Chu Wanning had gone two days without sleep; he had fallen into
a deep slumber. Mo Ran quietly drew him into his arms and carried him to
bed, his movements so gentle Chu Wanning never stirred.
Mo Ran placed him in the very middle of the bed. Cradling the back
of his neck, he laid his head down softly on the pillow and pulled the
blankets up over him. But after tucking Chu Wanning in, Mo Ran didn't
step back. He fixed his eyes on Chu Wanning's face. Inch by inch, his
infatuated gaze drifted from Chu Wanning's sooty brows down to his pale lips.
Gorgeous.
His shizun, his Wanning—how was he so damn gorgeous? After
sneaking a few more glances, Mo Ran's heart softened, while a certain
other part of him did quite the opposite. His scalp tingled, but reason was a
yoke around his neck. He knew it was wrong—but Chu Wanning's face was
so close, just a breath away, and the faint scent of haitang on his body was
like an army of pliant talons piercing Mo Ran's facade of respectability,
enticing Mo Ran to shed his clothes and join Chu Wanning in this warm
bed.
Perhaps it was the surging of Mo Ran's blood like a rushing river, or
the beating of his heart like an unstoppable war drum, or the scalding heat
of his blazing gaze that woke Chu Wanning—whatever the reason, Chu
Wanning abruptly blinked open his eyes.
For a moment, neither spoke. Mo Ran sat stock-still. As Chu
Wanning's drowsiness gave way to astonishment, he met Mo Ran's fiery
gaze with wide eyes. He jolted fully awake at once. "What are you doing?"
This strong and gallant youth wore an inscrutable expression. As he
slowly leaned down, Chu Wanning froze in alarm.
"You—"
Mo Ran drew closer still. Chu Wanning's heart thumped wildly.
With a soft swish, their surroundings went dim, plunged into a
suggestive gloom.
After he'd pulled the bed curtain closed, Mo Ran straightened and
settled on the edge of the bed. Looking down at Chu Wanning, he said
evenly, "I saw Shizun fell asleep, so I wanted to close the curtains for you.
I didn't mean to wake you."
Chu Wanning didn't make a sound. Propped against the pillow, he
raised his head slightly to gaze at Mo Ran. The dull yellow of the drapes
fluttered idly behind him, and the candlelight from the table had become
nebulous and hazy, like fog gathered on a window in wintertime. It was too
dim to read Mo Ran's handsome features. There were only two shining eyes
in the dark night, brilliant as fallen stars.
"Shizun," Mo Ran said without preamble.
"Hm?"
"There's something I want to ask you."
Chu Wanning held his tongue. In the darkness, this disciple seemed
to have screwed up his courage. Chu Wanning's heart seized in his chest. Is
he going to ask me about the brocade pouch? he wondered. His face
remained impassive, but stormy waves surged in his chest. Was it too late to
pretend to be asleep?
"Where should I sleep?" Mo Ran asked.
Chu Wanning stared at him in silence.
Immediately after asking the question, Mo Ran began to have regrets.
His overeager and practically ravenous body had no business sleeping in the
same bed as Chu Wanning. He was no stranger to how terrifying a man's
desire could be once awakened. And so, after agonizing over this very
question for half the night, Mo Ran came to his own answer. "The bed's too
small. I'll take the floor," he concluded.
"Is there another set of blankets?"
"There is."
"Will you be cold?"
"It's okay, I'll just add some straw." And so saying, Mo Ran left the
cottage to gather a pile of straw and returned to deftly flatten it into a pallet.
After the fright Mo Ran had given him, Chu Wanning was no longer
sleepy. He flipped onto his side, head propped against the pillow, and lifted
the bed curtain to silently watch Mo Ran bustle about.
"I'm hitting the hay. Sweet dreams, Shizun."
Mo Ran lay down without removing his clothes and pulled the
blankets around him. His ink-dark eyes were full of steady warmth as they
gazed at Chu Wanning upon the bed.
"Mn," Chu Wanning responded. At Mo Ran's display of apparent
obedience, Chu Wanning let out a breath of relief and put on his own show
of perfect aloofness. Feigning disaffection, he released the curtain and lay
back in his bed.
Mo Ran sat up again.
"What are you doing?"
"Putting out the light." Mo Ran got to his feet and blew out the
candle.
Silence descended upon the little cottage. The master on the bed and
his disciple below both stared into the boundless night, their hearts each
heavy with private worries, bathed in the faint glow of golden haitang
blossoms and scarlet butterflies.
"Shizun."
"What is it now? Are you sleeping or not?"
"I'm sleeping." Mo Ran's voice sounded exceptionally gentle in the
darkness. "I just wanted to tell you something all of a sudden."
Chu Wanning pursed his lips. His pulse didn't race so quickly as the
first time his imagination had gone haywire, but his throat still felt dry.
"I wanted to say… Shizun, you don't have to be so cautious when
you sleep. You always curl up in one corner of the bed." There was a hint of
a smile in Mo Ran's voice, low and mellifluous.
"It's just a habit," came Chu Wanning's eventual reply.
"Why?"
"My room's too messy. One time I fell off the bed when I rolled over
in my sleep and cut myself on a file on the floor." His words left Mo Ran
speechless for a long, long moment, until Chu Wanning asked, "What's
wrong?"
"Nothing," said Mo Ran. His voice sounded closer than before. Chu
Wanning turned his head. Through the gauze of the curtain, by the faint
light of the haitang blossoms and butterflies, he saw that Mo Ran had pulled
his pallet over to the bed.
