Xu Chaoqi walked into the room. Inside was not as bright as outside. Senior Brother always got up very early, neat and proper in his robes and cap.
At this hour it had only just turned light, and there was no telling how long Senior Brother had been leaning by the window reading, but an air of quiet and serenity always seemed to linger around him.
The moment Xu Chaoqi saw Senior Brother, his whole body went slack with laziness. Full of drowsiness, he walked over and, without any guard up, called out to the senior brother closest to his heart. “Senior Brother…”
He pressed close however he pleased, without the slightest reserve.
Today he wore red robes, the sash tied loosely, his fine, fair collarbone meeting the open air—not to mention that from the collar down to the waist, the gap widened then narrowed, and the snow-white skin within, set against the brilliant red robe, seemed to make even the air taste sweet.
He called “Senior Brother” in a faint voice, his eyelids too heavy with drowsiness to stay open, only his long, thick lashes trembling now and then.
A broad, powerful palm pressed against him—but it bypassed his slender waist, reaching up instead to circle around his shoulder, separated by a thick layer of clothing.
Wen Chaoxi stood up, looking down at the handsome features of his junior martial brother. When his gaze moved to the gap where the robe had not been properly fastened, he lifted his eyes, his throat moving in a barely perceptible swallow.
He pressed his lips together, his eyes calm as they rested on the crown of Xu Chaoqi’s head.
His long fingers rose from his side into the air; index finger and ring finger lifted the jade-colored sash, and with nimble fingertips he retied it properly.
His fingers paused, then rose again.
Wen Chaoxi pinched the collar button of Xu Chaoqi’s robe and lifted it upward, his fingers always hovering in the air, never once touching Xu Chaoqi’s skin, until the buttons were, one by one, finally fastened.
Xu Chaoqi was woken by the movements on his body. He bore dark circles under his eyes and said, exhausted and hoarse, “Senior Brother, I’m sleepy…”
As he spoke, he lowered his head and rubbed his face against Wen Chaoxi’s chest, as if searching for a comfortable spot.
He knew he had to rise early today, but drowsy as he was, he only wanted to stand quietly like this for a while, rest for the time it took to drink a cup of tea… no, half a cup would do.
Wen Chaoxi sighed and shook his head, a trace of helplessness flickering through his eyes.
In a voice low enough for only the two of them to hear, he said, “Go rest on the bed.”
Xu Chaoqi, blissful and hazy, followed Senior Brother.
Warm light shone in from outside the window, and in time shifted from beneath the bed to its edge.
Wen Chaoxi looked at Xu Chaoqi’s face lit by the sunlight; the daylight illuminated half of Wen Chaoxi’s body, and also lit up the red robe lying in his arms.
Though Xu Chaoqi lay awkwardly pillowed on Wen Chaoxi’s legs, this was in fact his favorite position for sleeping, far more comfortable than lying on a pillow by a hundredfold.
Surrounded by a familiar, secure presence, Xu Chaoqi reached out and groped around blindly, finally finding the long hem of Wen Chaoxi’s robe. He pulled it up, blocking the light from his eyes.
The room grew quiet, and so as to let the one in his arms sleep well, Wen Chaoxi no longer touched his book.
He waved his sleeve without a sound, and in the distant incense burner, a flame first sparked, then curling wisps of sandalwood incense rose up.
The dark circles under Xu Chaoqi’s eyes had not yet faded. Wen Chaoxi extended his thumb toward Xu Chaoqi’s face.
As if suddenly realizing something, Wen Chaoxi stopped his callused thumb an inch from its target, hovering in the air, and lightly stroked across that gap, as though the pad of his finger were wiping at the shadows beneath Xu Chaoqi’s eyes.
Xu Chaoqi turned over, whimpering a few times, seeming utterly drowsy, unwilling in any way to get up.
Wen Chaoxi gave a soft laugh and rapped his knuckles lightly against Xu Chaoqi’s head, making Xu Chaoqi’s brows knit together.
Outside the window the wind and clouds suddenly shifted, a chaotic wind rising, but Wen Chaoxi remained unmoved as a mountain, as if nothing at all were happening.
Only, at this moment, the falling leaves outside the window had clearly slowed. Normally, fallen leaves would drift down on the wind in no more than a few breaths. But now, though the leaves had clearly been blown down, one felt as though a long stretch of time had passed—and yet, looking closely, the leaves hung suspended in the air, only ten cun from the trunk.
At the same time, an ant crept quietly along a crack in the ground, its leg lifted high, taking half a day to come back down. It seemed as though half a day had passed, yet on closer inspection, it had only crawled six cun.
Yet for the two people inside the room, time passed quite normally. Xu Chaoqi kept feeling as though time was dragging on forever; in his half-asleep state he lifted the hem of the robe and glanced outside at the light, found that time had barely moved, and drifted back to sleep.
