Duan Yunfeng toyed with a lock of Xiao Heng’s hair like it was some cherished little trinket he couldn’t put down. “That day was so dangerous, yet the princess led people to save me. I haven’t even had a chance to thank you properly. What would you like as a token of gratitude?”

Before Xiao Heng could respond, Duan Yunfeng chuckled. “I think this debt of saving my life can only be repaid with… my hand in marriage.”

Xiao Heng: “……”

He knew whatever came out of this man’s mouth wouldn’t be proper.

At this rate, when Duan Yunfeng eventually found out he was offering his “hand” to a man, Xiao Heng really wondered how he’d react.

After that brief moment of nonsense, Duan Yunfeng finally remembered the serious matter. “I plan to take fifteen thousand troops and leave first, wait for Qian Kan to walk right into our trap.”

Xiao Heng nodded to show he understood, then turned around and resumed writing swiftly at his desk.

Only, in the flickering candlelight, he could feel a pair of eyes following him relentlessly—like a shadow. Duan Yunfeng wasn’t saying a word, just crouching beside him, staring.

Staring.

His eyes wide open, just… staring.

“……”

Duan Yunfeng was fully immersed in this soft and sweet atmosphere, until he saw the person in front of him tug off his headband with a clearly irritated expression.

The next second—

His world went dark as a cool strip of cloth wrapped over his eyes, carrying a faint, deep sandalwood scent.

Xiao Heng had tied the white mourning band over Duan Yunfeng’s eyes.

Deprived of the ability to ogle, Duan Yunfeng didn’t calm down at all.

Xiao Heng was in the middle of writing when suddenly, his wrist was grabbed. The brush wavered, smudging fresh ink across the paper.

Duan Yunfeng, now like a blind man fumbling around, leaned nearly half his body over the desk, his hands restlessly wandering the surface.

“Is this your hand?” Duan Yunfeng’s fingertips stroked over Xiao Heng’s knuckles. With the cloth still covering his eyes, no one could see the look in them, but he couldn’t help smiling. “Sorry—I couldn’t see.”

Xiao Heng: “……”

A vein throbbed on his forehead. He put down his brush and gripped Duan Yunfeng’s wrist in return, preventing him from creating any more chaos.

Duan Yunfeng tried to wriggle free, but couldn’t. “You’re so fierce to me…”

Xiao Heng: “?”

Duan Yunfeng probably hadn’t been yelled at in his entire life—he didn’t even know how the word “fierce” was written.

Bracing one arm on the desk, Duan Yunfeng tried to pull his hand back. “Let me go, I won’t grope around anymore—I swear… Ah!”

Xiao Heng let go so abruptly that, losing his support, Duan Yunfeng toppled forward. As he fell, his right hand swept across the table—knocking over the candle stand.

Clatter!

Xiao Heng moved quickly to catch and steady the candleholder, narrowly preventing the Northern Army camp from catching fire.

But just as he turned around—

A warm, soft pressure landed on his lips, carrying a foreign and burning breath…

Duan Yunfeng was truly stunned this time.

He froze, completely stiff in place, only aware of the soft yet cool sensation beneath his lips.

Xiao Heng’s lips, just like the man himself—devoid of warmth.

Duan Yunfeng was still reeling from that unexpected contact when he felt a sudden gust sweep past his temple—followed by a powerful force that slammed him to the ground. His back hit the soft mat with a thud.

In the darkness, a hand gripped the side of his neck. Cold strands of hair brushed his face as a chilling, oppressive aura descended upon him. Xiao Heng’s chest was heaving, like a wild beast whose territory had just been violated—struggling hard to keep something buried inside.

If Duan Yunfeng hadn’t been blindfolded by that strip of white cloth, he would’ve seen the rare storm of anger and restlessness burning in Xiao Heng’s usually calm and emotionless eyes.^[1]Gay anger mwehehehe

Xiao Heng fought the impulse to tell him to get out and instead clenched his fists tighter—his veins standing out starkly under his pale skin.

