The cold dew of the late night frosted the Dujuan blossoms outside the window. Even the wind that swept down Yumeng Peak was chilling.
Mingxuan gently placed Xiangge on the bed. He didn't light the lamp, afraid that Xiangge would wake.
Xiangge's closed eyes were still puffy from crying. His cheeks were pale. Even if Xiangge was expressionless, his arched brows and drooping eyes always gave him a sad look.
Mingxuan quietly draped the quilt over Xiangge and turned to leave. Suddenly, a hand grasped his sleeve.
In his sleep, Xiangge held the sleeve firmly and did not let go. His brows creased painfully, and his lips mumbled, "Stay... Please stay... I feel... lonely..."
These whispery words scraped something raw in Mingxuan's heart. His jaw tightened. He slowly sat by the bedside and looked at the trembling prince. Xiangge was having a nightmare again.
A warm tear slid down his cheek. Mingxuan slowly wiped the tear away with his thumb.
He let Xiangge cling to the end of his long sleeve and gently caressed his head, his pale fingers ruffling through that impossibly soft black hair.
The touch was gentle and rhythmic and practiced, as if he had done it a thousand times.
Xiangge's mumbling slowly died away. His creased brows eased. He hugged the sleeve tighter and moved closer to Mingxuan.
Mingxuan looked at that face. Xiangge had already grown a lot, a peerless youth with beauty. Not that tiny child with a bright smile and shining eyes.
But still, Xiangge hadn't changed his habits. Even though things had turned sour between them, even in sleep, Xiangge still identified his sleeve.
Mingxuan's fingers paused mid-stroke. A memory stirred, like dew settling on old silk.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the bedpost. Years fell away like petals in the wind.
Back then, Xiangge was only two. He would not sleep unless Mingxuan hugged him.
He would not listen to Eunuch Zhu or the nannies. He would stay awake no matter how long it took, even if Mingxuan only returned from court after midnight.
And if Mingxuan was late, Xiangge would curl into a tiny ball in the corner of the bed. With puffed cheeks and wet eyes on the verge of breaking into tears, he would angrily bury his face into the pillow, his little fists squeezing the sheets.
He would let out faint huffs of breath, sulking. But the pout on his face was too soft. Too small. Pitiful.
Mingxuan would stop at the door and quietly watch the tiny bundle of anger tossing the softest of tantrums. A helpless smile would tug at his lips. He would take off his outer robes, slide into the bed, gently pull the child closer by the collar, and hug him to his chest.
His untouched dinner would be cold at the desk. But his heart would be full of warmth.
After this happened once or twice, Mingxuan always made sure to finish court matters by the hour of the dog. He would change his robes and return early, just to lie down with the tiny child cradled against him.
Xiangge's soft warmth always made him feel he wasn't empty. He would bury his nose into Xiangge's fluffy black hair and take a long, deep breath.
That soft magnolia scent always settled his uneasy mind. It brought him sleep in his sleepless nights, like an enchanted incense in the middle of a storm.
In the blink of an eye, more than seventeen years had passed.
But no matter how tall or striking Xiangge had grown, in Mingxuan's eyes, he would always be the child who once clung to him during stormy nights.
And that was what terrified him most. Because Xiangge was no longer that child. Not anymore.
Mingxuan had crossed the line, just one hour ago. He had let it happen. He had not pulled away. And still, somewhere deep in his soul, that child's memory remained.
That warmth, that innocence, that trust.
He could not lose it. He could not taint it. He could not let it be rewritten as sin.
So Mingxuan only reached out, gently and slowly, to brush aside the strands of hair scattered across Xiangge's cheek.
He looked out the window.
The frost of early spring that rested upon twigs heavy with blossoms melted in the moonlight, dripping icy dewdrops upon the blades of grass below.
Pale pink petals descended from the branches, glittering under the moonlight. The wind was cold.
It was a different kind of beauty.
Enchanting.
Mesmerizing.
But cold. Cold and icy, like his heart.
Mingxuan's eyes were a little moist. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. But his hand never stopped gently caressing Xiangge's hair.
If he let go now, what part of that person will he still deserve to hold on to?
***
The cold morning sun drowned the misty peaks of Yunshan in a pale, silver light.
