Lu Yin Zhen didn’t touch the flowers Cen Fengzhi had sent, unsure of how to handle them appropriately. Whether to keep them or discard them seemed equally awkward, so he just let them sit on the tea table in the study.

After lunch, Song Mianfeng found a white porcelain vase from somewhere, wiped it clean, poured some water, and carefully arranged the bouquet of flowers, handling the flower branches with great tenderness. He picked out the ones that were blooming beautifully and placed them in the vase.

“Do you know what kind of flowers these are?”

Lu Yin Zhen’s gaze never left Song Mianfeng from the moment he entered the room carrying the vase. He quietly observed him for a while, watching him leisurely unwrap the exquisitely packaged bouquet, select flower branches, and arrange them. He sensed that there was more to his words than met the eye.

“What?”

“Ginger flowers.” Song Mianfeng lightly sniffed the flowers, casually saying, “Flowers given to a loved one.”

“They only bloom for a day, and their meaning is… to leave memories forever in summer.”

Lu Yin Zhen furrowed his brows slightly, then got up and walked over, picking up the remaining flower branches. With lowered eyes, he said, “Just throw them away.”

“Why throw them away?” Song Mianfeng stopped his hand, smiling faintly, “They’re so beautiful.”

Even if they weren’t thrown away, these flowers would only bloom for a day. After that, the flowers would wither, and what would be left?

Lu Yin Zhen silently let go of his hand. As Song Mianfeng properly placed the remaining flower branches in the white porcelain vase, Lu Yin Zhen embraced him from behind, uncertain, “Are you angry?”

Song Mianfeng gently touched the petals resembling fluttering butterflies and replied lightly, “Can’t I be angry?”

Whether it was the lingering annoyance from encountering Zhou Yang recently or because he didn’t like Cen Fengzhi’s intentions toward Lu Yin Zhen, Song Mianfeng’s mood was on the verge of a storm. His calm exterior was merely a facade.

Lu Yin Zhen lowered his head slightly and chuckled softly, “Of course.”

“My boyfriend being jealous of me is only natural,” Lu Yin Zhen kissed his temple, speaking gently, “But I don’t want to see you upset.”

“Cen Fengzhi’s team is planning a project, a derivative game of ‘Nineteenth Floor.’ He came to talk about investment. The flowers were just a side gesture of visiting. Since they’re flowers for visiting the sick, there’s no need to read too much into it. It’s just a gesture of comfort and well-wishes.”

Song Mianfeng tilted his head, eyebrows raised slightly, ” ‘Nineteenth Floor’? The book ‘Hundred Ghosts Night Walk’?”

Lu Yin Zhen nodded, “your sister loves ‘Hundred Ghosts Night Walk’ so I got her a set of ‘The Widow.'”

Adding, “I told him—my boyfriend’s sister loves ‘Hundred Ghosts Night Walk.'”

He really hadn’t expected Cen Fengzhi to have such intentions toward him, because Cen Fengzhi’s actions had always been too upright. He had vaguely sensed something, but he dismissed it as his imagination running wild. Letting slip those words of affection unintentionally might have been a blessing in disguise. Those subtle unspoken matters could be treated as fleeting clouds, dissipating with the wind.

Turning to face Song Mianfeng, his expression still calm, but his voice softened, the tone reminiscent of the Wu dialect, and the light in his eyes became gentler, “Zhanyue mentioned wanting to set an alarm to grab the presale.”

“Not angry anymore?” Lu Yin Zhen lowered his head to kiss him, “No more sourness, just sweetness.”

Song Mianfeng couldn’t hold back his smile.

Lu Yin Zhen always had a way of easily dispelling his bad mood. Those terrible emotions, unreasonable jealousy, and inexplicable irritations, all vanished with one kiss from Lu Yin Zhen.

“Can’t compare to your sweet talk. So sweet, I wonder how much sugar you’ve secretly eaten behind my back.”

The teasing in his words wasn’t sharp, indicating that he wasn’t really angry.

Lu Yin Zhen breathed a sigh of relief, pulling him into his arms and kissing his temple, softly sighing, “No sugar.”

Then he added, “Not good at sweet-talking, just good at sweet-talking you.”

Before meeting Song Mianfeng, he had always lived in bitterness and resentment. It wasn’t until he met Song Mianfeng that he tasted sweetness in his life. Bitterness still lingered, and there were moments of spiciness and saltiness, but that bit of sweetness was enough for him to endure the long bitterness and to love.

