Chapter Text
Finding their way back to each other was the easiest and the hardest thing they had ever done.
It was easy, because it was Wen Kexing whom Zhou Zishu had to find. In the darkness of the Armory, he shone like a beacon, one to which Zhou Zishu, the lost wanderer, could turn to find his way again. He drew him as the light of the sun draws the wild goose flying south, and nothing was easier than following that light: simply letting himself fall into the sky and allowing it to catch him.
And yet it was difficult.
The anger Zhou Zishu had once harbored, and the fear—twice betrayed by Wen Kexing, twice forced to watch him die while utterly powerless—he had banished them from his mind. He had forgiven him both times. Still, an echo remained, a hollow ringing inside his chest. His body felt like a vase whose fragile form had once been shattered; whenever it was struck, the note it produced was warped, dull, and rattling. He had painstakingly pieced the fragments back together, but something was missing, something that might seal the cracks.
What was missing was Wen Kexing.
Their relationship had survived the rupture between them, but it had emerged wounded and battered—a bird that had scraped the tips of its wings raw in a too-narrow crevice of rock and was now staggering downward toward the ground. It still remained in the air for now. Both of them tried to support it from either side. But if they could not bridge the abyss between them, it would inevitably fall.
Zhou Zishu could not allow that.
Again and again he had assured Wen Kexing that he had forgiven him, that he loved him. Yet Wen Kexing still tiptoed around him as though afraid that a single wrong movement might make the cracks in the vase tremble and split open again. Zhou Zishu did not know how to help him, how to help both of them rediscover that easy, comfortable closeness they had once shared. But he was determined not to rest until he had reshaped it with his own hands.
“Lao Wen,” he called lazily, stretching out on the bed where they both slept.
Even now that the nails no longer kept him awake at night, he had not abandoned his habit of sleeping late. It was far too pleasant an indulgence to give up so easily.
“A-Xu?”
Wen Kexing was always awake much earlier than he was, accomplishing more in those hours than Zhou Zishu managed in an entire day. He had turned the World’s Armory upside down from top to bottom: reorganizing the library, sweeping out the empty rooms, clearing away all the belongings Rong Xuan and his brothers had left behind, as though he truly intended to furnish the place for them to live in.
Zhou Zishu had watched him with quiet amusement, but had not lifted a finger to help. After all, it seemed only fair that he should be allowed to be a little lazy, now that for the first time in three years he was no longer tormented by pain.
When Wen Kexing entered their bedroom now, he was once again holding the broom he had fashioned out of old branches. Rong Xuan had left behind no cleaning tools whatsoever—a fact that did not surprise Zhou Zishu in the least—but Wen Kexing had taken offense to it as though Rong Xuan were his own unruly disciple.
The resemblance this bore to Ye Baiyi was something Zhou Zishu kept to himself for the sake of domestic peace.
“Lao Wen, I’m thirsty. Let’s go outside.”
Wen Kexing smiled. It looked a little crooked, though that might have been because Zhou Zishu was still lying on his back and had only turned his head slightly to look at him. Wen Kexing set the broom in a corner and walked toward the doorway.
“All right. Let’s go.”
Zhou Zishu studied his figure, white and blue against the stone-gray walls of the Armory. He seemed as distant as a candle flame in a stranger’s window, and Zhou Zishu disliked that he could not reach him.
Frowning, he stretched out his left arm. “Too tired to move. Help me.”
Wen Kexing made a disbelieving sound. “Too tired? A-Xu, you’ve slept the entire morning.”
Even so, he obediently came over after Zhou Zishu waved his hand impatiently.
“It’s exhausting living with you. I need time to recover,” Zhou Zishu said, only half serious. Then he held his hand completely still so Wen Kexing could take it.
Wen Kexing was always careful with him. He touched Zhou Zishu’s hand as though it might break, and even when he helped him up—half pulling him from the bed, half lifting him—his touch remained gentle, utterly innocent. Yet beneath Zhou Zishu’s skin it burned like a scatter of sparks.
