Fu Liao nodded slightly, his moisture-rich eyes and slightly reddened eye rims simultaneously reflected in Xi Lingjian’s pupils.
He had no idea that, in Xi Lingjian’s eyes, he already appeared so earnest that it bordered on frailty, resembling a prey that knew it could not escape the fate of being hunted down, vainly attempting to stir up a beast’s nonexistent pity.
The hand clutching his sleeve unconsciously twisted the smooth fabric into deep folds.
Having maintained a high level of mental tension for so long, Fu Liao could no longer wait for Xi Lingjian’s response. His already teetering head drooped slowly, his consciousness drifting away for a fraction of a second before being violently jerked back.
Ji Liandu was still right here.
If he heard this, wouldn’t he have other thoughts?
Even as Fu Liao worried, Xi Lingjian had already spoken.
“Does Ji Liandu know you care about him to this extent?”
Fu Liao felt the sudden pressure from before vanish entirely.
His tone seemed softer than before, yet it still carried unmistakable displeasure.
“Whether he knows or not is irrelevant,” Fu Liao said. “I have already said that I…”
He hastily cut himself off.
He could not say such things in front of Ji Liandu.
The original owner had challenged Xi Lingjian to a duel precisely because of Ji Liandu; if Ji Liandu were to hear him declare his abandonment now, he would likely assume he had been discarded and looked down upon.
He would also grow increasingly hostile toward someone in such a high position of power as Xi Lingjian.
The emotion Xi Lingjian had just managed to suppress was instantly rekindled by that subtle movement in the corner.
Fu Liao’s behavior only added fuel to the fire.
He let out a cold laugh.
A person of unknown origins, obsessively clinging to someone who only used him, always considering the other’s interests, what could he possibly hope to gain in return?
Nothing more than being hauled out to serve as a target.
His clean, pitch-black pupils were stained with a murky dimness, as if tiny, long-undisturbed specks of dust were fluttering across the depths of his eyes.
What on earth was he even expecting?
Clearly, he had long since grown accustomed to being a pariah cursed by all. Just because someone happened to show him a pleasant expression, was he going to push his luck and start harboring expectations again?
Xi Lingjian twisted his neck, his tightly furrowed brow attempting to use the moment to relax, only to fail completely.
Fu Liao’s expression, however, shifted abruptly.
“Your Highness should quickly attend to that wound.”
Lowering his brow slightly, Fu Liao hurried straight up to Xi Lingjian.
This was not the modern era; even the tiniest wound carried no guarantee against infection. Moreover, he had caught a glimpse of a small fragment shallowly embedded in the injury, the glittering shard visible amidst torn flesh making it exceptionally jarring to the eye.
Raising his sleeve, Fu Liao attempted to wipe away the dried blood oozing from the cut, but Xi Lingjian remained completely still.
The wound on the back of his neck was situated high and slightly back, forcing Fu Liao to stand on his tiptoes just to reach the spot.
The two of them were practically pressed against each other. Lacking anything sturdy to brace himself on, Fu Liao nearly ended up gripping Xi Lingjian’s arm.
Xi Lingjian watched their intersecting sleeves cast mottled, overlapping shadows beneath the setting sunset, fake, lifelike silhouettes entwined together. Yet the moment something obstructed them, that detached reality exposed itself once more.
Lifting his chin slightly to avoid Fu Liao’s touch, Xi Lingjian’s gaze nevertheless chased the trajectory of his movements.
Instead, a sleeve carrying a clean, refreshing fragrance chased right after him, accompanied by the owner’s gaze filled with a trace of heartache.
Not daring to lean too close while unable to reach Xi Lingjian otherwise, Fu Liao had no choice but to tilt his entire upper body forward.
The tiptoe stance quickly lost its strength, but unexpectedly, Xi Lingjian shifted sideways. Finding nothing left to steady himself on, Fu Liao tumbled straight forward onto Xi Lingjian’s lap.
For the second time. Fu Liao sighed.
At least Xi Lingjian stood firmly…
No.
Fu Liao felt his body lurch sideways; Xi Lingjian hadn’t caught him at all.
