Murong Qiufeng trembled all over, the cold mixing with the ache of his body. There was none of the usual pleasure he once felt, yet this pain brought him an odd sense of peace and fulfillment—making it clear that his heart belonged to him, and he would never leave him.
Shangguan Ye, on the other hand, seemed to have thrown all caution to the wind. For the first time, he was utterly unrestrained, his eyes bloodshot, his movements powerful and relentless. Each strike, each grip on Murong Qiufeng’s slender waist, seemed as if he might crush him. Deep purple marks were already forming where his hands squeezed tightly around the narrow waist.
“Say it—say you love me. Say you won’t leave me, never, ever. Your heart, your body—yours alone, for me. Just me. Say it!”
Murong Qiufeng shook, his nails pressing almost painfully into Shangguan Ye’s forearm. His voice quivered, broken and hesitant. “I… I belong to you… to you, Shangguan Ye. In this life… I love only you, body and soul.”
A beastly low growl echoed along the pond’s edge. The suppressed desire between them surged to a terrifying height, their bodies moving with increasing urgency. Their lips collided again and again, as if trying to swallow his words, his promises, deep into their hearts. As his eyes closed, two surprised tears slid down his face.
Perhaps, only now, did their hearts begin to find a sense of stability.
Fully surrendered, it felt as if everything had cleared, and the barriers between them began to dissolve. Yet the cost was high—they were both sick, especially Murong Qiufeng. Even with a strong constitution, he was now feverish and weak, barely able to stay conscious. Shangguan Ye fared better, suffering only from the cold.
With no village or inn in sight, and unwilling to return to the small town, Shangguan Ye left instructions for A Si, who would surely come looking, and carried Murong Qiufeng elsewhere.
The early spring rain fell like the remnants of winter frost, chilling to the bone—from light drizzles to drenching downpours. The first rain of the season put Shangguan Ye in a uniquely foul mood.
In a dilapidated temple, a few ragged beggars huddled by a fire. They stared at the flames as if at a mountain of gold, licking their dry lips, drawn by the sweet aroma of roasted sweet potatoes. Yet their alertness never waned.
Suddenly, the sound of galloping hooves broke the monotony. The figures peered out through the misty rain, spotting a dark shape hurtling toward them like an arrow. A high-pitched neigh pierced the air. They stood quickly, both wary and curious.
The shadow broke through the rain and leapt straight into the broken temple. It was only then that they saw—it was a horse.
Before they could react, a man in black dismounted, his hair dripping wet and somewhat disheveled, obscuring his face. But the chilling aura radiating from him was enough to make their hearts shiver.
In his arms, he carried a person in white. Ignoring the beggars completely, he placed the figure carefully on a dry patch of straw, shaking off his soaked outer robe so that the water flew in all directions. Miraculously, the robe instantly dried mid-shake and was draped over the straw.
Only then did he cautiously set the person down.
The beggars couldn’t see the figure’s face—likely a woman, they assumed, or at least a beloved companion, given how carefully the man handled them. Even the black horse at the temple entrance seemed to share his concern.
Then the man turned sharply, his gaze slicing through the rain like a hawk. “Get the best doctor, and do it fast. Also, prepare the finest carriage. These are yours now.”
The beggars recoiled at his glare, but when they noticed the white dragon jade pendant, about the size of a baby’s palm and tied with gold threads, greed overtook fear. Just the gold threads alone could feed them well for years, and the jade itself—its central gem glinting like a dragon’s eye—was priceless.
Though they were beggars, they knew treasure when they saw it. And these two, despite being bedraggled now, clearly came from wealthy families. The man in black exuded authority, like a powerful official or a martial sect master.
The beggars exchanged glances, lips twitching in excitement, and quickly ran off without a word, eager to follow instructions.
The man in black was Shangguan Ye; the one in white was Murong Qiufeng.
After a full day’s journey, they finally reached a county town—only to be met with heavy rain. Unfamiliar with the place, and with Murong Qiufeng sick, Shangguan Ye had no choice but to find temporary shelter.
The rain worsened his already foul mood, his face dark and stormy. He gently brushed the black hair from Murong Qiufeng’s face, tirelessly using his inner energy to dry the soaked clothing. The effort left him paler, his own cold worsened, even showing signs of fever—but he hardly noticed, fully focused on the sleeping figure before him.
Holding Murong Qiufeng’s cold hand, he couldn’t help but feel guilt. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have been so impulsive.”
Murong Qiufeng’s eyes remained tightly shut, his brows furrowed as if trapped in a nightmare. His lips were pressed thin, his body shivering slightly. His face had a faint flush, but his lips were pale and bluish.
Hearing Shangguan Ye’s voice, his lips whispered in a dreamlike murmur, “Ye… Ye… I’m sorry… Ye, sorry…” over and over, tears glinting in the corners of his eyes.
Shangguan Ye gripped his hand tighter, heart aching so much it was hard to breathe. Stroking his face, his guilt deepened. “Don’t say sorry. The one who truly owes you an apology is me. From the moment I met you, I’ve been calculating, pushing you, testing you. You owe me nothing…”
“Even knowing it might hurt you, I did it anyway. Yes, I admit it—I’ve been selfish. But you are mine. I won’t allow anyone to take you from me. Your heart, your body—yours only. I will fill every part of you. No one else, not even a fraction.”