It was an aftereffect of the ritual. After they had learned the Combined Six Cultivation Method to heal Zhou Zishu’s wounds, his senses had returned as well, with an intensity he had never known before. When he stepped outside onto the plain before the mountain entrance, the snow dazzled him as if he were staring straight into the sun. He could see all the way to the horizon without losing clarity, almost like one of the eagles that nested on the peaks above them.
He could smell the pine forest far below them even from the heights of the barren mountain. He could hear the howl of a fox or the rush of the wind echoing deep into the caverns of the Armory. Everything he tasted that was not ice water seemed unbelievably sweet.
But his most delicate sense was touch.
It had taken a long time before he could grow accustomed to the scratch of his clothing or the bite of the wind on his cheeks, before he could simply exist without being overwhelmed by every small sensation. Yet one thing had never faded: the way Wen Kexing’s presence affected him with unbearable intensity.
Perhaps it was because he had never truly felt him before and now, for the first time, had the chance. Or perhaps it was simply Wen Kexing himself. The man drove him mad in every conceivable way.
Even now, Wen Kexing’s touch prickled across his skin like a thousand tiny electric shocks. His fingers felt hot against the back of Zhou Zishu’s hand, though he knew that was nonsense and that Wen Kexing’s hands were perfectly normal in temperature. Only Zhou Zishu’s own hands were always cold.
He wanted to lean into that touch, to seek out its warmth—
—but in that very moment, Wen Kexing let go and stepped back.
At the loss of contact, a pitiful little sound escaped Zhou Zishu before he could stop himself.
Wen Kexing immediately fixed him with those soft, dark, worried eyes. They were always so gentle when they rested on him that Zhou Zishu felt as though he might melt into them.
“Did I hurt you?” Wen Kexing asked anxiously. “Was I too rough? Did I accidentally touch one of your wounds?”
“No,” Zhou Zishu waved it off. His throat was dry, and his voice came out tight, as if he truly were in pain. He swallowed and moistened his lips. “Not at all. You know I haven’t felt any pain since the wounds healed.”
Wen Kexing still looked skeptical. “That’s what you say. But you might also say that just so I won’t worry.”
Zhou Zishu sighed softly. “Trust that I’m not lying to you.”
And I’ll do the same. Perhaps then, someday, we can both finally feel certain.
Wen Kexing seemed to sense the unspoken addition, because a conflicted expression crossed his face. He looked at Zhou Zishu for a long moment—half sad, half hopeful—then slowly nodded.
“Okay.” He smiled once more, hesitant. “Okay.”
Zhou Zishu smiled back and lifted his chin. “Let’s go outside.”
As he passed by, Zhou Zishu brushed against Wen Kexing’s arm and bit down on his tongue. The fire beneath his skin would probably never fade, not so long as they lived together on this mountain.
Wen Kexing fetched two wooden bowls from the room he had designated as the “kitchen.”
“What exactly do you plan to cook?” Zhou Zishu had once asked him teasingly. “When all we’re allowed to drink is melted snow and dew.”
But Wen Kexing had been impossible to dissuade from his plans. He wanted to build a home for them, and a home simply had to have a kitchen.
“And what if we have visitors? That idiot disciple of ours won’t stay away forever.”
Even with a kitchen, we’ll have nothing to offer him, Zhou Zishu had thought, but he had kept quiet. He liked watching Wen Kexing build a nest for them. It soothed him in a strange way, as though it reassured him that Wen Kexing would never leave him again.
“Swans and eagles stay together for life,” Wen Kexing had declared proudly when Zhou Zishu compared him to a bird gathering twigs and feathers for its nest, after he had dragged several pine branches inside from outside to decorate the Armory. “And the swan's or the eagle’s mate has to build the nest. Your comparison doesn’t offend me.”
“And which are we?” Zhou Zishu had asked. “Eagles or swans?”
A fond smile had tugged at his lips, one he could not quite hide, though he had tried to pretend that Wen Kexing’s entire speech was ridiculous.
“Ours is a relationship between different species,” Wen Kexing had replied with great seriousness, as though he were reciting an ancient maxim from the Book of Changes. “You are the eagle, soaring high above the clouds, kissed by the sun, light as falling snowflakes, swift as a summer breeze, with light smoldering along the edges of your wings. And I am the black swan upon the lake, gazing longingly up at the sky, hoping to fly high enough to reach you.”