Wen Chaoxi produced, seemingly out of thin air, a soft cloth. He gently drew out a small, damp lock of ink-black hair and patiently wiped it dry for the other, bit by bit, until every drop of water was absorbed, before moving on to the next lock.
Xu Chaoqi’s hair dried quickly, for Wen Chaoxi wiped it nearly strand by strand, so that it became smooth and silky, his five fingers passing through the hair’s ends as though passing through silk.
Once this was done, Wen Chaoxi took out a piece of red jade.
The one in his arms liked to toss and turn, and had long since pushed aside the robe’s hem that had been covering his face, revealing cheeks faintly damp with sweat, deep in sleep.
Though the other wore red today, only the base color was red—the edges of the robe were densely embroidered with silver thread. On the jade belt were patterns of cranes; on the robe itself, a rising sun woven in gold thread and auspicious clouds woven in silver.
From within his sleeve, a hint of white satin showed, the satin worn soft and close to the skin.
And at the collar, three knots tied from thick thread served as clasps, covering all the way up to the other’s neck, concealing everything beneath from view.
Unsurprisingly, this was a new robe, and also the first time Xu Chaoqi had worn it. Every piece of clothing he owned fit him perfectly the moment he put it on, both beautiful to look at and comfortable to wear.
Wen Chaoxi traced the patterns on the robe in the air without touching it, utterly familiar with every line’s direction. This robe he had once spent three months rushing to complete—every design and every pattern he had drawn stroke by stroke on paper, every stitch sewn with his own hands.
Seeing the robe he had once sewn finally worn on Xiao Yao’s body, Wen Chaoxi’s heart, rare for him, leapt.
Xiao Yao was still alive. Very good.
He lowered his eyes and shook his head, smiling, the warmth of his smile seeming to match the temperature of the sunlight pouring into the room.
He took out a small knife and, guided by the feeling Xiao Yao gave him, began to carve the red jade.
The red jade also bore a pattern of white clouds; he reached out and pressed a sliver of sunlight into the jade, and the red jade grew warm, a fine golden edge rising along the cloud pattern.
In the end the red jade was whittled thin, becoming a smooth hairpin. Onto it he carved flowing patterns and dozens of array formations.
Wen Chaoxi lifted the hairpin, and sunlight fell upon it, reflecting a dazzling glare.
He fell into thought for a moment, then raised a finger; a sound like air piercing through flesh and blood seemed to ring out, and at his fingertip welled up blood of pure gold.
This blood carried supreme spiritual power and profound mysteries; he dabbed the golden blood onto the head of the hairpin.
In that instant, it was as though something had been awakened—the hairpin trembled, and he crushed that trembling still with his grip. The hairpin fell silent and unmoving, and he tucked it into Xu Chaoqi’s hair.
This was the first time he had ever dripped blood onto a hairpin, and the moment the hairpin touched Xu Chaoqi, spiritual energy seeped into Xu Chaoqi’s body—the effect was several times that of any elixir!
Wen Chaoxi’s eyes shifted; he did not let his fingertip heal, letting it go on bleeding just like that.
Xu Chaoqi had slept a long while; the dark circles under his eyes had faded, and his consciousness gradually cleared. He caught the scent of blood, a scent bitter yet laced with a faint fragrance.
He woke with a start, and the moment he opened his eyes, he happened to see Senior Brother’s split-open finger.
He did not understand why Senior Brother’s blood had turned gold, but seeing the spiritual energy surging toward him from all around, he understood at once.
“Is Senior Brother trying to heal me with your blood?!” He scrambled up from the bed, facing Senior Brother’s eyes.
Senior Brother’s eyes were half-lidded; he stroked Xu Chaoqi’s head and coaxed him gently with a smile. “Xiao Yao, be good…”
Xu Chaoqi gritted his teeth, pressing close with his eyes fixed on Senior Brother’s, and threatened. “If Senior Brother ever dares use your blood to heal me again—for every drop Senior Brother lets out, I’ll let out ten. For every bowl Senior Brother lets out, I’ll let out a whole basin!”
“Xiao Yao.” Senior Brother frowned, as if displeased that he would speak to him this way.
Though Xu Chaoqi was still holding back his anger, he pressed forward anyway.
Wen Chaoxi sensed something and had just begun to raise his hand when Xu Chaoqi caught hold of it.
Xu Chaoqi took the finger into his mouth, wanting to press the wound closed with his lips.
Wen Chaoxi’s other hand curled slightly; he turned his gaze away. In the instant he turned his head aside, a vein seemed to twitch faintly at his temple, his eyes half-closed, and for one fleeting moment an almost imperceptible air of danger passed through the space around him.
And Xu Chaoqi, still suspicious, was only wondering how to stop Senior Brother from secretly letting blood again when he wasn’t paying attention. He pressed his lips to the wound and licked the beads of blood clean.