The sound of trickling water filled the air, and a layer of mist shrouded the room. The Qinglian Pool was a hot spring built with white jade walls. Surrounded by various shaped bluestones, the pool water rippled with clear waves, and lotus patterns were carved into the bottom.
Several lotus-shaped palace lanterns were placed around the pool, their craftsmanship exquisite and their shapes delicate. A carved wooden screen surrounded the entire spring, obscuring the view from the outside, though from within, one could faintly perceive the lush trees and pavilions beyond.
The meandering, misty water looked like ribbons, blurring the faces of those within. Song Nanqing was soaking in the water wearing thin garments, the white hem floating and swirling with every ripple, creating a dizzying sight.
His damp hair hung over the edge of the white jade pool, the tips brushing against the silver bracelets and prayer beads on his wrists, and grazing Shen Heng’s fingers as he reached for something. Song Nanqing leaned back, eyes half-closed. His wide robe collar fell to the sides, revealing his straight, slender collarbones.
Feeling Shen Heng move, he tilted his head to look at him.
After soaking in the hot spring for so long, even his gaze had become moist. His long eyelashes fluttered, and when he looked up, his eyes were clouded with mist and haze. Song Nanqing was blessed with beauty; the Song clan’s genes were renowned for it. Lazily, he reached out to brace his body and sat up a bit, leaning his head against Shen Heng’s shoulder. With the movement, his robes slipped further down.
Clear droplets of water beaded on his shoulders and chest, making his skin look like polished jade. A single drop slid from the hollow of his collarbone, falling into the pool and merging with the water.
He lowered his face, pressing it against the spot he had been eyeing earlier. Shen Heng’s pectoral muscles were perfectly toned, well-defined but not overly rigid. As he pressed his face against them, he could feel the soft, springy sensation through the wet fabric. Song Nanqing was almost buried in the water, holding his breath as he rubbed against Shen Heng’s chest, pressing his soft cheeks against him.
Since they were underwater, Shen Heng couldn’t clearly see his movements. Closing his eyes and banking on the fact that Shen Heng wouldn’t do anything to him, Song Nanqing rubbed against him indulgently until his hair was grabbed and he was pulled away.
Having held his breath for too long, his cheeks were flushed, and he gasped for air, water droplets clinging to his lashes.
The slight pull at his hair roots caused a sting of pain. Song Nanqing breathed with his mouth half-open, the tip of his tongue, red as a pomegranate, resting against his lower teeth.
He was lifted slightly by his hair, his black tresses cascading down over Shen Heng’s arm. The water on his lashes obscured his vision; he couldn’t see Shen Heng’s expression, but he could feel the man’s intense gaze.
“It hurts.” Though the tug on his silky, satin-like hair wasn’t strong, the tension and slight ache from the roots made his scalp tingle.
Shen Heng let go, and the youth collapsed against him again, as if he had no bones.
Song Nanqing had crawled all over Shen Heng since childhood; such intimacy over the last decade did not make him feel awkward. Dressed in soaked robes, Song Nanqing’s gaze was innocent, devoid of any seduction. He was tired today and had no energy for games; he only wanted to be in his most relaxed state.
One arm rested on Shen Heng’s shoulder, his bones feeling softened by the heat. Seeing the lychees placed by the pool, he nudged Shen Heng’s shoulder and asked for one.
A delicate, engraved silver tray held a few lychees, their colors vibrant, resting atop a bed of crushed ice. They were an early-ripening variety from the Lingnan governor, known as March Red.
Shen Heng reached out, peeled the lychee, and revealed the translucent, white flesh inside. A fresh, sweet scent burst forth, filling the air with a ripe sweetness.
With long, slender fingers, he held the stem and brought the fruit to the youth’s lips. Song Nanqing opened his mouth, but bit into nothing.
The clear juice ran down Shen Heng’s fingers, the soft fruit swaying in his hand. Song Nanqing tilted his neck and darted his tongue out, catching a taste of the lychee, only for Shen Heng to pull it away again.
He splashed a handful of water at Shen Heng’s face, sending ripples dancing across the surface of the pool.
Shen Heng chuckled, wiped his face with one hand, and looked at the little Emperor who was about to lose his temper, finally handing him the lychee.