Then he had sighed so theatrically that Zhou Zishu had been unable to hold back his laughter. And Wen Kexing had been so deeply offended by his amusement that Zhou Zishu had spent the rest of the day chasing him around the mountain just to coax a smile back onto his lips.
Zhou Zishu smiled to himself now at the memory. Wen Kexing looked at him questioningly, but Zhou Zishu merely shook his head and gestured for him to go out first.
Fresh snow covered the flat ground before the mountain. Zhou Zishu had heard it falling during the night; he had fallen asleep to the soft sound of light snowflakes settling gently upon the white blanket below. It was so fluffy and soft that their feet sank to the ankles when they stepped outside.
Wen Kexing beamed. “Fresh snow makes the best water.”
Snorting softly, Zhou Zishu bent down, rubbed a bit of snow between his fingers, and then unceremoniously shoved a handful into his mouth.
He tasted no difference.
“A-Xu,” Wen Kexing scolded, affronted by his manners. “Couldn’t you at least put it in the bowl first?”
Zhou Zishu shrugged. Whether he ate snow straight from the ground or drank melted snow from a bowl made little difference to his dignity. He had lost that long ago anyway, after collapsing sobbing in Wen Kexing’s arms. It didn’t bother him, especially not in front of Wen Kexing.
Still, he scooped up a generous ladle of snow from the top layer with both hands and carried it over while Wen Kexing patiently held out the bowl.
The snow felt powder-soft against his fingers, so light that a gust of wind might have whisked it back into the sky.
An idea came to him.
He stepped closer to Wen Kexing, pretending he was about to deposit the snow into the bowl. Then he raised his hands to the height of Wen Kexing’s face and blew the fine powder straight at him. It scattered exactly as he had imagined.
Wen Kexing yelped in surprise and immediately caught a mouthful of snow in his open mouth, which made him choke. His hands, still holding the bowls, came up far too late to protect himself, and most of the snow landed squarely in his face.
“A-Xu!” he cried indignantly, turning toward him with a glare that might have been intimidating if he had not been squinting his eyes shut against the snow. The smallest flakes clung to his eyelashes and eyebrows like white stars scattered across a black night sky.
Zhou Zishu laughed at him first, but then he took Wen Kexing’s face between his hands to brush the snow away. He wiped it gently from his cheeks and then carefully swept his thumbs over his eyes and the fringe of his lashes so he could see again.
Wen Kexing’s eyelids fluttered beneath the tender touch, but he kept his eyes closed, trusting Zhou Zishu completely as his face rested in his hands.
Zhou Zishu had to swallow. So Wen Kexing wouldn’t notice his hands trembling, he pulled them away as soon as the snow was gone. Even so, the tingling heat in his fingertips refused to fade. He would have liked to linger just a little longer—stroking the soft skin of Wen Kexing’s cheek, leaning forward to kiss that red mouth until he lost all sense of himself.
But he couldn’t. Not when Wen Kexing still wasn’t looking at him.
“There,” he said, a little hoarsely, clenching his hands into fists at his sides. “All done.”
Wen Kexing opened one eye first, as if he needed to inspect Zhou Zishu’s work before trusting it entirely. When he saw him, he smiled—first softly, then with unmistakable mischief.
Zhou Zishu did not even have a second to adjust to the change before a massive shower of snow came crashing down over his head.
“Lao Wen!” he sputtered, not even having time to brush the snow from his face or hair. “You’ll pay for that.”
And he threw the first snowball.
It was like the old days, when Qin Huaizhang had forced him to go out and play in the snow with Jiuxiao, except that this time, he actually wanted to. As a child he had grumbled over every minute he wasn’t allowed to spend training. But now, as an immortal, his time was endless, and he found himself far happier spending it in childish games than he had ever realized.
It had been a long time since he and Wen Kexing had laughed so much. For a long time there had been nothing to laugh about in their lives. But now their carefree laughter echoed up to the mountain peaks, where the eagles surely heard it.
