Chapter 56#

The post station was already quiet, with only the occasional whinny and hoofbeat from the stable in the rear courtyard, stirred by the wind.#

The guards of the Yongning Marquis Manor had been charging for hundreds of li over several days, and now they were utterly exhausted. Forgetting about washing or eating, each found a room, and the moment they touched the bed, snoring erupted in all directions, without even lighting a lamp.

Only in Wen Zhuo’s room did a dying candle still burn. Wax tears wound down the wick, dripping onto the small table, creating a poignant contrast with the silent tears rolling down Wen Zhuo’s cheeks.

No matter how painful, the medicine had to be applied. Shen Zheng coaxed and persuaded as he worked, his heart aching, but he finally finished applying the ointment. Wen Zhuo had initially been unable to suppress his sobs, but once the medicine was fully applied, his tears gradually stopped.

“Would you mind if I stayed in your room, Master?” Shen Zheng screwed the medicine bottle shut, put it back into the small leather pouch, and looked at the person on the bed. “If you need to get up to relieve yourself or get a drink of water, I can help. Besides, all my luggage is here.”

It was truly an irrefutable reason.

Wen Zhuo turned his head to glance at the bed. Two adult men squeezing onto it would be cramped, but not impossible.

He said nothing, his eyelashes casting a faint shadow under his eyes, which was considered tacit agreement.

A trace of a smile flickered in Shen Zheng’s eyes. He stood up, stuffed the small leather pouch back into his bundle, and pulled out a new set of underclothes for himself. Then, he stood in the center of the bedroom and began to untie his sash.

Only then did Wen Zhuo snap back to reality. He had been so preoccupied with worrying about Liu Qiying and Jiang Man the previous night that he had forgotten Shen Zheng also needed to wash up.

Feeling slightly annoyed, he spoke up, “Go call for someone to heat some more water.”

“No need for the trouble. Everyone’s resting. I’ll use this.” The bound leather belt was tossed aside, his lower robe hanging loosely around his firm waist. As he spoke, Shen Zheng had already pulled open the collar of his silver-thread-embroidered flying-fish robe, draping the sharp yisā and horse-face pleated skirt over the windowsill.

“But that water…” Wen Zhuo started, then hesitated. It was water he had used.

“Has it gone cold? The weather’s hot. I prefer cold baths anyway.” Shen Zheng stripped off his inner shirt and trousers, revealing a solid, muscular build. The lines of his back muscles were smooth, and his legs were straight and long.

He had always been somewhat of a neat freak, but he didn’t mind the cat’s bathwater at all.

Wen Zhuo hastily averted his eyes. As Shen Zheng moved, his muscles rippled. It was a physique completely different from his own—lean, powerful, and without an ounce of excess flesh.

His tall, broad figure swayed before Wen Zhuo’s eyes, more dazzling than the candle flame. The conditions here were crude, making Shen Zheng even more casual than he had been at Chunlai Fang. If Wen Zhuo wanted to, he could see every inch of him.

Lying on the bed, Wen Zhuo’s mind wandered. He remembered that when Shen Zheng had returned from Nanping, he was still thin, pale, and haggard. Now, he had completely transformed.

Splash!

A ladle of water was poured down. Wen Zhuo’s gaze was inevitably drawn. He watched as water droplets slid down Shen Zheng’s spine, rolled into the wooden basin, and splashed up tiny bits of spray.

A strange feeling welled up inside him. This water had once touched his own skin, and now it was flowing over Shen Zheng’s body. It was as if, across time, they had shared some kind of secret intimacy.

This was a delusion born of his illness, but here, in this desolate post station, it filled his heart completely, swelling until it felt like it would overflow.

Just as Shen Zhen had said, he was a man, yet he was willing to be the one beneath another.

He was ashamed of this, detested it, and struggled against it with all his might.

All along, the old scar on his inner thigh had helped suppress this evil thought, allowing him to live with self-respect, free from desire.

But in front of Shen Zheng, his ailment was becoming increasingly fierce, threatening to break through its shackles and make him a shameless sinner.

Shen Zheng rinsed off quickly.

When he wrapped his wet hair in a cloth and started putting on his underclothes, Wen Zhuo finally closed his eyes in self-deception, turning his face to the wall and pretending to sleep.

