Chapter 39: The Quietest Hours Are Always the Loudest
The silence in the room was loud.
Chen Xinyu sat stiffly on the bed, eyes still trained on the crown prince beside him, the candlelight casting a flicker across Hua Ling's cheekbones. The gentle orange glow didn't soften the words that had just been spoken:
"I haven't been sleeping lately. May I stay?"
It was spoken so quietly, as if asking for something shameful. Hua Ling's voice wasn't pleading—he never pleaded—but there was something raw in it. Something stripped of armor.
Xinyu nodded stiffly. His heart said no. His sense said no. His pride said absolutely not.
But his mouth moved anyway:
"Of course, Your Highness may stay."
He shifted to the side, making space. Hua Ling moved slowly, deliberately, like he was afraid to startle something. Maybe himself.
The blanket dipped with his weight. Neither of them moved much after that. They both lay on their backs, eyes fixed on the ceiling as though it might offer answers.
Time passed in long minutes. Neither of them spoke.
Until Hua Ling, in a voice like someone remembering a dream, said,
"When I was little, I couldn't sleep unless my mother lay next to me. It was like that for years. I think it was the sound of her breathing."
Xinyu blinked.
He thought: What—am I your mother now?
He didn't say that, obviously. He was already being punished by heaven for his wicked tongue. Instead, he replied, soft and dry,
"It must be nice. To have a mother."
The silence that followed felt heavier than it had before.
Hua Ling turned his head to face him. In the dimness, Xinyu could feel the weight of his gaze even before he saw it.
"…I'm sorry," Hua Ling said.
Xinyu turned his face slowly, just enough to meet those eyes.
He said, "It's okay."
But in his heart, he thought: I know. I know it's not your fault. But I still can't keep you close.
He didn't know if that was cowardice or clarity. Or maybe both.
After that, Hua Ling said nothing else. His breath evened out slowly, the rhythm like waves against the shore. He was asleep.
Xinyu turned on his side without meaning to. His eyes lingered on Hua Ling's profile—exquisite even in sleep, or perhaps more so. Hair slightly mussed, brow relaxed. The usual guarded nobility was gone, replaced by something vulnerable. Human.
A strand of hair fell across his face.
Without thinking, Xinyu reached out. His fingers hovered—hesitated. Then they brushed the strand aside.
He felt the softness of Hua Ling's skin, and suddenly it was too much.
He withdrew his hand as if burned and buried his face in the pillow.
What am I doing…?
He didn't want to stay. But he didn't want to leave.
His mind swirled like a snowstorm, cold and directionless, and eventually exhaustion dragged him under. They slept, side by side, breathing in sync. Two boys on a narrow bed, carrying things too heavy for their age.
Morning came too loud.
The sect grounds stirred with the clamor of a new day—disciples shouting about laundry, training schedules, someone's chicken going missing again.
Lingque, still groggy, made her way to Xinyu's room to scold him for skipping breakfast.
She opened the door.
And immediately froze.
She saw a scene that turned her to stone.
Eyes wide, hand flying to her mouth, she stared in utter betrayal. On the bed, their young master—Chen Xinyu—was still peacefully asleep, curled under the same blanket as none other than His Highness Hua Ling.
She closed the door like she was sealing away a ghost.
On the path, Lu Rourou and Lan Xueyao were approaching, giggling about some gossip from the outer court.
"Jiejie!" Rourou called. "You already saw Xinyu? Let's go in to—"
Lingque immediately turned into a wall. She grabbed both of them by their arms and yanked them back.
"Nope," she said. "Not right now."
"Why not?" Xueyao frowned. "We need to check on him—"
"He's bathing," Lingque blurted out.
"At this hour?"
"Yes. He bathes whenever he wants. He's unpredictable, okay? Let's go. March. You're not going in there."
Lingque practically shoved the two girls down the corridor.
Rourou blinked innocently. "Jiejie, why are your ears red?"
"Because I'm furious," Lingque snapped, glaring back at Xinyu's door as if she could set it on fire with her eyes. "That idiot. I'm out here protecting his virtue while he's inside enjoying the embrace of royalty—just you wait, Chen Xinyu. I'll beat you senseless when you're done being pampered!"
Back inside, Xinyu woke.
He stared for a long moment at the ceiling, then at the empty space beside him where Hua Ling had been.
Warmth still lingered.
For a foolish second, he wanted to close his eyes and fall back into that comfort.
But he got up instead.
He washed his face with cold water, put on his robes, and walked out without breakfast. His heart had begun to tighten again the moment he left the bed.
He didn't look back.
As he passed the courtyard, he saw Qingze preparing tea in the pavilion.
"His Highness is still resting," Qingze said without looking up. "Shall I tell him you left?"
Xinyu paused, then shook his head. "Tell him to return to his residence. He has his own people."
Qingze raised an eyebrow. "As you wish, Young Master Chen."
Xinyu disappeared down the path like a shadow being burned away by morning light.
Later, Hua Ling stirred.
The birds outside were chirping. The sky outside was pale with sunlight.
He sat up slowly, blinked, then looked around.
The room was quiet, warm. A jug of water had been left beside the bed. His body felt rested for the first time in days.
It was strange.
He had always been a light sleeper. But last night…
Last night, for some reason, he had slept like a child in his mother's arms.
He looked toward the empty side of the bed. The blanket was still rumpled.
He touched it once.
Then got up, fixed his collar, and left without a word.