The snowballs refused to hold together, the snow was far too powdery, so they soon resorted to shoving each other into the highest drifts they could find.
Zhou Zishu was far more merciless than Wen Kexing.
He had shoved him deep into a bed of snow, then thrown another armful into his face and down the back of his collar. Wen Kexing writhed beneath the attack; not that the cold truly bothered them anymore, but it was wet and clammy, and each additional handful left their clothes and hair unpleasantly damp.
“A-Xu,” he cried, coughing out the snow Zhou Zishu had managed to push into his mouth. “You treat me so cruelly.”
Zhou Zishu paused to laugh. A mistake.
Before he knew it, Wen Kexing had grabbed his wrists and shaken them so the snow slipped from his hands. Then he flipped them around, pinned Zhou Zishu down in the snow, and looked down at him with triumphant eyes.
“Do you yield?” he declared.
Zhou Zishu looked up at him—the dark eyes flashing with mockery, the flushed skin sparkling with snow, the soft curved lips—and thought: Yes. Heavens, yes.
He went completely pliant in Wen Kexing’s grip, stopped struggling, and melted into the snow and the touch, testing Wen Kexing’s reaction. Only his fingers twitched; the movement pressed the tendons of his wrist more firmly into Wen Kexing’s palm, and Zhou Zishu could have sworn he nearly died a second time.
Breathless, he stared into Wen Kexing’s eyes, his chest still heaving from their scuffle. He saw Wen Kexing draw a sharp breath as well, before abruptly looking away and letting him go.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
In disbelief, Zhou Zishu followed Wen Kexing’s awkward attempt at a smile with his eyes.
“Hurt me?” he repeated stupidly. Did Wen Kexing truly have no faint idea what Zhou Zishu wanted from him? “How do you imagine you could hurt me? I’m stronger than you.”
That, at least, snapped Wen Kexing out of his dreamy concern. Skeptically he raised his eyebrows, two shadows like moth wings beneath his snow-white hair.
“A-Xu, did you fall too hard? Hit your head? We both know I’m the stronger one.”
Zhou Zishu narrowed his eyes sharply and lifted his chin.
“Prove it.”
Wen Kexing smiled, unusually restrained. “I think we’ve had enough for today. We’re both out of breath.”
“Only from laughing so much.”
Wen Kexing’s smile grew infinitely brighter.
“Yes,” he said, beaming. “But look at us. Our clothes are so filthy from the wet earth and rocks under the snow that I’ll have to wash them. And if they’re to dry before evening, there isn’t much time left.”
A long sigh escaped Zhou Zishu’s chest, though his voice carried clear amusement. “Then go wash, you housewife. But help me up first.”
He let Wen Kexing haul him laboriously out of the snowdrift and brush the worst of the snow from his clothes. Zhou Zishu did not lift a finger to help; he simply allowed Wen Kexing’s hands to glide over his arms and back, suppressing a shiver each time.
“Aiya, A-Xu,” Wen Kexing lamented. “There’s even mud in your hair. How did you manage that? Mine stayed clean.”
“You’re the one who threw me to the ground,” Zhou Zishu shot back immediately. “Now deal with it.”
Wen Kexing clicked his tongue. “I’ll draw you a bath. While you’re bathing, I’ll wash our clothes.”
Zhou Zishu hummed his approval. A bath did indeed sound pleasant, and the thought of Wen Kexing removing his clothes appealed to him as well.
He would not have objected in the slightest if Wen Kexing asked whether he might join him in the bath. The Wen Kexing of a few months ago—the one who flirted shamelessly with him at every opportunity—certainly would have done so. But this Wen Kexing remained suspiciously silent.
Was he merely restraining himself, or had it truly never occurred to him that he could bathe together with Zhou Zishu if he wished?
But he’s determined to wash the clothes, Zhou Zishu thought with affectionate amusement. He doesn’t have time to think about me.
While Zhou Zishu had been lost in these musings, Wen Kexing had already filled a wooden tub with water. It was cold, melted ice water brought from the entrance hall of the Armory, where it was particularly pure. They had not yet dared to test what would happen if they heated the water—after all, even the water they drank had to be ice-cold meltwater. But it did not bother them. They barely felt the cold of the mountain and ice anymore, and after a while even the icy water felt warm against their immortal skin.