The flickering candlelight in the tent seemed to blur and overlap with another scene—one from a long-past night, thick with scent and silence, in a palace chamber surrounded by wild grass and shadows…

The Hall of Chengde was paved with deep gold bricks, smooth as a mirror. Though the emperor’s residence, the nine-tiered inner palace was unusually cold and empty—like a square, airtight prison. It had once locked away Xiao Heng during his powerless teenage years.

That year—

The court was seething with hidden undercurrents, and the Duke of Zhen began to sense this young emperor’s sharp ambition. As the duke grew older, holding immense power, he realized this boy—barely of age and bearing pure imperial blood—would never remain a puppet.

“A golden-scaled fish is no ordinary creature; once it meets storm and wind, it turns into a dragon.”^[2]A quote that means, Someone who seems special or different now may achieve great things after going through challenges.

The Duke of Zhen grew fearful. After he passed, how long could his descendants truly maintain control over state affairs in front of someone like Xiao Heng? Once the power slipped away, retribution was inevitable.

So he knew—he had to strike first.

He planned to place his own kin as the empress, to bear the emperor’s child, and use that child to control him.

That night—

All the palace guards who should have been stationed at the inner hall were dismissed.

In the vast and frigid Hall of Chengde, graceful silhouettes and swaying figures felt utterly out of place. Their beauty clashed with the emptiness and coldness of the space around them.

Xiao Heng saw several elegant women drift before his eyes. If no one had interfered, they never would’ve appeared in his bedchamber.

Among them—was the Duke of Zhen’s daughter.

The air was thick with an overwhelming incense, sharp and heady.

Despite wearing only a thin inner robe and feeling the cold wind cut through him, sweat trickled down Xiao Heng’s forehead.

Someone had tampered with his evening meal—he had been drugged.

A drug that would plunge a man into carnal desire, rendering him no different than an animal. If the desire wasn’t released, he would be overwhelmed by unbearable heat, lose all control, and suffer worse than death.

And the motive behind it all was crystal clear.

“Your Majesty… why not allow this humble one to serve you?”

One of the bolder women stepped forward and reached for Xiao Heng’s robes.

“Get out.”

The voice from above her head was colder than the night wind.

She looked up—only to meet the bone-piercing, icy gaze of the young emperor.

Despite the drug’s potency, there wasn’t even a flicker of lust in those eyes. No emotion at all, in fact. Just cold indifference—as if he were staring at something already dead.

The look made her tremble with fear, but she had her orders—orders she dared not defy.

Her outstretched hand began to shake.

“Don’t make me say it again.”

Before the words had even finished leaving his lips, a flash of silver swept before her eyes—Xiao Heng had unsheathed a blade from the nearby weapon rack.

“Ah—!”

Blood splattered.

The woman stared in shock as the young emperor gripped the sword, blood dripping down his wrist and staining half his sleeve. His long, jet-black hair fell loosely around his face, which was pale yet sharply defined. In the candlelight, he looked like something between a ghost and a demon.

The emperor had sliced open his own arm without hesitation. If he could be this ruthless to himself, what mercy would he show to others?

As this terrifying realization struck them, the other women scrambled to flee in panic—terrified they might become the next to die beneath his blade.

In the end, the vast palace chamber was left with only Xiao Heng, alone—bathed in flickering candlelight. There was a desolate stillness to the scene, like that of a lone monk in an ancient, silent temple.

Hot blood dripped steadily onto the floor. The torn skin and severed veins sent waves of excruciating pain through his body. But the unspeakable desire, ignited by the drug, only burned hotter and brighter. Xiao Heng exhaled slowly, blood seeping between his clenched fingers as he held the blade tighter.

A twisted smile crept across his pale face.

In this pain, he found something almost euphoric—a kind of pleasure he had never known before.

Stronger than anything he had ever felt.

Why had he named Prince Jin as heir?

Beyond the need to stabilize the court, there was another reason—a secret he never spoke aloud.

