ITIEQ C90

Chapter 90 – When Old Houses Catch Fire

—A touch, and it broke apart.

Shen Qinghe blinked.

It hardly counted as a proper kiss—stingy, even. Shen tipped his head back; faint candlelight ferried between them, and he saw that murky gleam deep in Xiao Yuanzheng’s eyes—something that belonged to him alone.

So Shen didn’t find it frightening. He even wanted to—ignite it fully.

He glanced at the wrist held firm, then smiled, unhurried, and stepped in of his own accord, meeting his lips squarely and honestly. It was his first time doing such a thing; he merely copied the stray fragments of memory that flashed up—and was rewarded by watching the tall emperor’s Adam’s apple slide.

He hadn’t yet celebrated this small comeback when, just as the corner of his mouth lifted, the opportunity was stolen—lips already touching were easily pried open. Shocked by the spark‑laced jolt of it, he couldn’t help struggling; the soft screen behind him wobbled with his movement, about to fall—

A hand reached past his ear and steadied the screen.

“Careful.”

Shen’s voice still carried breath. He hadn’t expected Xiao Yuanzheng to be this formidable—his own fire was up.

So this was the force of an old house catching fire?

Xiao’s voice came hoarse. “The main tent has round‑the‑clock patrols. If they hear anything, they might barge in.”

Sounded a bit thrilling.

Light flickers kindled in Shen’s eyes. Free hands lifted to loop around the man’s neck. “Am I the one who should be careful? With a ruler abandoning his rule and a minister his duty—shouldn’t it be Your Majesty’s ‘virtue’ that’s more at risk?

“Afraid?”

Shen laughed, a hook at the tail of his tone. “Would I be?”

Xiao set his other hand at the back of his head and deepened the kiss anew.

This time it was fierce. Shen began to falter. When the long kiss ended, both their breaths were heavy.

Xiao looked at him, deep and long.

Family elders had once called him precocious, fate noble beyond words, sure to meet a great turning.

Yet the world also said: where brilliance peaks, it wounds.

Orphaned of parents, brother dead young; famed as a youth; ruled for ten years; mounted the throne—alone.

The Zhaohuan Emperor was the Zhaohuan Emperor of all under heaven.

At their first meeting in Zheng Hall, they were men of two different worlds. It was he who forced the other to remain—watched him tread carefully, climb high, do works, bring them to fruition.

Then, he taught an emperor, with his own hands, to turn from grief’s river, to look back from the bitter sea, to understand the orchid’s cause early.

Every meeting thereafter took him back to the northwest deserts of ten years past; as if he, too, had once been a proud youth in bright clothes on a fine horse.

While he weighed life and death of the realm, the thing he had never dared ask for before—he claimed without turning back.

In his pupils surged all the feelings Shen could imagine—and those he could not.

Vast as mountain; deep as sea.

Such a gaze left Shen a little outmatched.

Xiao bent again; the difference in their physicality told Shen he could not evade it.

He truly didn’t want another kiss!

He fell instead into an embrace—too strong, snug to the seam—catching him unprepared.

“Fortunately…”

“What?”

“…Fortunately you came. Fortunately, it is you.”

Shen did not understand. The air was too heated; it felt as if both feet had stepped into a pool of magma—scalding, viscous, clinging—impossible to leave.

Truly, a sovereign’s favor was thunder and rain—no commoner could withstand it.

Held so close, their surging heartbeats and trembling words belonged to them both.

Shen chuckled. “If not me—who else?”

Xiao met his eyes. “Only you. It can only be you.”

Behind that soft screen, they did what would make a world of ministers’ souls fly apart in fright. The culprits’ faces were calm; tasting marrow, they knew its flavor.

Utter madness—until reason regained the upper hand. The pace had ridden a divine steed—thousands of li in a day. After days of tangles cleared in one stroke, his heart felt light.

“It’s late. I ought to go.” The youth still wore a smile, pressing Xiao’s shoulder as he sat up.

“Darker and deeper—rest here.”

Shen looked at him in surprise. Before today, Xiao Yuanzheng’s courtesies had been flawless, not a seam unstitched. Suddenly, all flipped—this…

He must have read Shen’s thought. His bearing eased; the hard lines of his face softened. “I heard from the army’s physician—you’ve been plagued by nightmares, even asked for calming decoctions. If you sleep here, I can watch over you.”

That army doctor was from Qingbei County—such a sieve!

Not allowing objection, Xiao led Shen to the bed and swept his sleeve to snuff the newly lit candles on the table.

He’d said as much. Shen had no reason to demur. In three, five motions he loosened his belt and shed his outer robe. A maple leaf tucked at his collar sprang free and spun down in the air.

Xiao caught it between two fingers.

Shen was still tugging at a sleeve. Seeing the motion, he remembered. With a side smile: “Auspicious, isn’t it. For Your Majesty.”

Xiao lowered his gaze, playing with the leaf whose tip ran to a fine point.