Zhou Zishu removed his outer robe and handed it to Wen Kexing, who immediately disappeared into another room to wash it.
Sighing, Zhou Zishu slipped off his inner robe as well and stepped into the cold water without so much as blinking. He had hoped Wen Kexing might change his mind—but he did not return.
Irritated, Zhou Zishu sank into the water until only his nose remained above the surface and glared at the mirror-like surface.
Wen Kexing had not made even the slightest teasing remark when he saw him dressed only in his inner robe. Not one suggestive comment about wishing to accompany Zhou Zishu in the bath. It was as though the most exuberantly alive person Zhou Zishu knew had suddenly become a monk. If he wanted Wen Kexing to come to him, he would have to give things a little push.
He straightened slightly until his chin rose above the water.
“Lao Wen!”
Zhou Zishu knew he would not need to call twice.
He waited patiently until hurried footsteps sounded in the outer chamber and stopped at the entrance to the bathing room. Tilting his head back, he saw that Wen Kexing had halted at a point where he still could not see much of Zhou Zishu’s body. His eyes were fixed on him, but strictly on his face.
“A-Xu, is everything all right?”
Zhou Zishu deliberately made a face as he braced his upper arms against the edge of the tub. “My arms are so tired—you must have been a bit too rough after all. I can’t lift them very well. You’ll have to help me with my hair.”
With sharp eyes he watched Wen Kexing’s reaction.
For a moment Wen Kexing stared at him in confusion. His gaze slid from Zhou Zishu’s face to his arms, then quickly back again. He blinked, and then a shy smile spread across his face.
“If you want my help.”
Zhou Zishu arched an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I? You caused the damage, so now take responsibility.”
He turned around again and waited patiently until he felt Wen Kexing’s presence behind him.
Something wooden scraped softly over the stone floor—a stool—and then Wen Kexing sat down behind him beside the tub, carefully rolling up his sleeves.
Zhou Zishu listened to the quiet sounds he made: the soft rustle of fabric beneath Wen Kexing’s deft fingers; the faint breath, barely loud enough to hear; the brush of skin against wood as Wen Kexing rested his arms on the edge of the tub.
An anticipatory tremor ran down Zhou Zishu’s spine. He could not remember the last time he had been naked in a room with another person, or the last time Wen Kexing had seen him with so little clothing. He longed so intensely for the other man’s touch that he rolled his shoulders impatiently and jerked his head back.
“Go on.”
Wen Kexing laughed softly. “A-Xu, don’t be so rough. I must be careful not to pull out your stubborn hair.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?”
“Nothing.” Wen Kexing’s voice had lowered. “It’s very thick, and the knots are difficult to undo. But it’s beautiful, A-Xu, soft and luxuriant, like piled-up clouds. I’ve never seen more beautiful hair on anyone.”
Zhou Zishu rolled his eyes fondly. That was his Wen Kexing—poetic even in the least romantic of moments.
“Less talking,” he admonished, deliberately shifting his shoulder blades in a way Wen Kexing could not possibly miss. “Just start already.”
He heard Wen Kexing inhale softly, and then felt the first touch at the crown of his head.
Wen Kexing had removed the white jade hairpin that had continued to hold up Zhou Zishu’s hair throughout the weeks they had spent in the Armory, though Zhou Zishu had tried to return it once he realized what it meant to him. But the first time he had taken it out, Wen Kexing had simply slipped it back into his hair again, the gesture so gentle that Zhou Zishu had not had the heart to protest.
Now Wen Kexing tucked it away somewhere in his sleeve.
Zhou Zishu’s hair fell loose over his shoulders and back, and Wen Kexing ran his fingers through it to loosen the worst of the tangles and free it from the clumps of dried mud. A tingling sensation spread from Zhou Zishu’s scalp down the back of his neck, though Wen Kexing had not truly touched him yet. He leaned back, chasing the feeling, and closed his eyes.
Wen Kexing slid his long fingers into his hair to part it. In doing so, his nails lightly scraped across the spot between Zhou Zishu’s shoulder blades and trailed down his back.
