“Because my appearance is hideous and unbearable to look at. I fear I would terrify anyone who saw me.” Lin Yao touched his mask, his eyes flickering with an imperceptible touch of evasion.
“Unbearable to look at?” Cody extended a hand, applying a gentle pressure, but his wrist was caught and held fast by the youth’s hand. Cody murmured softly, “I am not afraid of ugliness. If I like someone, even if their face were covered in wrinkles or blemishes, I would love them all the same.”
The words were deeply moving, yet equally terrifying. This time, Lin Yao withdrew his hand completely, taking a step back from the edge of the bed. “Your Highness must not speak so lightly. I, I had better go have food prepared for you.”
He turned to leave, but the man’s calm, authoritative voice sounded from behind: “Yao, either you come back here, or I get up and come to you. Choose one.”
Lin Yao froze in place. Hearing the rustle of turning bedsheets behind him, he hurriedly turned around—only to see the man still lying comfortably in bed, casually tugging at his quilt with zero intention of actually rising.
For a moment, Lin Yao didn’t know whether to feel flustered, annoyed, or worried. His teeth ached with vexation; he wished he could give the man a sound thrashing just to vent the irritation in his chest.
“Come here,” Cody gestured to him, his pale lips curving into a thoroughly devilish smile.
Lin Yao swallowed hard. Yet to the man’s complete surprise, the young priest turned sharply on his heel, walked out the door in a few swift strides, and called out in a crisp, cold voice: “Prepare some light, easy-to-digest food. When you bring it in, remember to announce yourselves first.”
After issuing his instructions, he walked back inside and sat down beside Cody. Pursing his lips, he let out an inexplicable sigh: “Your Highness, I am here.”
“I really don’t know whether to call you obedient or stubborn,” Cody extended his hand once more, enclosing the youth’s slender fingers within his broad palm. Though his little priest’s actions had defied his expectations, his heart felt extraordinarily light and pleased.
“Yao only listens to Your Highness,” Lin Yao looked down at their joined hands, looking as though he were about to sigh again, only for a warm finger to press against his lips.
The man looked up at him: “Does hearing that I like you trouble you that much?”
“Your Highness’s favor is not a trouble,” Lin Yao seemed to steady his breathing, looking at him earnestly. “However, falling in love with me will bring Your Highness endless trouble. Your Highness should not love me.”
“There is no ‘should not.’ In my presence, whatever I say is what should be.” Cody pulled his hand, and Lin Yao tumbled helplessly into his embrace. Even though his chest still carried the lingering metallic scent of blood, the strong, rigid muscle beneath his palm made Lin Yao’s cheeks burn instantly.
He tried to push himself up, but a hand pressed down on the back of his head, guiding his face into the nook of Cody’s shoulder. A single sentence from the man above dissolved all his resistance into nothingness: “Yao, do not move. If my wound tears open, you will have to take responsibility whether you want to or not.”
Lin Yao could only rest quietly against him. Unable to see Cody’s expression, he could only listen to the deep voice vibrating from above.
“You say you are troubled, likely because a priest belongs to the gods and cannot be desecrated,” Cody stroked his hair slowly, his palm warm and dry, carrying an unusually comforting weight. “Yet I tell you, I have never believed in the existence of gods in this world. Even if people hail me as a God of War, and even if a priest’s divine power can indeed cultivate Posuo Flowers, I still do not believe in gods. If they truly existed, that soldier who harbored sacrilegious thoughts should have been struck down by divine lightning, not burned at the stake by human hands.”
“Yet it is also a fact that a priest who loses his purity loses his divine power,” Lin Yao murmured, his palm resting against Cody’s chest.
The steady, powerful heartbeat beneath his hand seemed to merge with his own. Strong and vibrant, it was nothing like the thready whisper of three days ago that had threatened to vanish at any moment.
As a priest who supposedly adored this man, he ought to feel overjoyed at this moment—overjoyed that Cody had survived, overjoyed beyond containment at the thrill of being with him.
As a revenger, he was equally pleased—pleased that this man was falling into his trap. Harboring such blasphemous thoughts, Cody would inevitably pay a steep price for the words he spoke today.
And as Lin Yao himself—a task-oriented traveler—he felt neither joy nor sorrow. This was merely one step in his plan. Once a strategy was set, it had to be executed step-by-step. The higher his mission evaluation score, the more money he would earn.