Dew still clung to the glazed tiles of the palace roof, and the scent of ink and sandalwood drifted from the Imperial Study.
Lord Rumeng strolled by with his usual swagger, half grace, half deliberate menace, when his eyes landed on a young eunuch standing at the study doors.
The eunuch was barely out of his teens, with delicate features: slender brows, downcast lashes, and a fair, lean frame dressed in dark blue. His pink lips were pressed nervously together as he waited with lowered head.
Rumeng paused mid-step.
"Whah–!" he gasped, one hand flying to his chest. "A beauty!"
The eunuch jolted like he'd been struck by lightning. His head snapped up, eyes wide, startled, glossy, and ridiculously clear.
"Don't tell me," Rumeng whispered with delight, "that the Imperial Study is recruiting fairies now?"
The eunuch stumbled back a step, stunned. He opened his mouth, likely to apologize or flee, but Rumeng had already closed the distance and pinned him against the door.
"Tell me, are you here to transcribe memorials or to steal hearts?"
"L-Lord Rumeng... I... I'm waiting for... Senior Zhu..."
"Oh?" Rumeng tilted his head. "So you're literally waiting for a pig."
"... ..."
"You tell me. What part of that grumpy old pig is better than me? Why not wait for me instead?"
"!!!"
The boy's ears turned crimson. He flattened helplessly against the door. "I–"
Rumeng studied the boy's parted lips, the faint trembling of his hands, the way his lashes fluttered.
Then he smiled like sin wrapped in silk. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, voice dropping an octave. He raised his hand, and with the back of a gloved finger, he hooked the eunuch's delicate jaw, leaning in.
"Are you trying to rile me up first thing in the morning, or..." His gaze dropped suggestively to those lips. "...asking for a kiss?"
The eunuch's face went scarlet. He shook his head violently.
Rumeng chuckled, low and evil. He ran a finger along the line of the boy's trembling jaw.
"Look at you," he purred. "Shaking like a reed. In front of a handsome man like me, you must know how to admire the beauty and say something touching like,
Beauty, like Shuanglian descending the Jade Mountain, beneath drifting peach petals, I'll shed my robes like spring cicadas, and hold your hands through the hush of night–"
"–This is broad daylight," a voice reminded gloomily.
The air dropped ten degrees.
Eunuch Zhu had arrived with his juniors, silent and severe, arms stacked with scrolls. He glared at Rumeng. "Do I have to prostrate on the floor to ask you to get lost? Stop harassing the staff!"
Rumeng blinked. "Oh! Senior Zhu! You startled me. Just admiring the palace landscaping–"
Zhu narrowed his eyes. "Was the 'landscaping' trembling in your arms a moment ago?"
"I was saving him from fainting," Rumeng sniffed. "It's not every day someone encounters such majestic beauty."
Zhu snorted. "Spouting filth at seven in the morning. What next, undressing under peach petals?"
Rumeng raised both hands in surrender. "Only if your little junior agrees."
"... ..."
The young eunuch let out a whimper, face flaming like a cooked shrimp.
Zhu's face darkened. "You're not even drunk yet, and already the poetry's coming out sideways."
Rumeng sighed dramatically, resting an arm over the eunuch's shoulders. "Can't a lonely soul admire the heavens when they descend to earth?"
Zhu took a single scroll from the stack, rolled it tight and thwacked Rumeng squarely on the head. "Go to hell!"
The sound echoed.
Rumeng clutched his head and hissed, "Hit me again and I'll tell your juniors what really happened during last year's Lantern Festival! Especially the part with the peach wine, the wrong bed, and the Crown Prince's missing boots!"
Zhu went pale. "You wouldn't–!"
Rumeng bared his teeth. "Try me, Zhu-er."
"How many times," came a cold, imperious voice from the Imperial Study, "must Zhen tell you to leave Zhu alone?!"
The doors hadn't even opened, but the Emperor's voice cracked through the air like a whip.
Rumeng snapped to attention. "Yes, Junshang!" he yelped, bowing to the carved door. Then pinched Zhu's butt before bolting, cackling like a criminal.
"Still soft as ever! Hahaha!"
He laughed all the way to the garden path.
And ran headlong into a very, very cold chest.
