While soaking in the bath, Xie Jinning almost fell asleep.
As soon as he got into the water, the heat stung the wounds on his back, causing a burning pain. But soon, the comforting sensation of being enveloped by the water reached deep into his soul, making him feel relaxed and drowsy.
Xie Jinning leaned against the edge of the tub, resting his chin on his crossed hands, leaving a faint red mark.
Steam rose around him, and his porcelain-white face turned a rosy hue. His brows relaxed, and his sleep-filled almond eyes closed. But when his head drooped, and half his face dipped into the water, he suddenly opened his eyes wide.
Forcing himself to stay awake, Xie Jinning washed his hair and wrapped it in a cloth towel before getting out of the bath.
He felt a bit proud as he dried his hair and got into bed, thinking it wasn’t so hard to bathe by himself for the first time.
As long as Yan Yi kept heating the water, it would be fine.
Though it seemed quick, nearly half an incense stick’s time had passed, and the man still hadn’t come in.
His hair, casually dried, lay on his neck, and his left shoulder was mostly wet, the fabric clinging to his skin, feeling a bit cool. But Xie Jinning didn’t mind.
He yawned, his eyes misty with drowsiness.
He was sleepy again.
Like a small animal, Xie Jinning lowered his head, rubbing his face in his palms to stay awake.
“Why isn’t he here yet?”
Blinking away the mist in his eyes, he focused on a book he had found at the bottom of the cabinet.
The book was made of unevenly sized, rough-edged straw paper, simply bound with cotton thread. It seemed to have been frequently flipped through, as the cover and spine were worn, and it looked like it might fall apart at any moment.
Xie Jinning had never seen such a poorly made book. He carefully opened it with his fingertips, revealing a poem.
He had no interest in poetry, so his attention naturally shifted to the handwriting. The ink on the rough, yellowed straw paper was slightly smudged, the strokes crooked and uneven, the size and pressure of the writing varied, worse than a three-year-old’s scribbles.
“This handwriting is so ugly. Who made such a poor-quality book and dared to sell it? Truly shameless.”
He patiently flipped through a few more pages, noticing that the writer’s skill gradually improved from clumsy to neat and even.
The strokes became more precise, and although still lacking elegance, the progress was remarkable compared to the unsightly first page.
Each page contained different content: poems, essays, travel notes, folklore, and even a diary entry marked with the fifteenth year of Jian Yuan.
His fingers paused, suddenly realizing something. Xie Jinning flipped to the last page, finding a well-arranged parallel prose.
The writer had shed their inexperience, writing with ease and elegance, the strokes hiding a sense of style and character.
Xie Jinning couldn’t understand the content, but it was undoubtedly a piece that even his former strict, long-bearded teacher couldn’t find fault with.
It seemed this wasn’t a shoddy product from a heartless bookseller but a practice book made by Xie Zhu himself, documenting his growth over time.
Thinking of his own barely passable handwriting, Xie Jinning felt a bit uncomfortable. He abruptly closed the book and tossed it aside.
“It’s only a little better than mine.”
After sulking for a while, he reached out, pulling the extended cotton thread of the book’s spine, slowly bringing it back in front of him.
…
After calming his emotions and dressing neatly, Yan Yi returned to the room with the ointment, heading to Xie Jinning’s bedroom.
Silently crossing the threshold, he saw Xie Jinning lying at the head of the bed, propping his face with his arms, not knowing what he was looking at.
Fortunately, this time, the quilt was properly covering his waist, securely hiding the area that could lead to wild thoughts, leaving only a pair of slender, jade-like feet exposed.
The candle in the room had burned halfway, making it dimmer and harder to read. The young man leaned closer to the book.
His black hair fell, blocking his view. He gently brushed it back, letting it cascade down his back like spilled ink, with a few strands playfully hanging over his forehead, making his features even more strikingly beautiful.
Seemingly lost in thought, his long eyelashes fluttered, covering his clear eyes like autumn water, and his lips, as red as flower petals, slightly pouted, drawing attention irresistibly.
Warm and soft.
For some reason, these four words appeared in Yan Yi’s mind, and he suddenly felt this scene resembled an ordinary household, with a wife lighting a candle, quietly waiting for her husband to return home.
If he had a wife, there would probably be such a light every night.
His wife, after bathing, would sit by the bed or at the table, reading, sewing, or embroidering, and when he pushed the door open, she would greet him with a smile, offering a cup of hot tea and a soft, fragrant embrace.
His heart felt like it was soaking in a warm spring, and Yan Yi’s expression softened, a smile unconsciously forming at the corners of his lips.
Xie Jinning turned his head, finally noticing Yan Yi had come in but was standing there motionless, lost in thought, which instantly annoyed him.
He wanted to throw something to snap him out of it, but all he had was the fragile book and his jade pendant. With no other choice, Xie Jinning gritted his teeth and pulled out the pillow from under his elbow, throwing it at Yan Yi.
“What are you looking at, smiling so weirdly?”
His body moved before his brain, and Yan Yi’s eyes instantly sharpened, dodging the attack. When he saw what it was, he relaxed and caught the pillow with a steady hand.
Facing the angry Xie Jinning, his gaze flickered for a moment, and he awkwardly touched his nose, mumbling, “Nothing.”