And the more money he earned, the more freely he could feast on Spicy Crawfish whenever he wanted, even when it wasn’t on sale.
“Perhaps losing purity is merely a mechanism of how that power operates,” Cody tilted his chin up. His deep blue eyes were as gentle as a rippling, emerald sea; merely looking into them made one feel as though they were drowning. “If there truly are gods, and if punishment must fall, it should fall on me alone. For I am the one desecrating the High Priest. The High Priest was merely forced by my hand.”
His lips descended, warm and possessive.
Lin Yao froze on the spot, momentarily at a loss as to how to react. Even his breath seemed to catch in his throat.
After a brief touch of their lips, Cody pulled back slightly, furrowing his brow as he inspected the silver metal. He let out a soft tsk and reached out to remove the mask: “This mask is far too intrusive. It hampers my performance.”
“Performance?” Lin Yao drew a sharp breath, reacting instinctively as he hastily pressed his hands over Cody’s fingers. “It cannot be removed!”
Cody narrowed his eyes slightly: “Why? I told you, I do not care what you look like—even if you look like a toad.”
“You are the toad.” The words slipped out before Lin Yao could stop himself, yet he still held tightly onto the mask, his eyes clouded with a delicate melancholy. “Truly, it cannot be removed.”
Although he was using his own face, ever since entering this world, bloodline traits were never a mistake. Lin Yao had no idea how much he resembled the late King and Queen of Chade.
Furthermore, many people had seen portraits of him as a child. While their relationship was just taking root, he could not afford to let this man harbor a single shred of suspicion. The identity of a beloved was the one thing that made a person lower their guard completely.
And the lower their guard, the more agonizing the eventual betrayal would be.
“Fine then. I will not remove it,” Cody’s fingers brushed over Lin Yao’s long, curling eyelashes. “If you do not wish to take it off, I will simply pretend this is your real face. Do not look so troubled. The moment I see you frown, I feel the urge to heap all the treasures of the world before you, just to bring a smile to your face.”
［He’s such a wonderful man—devoted, gentle, indifferent to looks, and insanely handsome!］ The system held its face in its hands inside Lin Yao’s mind. ［By comparison, Host, you are such a heartless playboy!］
［When King You of Zhou lit the beacon towers just to amuse his concubine, he probably thought the same thing,］ Lin Yao replied frostily in his mind.
Though the situations differed, no matter how good Cody acted, Lin Yao’s heart would never soften.
He only loved money, not people.
［Uh. Host, when you put it like that, it really does sound similar!］ The system’s train of thought was derailed instantly. Instead of holding its face, it began scratching its head in confusion.
“Your Highness does not need to bring me all the world’s treasures,” the corners of Lin Yao’s eyes curved subtly, his striking eyes softening into delicate crescent moons. Even behind a mask, his gaze seemed to gather the light of a thousand stars. “I will smile for you regardless.”
That gaze projected profound love and adoration. Having such a pair of eyes was a hundred times more captivating than common physical beauty.
Cody chuckled softly: “You kept watch over me here for three whole days without rest, didn’t you?” He patted the space beside him on the bed. “Are you tired? Rest here for a while.”
His tone left no room for refusal. Yet, noticing the young priest’s slight hesitation, he added casually: “I am merely asking you to sleep. I won’t do anything to you, so do not worry. Besides, even if you wanted me to do something, I lack the strength for it right now.”
Lin Yao opened his mouth, unable to find a counterargument. He could only carefully climb over Cody and lie down neatly on the inner side of the bed.
Perhaps the exhaustion of the past three days had been not only physical but mental as well. The moment his head hit the pillow, drowsiness washed over him. Even though he could barely keep his eyes open, he forced himself to murmur: “Your Highness must remember to eat properly.”
“I will. Sleep now,” Cody patted his back gently, a flicker of tender affection flashing through his eyes.
Lin Yao’s breathing soon slowed into the steady rhythm of deep sleep. Cody observed the young priest sleeping beside him. He slept very neatly—hands curled into small fists against his chest, his body slightly curled inward. He looked slender, delicate, and endlessly endearing. Yet, ironically, this posture was the most insecure sleeping position a person could take.
