Xiangge's face darkened at those words. His fists clenched. If someone else had heard those words, they might have mistaken them for being bold enough to enter the Emperor's private chamber, unbidden.
But Xiangge knew what Mingxuan truly meant. He paled. How could he forget?
The Emperor's bed... That night a year ago... The night Mingxuan had taken what was never his to take. The start of nightmares that would never end.
If anyone asked Xiangge what he hated most in the world, he could name many things.
But after that night... it was this room, this bed.
His jaw tensed. Teeth ground behind tightly sealed lips. Through the scattered veil of his hair, his bloodshot eyes glared at the man seated before him.
Since that incident, Mingxuan had never spoken of it unless Xiangge brought it up to hurt him. Because it was Mingxuan's reverse scale too. His sore spot. And Xiangge knew how to press it.
But now, Mingxuan brought it up again intentionally. It was obvious he was provoking him. He wanted Xiangge to leave.
But Xiangge didn't move. His gaze dropped to the oozing wound across that broad chest. His moist lashes shuddered.
The wound was hideous. Blood still seeped from its edges, dark against pale skin.
When Xiangge saw it, his heart clenched. Shouldn't he be happy?
He had stabbed the man he hated.
Shouldn't he feel satisfied?
But why did it ache, so heavy and so sharp?
He didn't understand.
Only one thing was clear.
Mingxuan was pushing him away because of that injury.
Mingxuan, noticing his silence, gave a faint, cold smile. "It's late. Zhen thought you'd never return to this bed. Or..." His gaze narrowed. "Could it be Zhen didn't give you enough that day?" His voice dropped, sharp as frost. "But that can't be. The sheets were soaked with your blood."
Xiangge's mind blanked. His ears rang.
That voice and those words ripped open unbearable memories. They churned through his skull like shattered jade, cutting into everything tender inside him.
His long eyes flushed red at the corners. Heat flooded his face. But he didn't scream. Didn't flinch. Instead, he stepped forth and leaned down. His breath trembled with fury.
"Mingxuan, get well soon. I haven't settled my score with you yet. I don't fight sick people." He reached to touch the stab mark. But his hand was caught by Mingxuan.
Fingers like iron clamped around Xiangge's wrist. Pain seared up his arm, dull at first and then sharp. His joints creaked under the pressure.
His breath tightened. He looked down at the pale hand wrapped around his own. Then up, straight into Mingxuan's eyes.
Mingxuan's glare was lethal. There was no softness in it.
And Xiangge... flinched. Only for a moment. He quickly masked it, lifting his chin in defiance.
Mingxuan's voice was low. Dangerously low. "Go back. Zhen won't say it again."
Xiangge yanked his hand free. "Don't worry, Mingxuan, after I cure you, I won't take another step into Yunshan." His gaze burned. "I don't like owing anyone. I'll dress your injury and leave."
He turned sharply, vanishing behind the screen. Moments later, he returned with a water basin.
With a flick of his palm, steam rose; he had warmed it using internal energy. He drew out a white cloth, dipped it in. After wringing it out, he began to clean the wound.
Mingxuan leaned his head back against the bedpost and shut his eyes. Scalding drops fell onto his chest and trailed down his abdomen.
They weren't water.
They were tears.
He didn't need to look. He knew Xiangge was crying.
He had provoked Xiangge on purpose, hoping to chase him away.
Because Xiangge had never harmed anyone in his life, much less seen his own blade cut like this. He was a healer, and was sensitive to blood.
Mingxuan had thought the sight of his wound would scare him off. Whether Xiangge felt love or hate, it would make him suffer in the end.
But he stayed. And now he was crying.
Mingxuan said nothing. He didn't dare open his eyes. He let the pain sink in, deep and silent.
After some time, Xiangge tossed the red-stained cloth into the basin of blackened water. "Done." His voice was hoarse.
A gauze now wrapped from Mingxuan's left shoulder to right waist. The bleeding had stopped, pain had subsided into a faint itch.
Xiangge moved to the wardrobe, pulled it open, and flung an inner robe over Mingxuan's head. "Don't catch a cold. My medicine would go to waste."
Mingxuan slid his arms into the sleeves silently. But he remained seated. Not because he want to. But because he couldn't.
After the poison and energy spells, his cultivation was a wreck. He'd burned through reserves with high-level spells while already poisoned.
Six hours of meditation, at minimum, would be needed just to restore a fraction.
Xiangge noticed the slight, imperceptible struggle as Mingxuan shifted. But then Mingxuan stopped moving entirely.
Xiangge's heart dropped. The poison was advancing faster than he'd calculated. At this rate, Mingxuan wouldn't last three days let alone seven.
Rumeng had been right. There was no choice now but to force a pill down his throat.
Xiangge's eyes blurry. He gritted his teeth, wiping them away furiously with his sleeve. From within his robes, he fished out a small wooden vial filled with translucent longevity pills.
With shaking fingers, he drew one out. "This will slow the poison."
Mingxuan looked away. "You came to dress the wound. You've done it. Now get out."
CRASH–!!!
Xiangge kicked the sandalwood desk across the room. Scrolls and jade ware flew, shattering on the black wood tiles.
Outside the room, Eunuch Zhu jolted. A chill ran down his spine.
The Emperor had never made a sound like that at night. Zhu pressed his forehead to the door, trembling. "Junshang–?!"
"Shut up!" Xiangge's furious voice tore through the door.
Zhu froze. "Lord Xuanji–?!"