“I won’t tease you anymore. Open up.”
The lotus pool was not far from the Buddhist hall, and one could faintly hear the chanting of scriptures and the distant ringing of bells. Here, they were far from the ministers, the noise, the hustle, and the rigid formalities of rank and status. There was only the clear water and the floating, milky-white silk curtains.
Song Nanqing opened his mouth and bit into the fruit. He bit off half, and with a flick of his tongue, sucked the remaining half into his mouth. After soaking in the warm water, every pore was relaxed and comfortable, and eating a cool, sweet lychee felt like the greatest of joys.
He chewed with puffed-out cheeks, looking like a small animal stuffed with food.
Shen Heng turned his palm upward toward Song Nanqing’s chin, catching the lychee pit he spat out.
Song Nanqing reached out to stir the water and, seeing that Shen Heng’s fingers were still coated in lychee juice, instinctively reached out to lick them. It was only when his tongue touched the man’s skin that he realized what he had done, but his little tongue was already trapped between two fingers. He looked up at Shen Heng timidly, his expression stiff.
“You dare play these games with me?” Shen Heng leaned in, staring at him as if trying to see through his thoughts.
The man wore only a thin layer of bathing robe, his broad shoulders and well-defined muscle lines on full display. Compared to the serious official robes that symbolized his status, this look felt far more aggressive.
Song Nanqing realized Shen Heng had misunderstood. He hadn’t intended to be provocative; his brain had simply short-circuited and he had licked the lychee juice.
But now, with his tongue trapped, he could not speak, and he could not stop himself from drooling slightly. He could only frown and try to look pitiful to acknowledge his mistake.
His wet, hot tongue trembled between the man’s fingers, unable to pull back, forced to press against them in a passive, rhythmic licking.
Shen Heng’s eyes darkened. “Qingqing hasn’t answered my question yet. You learned these tricks from those novels, what exactly are you trying to do?”
Though the pool water was warm, Song Nanqing felt the aura radiating from the man across from him grow even hotter.
Seeing him stay silent, Shen Heng continued, “The ten lashes from last time haven’t been finished yet.”
Song Nanqing’s eyes widened immediately. He hugged Shen Heng’s arm and shook his head rapidly, whimpering, “No! Don’t hit me, my hands hurt for days after the last time.”
His round eyes looked adorable when he gazed up from below, water droplets still clinging to his lashes. No one could stay hard-hearted when being held and begged like that, no one, except Shen Heng. He had seen this act of feigned cuteness too many times and knew Song Nanqing was a master of it.
“Playing pitiful is useless, you know that,” Shen Heng said, his composure as steady as the wind. “Or perhaps, Qingqing would prefer not to have his palms hit, and would rather be punished elsewhere?”
In the crystal-clear water, his fair feet curled inward. Song Nanqing quickly pulled his legs back, wanting to cry for real.
He had been whipped on the soles of his feet once before. Those were the most tender spots, and the pain was unbearable, itchy and agonizing. The worst part was the next day, when he had to walk; his swollen soles could not touch the ground.
The ritual was coming soon, which required a lot of walking. If the Teacher really punished him that way, he would not even be able to cry.
“No! I will talk! I will talk!”
Song Nanqing lowered his head to compose his excuse. Finally finding his words, he leaned close to Shen Heng’s ear and whispered a few sentences, his cheeks flushed.
“Because of this?” Shen Heng raised an eyebrow, appearing skeptical.
Song Nanqing stumbled over his words, yet sounded self-righteous. “It is very uncomfortable! You never teach me how to handle it, and I cannot make myself feel better! The novels said that if you do this, you can make the other person interested in you, and then, and then…” He could not go on and buried his face in the man’s shoulder.
He could not tell the truth, could not reveal his real plan and tell Shen Heng that he was trying to hook him.
Shen Heng reached out and rubbed his hair, his lips curling upward. “So, it wasn’t because of that scholar?”
“Who?” Song Nanqing asked, bewildered. He could not even recall who he was referring to.
“The scholar you saved that day.” The man had kissed him and acted in the shop. Shen Heng had thought Song Nanqing was trying to make him jealous; he had not expected to have misinterpreted it so completely.
