BEGW C89

Chapter 89

Steam pooled heavily inside the command tent, and Ying Changchuan’s gaze slid downward, following the movement of Jiang Yuxun’s hand.

Water rippled with each motion, splashing lightly over his pale wrist,

curling like vines—like slender snakes—across his long fingers and faintly flushed fingertips,

before slipping back into the tub.

Jiang Yuxun arched a brow and glanced at Ying Changchuan again.

Seeing the Emperor still motionless, he finally relaxed.

He’d won this round.

“A pity,” he said, emboldened, lifting his hand with slow elegance.

He turned away slightly to hide the smile tugging at his lips, feigning regret.

“It seems Your Majesty wasn’t all that eager to—ah!”

Before his sentence finished, a sudden unfamiliar pressure fell upon his shoulder.

His body trembled.

The rest of his words died instantly.

At some point, Ying Changchuan had come to stand behind him.

He said nothing—

but his actions made it painfully clear whether he dared or did not dare.

At an unknown moment, Yuxun’s collar had loosened slightly.

The Emperor’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder, doing something—something subtle—that made the fabric fall from his arm.

In the next heartbeat, Jiang Yuxun’s right shoulder lay bare in the warm, humid air.

A shiver spread across his back.

Ying Changchuan’s fingers brushed idly against his nape,

and he bent down, leaving a kiss upon that exposed shoulder…

His movements were patient—exquisitely measured—

as if intending to undress him piece by piece like this.

…This was too much.

Heat shot up Yuxun’s face, staining even the tips of his ears.

He raised his hand instinctively, pressing it against the Emperor’s offending fingers—

—which only pleased Ying Changchuan further.

The Emperor took hold of Yuxun’s hand instead, guiding it backward.

By the time Jiang Yuxun realized what was happening,

his fingertips were pressed lightly against the Emperor’s collar.

…Wh-what was he planning to do?

Jiang Yuxun held his breath.

The tiny glimmer in his dark eyes flickered with the wavering candlelight.

Ying Changchuan gazed down at him, silently drawing Yuxun’s hand along the edge of his outer robe.

The pressure around his wrist, and the depth in the Emperor’s eyes, spoke plainly:

—Ying Changchuan was not “not daring.”

He was far too daring.

The dark robe embroidered with gold threads slipped from Jiang Yuxun’s fingertips and fell soundlessly to the floor.

His heart lurched upward—

so intensely that even his fingers trembled.

Sensing disaster, Yuxun instinctively stiffened, breath caught in his chest.

His free hand crept upward along the rim of the tub as though grasping for salvation.

If he had known it would end like this, he would never have provoked the Emperor…

Just as Ying Changchuan leaned in—

his face inches from Jiang Yuxun’s—

Yuxun’s fingertips dipped back into the hot water.

The heat shocked him to clarity.

Do something or it’s truly over.

In the next moment, he shut his eyes tight

and swept up a splash of water toward Ying Changchuan.

“—Splash!”

Hot water burst through the air, soaking the Emperor’s robe.

Even Ying Changchuan hadn’t expected that.

Startlement rippled through his smoky-gray eyes.

The brief spray of water halted his hand.

He finally released Jiang Yuxun’s wrist.

Silence fell for a few seconds.

Realizing what he had just done, Jiang Yuxun sucked in a deep breath and spun around.

The Emperor’s chest was damp from the splash.

The dark inner robe clung faintly to his skin—cleanly outlining the shape of his muscles.

Jiang Yuxun jerked his gaze away at once, murmuring “sorry, sorry” over and over.

He exhaled softly.

It wasn’t a dignified tactic, but at least it halted Ying Changchuan’s advance.

The thick tension in the tent dissipated—

half, at least.

But before he could truly relax, Ying Changchuan drew him back into his arms.

The Emperor rested his chin lightly upon Yuxun’s shoulder.

His breath brushed across bare skin as he murmured:

“Next time.”

…Next time?

Before Yuxun could ask, a faint, impossible-to-ignore warmth landed upon his ear.

A shiver shot through him, draining all strength from his limbs.

Ying Changchuan kissed the soft edge of his ear and whispered—almost regretfully:

“When we return to Xianyou Palace or Swallow Harbor Island,

we will finish everything left unfinished today.”

“Swallow Harbor Island…”

Jiang Yuxun echoed unconsciously,

and only then remembered what that place was.

The Emperor’s laughter deepened.

“There will be only you and me.”

Jiang Yuxun’s face flushed scarlet.

Xianyou Palace had many hot springs.

Swallow Harbor Island was even more secluded—

a private retreat.

Both places were far more dangerous than this tent.

He had truly gone too far this time.

The hot water began to cool.

After speaking, Ying Changchuan reluctantly loosened his hold.

“Go on. Don’t let the water chill.”

His voice remained husky.