Inside the room, Xiangge was shaking. He stormed back to the bed, eyes blazing with fire.
"So you really want me to force it down your throat, Mingxuan?!" he shouted. "You think I care if you're the Emperor?! To me, you're just a lunatic who never knows when to quit!"
Mingxuan's fists clenched. White fire burst from his knuckles.
"Get. Out." The words were low, but carried the weight of death. His gaze flashed, dark and lethal.
But Xiangge had had enough. His hands trembled. His breath came ragged. He stared down at the man before him.
Then, without a word, he threw the pill into his own mouth and moved forth. He forced Mingxuan flat against the bed and locked his lips with him.
Mingxuan froze, stunned.
Xiangge pried his mouth open and forced his tongue inside, pushing the bitter pill past Mingxuan's teeth. In the chaos, a faint scent rose between them, soft and sweet.
Magnolia. It was Xiangge's scent, familiar and unbearable.
Mingxuan didn't move. He couldn't. His eyes fluttered shut. The white flames in his palms slowly died.
Xiangge's breath came harsh and desperate. He pressed his fingers against Mingxuan's throat, forcing him to swallow the pill.
Mingxuan didn't resist.
Didn't push him away.
Didn't react at all.
In frustration, Xiangge bit down on Mingxuan's lower lip hard. Blood welled up, metallic and warm. The taste spread between them, sharp and bitter.
Still nothing.
Xiangge pulled back, chest heaving, tears stinging. Their faces were too close. Their noses brushed.
He'd told himself it was just to deliver the pill. But somewhere in the heat of it, he'd wanted more. And he hated himself for it.
Mingxuan's eyes opened. Icy. Unreadable. Not a flicker of emotion crossed his face. Blood stained his lips, but he didn't wipe it away.
For a moment, silence stretched between them.
Then, quiet and cutting, Mingxuan spoke. "Are you done?"
The words hit like a slap.
Xiangge staggered back as if struck by lightning. Color drained from his face.
He'd expected rage. Rejection.
Even violence.
But not this.
Not indifference.
His throat closed. His vision blurred.
Hidden from view, Mingxuan's fingertips curled, nails biting into his palms. But Xiangge didn't see it.
He only saw Mingxuan's unaffected stare.
Like it was nothing.
Like the kiss meant nothing.
Like HE meant nothing.
His lips moved, bitter and hoarse. "Beast!"
Just then, Eunuch Zhu's voice broke through the suffocating silence.
"Junshang! The Crown Prince requests an audience!"
Xiangge didn't wait.
He turned and fled, tapping a bedpost with one foot, rising into the air, and vanishing into the gap between wall and roof.
Mingxuan sat motionless for a while.
Then, slowly, he reached up and touched his bleeding lip. His fingers quivered. The pain in his chest had dulled. The pill was working.
The door slid open.
The Crown Prince to the Jade Throne, Xie Ruhan, only three years old, stepped inside.
He was heartbreakingly adorable, with soft, fluffy dark brown hair and big, moist eyes that shimmered like moonlit pools.
His lips were small and pink. Though his features faintly echoed Mingxuan's, especially the brows, dense and dark, their auras could not have been more different.
Mingxuan was unfriendly, frightening. The little prince, by contrast, was gentle and pure, his presence like soft cotton.
He walked in on unsteady baby steps, tightly hugging a pillow against his tiny chest. When he saw the mess, the overturned desk, shattered vases across the dark floor, he stiffened with fright.
Mingxuan sighed. "Come here." He waved him over. Eunuch Zhu quietly closed the door behind them.
Ruhan approached slowly, shoulders hunched and expression frightened. "Impilial Fath'r..." he whimpered, hugging the pillow tighter. His voice broke into a tiny sob.
Mingxuan knelt on one knee and hugged him in his arms. "Why aren't you sleeping? What's wrong?"
The child sniffled, his little body trembling. His head barely reached Mingxuan's chest.
And he buried his face there, clinging tightly. He pressed against Mingxuan's wound. Mingxuan's breath hitched from the sharp ache, but he did not pull away.
"I... I had a nightmaw," The words came in a choked whisper. "I saw Impilial Fath'r... gettin' hurt... with a naif..."
Mingxuan stiffened. After a moment of silence, he reached up and gently stroked the child's soft hair. "Dreams aren't real," he murmured, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
The young prince looked up with moist eyes. "Weally?" He blinked, clearly unconvinced.
Mingxuan wiped wetness from the corners of the child's eyes. "Father's here. See? I'm fine. Do you believe me?"
The child nodded quickly, finally loosening his grip on the pillow. He rose from his toes and wrapped his arms around Mingxuan's neck, snuggling close.
But after a pause, he blinked again and tilted his head in confusion. "Fath'r... why is your lip red?"
Mingxuan quietly wiped it away with his sleeve.
"You were told not to run around on your own." His voice was firm, though a faint tremble lurked beneath.
Tears welled up in Ruhan's eyes again. "I was scawed..."
Mingxuan exhaled slowly. "Ah'Han..."
He cupped the small, warm cheeks in his cold palms and kissed the child's head gently. He stood and lifted him into his arms, placing him carefully on the bed. "Ah'Han will sleep with father tonight."
Sliding under the quilt, he wrapped them both in warmth. The child curled into him with a soft sigh, small body nestling against his chest, warm against his coldness.
Misty eyes watched from above, filled with an emotion too complex to name. Then, Xiangge quietly slipped away from the rooftop where he'd been hiding, vanishing into the night.