondered if something was wrong: “Is it that your grandfather and sister don’t want to move back?”
Zhan Buxiu paused for a moment before replying, “No. Grandfather wants to live in the inner city—it would make him feel proud. As for Ah Hui… she could live anywhere.”
“So you’re…”
Zhan Buxiu shook his head. “I just don’t want to settle for any random house. If we really move back, I want them to stay in my family’s old residence.”
Meng Xizhao froze.
After the Zhan household was confiscated, all their property had gone to the state, including the residence. The former residence of the Great Cavalry General wasn’t a place just anyone could live. As far as Meng Xizhao knew, years ago, the Heavenly Longevity Emperor had gifted it to Shang Xiguan, who never lived there but leased it out. Rumor had it, it was rented to someone running secret operations—its current state was unknown.
Even Meng Xizhao knew this; Zhan Buxiu could not be unaware.
Yet he still wanted to return. Clearly, it wasn’t mere fondness for the house—it was a matter of pride, of holding something back in his heart.
Watching Zhan Buxiu’s unchanged, composed expression, Meng Xizhao suddenly realized that sometimes this man’s obedience made him seem invisible. But in truth, he was the protagonist of this world—not talkative, yes, but by no means lacking personality.
Zhan Buxiu noticed Meng Xizhao’s gaze lingering too long and looked back in puzzlement. Meng Xizhao blinked and smiled, saying nothing, lowering his head to sip his wine.