The little kitchen at Xihe Manor was open-air, built in a secluded side courtyard. An old banyan tree stood in the middle of the courtyard, lush and verdant, spreading a canopy like a cloud of green smoke that shaded the entire yard.
There was no one else in the courtyard. When Gu Mang entered, he saw Mo Xi with his back to him, bustling about in front of the stove. The man didn’t know how to cook, but apparently he felt that having more cookbooks would give him some psychological comfort, because a stack of books such as A Collection of Huaiyang Flavors and Records of Bashu Cuisine had been piled on the table.
At that moment, he was holding some cookbook Gu Mang couldn’t identify. He was frowning as he read it, unconsciously curling his fingers and lightly tapping his knuckles against the countertop.
Gu Mang couldn’t help wanting to laugh when he saw this. His shidi had a habit: whenever he encountered something troublesome, he liked to curl his fingers and tap whatever happened to be nearby. The last time Gu Mang had seen Mo Xi show this kind of restless impatience had been on the battlefield, facing the enemy army. He had never imagined that a single meal could leave Lord Xihe this troubled.
“Two ounces of tapioca starch, one level spoonful of salt… Remove the tail shell from the mantis shrimp, coat it in starch…”
With one hand, Mo Xi lifted a mantis shrimp from the bamboo basket. The shrimp had already been cleaned by the fishermen, so all he had to do was remove the hard shell from its tail as the recipe instructed, coat it in tapioca starch, and fry it in oil.
But that was precisely where the problem arose.
Mo Xi had no idea how to remove the shell.
He read the recipe over and over, confirming that it gave no instructions on the matter. His swordlike brows drew together even more deeply. After a while, a faint red glow actually gathered at his fingertips. He released a trace of spiritual energy and brought two fingers together.
With a crisp crack, the poor mantis shrimp could not withstand Lord Xihe’s excessive show of concern and was instantly crushed into powder.
Mo Xi seemed completely stunned. His eyes flew wide, making him look exactly like a tabby cat on its first hunt, only to have its prey clamp down on its nose.
“…What the hell?” It took him a moment before he muttered, “I haven’t even cast a spell…”
Gu Mang couldn’t hold it in any longer. Leaning against the courtyard gate behind him, he clutched his stomach and burst out laughing.
“You—hahahaha! How could you use Disarming Armor Technique on a poor little shrimp?”
Mo Xi turned around. A trace of embarrassment flashed across his peerlessly handsome face.
“Why are you back? So early.”
Gu Mang took three steps in two, hopped over, and wrapped his arms around Mo Xi’s lean waist from behind, rubbing against his broad back.
“I missed you, so I came to see the pretty beauty battle a big-headed shrimp.”
Mo Xi became even more embarrassed. Sunlight filtered through the branches and fell across his face, the edges of his ears taking on a soft flush as he forcibly maintained his composure and explained,
“I happened to have nothing to do today, and I saw a fisherman passing the manor carrying fresh fish and shrimp. It’s not as though I deliberately went out to buy them.”
He gave a slight tug, but when he realized Gu Mang was holding him tightly, he turned his face to the side.
“Let go.”
Gu Mang didn’t let go. Instead, he teased him.
“Speaking of which, I’ve been meaning to tell you something.”
“…What?”
Wrapping his arms around Mo Xi’s waist, Gu Mang looked up and grinned.
“Your legs are really long.”
Mo Xi: “…”
“And your waist is so slim… while your shoulders and back are so broad.” Gu Mang sighed appreciatively. “Someone like you could definitely be the top courtesan at Luomei Retreat.”
Mo Xi was both exasperated and amused. The crimson flush at the tips of his ears hadn’t faded, but he was terrible with words and didn’t know how to respond. After a long while, he simply repeated the same two words exactly as before.
“Let go.”
Gu Mang kept his arms around him and pestered him for a while longer. Eventually, he pushed Mo Xi so far that the latter was about to smear his flour-covered hands across Gu Mang’s face. Only then did Gu Mang laugh and jump away.
He dragged over a chair, straddled it backward, and rested his elbows on the backrest.
The courtyard was tranquil. The fragrance of potato rice simmering beneath a wooden lid drifted through the air. A few free-range barred chickens wandered through the grass nearby, clucking as they pecked at insects and ants.
Gu Mang knew that Mo Xi had a great deal weighing on his mind. Ever since they had confessed their feelings to one another, the worry in Mo Xi’s eyes had grown day by day—worry that Gu Mang’s memories would soon disappear, worry that Gu Mang’s reputation could never be cleared, worry that the black demonic energy within Gu Mang’s body would become increasingly uncontrollable…
So many unresolved blades were pressed against his heart. Mo Xi simply couldn’t relax.
He had only just gained his beloved, yet the two of them were already surrounded on all sides, treading on thin ice.