–THUD!
"Hhnnngh–!"
A violent shove sent him flying backward. Rumeng stumbled back, crashing down hard onto all fours.
"Okay! Who the hell–"
He looked up.
And froze.
Before him stood a man in deep blue robes trimmed with silver, expression more glacial than a winter storm. His young, stunning face was the image of frosty disdain.
Yin. Sang. Jun.
Rumeng swallowed hard.
Of all people to offend before breakfast...
That ascetic monk, untouchable pilar of icy holiness! Few dared speak to him. Fewer survived offending him.
"...Yes?" Yinsang Jun said darkly, one brow arched, voice cold enough to chill the air, clearly daring an explanation.
Rumeng scrambled to his feet, mustering a sheepish grin. "Ah, Lord Yinsang! What a... surprise. I didn't mean to disturb you. My legs just betrayed me."
"Good," Yinsang Jun said, narrowing his eyes like sharpening blades. "Then I'll gladly sever them if they wander into my territory again."
Rumeng bristled, voice quick to defend. "Territory? When did I trespass?"
Yinsang Jun's glare sharpened. "Then how did your half-eaten radish fly into my courtyard? Did it sprout wings?"
Rumeng froze.
Oh right. That morning, he might have sneaked into a garden to snatch some ripe plums.
How was he supposed to know it was his yard? If he'd known, he'd have eaten shit rather than those fruits.
But what's done was already done. Eaten plums cannot be taken back, could they? Could they? Hahaha! But he definitely wasn't going to admit what he did.
Feigning innocence, he shrugged. "No idea where it went. Maybe it grew legs and walked away."
Yinsang's smirk deepened. "I expected as much. But if you love legs, make sure they stay in line."
Rumeng bowed low, hiding a wicked grin. "Thank you for your concern, Lord Yinsang. I'll watch them closely."
Yinsang's lips twitched, eyes narrowing in warning.
Rumeng cleared his throat, wiping his nose. "Then, Rumeng will take his leave first." He sheepishly made the excuse to flee the spot again. He just wanted to pass in peace.
His heel struck a slippery, moss-covered stone, and in a split second, he slipped backward, losing all balance.
"Wha–!" Rumeng flailed.
In a panic, his hand shot out, grabbing the nearest thing he could reach for support.
Which happened to be Yinsang Jun's throat.
And surprisingly, it was a hundred percent success.
The world spun.
CRASH–!
They toppled in a tangle of limbs. Rumeng landed squarely atop the other party.
Yinsang Jun suppressed a groan when his back hit the ground with a brutal thud, but the true disaster came a moment later, when Rumeng's mouth slammed into his.
Lips. Pressed. Together.
Time froze.
"!!!"
Yinsang Jun's mind went blank.
Rumeng's eyes flew wide.
Soft. Cool. Camphor-scented.
He definitely just kissed Yinsang Jun.
Rumeng recoiled like he'd touched lightning, leaping back and landing several feet away in horror. His entire face went red.
"I–I'm sorry!!" he blurted, bowing so low his forehead nearly hit the dirt. Sweat rolled down his temple.
Yinsang Jun didn't move at first. Didn't come back to his senses. It must have been the first time this ascetic monk was actually kissed.
His breath came uneven. The pale skin flushed red around the neck and tips of his ears. His lips were slightly swollen, trembling. His adam's apple bobbed.
"...B-Bastard," he rasped hoarsely.
With shaking hands, he got up, brushing his robes into order. Then, without another word, he turned and stormed off.
Rumeng sat frozen on the ground.
"...Did I really just kiss Yinsang Jun?"
He checked his pulse.
Still alive.
Miraculously.
But his heart was racing like mad.
He wiped his brow stiffly. "Okay... what in Heaven just happened..."
***
Glossary
• Dujuan (杜鹃花): Azalea flowers that bloom in spring; in classical Chinese poetry, they often symbolize longing, melancholy, or unfulfilled love.
• Hour of dog (戌时): Roughly 7 PM to 9 PM; traditionally associated with winding down the day, loyalty, and protection, as the dog symbolizes vigilance and guardianship in Chinese culture.
• Senior Zhu (老朱): Nickname for Head Eunuch Zhuying.