Looking at him, Song Mianfeng lightly laughed, “Why me?”

He asked casually, as if tossing a pebble into a pond, which soon sank without a trace.

But that was the human heart after all. Lu Yin Zhen couldn’t help but answer seriously.

“I’ve answered this question a long time ago.” Lu Yin Zhen kissed his eyes, nose, cheeks, and lips, showering him with fragments of love, “The vast universe means nothing to me, only you, this rose—”

“You are the root of my mortal life.”

Song Mianfeng met his tender gaze, deliberately asking, “Rose, am I a red rose or a white rose?”

Red roses and white roses, vermilion birthmarks and bright moonlight, it was a question without an answer, yet someone would always ask…

Lu Yin Zhen touched the mole at the corner of his eye, like dewdrops on a petal, adding a touch of color, “Do you know the Tudor rose?”

“Red and white roses? I can’t compare to characters like Elizabeth.” Song Mianfeng probably knew this segment of Western history, but the sequence and relationship between dynasties, as well as those complicated names, were hard to remember. Only the marriage that ended the bloody turmoil between the red and white roses, romantic until death, remained in legend to this day.

“Why not?” Lu Yin Zhen’s tone was gentle, his smile even gentler, the light in his eyes shimmering like moonlight on the water, “Henry gave red and white roses to his queen, and I, I offer all my loyalty and glory to you—”

“My beloved.”

Lu Yin Zhen said seriously, firmly, every word pronounced with emphasis, “There’s no one else. You are the only one.”

Like making a vow to a deity, but more like worshiping him as a god.

The king’s sword was unparalleled, cutting through thorns, calming turmoil, picking the white rose alongside the red rose, and presenting them to the queen.

It was a Tudor rose cultivated in a coat of arms, red as vermilion, white as moonlight, just like Song Mianfeng, a unique rose in the world, a season that didn’t exist in the mortal realm, both worldly and elegant, all in him and only him.

Though these words of love sounded beautiful, Lu Yin Zhen knew he hadn’t answered the question properly, and he couldn’t think of a better answer. Before Song Mianfeng could speak again, he asked, “What about you? Why me?”

Song Mianfeng chuckled lightly, letting him off the hook.

“Well, I’m quite shallow, you see. I judge people seven-tenths by appearance and three-tenths by chemistry.” He stroked Lu Yin Zhen’s brows and eyes, followed his cheeks, traced his nose bridge, then lightly touched his lips, as if sketching his face with his fingers, “You’re handsome, we have chemistry. I was attracted at first sight, and as time went by, I fell in love. So it’s you.”

Lu Yin Zhen kissed his fingertips, “Attracted at first sight, so is it love at first sight?”

“Not exactly.” Song Mianfeng pondered, “Maybe second sight, or third?”

Lu Yin Zhen couldn’t help but laugh at his serious contemplation, “Can’t you say something nice to comfort me?”

“What’s so comforting about love at first sight?” Song Mianfeng wrapped his arms around Lu Yin Zhen’s waist, teasingly kissing the corner of his lips, “For me, it’s love at first sight, second sight, and every sight thereafter. Every time we meet, my heart flutters.”

“Really?” Lu Yin Zhen hugged him, resting his chin on his shoulder, feeling content in his embrace.

“Really.” Song Mianfeng called his name in a gentle, affectionate tone, using the local dialect, his pronunciation soft and sweet, “Lu Yin Zhen, I like you.”

This statement, like a bolt from the blue, awakened the dreamer.

Lu Yin Zhen’s heart trembled, and a blazing fire ignited in his chest like never before, making his voice hoarse, “I do too.”

He said, “Mianfeng, I like you too.”

They had shared a bed for quite some time, always balancing between affection and propriety. But at this moment, Lu Yin Zhen suddenly desired him very much.

It was passion, overwhelming passion.

Most likely, he had indulged a bit too much in the sweetness he tasted, feeding his heart into insatiability, wanting more.

Yet, he merely lowered his head to kiss Mianfeng’s lips, the gesture tender and restrained.

Just a little longer.

^[1]Author’s note: Regarding this segment of the Rose War, thanks to a friend from Jinjiang for providing a treasure trove of Western history, allowing me to weave a bunch of irrelevant red and … Continue reading