Prince Ning’s Manor
Inside the bedchamber, the quiet was broken only by the occasional rustle of tree leaves outside the window. Meng Qing lay in bed, sleeping fitfully as dreams tangled together like a mess of hemp.
First, he dreamed he was driven out of the manor, with Ji Yanche looking at him coldly, his eyes full of mockery as he laughed at him for daydreaming and daring to covet the position of Prince Ning’s Consort. The scene shifted, and he dreamed of Ji Yanche tenderly holding a pregnant woman, the two of them intimate and exchanging cheerful words, their deep affection piercing painfully into Meng Qing’s eyes.
The imagery shifted once more. Ji Yanche was holding his hand, wearing his familiar, tender smile. Those eyes, which always held boundless gentleness, gazed steadily at him as he said softly, “Qingqing, I only like you, and only you.”
Meng Qing snapped his eyes open, a lingering sense of loss washing over him in an instant.
So, it was just a dream after all.
Yet…
What if the Prince likes me too? It’s not entirely impossible…
No, no, no, Meng Qing shook his head vigorously. Why would the Prince ever like a fool?!
But, what if?
Maybe the Prince just happens to like silly people.
Ah, so frustrating.
Meng Qing buried his head straight under the duvet, and the darkness instantly enveloped him. With his vision stripped away, the sounds of his breathing and heartbeat seemed exceptionally clear within this cramped space.
If Ji Yanche didn’t like him, then he would simply leave the Prince Ning’s Manor.
The world was vast; surely there would be a place that could offer him sanctuary.
The Prime Minister’s Estate
Bai Wujou, dressed in a luxurious purple robe, sat upright in a chair. Lowering his gaze slightly, he quietly watched the man kneeling before him.
“Prime Minister Bai, you simply must help me!” Zhang Kang’s voice was laden with frantic anxiety and desperate entreaty.
“What is Lord Zhang doing? Get up quickly. Xuexiao, serve tea.” Bai Wujou’s voice was warm and courteous, yet a close look would reveal a flash of disgust deep within his eyes.
“Many thanks, Prime Minister. Time is of the essence, so I’ll keep it brief. I never expected that Prince Ning would suddenly start investigating the gambling dens today. I’ve had numerous dealings with the Zhao family before, and I’m afraid… I earnestly beg the Prime Minister to lend a helping hand.”
Bai Wujou let out a light chuckle a soft laugh, yet it made Zhang Kang inexplicably feel a chill run down his spine.
“What is Lord Zhang saying? Leave this to this Prime Minister.”
With those words, Zhang Kang instantly felt a wave of relief wash over him. “Many thanks, Prime Minister. If there’s ever a time in the future where Zhang’s assistance is needed, I will certainly render my full support.”
“You flatter me,” Bai Wujou nodded slightly, his expression serene.
After Zhang Kang hurried away, Xuexiao stepped forward. “My lord, are we really going to help him?”
Bai Wujou leisurely sipped his tea, a mocking smirk curving the corner of his mouth. “Help? This Prime Minister made no such promise. Isn’t His Highness Prince Ning currently troubled by the empty imperial treasury, unable to produce the reserve grain needed for Jiangnan to get through the winter?”
“And look at that, the money is walking right to our door.”
“Tch, old fox.” Shinian lay on the chaise lounge behind the folding screen, toiling with a gold-threaded fan in his hand. Hearing this political conversation full of power scheming and calculation, he couldn’t help muttering inwardly.
“Little Shinian, it seems you still aren’t tired enough.” Bai Wujou walked around the screen, fixing Shinian with a gaze so nakedly intense it felt as though he wanted to strip away his clothes with his eyes alone.
…There’s no reasoning with a man whose brain is permanently stuck in his lower half.
Shinian used his fan to block the lower half of his face. When he looked back at Bai Wujou, his eyes rippled with gentle waves, his gaze exceptionally tender: “Yunging.”
Bai Wujou’s smile instantly vanished. He stepped forward and snatched the fan right out of Shinian’s hand. “Not like you at all.”