Or rather, Xi Lingjian had allowed himself to be dragged down along with him, landing securely on the chair behind them.
Fu Liao was sitting on his lap once more.
His hands remained tightly clamped onto Xi Lingjian’s shoulders, with stray strands of hair draping between them.
As their eyes locked, a fleeting trace of amusement flickered across the depths of Xi Lingjian’s eyes.
Heat rushed to Fu Liao’s earlobes, and he hurriedly tried to pull his hands away as if eager to draw a clean line between them.
His flustered hands were captured in an instant by Xi Lingjian’s single hand, pinning his wrists like natural iron cuffs and restricting all movement.
“What are you dodging for?”
The force Xi Lingjian used to pull him against his waist tightened further.
Left dizzy and blank-minded by the agarwood fragrance lingering inches away, Fu Liao stammered, “I thought Your Highness disliked physical contact.”
Xi Lingjian narrowed his eyes in amusement, denying Fu Liao any room to escape.
“You dare presume to guess My intent on your own accord?”
Flustered though he was, Fu Liao knew Xi Lingjian wasn’t genuinely angry, yet he still felt a prickle of unease.
“What is it?” Xi Lingjian’s expression abruptly chilled.
“Your Highness’s leg is injured…”
Speaking, Fu Liao carefully examined the area beneath him to check if any blood was seeping through or if there were any signs of trembling.
He had no idea where Xi Lingjian’s injury was located, and if it had truly been aggravated, the consequences bore thinking about.
Xi Lingjian’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he quietly watched Fu Liao’s gaze meticulously scour over him from head to toe.
Confirming everything was fine, Fu Liao tore a strip of fabric from the inner lining of his fur cloak, carefully cleaned the area, and delicately re-bandaged the wound.
“Thankfully it isn’t deep,” Fu Liao said with a sigh of relief.
That fragment had looked terrifying, but fortunately it hadn’t embedded into the flesh beneath; a gentle nudge had caused it to drop right out.
“Thankfully?” Xi Lingjian raised an eyebrow. “An injury is an injury, Young Master.”
Fu Liao paused, momentarily startled.
Shooting Xi Lingjian a look, he nervously leaned in closer to the side of his neck.
He gently blew on the bandaged area.
The stray hairs near his temples fluttered against the soft breath of wind, swaying happily across Xi Lingjian’s shoulder to signal friendliness toward Fu Liao.
Straightening back up, Fu Liao stirred a breeze of fresh air.
“Does it feel better?”
The corners of his lips curved upward on their own as he stared expectantly, resembling the gentle heroines depicted in storybooks, deeply anxious over an injured lover yet too shy to meet his gaze directly, holding back words while using a sleeve to half-hide her face.
Of course, he was equally kind toward children.
Xi Lingjian narrowed his eyes slightly.
In Fu Liao’s eyes, he appeared to be nothing more than a child injured in a brawl, who would likely be lectured in the next breath about staying out of trouble.
Yet precisely because the man was so gentle, his own rising temper could only be swallowed back down into his gut.
This defied all logic.
Why should his anger vanish the moment the other person showed him a hint of tenderness?
Xi Lingjian could find no rationale, nor could he vent the frustration pent up in his chest.
“No.” Xi Lingjian stated.
Unsure of what he was referring to, Fu Liao pressed on, “Where does it still hurt?”
“It doesn’t hurt.”
With his head tilted slightly, utterly bewildered by what Xi Lingjian was getting at, Fu Liao decided to pull back slightly once he finished the bandaging, shifting his weight backward in an attempt to get up from Xi Lingjian’s lap.
A sharp pain suddenly flared near his collarbone.
Xi Lingjian pressed firmly against his injury, forcing him straight back into place.
“Your Highness…” Fu Liao cringed, his brows knitting tightly together.
“You know what pain feels like now?” Xi Lingjian’s expression remained expressionless, though his tone carried an unperceived trace of delight.
“Naturally it hurts.”
A hint of grievance laced Fu Liao’s words, prompting an even broader smile from Xi Lingjian.