“‘A curtain of wind and moon idle; red as longing, this maple leaf.’ I shall take it.” He plucked up a volume he’d been perusing of late and slid it between the pages.

Only a heart‑shaped leaf—Shen had thought it curious, a whimsy to gift. Seeing it stored like a treasure in a book kept at hand, he felt a little embarrassed.

Emperor though he was, he’d seen the finest things. A leaf as a gift—how heartless it made Shen seem. Had he known, he’d have chosen something proper…

Xiao’s face lay at ease. Turning back, he saw the man on the bed stripped to undershirt and drawers, poking at mattress and coverings with an eager curiosity—hardly likely to sleep soon.

Xiao lay at the edge, flicked the hook; the green gauze fell. Within the veil, their figures loomed. Only a single lamp trembled at the headboard.

He pressed down the restless hand, and the wandering gaze came to him.

“Sleep.”

They’d shared lodgings before, at most. This was Shen’s first time lying foot‑to‑foot on the same bed with another. The army’s cots were hardly large; two grown men were a squeeze—especially a body like Xiao’s—tall and strong; the space remaining was tight.

Unable to sleep, Shen had words. “Your Majesty sat command at the center—then diverted to the three provinces. Prince Lu is only a pretext—was it for me?”

Xiao kept his eyes closed, matching him. “Mm.”

“I guessed as much.” Shen’s grin turned impish; he leaned in. “And—you’d long since fallen for me, hadn’t you?”

“Mm.”

“When?” Shen was fully awake now!

“A long time ago.” Xiao opened his eyes. The breath at his side was too close.

“If I hadn’t taken the lead today—would you have stayed silent for life?”

“Mm.”

“Hey!” Shen pushed himself half up. “You know, by the rules—those who won’t speak fare poorly!”

“Kidding,” Xiao turned his head, clear gentleness in his eyes. “Perhaps, sooner or later—if I could not hold back—I would have told you.”

With a palm propping his cheek, Shen caught a strand of hair and twined it idly around a finger. “So there are times you can’t hold back.”

Xiao caught his wrist. “There are.” Even reclined, his posture was correct—yet Shen read a hint of peril.

They looked at each other for two seconds. Shen flipped over, yanked the quilt up to cover half his face.

“Sleep, sleep!”

…

“Brother, I’ve done what you asked.”

Yue Yin strode into the main hall, parted the roller blind with one hand, and sat boldly upon the inlaid chair of gold and silver. Yue Zhi was practicing calligraphy; he didn’t lift his head. Yue Yin admired the flowing lines upon the desk and praised, “Brother has improved again. This Mister Dachuan is truly a master of our time.”

Dissatisfied somehow, Yue Zhi judged it up and down, then spoke in passing: “What did you learn?”

“Sharp‑toothed as they were, a bit of work—and their jaws pried open.” He tossed a blood‑stained whip upon the desk. “Two died. One had half a breath left—wouldn’t say a word. Won’t last the night.”

Yue Zhi’s brush paused. “Called a physician?”

“No. If he dies, he dies—not worth the trouble.” He took out a few still‑wet pages. “This Qingbei Academy… not so simple as we thought.”

Yue Zhi set the brush aside and read them one by one, the frown between his brows growing deeper.

“No need to worry, brother. It’s all tricks and toys. Born of small doors—even with Xiao Yūxi involved—how could they compare to our Yue’s centuries of depth? To crush them is but a word.”

Yue Zhi laid the pages down. He had seen the weapon whose power outstripped the fiercest arrows. He left aside whether to call it trick or craft. Rubbing his brow: “A small academy, only a few years extant—yet it can bind its disciples to die willingly… Could Shangqing Academy do as much?”

Yue Yin choked.

The world was troubled; to hide or to serve, to pledge to clan or lord—each had his course. One mind was rare enough—who raised dead‑sworn retainers?

“A nine‑story terrace rises from piled earth. For a mountain nine ren high, all can be ruined by a single basket short.” He dipped the brush again and struck against the grain; each stroke closed swift, the flares like cleaved steel. This time, he was barely satisfied.

He lifted his head; wariness tinged his words.

“Given time, it will become a great scourge.”

“You only overthink, brother. The clan doctor said—worry less, ease your heart.” Yue Yin had never seen the brother “who could do anything” change color. His loathing for Shen grew threefold—yet he still felt the man couldn’t stir much of a storm.

He drew a porcelain vial from his sleeve, tipped a pill into Yue Zhi’s hand, and did not rest until he swallowed it. “That day on Mount Lu—you shouldn’t have stopped me. One arrow through him—where would all this trouble be?”

Ferocity coiled in Yue Yin’s brows. “But it’s not too late. Does he dare leverage the sovereign’s favor to challenge all the clans? Brother—just watch.”

“Even if we hold our hand—others won’t bear it. Shen Qinghe—his death is nigh.”