Seeing Bai Wujou unhappy put Shinian in a fantastic mood. A scumbag playing both sides like this deserved to have his bloodline cut off entirely.
“Beauty, why aren’t you smiling anymore?” Shinian continued to tease him. “Give big brother a smile, won’t you? Big brother will pay you.”
The next second, Bai Wujou lunged forward, pressing down over him as his fingers crooked to untie Shinian’s robes. “Fine, go to bed and smile for big brother.”
Shinian: Fuck!
Ji Yanche had been preoccupied with Meng Qing back at the manor the entire day. Having swiftly dispatched his official duties, he hurried back to the manor in haste.
“How is the Consort today? Is he feeling uncomfortable anywhere?” Ji Yanche stepped down from the carriage, his expression etched with concern as he asked Dushun, who was waiting to greet him.
“His Highness’s body is unharmed, but… his mood isn’t very good,” Dushun answered cautiously, his tone carrying a trace of hesitation.
Hearing this, Ji Yanche frowned. “Not in a good mood? What happened?”
“This old servant isn’t quite sure. Ever since waking up this morning, the Consort has been glum and barely touched his food,” Dushun replied truthfully. He had wanted to voice Huayi’s conjecture, but the words died on his tongue, thinking to himself that speaking out might cost him his salary. “The Consort went straight to rest in the bedchamber upon returning to the manor and didn’t want anyone disturbing him.”
Ji Yanche fell into deep thought. Could he be angry with me?
“This King will go take a look.”
The early winter season brought darkness exceptionally quickly. The maidservants lit lanterns one by one, casting soft halos of light along the garden paths of the manor.
The bedchamber was unlit, allowing Ji Yanche to only vaguely discern a raised mound under the quilt on the bed.
He strode over, sat down on the edge of the bed, reached out to take Meng Qing’s fingertips protruding from the covers, and gently wrapped his other hand around his back, pulling him into a soft embrace.
“Qingqing.” His voice was gentle, overflowing with the pampering tone one would use to coax a child. “Let’s eat something before we go back to sleep later, alright? Otherwise, you won’t be able to sleep well in a bit.”
Regaining consciousness, Meng Qing fluttered his eyelashes slightly. Subconsciously, he wanted to snuggle into Ji Yanche’s embrace, but remembering something, his body stiffened instantly. He slowly pulled away from that warm embrace, pulling his hand back bit by bit.
“You’re back, Your Highness.” Meng Qing’s mind went blank as he mechanically forced out the words.
Ji Yanche gazed at his empty palm, where the warmth of Meng Qing’s fingertips still seemed to linger. Outwardly, his expression remained calm, yet a wave of loss surged within his heart.
How is it that after going to work and coming back, everything has changed? My wife won’t let me hug him anymore, and the distance between us feels as though it has suddenly reverted to how it was before our marriage.
Meng Qing felt even more apprehensive inside. It’s over, it’s over. I acted so obviously; the Prince is definitely going to be angry. What to do, what to do, I’ve made the Prince angry again TvT.
“I’m sorry.”
Ji Yanche’s low voice sounded by his ear, falling like a pebble into a calm lake and stirring up layer upon layer of ripples.
Meng Qing: ???
“What?” Meng Qing asked in confusion. What did he just say? Am I sleeping so soundly I’ve started hallucinating?
“When you were drugged and unconscious, out of desperation I used myself to detoxify you. But I touched you without your consent, so… Meng Qing, I’m sorry.”
Thump, thump, thump.
Meng Qing could clearly hear his own heartbeat, each thud faster and more urgent than the last.
Uncontrollably, inevitably, time and time again, he kept falling for Ji Yanche.
“Qingqing, we aren’t angry, alright?”
Ji Yanche lowered his gaze to look at Meng Qing, yet Meng Qing felt as though the Prince were looking up at him, his gaze filled with a cautious, fragile tenderness.
“Ji Wenjin.”
Meng Qing’s voice was slightly hoarse. Under the illumination of the hazy moonlight, the Ji Yanche before him appeared all the more tender and captivating. Finally, he mustered his courage, no longer suppressing the fluttering agitation within his heart.
“I like you.”