Though he was a High Priest worshipped by tens of thousands, the Sanctuary was an icy, solitary place, barely distinguishable from a tomb. Spending every day there either praying or cultivating Posuo Flowers, it was only natural for him to lack a sense of security.
Cody traced the edge of the mask with his fingers. Although he truly didn’t care about physical appearances, he still wished to see what the person he loved actually looked like.
The first time he had seen the boy, it had been in a cold, dark place—the vault of that fallen royal palace. The boy’s face had been covered in dried blood, obscuring his features. All Cody knew back then was that his eyes were extraordinarily striking, and his features were far from misshapen. He simply didn’t understand why the youth was so unwilling to remove the mask.
“Your Highness.” The hand lingering near the mask was suddenly captured. Cody’s eyes flashed, yet seeing the sleeping youth pull his hand close and tuck it into his chest, the prince’s breath caught briefly.
It was merely an unconscious gesture in a dream, yet that single action satisfied Cody’s masculine pride to an unbelievable degree. He wanted nothing more than to wrap the youth in his arms, doting on him and cherishing him completely.
Just as that executed soldier had shouted—this youth shouldn’t be a priest. He belonged in a man’s embrace, both his body and those expressive, speaking eyes.
If he could cherish him until those beautiful eyes welled with tears, it would surely bring an indescribable thrill.
Cody’s breathing deepened slightly. That soldier had been right. He understood a man’s dark desires all too well—the impulse to defile everything pure about this youth. Therefore, that soldier had to die.
Of course, that was only part of the reason.
As the God of War of Onassis, even if Cody did not believe in the divine, he required his people to believe. The fire that consumed that soldier served to maintain the authority of royal rule, while satisfying the dark, possessive urge within his own heart.
“Your Highness.” A servant’s timid voice called out from outside.
Cody placed his hand over Lin Yao’s ear to muffle the sound and commanded quietly: “Come in.”
The servant entered with lowered eyes. Yet as he stepped beside the bed, his glance caught sight of the figure lying inside, and his hand trembled violently.
Cody accepted the tray and the bowl of soup. He merely rubbed the rim of the bowl without eating, eyeing the terrified, bowing servant with a faint, amused smile: “What did you see that scared you to such a degree?”
“Your Highness—” the servant began, only to be cut off.
“Shh. Keep your voice down. Do not wake him,” Cody placed a finger over his lips.
The servant lowered his head even further, whispering in panic: “Your Highness, I-I was not afraid.”
“Good, as long as you aren’t afraid. I don’t eat people, after all,” Cody chuckled. “Alright, now that you’ve delivered the food, run along. Oh, and pass the word outside: throughout my injury and unconsciousness, it was the High Priest alone who kept vigil at my bedside. Issue a grand reward.”
The servant froze for a moment, then hurriedly nodded and backed out of the room.
When Lin Yao awoke, the Sound-Transmission Stone beside the bed was pulsing with faint, shimmering light. Cody was speaking into it—a message evidently directed to the royal capital. Even upon sensing that the youth had stirred, the prince made no attempt to hide his words. He spoke until he finished, set the stone down, and offered a warm smile. “Awake?”
Lin Yao nodded, propping himself up. Spotting the empty bowl on the nightstand beside the bed, he felt an imperceptible wave of relief. Sitting up on his knees, he murmured, “Your Highness, I ought to return to my quarters.”
Outside, the night was pitch-black, illuminated within only by the soft glow of candlelight. Remaining here any longer would surely invite unwanted speculation.
“Return where?” Cody asked with a low laugh. Beneath the candlelight, his deep blue eyes reflected the soft flames like lanterns shimmering over clear water—strikingly handsome.
Looking at a person under candlelight truly made them appear thrice as captivating as they did in broad daylight.
Lin Yao faltered briefly. “To my room.”
“My future consort naturally shares a room with me,” Cody noted, watching the young priest’s shoulders instantly tense up. “I have never been afraid of the world knowing that I love you.”
“But I—” Lin Yao attempted to object.
“I know you are afraid,” Cody interrupted, his deep gaze locked onto the youth. “Which is why I have already sent word out: throughout my recovery, you will remain at my side to tend to me—lest I drift off to sleep one day and never open my eyes again. Would you truly be able to rest easy if you left?”
Lin Yao froze on the spot. At last, he yielded softly: “No. I would not.”