He reached into the tub and flicked water upward, misting Yuxun’s temple—

then pressed a lingering kiss behind his ear.

Leaving a faint, unmistakable mark.

The Emperor’s tent was divided into front, middle, and back sections.

At dawn, Jiang Yuxun woke instinctively.

He rubbed his eyes, instinctively reaching toward where the Emperor should have been—

only to touch empty bedding.

He’d never been a still sleeper.

Though he didn’t kick or thrash, he always needed something to hold.

Since discovering this, Ying Changchuan had quietly removed extra pillows

and replaced them with his own arm.

Yuxun had been uncomfortable at first—

but over time, he had grown thoroughly accustomed to clinging to that arm.

Now, without it, the space felt far too empty.

A pillow had been placed at his side—thoughtfully.

But…

Where is Ying Changchuan?

Frowning, Yuxun finally opened his eyes fully.

From beyond the felt curtain came Qi Pingsha’s voice:

“…Last night at the second watch, several Lingtiantai believers carried water, grain, and gunpowder across the desert into Zherou territory. If nothing goes wrong, they will reach Chuchi Khan’s lands in two days.”

The voice was muffled by felt, requiring focus to hear clearly.

Sleep vanished from Yuxun’s mind.

He sat up silently, listening intently.

—Lingtiantai had tried to leak firearms to Zherou.

But they had only managed to obtain gunpowder, not actual weapons.

And even that stolen formula had been tampered with by the Imperial Seal Bureau.

It was useless for crafting weapons—

even misleading.

After reporting, Qi Pingsha unfolded a map and handed it over.

“Your Majesty, these are the areas where the believers have been active.”

Ying Changchuan accepted it.

Zefang County was vast; the border stretched long.

The traitors could not identify every village or garrison.

They had stayed near Wuchang County—

clearly trying to lure Zherou troops there.

Silence followed as the Emperor inspected the map.

Yuxun longed to walk out and join the discussion—

but could not reveal he had spent the night in the Emperor’s bed.

If he simply lifted the curtain,

all secrecy would be gone.

Qi Pingsha then added:

“Also, Young Master Xing has sent another message.”

A letter was placed onto the Emperor’s desk.

Qi Pingsha added, “He wonders when Lord Jiang will be available to review it.”

Last year, out of caution, Yuxun had taught Xing Zhi a special phonetic cipher.

All confidential letters from him used this code.

Only Yuxun—and the Emperor—could read them.

Yuxun froze.

A sense of dread crept up his spine.

Sure enough—

Qi Pingsha said thoughtfully:

“It is already the hour of the hare. Normally, Lord Jiang rises early. Shall this servant call for him?”

Jiang Yuxun: !!!!

Absolutely not!

His grip tightened on the blanket.

Before he could panic further—

Ying Changchuan chuckled softly and said:

“No need. Lord Jiang is right here.”

Qi Pingsha: “…Ah?”

That was the Emperor’s resting space.

Why would—

…

Jiang Yuxun shut his eyes briefly in resignation.

I knew it.

War was coming; Xing Zhi’s information was urgent.

This could not be delayed for the sake of secrecy.

Moments later, Yuxun emerged from behind the curtain in an outer robe, bowed stiffly, and said:

“Your Majesty.”

Qi Pingsha’s mind went utterly blank.

Lord Jiang… walked out of the Emperor’s private quarters.

Last night, they… they…?

His thoughts spiraled.

But Jiang Yuxun calmly picked up the letter and began reading,

as though nothing were out of the ordinary.

Which only worsened the shock.

Qi Pingsha forced himself back to work.

Yuxun’s robe was thin; the morning was cold.

Without hesitation, Ying Changchuan rose and draped his own cloak over Yuxun’s shoulders.

The movement was tender—undeniably intimate.

Qi Pingsha stumbled in disbelief.

Jiang Yuxun steadied himself and read aloud:

“Young Master Xing reports that Chuchi Khan failed to obtain grain from the other two kings. As of the letter’s writing, his envoy has begun returning.”

Silence fell.

If so, then by now Chuchi Khan already knew—

he had been abandoned.

And desperation left him only one choice.

Late night, far north of the Quxia Desert.

More than a thousand elite riders assembled.

Spring was nearly over; grass covered the desert’s edges.

The fierce spring winds had finally stilled.

Under a cloudless full moon, the land glowed silver—

illuminating Chuchi Khan’s blood-red eyes.

Clad in leather armor, he raised his arm.

Strong liquor sloshed in his wineskin, spilling onto the sand.

Its sharp fragrance drifted instantly across the gathering.

The liquid soaked his arm.

Riders swallowed reflexively.

Chuchi Khan swept his gaze around them.

“Do you want to drink?”

The cavalry roared: “Yes!”

“Good!”

He tugged his reins; the brown warhorse pawed the ground.