After a moment, footsteps approached. Shen Zheng, carrying the dampness of his bath, came to the bedside.

“Won’t you make room for me, Master? Are you asleep?” He placed his hands on the edge of the bed, leaning down, his breath brushing against Wen Zhuo’s ear.

Wen Zhuo lifted one eyelid, then slowly shifted inward, leaving most of the space for Shen Zheng.

Shen Zheng twisted around and blew out the oil lamp by the bed. Instantly, the room was left with only the hazy moonlight filtering in from outside.

Everything was blurry. Even each other’s faces were hard to make out.

Shen Zheng climbed onto the bed and lay down beside Wen Zhuo. His hair was still not dry, giving off steam and moisture, but his body radiated a thin, warm heat that seeped through his underclothes, mingling with the faint scent of soap, creating a unique smell.

Breathing in this scent, Wen Zhuo nervously reached out to touch his undergarment which lay against the wall.

He was afraid of losing control by morning, of embarrassing himself again.

His fingers had just touched the fabric when a warm hand accurately grasped his. Shen Zheng’s voice sounded in the darkness, a little hoarse: “What do you want to do, Master?”

“… Get dressed.” Wen Zhuo’s reply came out strained.

Shen Zheng gave his hand a squeeze, his tone leaving no room for argument: “You can’t wear those tonight. The wound needs to be dry and ventilated to heal quickly.”

Wen Zhuo was silent for a moment, then had to let go.

So Shen Zheng tucked his hand back under the covers.

The two were extremely close. With the slightest movement, they would bump into each other’s arm or leg.

Wen Zhuo was used to curling up against the wall to sleep, but now, hampered by both his wound and the person beside him, he had to lie perfectly still.

But Shen Zheng was a restless sleeper. When he turned over, he accidentally brushed against Wen Zhuo’s toes, immediately feeling Wen Zhuo’s stiffness and cautious retreat.

Wanting to make his cat less tense, he searched his mind, then curled his lips. “Master, does this feel like Sun Ce and Zhou Yu, sharing a bed in brotherly harmony? Or like Liu Xiu and Deng Yu, becoming fast friends and sleeping in the same tent? What about the Xin brothers, hearing the wind and rain by the small window, sharing a bed in their tender affection?”

Wen Zhuo was silent for a long time, then took a few deep breaths and asked with a hint of grievance, “Could it be that they also weren’t allowed to wear underclothes at night?”

Shen Zheng let out a low laugh. He really wanted to pull the person beside him into his arms and mess with him thoroughly.

“It’s not that I forbid it. It’s that your skin is too delicate, Master. The sooner the wound recovers, the sooner we can travel.”

“Go to sleep, Your Highness.” Wen Zhuo pulled the thin blanket up higher, trying to use its musty smell to cover the scent that disturbed him.

“Wanshan.”

“Hmm?”

“Good night.”

As his voice faded, Wen Zhuo felt a rustling, and then an arm wrapped around him. Slightly rough fingertips gently brushed through his hair near his temple, then they were properly withdrawn.

Wen Zhuo’s eyelashes trembled slightly.

He felt that this gesture was a bit too intimate, not something a student should do to a teacher. But Shen Zheng’s boundaries were perfectly maintained; he hadn’t tried to kiss him.

He suspected that his own desperate longing was giving birth to these unrealistic fantasies.

Neither spoke anymore. Their steady breaths interwove.

Wen Zhuo had thought tonight would be a sleepless one, but unexpectedly, after being so exhausted, as soon as his mind relaxed, he fell into a dream in the blink of an eye.

Half-asleep, a thought flashed through his mind: what he desired was not “sharing the wind and rain by the window, discussing literature by the lamp,” but rather “holding hands in shared love, sleeping night and day under the same quilt.”

Daylight broke, piercing through the old, decrepit window paper and spilling bright light across the bedroom.

Having slept his fill, Wen Zhuo opened his eyes. After a moment of orientation, he realized that instead of being curled up against the wall, he was leaning against Shen Zheng’s chest, his limbs completely relaxed.

Shen Zheng was still asleep. He turned over, draping his long arm over Wen Zhuo as if using him as a pillow. Without even opening his eyes, he patted Wen Zhuo’s back randomly. “Be good, I’ll give you a can in a bit.”

“… What on earth are you saying.”