Gu Mang was the one who was destined to forget.
Mo Xi was the one who would remember forever.
And remembering had always been far more painful than forgetting.
Gu Mang didn’t know what he should do with his princess. He didn’t know how to coax his little shidi into no longer worrying so deeply over him, no longer letting the clouds of sorrow obscure his eyes.
So all he could do was tease him as much as possible.
Actually, Gu Mang wasn’t truly as shameless as he seemed, nor was he particularly skilled at sweet-talking. Like Mo Xi, this was his first love, one that had lasted fourteen years. He was just as inexperienced and awkward.
But if it could make Mo Xi a little happier, Gu Mang felt there was nothing he couldn’t bring himself to say.
A lifetime was only so long. If you didn’t say some things, you might never get another chance.
“Princess, you’re really handsome.”
“…”
“Really. Before, I could never properly compliment you. But honestly, I’ve always felt this way.”
“…”
“I like you.”
“…”
“Seeing you makes me happy.”
“…”
“Holding you makes me happy, too.”
“…”
“Sleeping with you makes me happiest.”
Mo Xi set down the bowl in which he was mixing the flour with a loud clang. He turned around and looked at Gu Mang with a mixture of embarrassment and helplessness.
“Are you doing this on purpose?”
Gu Mang smiled and draped himself over the back of the chair, raising one hand.
“I mean it.”
Mo Xi fell silent. He lowered his head and dipped his hands into the washbasin to clean them. As he washed, he suddenly said flatly,
“Come here.”
“What for?”
“Come help me roll up my sleeves.”
Gu Mang obediently went, “Oh,” and got up from the chair, wandering behind Mo Xi. He leaned forward for a look.
“Your sleeves are perfectly fi—mmph!”
He was suddenly yanked forward. Knowing that Gu Mang would cry out when startled, Mo Xi covered his mouth. Gu Mang was pulled into Mo Xi’s arms from behind and pressed against the stove, his voice muffled beneath Mo Xi’s palm. Mo Xi wrapped his arms around him from behind, his hard, heated chest pressed against Gu Mang’s back.
It was the height of summer, and Mo Xi’s clothes were thin. His scorching breath and body heat pressed against Gu Mang with an almost aggressive intensity, as though someone had set a fire at the base of Gu Mang’s spine. The heat burned upward from his tailbone, making his blue eyes widen as his whole body trembled faintly. When those rough fingers lifted and traced downward along his throat, Gu Mang felt his entire back go numb.
Mo Xi’s legs really were very long. Standing behind Gu Mang, he could envelop his shixiong completely in his arms. His large hand never loosened its hold as he thrust forward once in that restraining position.
That familiar heat and terrifying intensity made Gu Mang’s waist instantly go weak. His moist breath brushed against Mo Xi’s palm.
“Can you feel it?”
“…”
Mo Xi bent down and bit his earlobe, his voice low and burning.
“Then don’t provoke me.”
With that, he released Gu Mang.
Gu Mang covered his throat and coughed repeatedly. When he turned around to look at Mo Xi, that secretly flirtatious man had already lowered his long lashes and resumed dealing with his tapioca starch and shrimp.
Mo Xi was simply like this. He was exceptionally capable of enduring things, and he knew very clearly what should and shouldn’t be done. When he and Gu Mang were in bed, there was no doubt that he was passionate, and the blade forged from his flesh and blood was certainly eager to be unsheathed, but he knew that Gu Mang’s body could not yet withstand overly intense stimulation.
He had always been a man with an exceptionally strong will, with his own sense of where to draw the line. As long as he felt that the boundary had not been reached—or that it had already been crossed—no one could tempt him.
Not even Gu Mang.
There was nothing Gu Mang could do but return to his chair and lie there watching Mo Xi bustle about. As he gazed at the man’s back, the heart that he had once believed had been so thoroughly battered by suffering that it could never be pure again gradually began to overflow with sweet water once more, bubbling up from within his cracked chest.
Of course he knew that he had only just recovered and wasn’t suited to such intense intimacy yet. But what he and Mo Xi thought about this was different.
Compared to his own consciousness, Gu Mang actually wasn’t that concerned with his body.
It was already a broken vessel anyway. All he wanted was to offer his flesh and bones to his princess while his mind was still clear, while he could still express his love properly.
But unfortunately, his princess wouldn’t accept them.
Unfortunately, his princess cherished this broken body wrapped in black demonic energy beyond measure. Mo Xi’s love and desire were so intense, so ready to erupt; his restraint was as solid as stone and just as genuine. It made Gu Mang involuntarily begin to entertain beautiful fantasies, as though his broken shell were still precious, as though it could still be saved.
One day, his beloved would carry him across the water to shore. One day, they would finally be able to stay together without a single worry, just as they had once wished when they were young.