Song Nanqing, who had been bracing himself on the edge of the pool to stand up, slipped. He lost his balance and fell back into the water, caught only by Shen Heng’s arms around his waist.
With Shen Heng’s hot arms around him, Song Nanqing leaned against his chest, his face splashed by a large wave of water, clearing his lazy thoughts.
How had he not thought of that! How could he have been so blind!
Yes, he could have used Ruan Xianzhi as an excuse! He could have said he liked Ruan Xianzhi and wanted to test the methods on Shen Heng. Love turning into hate, substitute lovers, lamenting that the bright moon shines on others but not on him.
Song Nanqing regretted his lack of foresight.
He might have even made Shen Heng feel a sense of crisis, increasing his competitive spirit and making him even more possessive. How had he missed the chance to use Ruan Xianzhi as an excuse!
He buried his face in Shen Heng’s shoulder, his eyes devoid of the shyness of having his desires exposed, filled instead with self-reflection.
Song Nanqing reached out and grabbed Shen Heng’s hem. The water-soaked fabric was slippery and fluttering, as if impossible to hold. He buried his face and whispered, “Even if I were to like someone, it wouldn’t be him.”
“Like whom?” Shen Heng tilted his head to look at him.
A strand of wet hair stuck to his cheek. Song Nanqing hid his expression and whispered, “I don’t dare say, I’m afraid you will hit me.”
Ripples spread out from the center of the pool, reflecting their joined shadows. The translucent window paper allowed outside light in, but the deepest corner of the pool remained hidden from the sun. Everyone knew that was the place that could not be brought into the light.
Shen Heng was silent for a moment. “Do you still want lychees?”
“No. I want grapes. Lychees are good, but they are too hard to get.” Song Nanqing pushed him away and moved to the side.
Shen Heng narrowed his eyes. “Qingqing is the Emperor. You do not need me to teach you what you should or should not eat.”
Song Nanqing turned and lay on the edge of the pool, looking at him coldly. “You will not let me eat lychees, and you will not let me eat grapes. What kind of logic is that?” He scanned his surroundings, then frowned.
“Chun Jian, where is that colored enamel box I told you to find?”
Chun Jian stepped out from behind the long screen, sensing the tension in the air. He lowered his head and said, “Reporting to Your Majesty, I searched through all the treasures confiscated from the Japanese, but that box is truly missing.”
Song Nanqing slapped the surface of the water, displeased. “Did you not tell them I wanted to keep it?”
The day the jewelry and artifacts arrived in those large crates, he had taken a liking to that box at first sight, thinking it would be perfect for his bathroom. He was an Emperor, the lord of the land, and yet, the one thing he had finally taken a liking to had simply vanished?
Shen Heng remarked from the side, “You are still so fond of these delicate trifles. The ring I gave you last time isn’t even properly stored away.”
A breeze swept through the hall, blowing away the milky-white silk and mist, making their faces clear.
Hearing this, Song Nanqing showed no fear. He propped his chin on his palm, leaned over the edge, and looked at Shen Heng. “I saw someone else wanted the Regent’s reward, so I gave it to him. Is he happy now?”
“You mean the Imperial Kitchen steward?” Shen Heng glanced at the pool’s edge. “I do not know if he was happy, but I heard that a few days ago he accidentally cut off his own finger while chopping meat. It seems he did not have the luck to accept Your Majesty’s reward.”
Song Nanqing licked the corner of his lips, slowly moving over to hook his finger into Shen Heng’s, leaning against him and whispering softly, “I knew Teacher was still good to me.”
Shen Heng looked down at him; the youth’s lively eyes were bright, and they held a hint of cunning and smugness that he made no effort to hide.
“But I still want that piece of jade. After all, it was a gift from Teacher.” Having taken advantage of the situation, he pressed his luck, reaching out to pull Shen Heng closer. “And I also lost an enamel box.”
Shen Heng’s expression remained unchanged, though his gaze shifted. “If you want an enamel box, go ask your uncle who dotes on you so much. He is the one managing the Ministry of Revenue.”
Song Nanqing stood up slowly from the water, taking Chun Jian’s outstretched hand to climb out of the pool. He looked at Shen Heng and said, “What is mine is mine. One day, I will take it all back.”