After muttering that dream phrase, Shen Zheng fell back into a deep sleep. But Wen Zhuo was now trapped in his arms, unable to move.

He had never been held so tightly in bed by anyone before. Indeed, he thought, it’s more comfortable to sleep alone on the bed, otherwise, you get trapped and it’s very uncomfortable.

Yet, even in this uncomfortable position, he drifted back to sleep.

This time, they slept right through the afternoon. The sun had already slanted past the window lattice.

When Wen Zhuo opened his eyes, Shen Zheng was already up, dressed in a new set of yisā, his appearance neat and tidy.

On the low table by the bed sat a small white porcelain plate with two golden-brown sugar cakes, and a bowl of warm water beside it.

“Awake, Master? Have a little something to fill your stomach first, then try the leg guards I made this morning.” In Shen Zheng’s hands were two furry cloth bandages, which looked vaguely familiar. They were clearly cut from his own fur robe, modified into protective gear.

The pain between Wen Zhuo’s legs had largely subsided, and the wound’s healing was far better than expected. He sat up, his black hair tousled from sleep, but he didn’t bother tidying it. Using the blanket as cover, he quickly pulled on his undergarment. His voice was still hoarse from sleep: “Hand them over. There’s no time to lose. We must set off immediately.”

Wen Zhuo hadn’t fully recovered, but the matter was too important. Shen Zheng could only nod in agreement.

Wen Zhuo rinsed his mouth with the warm water, then bit into the now-cool sugar cakes, one bite at a time. Shen Zheng crouched by the bed, carefully wrapping the leg guards around Wen Zhuo’s wound, binding them layer by layer. By the time Shen Zheng stood up, Wen Zhuo had already swallowed the sugar cake whole.

The man who was usually most particular about etiquette was now, in the interest of speed, disregarding the teachings of the sages.

The door was pushed open, and Liu Qiying and Jiang Mannü entered side-by-side. Their hair was hastily pinned up, their clothes slightly wrinkled, clearly just waking up and not bothering to tidy themselves.

Fortunately, they were of rough-and-tumble origins, unburdened by formalities, and they quickly began to pack their luggage.

The group walked out of the post station. Horses were already prepared by the official road. The guards of the Yongning Marquis Manor, after a night’s rest, had lost much of the fatigue in their eyes, and were all in high spirits.

Wen Zhuo nodded, then handed a shriveled carrot to Tabasha, and braced himself as Shen Zheng lifted him onto the horse’s back.

Hooves flew, kicking up a cloud of yellow dust.

Heading south, the scenery along the way grew increasingly desolate. This region near the coast should have been rainy, but now the ground was cracked, with fissures running in all directions. Occasionally, a few stubborn, thin branches struggled to grow, but they drooped listlessly, looking as if they had only a few days left.

Strangely enough, while at the post station they had occasionally seen a few starving refugees lying dead by the roadside, the closer they got to Mianzhou, the fewer refugees there were. Eventually, there was not a single person in sight.

Traveling until the afternoon, they could see the outline of Mianzhou City in the distance. The sea wind, carrying a briny, fishy smell, blew into their faces.

The city gates were wide open. Several armored soldiers stood guard on either side of the gate passage, systematically inspecting the citizens entering the city.

A steady stream of people queued up. They were all neatly dressed, and though their faces showed signs of hunger, they were all eagerly looking forward, the order perfectly maintained.

This scene was no different from the capital.

Everyone exchanged puzzled glances, their hearts full of questions.

Shen Zheng dismounted and steadily helped Wen Zhuo down.

As soon as Wen Zhuo’s feet touched the ground, a dull pain shot through his wound, and cold sweat immediately poured down his face. But he still forced himself to stand straight, gazing at the familiar yet unfamiliar city of Mianzhou, his brow deeply furrowed.

This was against all logic.

He had read many history books, knowing that during a severe disaster, refugees without food would inevitably gather and storm the city, forcing the authorities to open the granaries and distribute grain.

Once they stormed the city, order within would inevitably collapse. Looting, burning, and killing would be unavoidable, and casualties would be incalculable.

Therefore, the standard response of successive dynasties was to defend the city to the death. If refugees caused trouble, they would be branded ‘rebels’ and killed without mercy, even if rivers of blood flowed, all to secure the peace within the city.

But the Mianzhou before them was eerily calm.