Hooves crushed the powdery snow as Xie Yunjing’s lapel brushed against Shen Taotao’s frostbitten ears, stinging with cold.
She ducked her head away from the icy fabric but kept chattering: “…Listen to me! Who knows which big shot from Jingcheng is backing those guards? Make them mine? Ha! More likely than seeing any coal, our heads will end up skewered on Di Rong’s flagpoles!”
She slapped the saddle fiercely, jolting herself backward. Her spine collided squarely with the searing warmth seeping through the gaps of Xie Yunjing’s wolf-fur coat, making both of them stiffen.
“Exiled convicts are different,” Shen Taotao insisted, stubbornly leaning forward half an inch to escape the scorching heat. “Their lives are in your hands. Their families are waiting anxiously at the relay station—who would dare leak secrets? Fear is carved into their very bones! Your guards just need to watch the mines with whips—isn’t that better than dealing with those scheming guards?”
Wind whipped snowflakes against her lips. She licked off the ice shards, a fervent excitement burning in her throat like she was presenting a treasure: “Before spring, I’ll weed out all the spies among the guards! By then—”
Hehe, you’ll surely admire me so much you’ll kneel and beg me to be your strategist.
“Today,” Xie Yunjing’s voice blew against the wind into the nape of her neck, making her shiver, “you haven’t shoveled the dung in the livestock pen.”
Blood rushed to Shen Taotao’s head in a roar. Swiveling her waist and hips in one fluid motion, she drove her right elbow back furiously, striking Xie Yunjing’s firm side.
Damn man! I’ll elbow you to death, you skinflint Xie!
The next moment, an extremely low, raspy sound came from above—heh heh heh, like ice gravel rolling deep within a snow cave. Shen Taotao whipped her head around just in time to catch an unprecedented curve lifting the corner of Xie Yunjing’s lips.
Holy crap, am I seeing things? I’d rather believe his face is cramping than accept that this jade-faced King of Hell actually smiled.
Zhang Xun, on the horse beside them, instantly felt his hair stand on end.
He watched in disbelief as his master’s iron mask cracked like ice, the curve of his lips sharp and distinct as if carved by a blade.
Was this a smile? More like a crack opening in the gates of hell! Startled, he yanked the reins hard. His warhorse neighed and reared, nearly throwing him straight into a snowdrift.
Zhang Xun’s mind was in turmoil: From now on, Shen Taotao is my ancestor! My mistress!
Gurgle~
Shen Taotao’s stomach roared thunderously. Too hungry, she clutched her belly and curled up, like a leopard cat whose tail had been stepped on.
A rustling sound came from behind. A pale, slender hand offered a steamed bun, still warm from body heat. Its surface was smooth and white, looking sweet and fragrant even from a glance.
Shen Taotao thanked him, grabbed it, and took a bite. In two or three mouthfuls, she had swallowed nearly half of it. Then she suddenly paused, remembering that Xie Yunjing hadn’t eaten anything since morning.
Clutching the remaining lumpy half, she hesitated before offering it behind her.
“You… want a bite too?” She kept her neck stiff, not daring to look back, but her ears turned crimson. “Don’t… don’t faint from hunger and fall off your horse…”
Xie Yunjing lowered his gaze.
The half bun bore a jagged, dog-bitten-like notch, its edges glistening with a hint of saliva.
He was silent for a moment, then suddenly bent down and precisely bit where her teeth had left uneven marks. His cold lips barely grazed her icy fingertips.
Shen Taotao jerked her hand back as if shocked, hiding it in her sleeve and secretly rubbing the spot his thin lips had touched. That brief, warm softness burned like a spark, leaving half her body numb.
“Crunch, crunch!” The sound of chewing grated simultaneously between their teeth.
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed that mouthful of steamed bun mixed with her saliva. A wave of sweetness spread from the root of his tongue—the lingering taste of Shen Taotao’s mouth.
This frozen steamed bun… was actually sweeter than Jingcheng’s chestnut cakes.
Ahead, the wind and snow howled, yet behind her, the faint sounds of the man chewing and swallowing pounded against her spine like war drums.
One mouthful of steamed bun, two delicate hearts, tasting the flavor of honey amidst the blizzards of Ningguta.