After fussing over things for most of the day, it was already afternoon by the time Mo Xi finally finished cooking.
There was a plate of crispy fried mantis shrimp, a sweet-and-sour fish, and, naturally, his one specialty: lychee fruitwood crispy-skin roast goose. There was also a pot of luotang greens. Gu Mang lay against the stone table, watching Shidi Mo carry the dishes over. The rice had been simmering in the pot earlier, and when the wooden lid was lifted, the clean fragrance of rice and potatoes filled the courtyard.
“The shrimp are a little burnt, the sweet-and-sour fish is a bit too sour, and the crispy-skin goose isn’t as good as the one you make,” Mo Xi said as he ladled two bowls of soup and brought them over. Fresh green leaves floated cleanly in the clear broth, with three plump, white fish balls in each bowl. “If you don’t like it, we can go eat somewhere else.”
“No, don’t. I’m starving. At this point, even if you gave me charcoal, I’d eat it without batting an eye.”
As he spoke, Gu Mang picked up a fish ball with his bamboo chopsticks. The moment he bit into it, piping-hot, rich broth burst into his mouth. The whole fish ball was smooth, springy, and tender.
“Mmm, it’s delicious! Who would’ve thought you’re actually pretty good at this?”
“…I bought these from Zhang’s Fish Ball Shop in the East Market.”
“…Oh.”
“You used to like the fish balls from this place the most… You may have forgotten.”
Gu Mang inwardly groaned.
No matter how hard he tried, he still couldn’t reverse the fact that his memories were gradually weakening and fading away. Usually, he did everything he could to keep Mo Xi from noticing these signs, but he hadn’t expected his efforts to fail because of one tiny fish ball.
His flattery had completely backfired and only made Mo Xi’s mood heavier. Gu Mang hurriedly said,
“I didn’t forget, I didn’t forget. I meant that the soup was really good. You’re amazing.”
Mo Xi scooped the perfectly ordinary clear soup with a porcelain-white spoon, saying nothing.
Gu Mang tried the other dishes as well. He had to admit that Mo Xi truly had no talent for cooking. But because the man had been so meticulous, there hadn’t been any major disasters. The food didn’t taste particularly good, but it was all edible.
So Gu Mang praised him.
“This fish may be sour, but it’s great with rice.”
“This shrimp may be a little burnt, but it’s nice and crispy.”
“This crispy-skin goose is obviously even better than mine.”
Perhaps there were two kinds of good food.
One kind was genuinely delicious, flawless in every way.
The other was like the food Gu Mang was eating now: because the person before him was the one he loved, even if that beloved person had made dishes with this or that flaw, he could always find this or that good quality to make up for it.
In the end, it really came down to just one sentence.
—
“Anything you make is good to me. I’ll love it all.”
Mo Xi was made a little bashful by his praise. He turned his head and gave a soft cough before saying,
“If you’re willing, I’ll make it for you every day… I’ll get better at it.”
Gu Mang smiled.
“Next time, I’ll cook with you. I’ll teach you. Look at me, look at me—I have two words written on my forehead.”
Mo Xi paused.
“What?”
Gu Mang pointed meaningfully at his smooth forehead.
“Recipe.”
Mo Xi lowered his lashes and smiled. He pulled Gu Mang’s head toward him and kissed him on the forehead.
“You’re missing two words.”
This time it was Gu Mang’s turn to stare.
“What?”
Mo Xi’s deep black eyes gazed at him with tender affection as he quietly added,
“Mine.”
Gu Mang’s heart suddenly began pounding.
He stared into those deep, still-water eyes and silently exclaimed: Ah! Why does everyone in Chonghua think my princess doesn’t know how to be romantic? My Mo-shidi may be an honest man, but when an honest man sincerely speaks words of love, aren’t they far more moving than any flowery, clever sweet talk?
After lunch, the two of them cleaned up the dishes together in the courtyard.
Mo Xi hadn’t allowed a single servant to come in. This secluded courtyard belonged only to him and Gu Mang, with one great tree, a few domestic fowl, and simple cloth, grain, and provisions. This was all he had ever wanted from life.
When the last bowl had been washed clean, Gu Mang stretched lazily. Mo Xi walked over and wrapped his arms around him from behind.
“What are we doing next?” Gu Mang tilted his head and asked against the side of Mo Xi’s neck.
Mo Xi thought about it.
In the past, they had often thought about what they would do next.
Next, they would break camp.
Next, they would temper their weapons.
Next, they would hurry to pack everything away so no one would realize what kind of relationship they had.
They had always lived in a hurry.
But today, when Gu Mang habitually asked him that question, Mo Xi thought for a while and felt that nothing was more precious than the peace of this moment.
He lowered his head and kissed Gu Mang’s hair.
“There is. You have one very important thing to do.”
“What?”
“Keep me company while we sit in the sun for a while.”