Mo Ran lay down once more. "Shizun doesn't need to worry when
I'm around," he said with a laugh. "You won't be stabbed by anything if
you fall." After a pause, he added, almost carelessly, "I'm here."
Chu Wanning said nothing.
A while later, Mo Ran heard a soft snort from the man on the bed.
"Your biceps are so hard that hitting them might be no better than hitting
that file."
Mo Ran chuckled. "There's something even harder that Shizun hasn't
seen yet."
He was, honest to goodness, thinking of his pecs—but the instant the
words left his mouth, he realized how filthy they sounded. Panicked, he
blurted, "That's not what I meant."
Chu Wanning had already lapsed into an embarrassed silence after
the first sentence; now, the atmosphere between them had truly deteriorated
beyond saving. Of course he knew Mo Ran was in possession of a hotter
and harder weapon far more terrifying than any of Chu Wanning's glinting
mechanical implements. Forget that accursed cultivation world ranking list
he'd glimpsed by accident; he had inadvertently felt the thing for himself
through their clothes. That was a weapon so full of fearsome passion that it
sent shivers down one's spine.
"Go to sleep," Chu Wanning snapped.
A pause. "Mn."
But how could they possibly sleep? The two of them lay in the throes
of love's torment, its magma lapping at their chests, so searing their
ribcages were on the verge of cracking. In the quiet of the room, each could
hear the other's soft breathing, his tossing and turning.
Pillowing his head on one arm, Mo Ran stared at the dancing scarlet
butterflies filling the cottage. One fluttered over to the bed curtain, casting
its warm red glow upon the gauze.
In the silence, Mo Ran suddenly remembered—
At Jincheng Lake all those years ago, the person who had rescued
him from the Heart-Pluck Willow's illusion seemed to have murmured
something into his ear. He had been too far gone in the moment—perhaps
he'd imagined it. He couldn't be sure. But reflecting on it now, he felt that
his ears might not have deceived him after all.
That it might have been real.
Back then, when he had heard Chu Wanning say, "I like you too."
Mo Ran's heart raced. Each seemingly insignificant detail from days
past was like twigs and cuttings scattered upon the ground, now sprouting
and branching out, tender leaves and vivid stamens unfurling. Nourished by
this brazen thought, they grew into a towering tree.
His mind was curiously blank, the world a dizzying blur before his
eyes. The more he thought about it, the more impossible it seemed…
"I like you too."
I like you too…
If he had misheard, if Chu Wanning had never said these words, then
why had he been unwilling to admit he'd been the one to save Mo Ran
when they woke up from the illusion in Jincheng Lake? It made no sense.
Unless Mo Ran hadn't misheard! Unless Chu Wanning had really said—
Mo Ran jolted upright in bed, unable to contain his agitation.
"Shizun!" he called hoarsely.
Silence.
There was no response from behind the curtain, but Mo Ran pressed
ahead nevertheless. "When I was doing the laundry today, I found
something. It was…"
Within the drapes, everything remained perfectly still.
"Do you know—what it was?" As the words crowded to the tip of his
tongue, he suddenly panicked. The question came out clumsy and halting.
No reply came. The silence stretched.
Mo Ran hesitated, his eyes dark and shining. "Shizun, are you
asleep? Did you hear anything I said…"
Lying on the bed, shielded by the thin gauze curtain, Chu Wanning
didn't move a muscle. He might have really been asleep. Mo Ran waited.
He reached a hand toward the curtain several times in dissatisfaction, only
to stop himself at the last second.
"Shizun," he mumbled a final time, before lying down once more.
His voice was terribly quiet, even fragile. "Pay attention to me."
But of course his shizun would do no such thing.
Chu Wanning was a total mess. He had always taken pride in being
clear of mind, but now his head may as well have been filled with black
smoke. He lay on the bed, staring blankly at the swirling hui-patterned
canopy in the darkness. What exactly is Mo Ran trying to do? he wondered,
his thoughts sluggish and stiff. He racked his brain for an answer,
considering every sort of outlandish possibility.
The only one he didn't dare entertain was the most obvious—
he didn't dare suppose that Mo Ran liked him too.
He was like a starving man who had unexpectedly found himself in
possession of a delectably crispy meat pie. Because the pie was hard-won
and precious, he'd gnawed off the entire crust, but couldn't bear to start on
the meaty filling.
Chu Wanning listened to Mo Ran's low, harried murmurs penetrating
the barrier of the canopy. He soundlessly drew the blanket up, covering his
chin, then his nose, leaving only a pair of bright eyes. Then he pulled it over
his eyes as well, until he was completely hidden beneath the covers.
Of course he had heard Mo Ran. But how was he supposed to
respond?
His heart thundered, and his palms were clammy with sweat. He felt
mortified, backed into a corner. He wanted nothing more than to sit straight
up and launch into a fearless tirade: That's right! I hid that brocade pouch!
Fine! I like you! There! Satisfied? Now get lost! Stop asking questions and
go the fuck to sleep!
He was tormented, on tenterhooks. A terrible itch gnawed at his
chest.
"Shizun?"
Silence once again.
"Are you really sleeping…"
A long moment later, Chu Wanning heard Mo Ran sigh softly. Lying
there in the darkness, head under the covers, he felt despondent yet terrified,
nervous yet also somehow warm and tender—his emotions were a muddled
mix of flavors, bitter and sweet and everything in between. He reminded
himself to keep calm. But eventually, he found himself kicking the blanket
in frustration as his cheeks burned with heat