The scene he imagined was completely different from reality. Instead of a smiling wife, he was greeted by a small, fierce white cat.
“…”
Something seemed off.
“Why did you take so long to bathe? I almost fell asleep waiting.”
After speaking, Xie Jinning yawned again, his eyes shimmering even more under the candlelight, his voice trailing off, soft and sticky like a piece of half-melted honey candy.
The sweetness seemed to flow into Yan Yi’s ears, and the half-wet collar of his robe was wide open, revealing a vermilion mole on his pale chest, as if it were about to bleed honey.
Yan Yi clenched his jaw, opening his large hand to reveal a small brown pottery jar, gesturing to the young man, “I went to find medicine just now, so it took some time.”
His voice was hoarse and low, like a traveler who had walked in the desert for three days without a drop of water.
He had always prided himself on being steady, but for some reason, he always lost his composure in front of this young man.
Yan Yi dared not look at Xie Jinning any longer. He stepped forward, handing the pillow and the small jar to him.
As he took the medicine jar, his fingertips inadvertently brushed against Yan Yi’s palm, like a tender willow brushing against the river. Yan Yi’s fingers curled, clenching his fist behind his back.
Xie Jinning opened the jar and sniffed it, finding the medicinal scent not too unpleasant.
“Taking so long just to find medicine, you’re really just a big oaf.”
He huffed, pushing the book further away, then shifted his body to make room for Yan Yi to place the pillow, handing the medicine jar back to him.
Lying down again, Xie Jinning buried half his face in the pillow, his voice muffled, “Apply the medicine for me.”
“Wha… what?”
His hand trembled, and the lid of the ointment jar fell, making a soft thud on the bed, yet it sounded like a muffled thunderclap in Yan Yi’s ears.
When he spoke again, he bit his tongue, the taste of blood spreading, the pain amplifying his senses, allowing him to clearly see the small, pink earlobe peeking through the black hair, “You… you want me to apply it?”
“What, are you bothered?” Xie Jinning glanced at him sideways, his cheek puffed slightly by the pillow, the soft flesh tinged with a faint red like a glutinous rice dumpling.
His willow brows furrowed, eyes filled with fire, “It’s your fault. You hit me in a place I can’t reach. How am I supposed to apply the medicine myself?”
Yan Yi swallowed the blood-tinged saliva, the lump in his throat moving up and down, “It’s inappropriate.”
“What’s inappropriate? You’re so long-winded. If you won’t do it, go find someone else to do it!”
The wound was in such a place that Xie Jinning was already embarrassed to mention it. The culprit who caused his injury was still acting reluctant. If he weren’t unable to move, he would have pounced on Yan Yi and bitten him hard to vent his anger!
The thought of someone else seeing the young master like this made Yan Yi’s temple throb, and he blurted out, “No way.”
“Then hurry up.” Xie Jinning, like an ostrich, turned his head and buried it back in the pillow, feeling the man’s presence getting closer. The wooden bed creaked, and then his lower back felt a chill as the quilt was pulled down to his knees.
Xie Jinning curled up, his cheeks burning, feeling like smoke was about to rise from his head.
On the perfectly curved soft mound of his lower back was a patch of red and swollen, overlapping handprints, the most concentrated area at the top, with bruises spreading even to untouched parts.
The dark purple, vermilion, and cherry pink, which should have been vibrant flowers blooming in spring, were planted in the frost and snow, making them particularly striking.
Yan Yi held his breath, scooping out a dollop of oily ointment, applying it directly to the wound.
He tried to be gentle, but the rough calluses on his fingers brushed against the tender red skin, causing the person beneath him to shiver and let out a muffled whimper.
Unable to suppress the cry of pain, his already tense arms tightened further. In the turmoil of emotions, he lost his grip and accidentally pressed down again.
“Ah.”
This time, the pain brought tears to Xie Jinning’s eyes, his snow-white back arching, the soft mound trembling. He turned his tear-filled eyes to glare at Yan Yi, “Be gentle, you brute! Are you trying to kill me with pain?”
Yan Yi dared not move again, “Does it hurt a lot?”
“What do you think? If you were beaten like this, you’d know how much it hurts.”
Xie Jinning tightly gripped the sheets, taking a deep breath, then closed his eyes resolutely, “Continue.”
Yan Yi pressed his lips into a thin line, applying even lighter pressure, spreading the ointment over the shallower wounds.
Under the candlelight, the soft mound where red and pink met glistened with oil, like a snow dumpling drizzled with honey, looking unexpectedly appetizing.
But the swollen, dark red top remained, the bruises stubbornly refusing to fade. If they didn’t disperse, Xie Jinning would have to lie in bed for several more days.
“Are you done?”
Xie Jinning was sweating from the pain, his breathing rapid as he lay on the pillow. The bitter medicinal scent mixed with his sweet fragrance, filling the room with a heated atmosphere.
“Not yet.”
Yan Yi was also sweating, sitting by the bed, the veins on his arms bulging, the muscles under his robe tense, casting shadows in the candlelight.
He spoke in a deep voice, “There’s bruising. I need to rub it out. Bear with it.”
As he spoke, he scooped out another dollop of ointment, rubbing it in his palm before applying it heavily again.