Noticing the subtle shift in Xi Lingjian’s demeanor, Fu Liao froze.
He really was too mischievous.
Ji Liandu certainly wouldn’t appreciate such a sadistic sense of humor, which seemed to derive pleasure from watching others suffer.
Fu Liao glanced toward the corner, hesitating over whether to speak up, when the injured spot was pressed again, hurting him so intensely that he had no choice but to give his absolute focus back to the Regent before him.
Composed and serene, Xi Lingjian appreciated Fu Liao’s facial expressions.
Fu Liao felt the hand resting against his injury begin to trace slow circles, pressing down rhythmically along the lines of the wound.
Though accompanied by a twinge of soreness, the subsequent warmth allowed him to completely overlook the initial sting, radiating outward from the absolute center into a gradual, soothing numbness.
“Mm.”
Powerless to resist, his body completely subjugated by Xi Lingjian’s confinement like a young beast kept in captivity, Fu Liao had no choice but to obediently accept everything bestowed upon him by his master.
This injury wasn’t overwhelmingly severe, yet it felt much like bumping one’s knee during daily life, unnoticeable while completely still, but unbearable the moment one moved, to the point where any attempt to massage away the congested bruise required frequent pauses to catch one’s breath.
Yet the person massaging it right now was none other than Xi Lingjian.
The calloused pads of Xi Lingjian’s fingers suddenly magnified the age gap between them, making Fu Liao acutely aware that the young man before him, barely older than himself, was already a battle-hardened general.
While he himself had been hiding away in his room passing time with books, Xi Lingjian had brushed shoulders with death countless times over.
And upon returning from the battlefield, he had been forced to face the treacherous, duplicitous courtiers lurking within the gilded halls.
He likely no longer possessed the luxury of sorting out his own emotions and personal thoughts.
Thus, was Xi Lingjian genuinely caring for him? Or was he simply misinterpreting things? After all, if this behavior were pushed even slightly further, it could easily pass for rubbing salt into a wound.
Given Xi Lingjian’s technique, however, Fu Liao found it impossible to argue otherwise, ultimately resigning himself with self-abandonment to wallow in the feverish comfort of it all.
Neither of them spoke. As the silence stretched on, Fu Liao’s head suddenly tilted, resting softly in the crook of Xi Lingjian’s shoulder.
Wisp-like strands of hair clung to his flushed cheeks; the paleness had vanished, replaced by a radiant flush brought on by the warmth, making his delicate features stand out all the more and drawing one’s gaze entirely to them.
Even the tip of his nose was tinged with pink, resembling an early-blooming plum blossom ahead of winter’s arrival, which, combined with the color of his knuckles, formed a mesmerizing landscape.
Once again, he rested peacefully against Xi Lingjian’s body like a little lamb, surrendering completely to sleep without the slightest suspicion of whether this comfortable nest harbored traps.
Exhausted to this degree.
Knowing full how frail his constitution was, he still insisted on running around everywhere, acting as if the body he was abusing didn’t belong to him at all.
Xi Lingjian lowered his gaze.
No, precisely because it was his own body, he dared to squander it like this.
A mere scratch on his own neck had sent the other into a state of panic as if facing an impending crisis.
On the battlefield, anyone who whimpered and demanded to retreat over such trivialities would have long since been executed to set an example.
Acting as if he were carved from jade, terrified that even a touch might shatter him.
Carved from jade.
His mother had once described him in those very words.
Yet no one, absolutely no one, had ever treated him as though he were made of jade.
This romantic rival he had never met before had unexpectedly become the first.
A romantic rival.
Xi Lingjian mechanically twitched the corner of his mouth, the temperature in his eyes plunging abruptly as he swept a glance toward the restless corner.
Resting his hand over Fu Liao’s ear, he blocked out the surrounding noise.
“I will give you one chance,” he stated. “Scram back to the Prince Regent’s residence right now, and I will pretend none of this ever happened.”
Ji Liandu’s voice drifted over in a low murmur, laced with a hint of mockery: “He is deeply devoted to me, what business is it of yours?”
Xi Lingjian’s tone turned frigid. “It is entirely My business.”