Nezha had annoyed Shuanglian. She reached out and slapped his face away, saying angrily, “My husband is a good man of the highest rank. He hasn’t provoked anyone, so why would you want to kill him?”
Nezha’s face was slapped aside, the red tassels brushing against his cheek.
He wasn’t angry—Shuanglian had hit him, and that was that. But his face was precious. Previously, Deng Chanyu’s Five-Light Stone had broken his face, and Huang Tianhua had humiliated him by ruining his looks. Nezha had been so furious he’d jumped and stormed, arguing with them several times over.
In the past, his comrades-in-arms had already died. Old grievances and new ones overlapped, and Nezha felt displeased. Covering his slapped face, he sat on the couch, lowering his eyelids with grievance and dissatisfaction: “You hit so hard. If I end up disfigured, what girl would fancy a man with a ruined face?”
Shuanglian pulled his fingers away. Nezha’s face was fair with a hint of pink, clean and smooth—not even a finger mark visible. Where was there any disfigurement?
Nezha realized he’d been tricked. Her face obediently leaned close before his eyes, her dark brown eyes filled with curiosity and concern. Nezha’s gloom vanished in an instant, his eyes curving into crescents.
Shuanglian was annoyed by his grinning face. She let go and deliberately said, “Little general, with a face like yours, being disfigured would be an improvement. Without a nose or mouth, who knows—might look more pleasing to the eye.”
Nezha suddenly froze, the curve of his lips slowly falling. Wasn’t he the best-looking man in the camp?
Shuanglian continued, “Besides, you’re not a man yet. With that childlike appearance, what girl would marry you without suffering grievances? Your baby hairs haven’t even dried. Wait until you’re weaned before talking about marriage!”
He stared blankly at the ground, only reacting after two breaths, then flew into a rage. Young men couldn’t take teasing. Shuanglian had mentioned it casually, but he took it to heart, saying in a huff, “You’re humiliating me too! I have countless military achievements—I’m the vanguard under Uncle Jiang’s command. How can I not marry?”
He was quick of tongue, and his thoughts spilled out. Nezha’s face flushed with embarrassment. He climbed onto the bed, turning his back to her.
Shuanglian didn’t fully understand. She blew out the candle, returned to her small bed, and lay down after removing her outer clothes, shoes, and socks.
Winter had arrived, and it was cold. She had one quilt underneath her, leaving only one to cover herself. Nezha didn’t know hot from cold—he looked the same in all seasons and hadn’t prepared many thick clothes or blankets.
Shuanglian tossed and turned, wrapping herself into a cocoon with the bedding, not letting a single breath of cold wind slip through.
She was facing away from Nezha, and just as she’d wrapped herself tight, the bedding behind her was lifted, and cold air rushed in.
Nezha had silently gotten out of bed, his warm hand reaching into her blankets.
Nezha’s temper had cooled: “Clam Spirit sister, let good Nezha repay your kindness.”
“—”
“In summer, you held Nezha to keep me cool. I promised I’d warm you in winter.” Saying this, seeing that Shuanglian didn’t refuse, he quickly slipped into her bed, wrapping his arms around her from behind. Nezha pressed his waist forward and asked, “Sister Shuanglian, am I warm?”
Her raised leg was also pressed down by his thigh. The lad had boundless strength, and his body was indeed warm. The two of them shifted around in the blankets a few times, his warmth continuously transmitting to Shuanglian’s back.
She smelled the familiar lotus fragrance. Shuanglian regarded him as her young husband. She felt comfortable, and her curled legs stretched out naturally in contentment: “Warm.”
Nezha said, “Then turn around.”
The makeshift bed was small, unable to withstand the two of them moving about. After getting into bed, the space was cramped, and she turned with difficulty.
After turning around, they were even closer, their breaths nearly mingling. They had been behaving properly, planning to just sleep holding each other.
But Nezha instinctively lowered his head to look. His pupils could make out the general shape in the dark. Nezha followed his heart’s desire and buried his face down.
It was fragrant and soft, carrying the scent of lotus flowers, and he could hear her heartbeat.
He found it so novel—the heartbeat proved she was here. Her heartbeat was fast. Nezha looked up and could see Shuanglian’s jawline and the taut line of her neck.
Burying his face too long would suffocate, but it was more comfortable than a pillow.
Nezha knew he wasn’t a child anymore, and this behavior was somewhat strange. His face flushed bright red, but his hands held on firmly, unwilling to let go, and his head honestly continued leaning toward her direction.
Her double buns had been undone, her long hair spread loose. Unable to see, Shuanglian reached out to touch his head, stroking his smooth hair.
He truly wasn’t a child anymore—Shuanglian needed both hands to hold him. Nezha’s stature was close to a grown man’s; only his face was youthful, deceptive as it was.
Shuanglian wore only a thin garment, pressing down on the head that was nuzzling around: “What are you doing?”
Nezha said, “You said I’m a child.”
With that, to prove himself, Nezha sucked until a patch of fabric was damp.
Having sucked, he then said, “I never even got to drink when I was little. Don’t you pity me?”
Shuanglian trembled. Heaven had given the demon lord an excellent face. His high-bridged nose pressed against her clothes, his hot breath rising and falling with each breath, his thin lips brushing against her now and then.
“I… I don’t…” She was shy and embarrassed. When she had first married the older Nezha, Shuanglian had just completed her shape-shifting, her body tender and fresh—equivalent to a mortal girl who had just come of age.
After being married for a long time, she was well-fed and well-kept by the older Nezha. At first, she hadn’t noticed. It wasn’t until one day she lowered her head, her eyes rolling up, firmly locking onto the expression of someone rolling their eyes. Nezha said, “They’ve grown a bit.”
Only then did she notice the change. Her youthful body was growing. Now, she truly didn’t look like an unmarried girl.
The little one was here—wasn’t he the same person? She also looked up and said with great seriousness, “They’ve grown.”
When her husband was taken away, she had only just been born. He had grown into an adult, while her face had barely changed—only her body had become a bit fuller.
Nezha asked curiously, “So many years have passed—won’t you age?”
Shuanglian did not answer. Nezha continued, “But so many years have gone by, and your husband hasn’t given you a child.”
Nezha’s warm palm pressed against her flat belly—beneath it, there should be nothing.
If there were a child, he could still be the father.
But there was no child. Somewhat pleased, he brought his face close, obediently closed his eyes, unafraid of suffocation or being smothered, and leaned against her chest to sleep, just like when he was young.
Shuanglian tried to push him away but couldn’t—each push made the small bed creak and groan. Having no other choice, she muttered, “Whether there is or isn’t, it’s none of your business.”
Nezha said, “Of course it’s my business.”
What he truly cared about wasn’t the child itself—Nezha only cared whether anyone else dared to be close to her.
He wanted to kill her husband, because he didn’t want her to have anyone close to her. Whether it was a husband, parents, siblings, or friends—all the same.
Of the aforementioned kinds of people, Nezha had relatives, but he had severed his blood ties by cutting flesh from bone; he had comrades-in-arms, but they were dead.
Moreover, everyone had their own families. In his past life, Lady Yin and his two elder brothers treated him as family, but they had their own loved ones and had to make choices.
Nezha was the one abandoned.
Now, meeting again, she was alone. Since fate had allowed them to meet, he would be her only family.