“Then tonight we ride south into Great Zhou!

Take the cattle, the grain—

and the liquor and fruit!”

Eyes shone wildly.

“And,” he added, voice ringing across the desert,

“—whoever seizes liquor keeps it!”

A fresh gust of wind stirred the intoxicating scent.

The riders, already hungry for battle, erupted into cheers.

Liquor was rare in Zherou—

worth two sheep for a single skin.

Those who drank it were envied by all.

Hunger gnawed at them.

Desire drove them.

“To battle!”

They raised their bows, ready to ride around Zhou garrisons and directly plunder the villages.

Victory seemed certain to them.

Each horse carried sacks—unused, ready to fill with stolen lambs.

Some sacks held torches coated in oil, waiting to be lit.

After plundering, they planned to burn every village behind them—

leaving Zhou no chance to regroup.

Chuchi Khan looked skyward.

It was time.

A fast horse would take nearly a day to reach Wuchang County.

To strike at midnight—

they must leave now.

“Ready—ride!”

“Yes!”

The cavalry turned and thundered into the night.

Chuchi Khan downed half the wineskin and hurled it into the crowd.

Blood roared in his veins.

Hooves shook the silent desert.

Far above, soldiers in dark armor folded their wooden telescopes and raced ahead of the horde.

One soldier waved a red cloth to signal the next relay.

The message traveled faster than Zherou’s horses.

By noon, the warning reached the northern garrison.

By dusk, the Fulin Army was armed and prepared.

The camp held its breath.

Advance units had already set off for the desert-border.

Outside the Emperor’s tent, guards stood with spears, faces solemn.

Twilight deepened.

A lone evening star appeared.

The air grew colder; horses snorted mist into the fading light.

The tent opened.

Ying Changchuan stepped out in full black armor—

a cold gleam slicing through the darkness.

His usual lazy warmth had vanished.

Shadow sharpened his eyes into something lethal.

He was all command—

all chill authority.

“Your Majesty—!”

Soldiers bowed deeply.

The warhorse approached.

“Rise.”

Ying Changchuan mounted in a fluid motion.

A distant horn blared—

the Fulin Army moved as one, a silent blade in the night.

Footsteps broke the tension.

“Your Majesty!”

Jiang Yuxun’s voice reached him before the man himself did.

Twilight cast the world in deep blue.

Grassland, desert, tents—everything drowned in fading light.

Jiang Yuxun stopped before the Emperor’s horse, lifting his gaze.

Though spring, evening winds still carried biting cold.

The warhorse stamped, releasing a puff of breath.

Ying Changchuan tugged the reins and turned.

“What is it, A’xun?”

The killing intent in his eyes melted instantly—

softened into gentle warmth.

Jiang Yuxun clenched his fist.

“…Be careful.”

As soon as the words left his lips, he flushed with embarrassment.

I ran out just to say that?

He cleared his throat.

“It’s nothing. Please depart quickly, Your Majesty.”

Yet his heartbeat refused to steady.

Though he trusted Ying Changchuan’s strength—

war was too foreign, too distant to someone born in the modern world.

He glanced toward the road—

the Fulin Army was already riding north, shaking the earth.

Time pressed on.

The Emperor needed to leave.

He bowed.

“Your servant will take his leave—”

But before he could turn—

“Come here, A’xun.”

Jiang Yuxun froze.

The tone was different.

Colder.

Heavier.

He hesitated, then approached.

“What is it, Your Majesty?”

Ying Changchuan towered even higher atop his horse.

The pressure was overwhelming.

Yuxun instinctively stepped back—

—but the Emperor tugged the reins.

The horse shifted, blocking the soldiers’ view.

And Ying Changchuan leaned down—

and kissed him.

“Mm—!”

A faint breath of ambergris drifted with the night wind.

Jiang Yuxun stopped breathing entirely.

A kiss brushed his trembling lips.

He startled—then slowly leaned forward, returning the touch.

This time, Ying Changchuan did not stop there.

As the campfires flared to life—

The Emperor lifted Yuxun’s chin.

After a few feather-light kisses—

he suddenly deepened it.

His lips pressed forward with deliberate force,

parting Jiang Yuxun’s lips.

There was no room for refusal.

Jiang Yuxun trembled, fingers curling tightly.

His breath scattered—

wild and uneven—

as their mouths finally met fully.

He tried to retreat, but a firm hand slid behind his head,

denying him even an inch.

The night wind swept across the grassland.

Spears glinted coldly nearby.

But all of that was distant—

another world entirely.

Ying Changchuan deepened the kiss further.

Not just Yuxun’s breath—

even his tongue was caught and held.

A strange, tingling sweetness burst beneath the roof of his mouth.

Air fled his lungs.

Thoughts dissolved.

All he could hear was his own ragged breathing—

… and Ying Changchuan’s.