The restraint and manipulation he’d learned in youth had made it impossible for him to be close to women.

Only blades, blood, and pain brought him pleasure.

Sometimes… he even fantasized about inflicting that pain on others.^[3]Ooohhhh our beloved emperor is a sadist🤭

He wasn’t normal.

Xiao Heng had always known—
He repelled physical intimacy.

“Mm—”

The breathy exhale by his ear, laced with the faint sound of panting, pulled Xiao Heng back from his thoughts.

“I didn’t mean to…”

Duan Yunfeng didn’t understand why the princess suddenly got so angry, but it seemed she truly was furious.

Snapping back to himself, Xiao Heng looked down to see the man beneath him still blindfolded, a faint red mark on his neck—left there by his own hand just moments ago.

His palm rested on warm skin, veins visibly rising beneath it. With each beat of Duan Yunfeng’s heart, the pulse under his fingertips throbbed—so vulnerable it felt like he could crush it with the slightest pressure.

Duan Yunfeng’s hand at his side clenched instinctively—perhaps a soldier’s reflex urging him to throw off the person atop him—but in the end, he suppressed it.

Xiao Heng knew the reason Duan Yunfeng treated him this way was because he believed he was a princess.

Duan Yunfeng had a sharp tongue and an intimidating manner, but with those he cared about, he was indulgent and soft-hearted—because he thought those people would care for him like family, would protect and cherish him.

In that instant, Xiao Heng suddenly wanted him to know.
He was not some fallen princess of a ruined nation—
He was a man, just like him.
He was the very emperor Duan Yunfeng resented and blamed.

He wanted to see what would appear in Duan Yunfeng’s eyes once the truth came to light—
Anger, shock, confusion, disgust…

All those dark, twisted, uncontrollable emotions.

Xiao Heng’s fingers lingered over the red mark for a second before releasing Duan Yunfeng. By the time he pulled back, the gloomy and oppressive shadows in his eyes had vanished. He was once again that aloof, righteous gentleman—poised and untouchable, like a statue in a temple hall.

Silence settled over them.

As he felt the weight atop him slowly recede, Duan Yunfeng gave a small pout. “I… I really didn’t mean it.”^[4]Don’t really know if our little general is a Gong or Shou🤧 can’t pinpoint huhu

The tight line of his lips betrayed a hint of dismay.

God, was just one accidental kiss enough to make her this mad?

If the princess was this averse to him now, what would the future be like?

It felt like just when he thought she was starting to open her heart to him, a bucket of cold water came crashing down—and he realized that her heart was sealed shut with iron and chains.

“I only turned around and then I…” Duan Yunfeng’s Adam’s apple bobbed. The more he tried to explain, the more stifled he felt.

She’d already treated him this harshly, so why did he still feel the need to explain himself?

Why? Why? Why why why why why??????

Was the princess entirely blameless?

If she hadn’t been sitting there, would he have even kissed her by accident?

That thought made Duan Yunfeng suddenly sit up on the soft couch. He reached out, trying to grab Xiao Heng’s sleeve—but with the cloth still tied over his eyes, he was blind, swiping at the empty air and catching nothing.

Just then, the tent curtain was lifted, and Zhou Ye strode in.
“Your Highness, have you seen the young master anywh—”

He stopped short at the sight before him: the princess stood in the center of the tent in mourning clothes, calm and poised, while their young master—eyes blindfolded like a fool—was blindly reaching into the air, mumbling, “Where are you?”

The scene instantly reminded Zhou Ye of those absurd palace plays—where some foolish king tied black gauze over his face to play hide-and-seek with his favorite concubine. One chased, the other ran, and they’d call out things like,
“Where are you, my beauty?”
“My king, catch me if you can…”

“…I… I’ll see myself out.”^[5]BWAHAHHAHAHAHAH😹

Zhou Ye backed out of the tent in a panic, wiping the cold sweat from his brow.

No. No more imagining. Absolutely not.