The sudden rush of pleasure that shot through him caught him so off guard that he cried out and jerked forward, sloshing water dangerously over the edge of the tub.
“A-Xu?” Wen Kexing immediately pulled back, his voice pitched high with concern. “Did I hurt you?”
Zhou Zishu gripped the edge of the tub with white-knuckled hands, leaning forward as he struggled to bring his breathing back under control. His face was as hot as it became when he soaked too long in steaming baths—the ice water in the tub gave him no excuse for it.
Oh, for fuck's sake, he thought, clearing his throat awkwardly. Zhou Zishu, ah, Zhou Zishu. What have you gotten yourself into now?
He hoped his voice did not sound too hoarse with arousal when he settled back against the tub and answered.
“You know how easily I startle these days. Don’t take it too seriously. Just… just keep going.”
He cleared his throat again, silently thanking the cold water that now truly felt like ice against his flushed skin.
Wen Kexing made a thoughtful sound. For a moment Zhou Zishu feared he might stop altogether, but then he felt fingertips in his hair again, tentative and light as willow catkins brushing against the wind.
This time Wen Kexing was careful not to touch him anywhere else. It was torture. Zhou Zishu felt only the faint tug at his hair as the strands were separated, the water running down his back as Wen Kexing poured it over him to loosen the snow-mud. Not once did Wen Kexing’s fingers brush his skin.
Zhou Zishu could have groaned in frustration, but that would probably only frighten Wen Kexing further. So he had no choice but to remain very still and wait for Wen Kexing to finally lose his restraint.
“I still have a little soap left,” Wen Kexing said after a while. “It smells like chrysanthemums. Would you perhaps…?”
His voice faded uncertainly in the quiet room, the stone walls returning the echo so softly it might just as well have been a sigh of mountain wind.
At another time, Zhou Zishu might have joked that Wen Kexing wanted him to smell like a courtesan—but now such a faint, fluttering feeling spread in his stomach that he swallowed the words. He did not know what tempted him more: the thought of Wen Kexing’s hands finally touching his scalp and neck, or the thought that later, when his hair had dried, he would smell like him.
He wondered whether the prospect made something flutter in Wen Kexing’s stomach as well.
With a low hum of agreement, he tilted his head back so Wen Kexing could reach his whole scalp more easily.
“Do as you like.”
It was the clearest invitation Zhou Zishu had ever given him. Yet instead of a teasing remark, Wen Kexing only murmured a quiet “okay” as he drew the bar of soap from his sleeve and began his work.
Wen Kexing poured water over his hair so carefully that Zhou Zishu had to smile. All the while he shielded Zhou Zishu’s eyes with one hand, resting warm and soft across his forehead. Every movement was so cautious, so gentle, as though he were tending a delicate wildflower whose petals might tear at the slightest pressure.
When he finally took the soap and began massaging it into the roots of his hair, Zhou Zishu melted into the touch like snow beneath the sun. Patiently he rubbed each strand between his fingers, and sometimes his knuckles or fingertips brushed the skin at Zhou Zishu’s neck so lightly that Zhou Zishu wanted to press against him with a groan.
And then, growing bolder, Wen Kexing began to massage his scalp. Zhou Zishu could not suppress the quiet sigh that escaped his lips.
Wen Kexing’s long fingers moved with gentle pressure across the skin at his temples, behind his ears, down to his neck, sometimes rubbing in small circles, sometimes scraping lightly with his nails.
It was heaven. Zhou Zishu felt as though he were floating in the water, though he still sat firmly on the bottom of the tub. Everything about him had gone soft and pliant, as though his bones had dissolved entirely, leaving behind only warm, yielding muscle. Eyes closed, he tipped his head back and prayed Wen Kexing would not stop.
And that he would not see how aroused he was.
The flush in his cheeks he could blame on the water, on the irritation of the cold ice. But what stirred between his legs could hardly be blamed on the bath. That was Wen Kexing’s doing alone. His gentle touches. His soft hands. His intimate nearness, warm and steady behind Zhou Zishu. He wanted him to never stop touching him.
Perhaps some small part of him even hoped Wen Kexing would notice his condition—that he would realize what he had caused, and take responsibility for it. But before Zhou Zishu could follow the thought any further, Wen Kexing’s attentions simply stopped.
Cold water was poured over his hair again, rinsing away the soap. Wen Kexing’s hands lingered a moment longer at his head, his thumbs brushing gently over the spot behind Zhou Zishu’s ears, but then he withdrew.
Don’t stop, Zhou Zishu wanted to say. But when he opened his mouth, his throat was so dry he had to clear it.
He swallowed once. Twice. Cleared his throat again.
“A-Xu?” Wen Kexing’s voice suddenly sounded above him, and his pale, white-framed face appeared, leaning over Zhou Zishu’s tilted head. “Are you thirsty?”
For a brief moment their eyes met—Zhou Zishu’s still half-closed in comfortable languor, Wen Kexing’s soft as ground ink. And Zhou Zishu thought, Gods, yes. Finally.
“Very thirsty,” he murmured hoarsely, closing his eyes.
He leaned upward, heard the rustle of clothing as Wen Kexing bent toward him, stretched his neck the final inch—and his lips met nothing but air.
Blinking in confusion, Zhou Zishu opened his eyes.
Wen Kexing was no longer above him, he was not even sitting on the stool he had pulled up beside the tub. Instead, from the corner of his eye, Zhou Zishu caught a final glimpse of the hem of his blue robe disappearing through the doorway.
For a while Zhou Zishu simply stared after him, speechless. Then it slowly dawned on him that Wen Kexing had truly just left.
Perhaps he’s fetching something, he thought. But the hope felt more like wishful thinking than any real expectation.
When Wen Kexing still had not returned after a full minute, Zhou Zishu sank deeper into the water and buried his face in his wet hands with a groan. Despite the icy water, he felt as hot as a dying star about to explode. Perhaps he could take care of the problem here in the tub, but Wen Kexing would see it afterward, and besides, it would not be the same if he did it alone.
He needed Wen Kexing. Needed his large hands, his deep voice, his damned pitch-black eyes. Why wasn’t he here?
Frustrated, Zhou Zishu struck the wooden side of the tub, sending a good portion of the water sloshing over the edge. He felt no guilt about it whatsoever.
Then he climbed out, dried himself, and dressed. All of it, mind you, without the much-desired assistance of a certain other man. By the time he finished, Zhou Zishu felt so irritable and weary that he half wanted to go straight back to sleep.
Just as he had finished adjusting his inner robe so it covered the scars across his chest and shoulders, Wen Kexing came back in, carrying a bowl filled with fresh melted snow.
He held it out to Zhou Zishu with a smile. “Here, for your thirst.”
Zhou Zishu looked at him for a long, searching moment before taking the bowl. He had not been sure before whether Wen Kexing had simply failed to understand his hint, or deliberately ignored it. Even now, he could not read the answer in those dark eyes.
He knew Wen Kexing hesitated to touch him. He noticed it every day. Yet he could not for the life of him think of the true reason why. Did Wen Kexing simply not want to? Did the conflict between them still leave a gulf that Zhou Zishu could not bridge, no matter how hard he tried?
Or did Wen Kexing genuinely not know whether he was allowed?
But that was nonsense. Zhou Zishu had made it abundantly clear that Wen Kexing was allowed to do anything with him—through their playful sparring matches where he always yielded, through the small touches he took whenever he found the chance, through his insinuations that had never been so blatantly suggestive as they were now.
Wen Kexing would have to be blind not to recognize all those signals. Or else he was choosing not to see them.
With a quiet sigh, Zhou Zishu drank the melted snow. When he returned the bowl, he thanked Wen Kexing by lightly brushing his hand.
“You still have my hairpin,” he said then, sweeping a damp strand of hair over his shoulder.
“My hairpin?” Wen Kexing repeated, flashing a fox-like grin along with a shy lowering of his eyes. “Very well. Once A-Xu’s hair has dried, his shidi will pin it up for him with his hairpin.”
“Good,” Zhou Zishu replied. “I’ve grown used to the weight now. I couldn’t do without it anymore.”