Wen Tian’s eyes flew wide open in alarm as he took a step back, his fingers clutching instinctively at the hem of his robe.
“No—I won’t!”
Chu Xiangtian looked at his frightened, pitiful expression and found himself even more amused.
He deliberately stepped closer, his face dark and stern as he threatened, “So what’s it going to be? Will you take it off yourself, or do I need to do it for you?”
He was tall to begin with, and now that he stood so close, Wen Tian had to tilt his head back just to look at him.
With his sharp brows slightly raised and his thin lips pressed tight, he looked like he could erupt in anger at any second.
Wen Tian had tried his best to act calm all this time, but Chu Xiangtian’s silent, looming approach finally shattered his composure.
Shaking his head, Wen Tian backed straight into the wall. His bruised back hit the cold surface and a stab of pain made him jolt.
Just as he caught his breath, he found himself staring into Chu Xiangtian’s fierce, menacing face again.
Panic welled up in his eyes like a cornered rabbit—helpless and terrified.
Chu Xiangtian had only meant to tease him, but he hadn’t expected the boy to be truly scared out of his wits. He cleared his throat awkwardly and took a few steps back.
“Hey—don’t cry. I was just joking with you.”
But Wen Tian didn’t listen. Curled into a corner, clutching his robe with trembling fingers, his back still aching, fear gnawed at him like a tide he couldn’t stop.
He squatted down and buried his face into his arms, muffled sobs escaping him.
Chu Xiangtian: …
He hadn’t actually meant to make him cry. But now those faint little sobs echoed in the room, making Chu Xiangtian feel uncharacteristically flustered.
He grabbed the bottle of medicated wine from the table.
“Come on, don’t cry. I really was just messing with you. I just wanted to put some medicine on your back.”
Wen Tian kept crying, as if all the fear and panic from being kidnapped was finally pouring out through his tears.
The sound was soft but endless, like a rainstorm drumming on Chu Xiangtian’s heart.
Nothing he said seemed to help. In the end, Chu Xiangtian could only sit there stiffly beside him, silently praying for the moment the crying would stop.
This little young master… how could he possibly cry this much?
After a long while, the sobbing finally began to fade. Chu Xiangtian glanced over. Wen Tian was curled up in the corner, his hair loosened for rest and now cascading like raven silk over his back.
Against the red of his robes, he looked like a fragile, bewitching flower.
Chu Xiangtian found himself staring, thinking to himself: This little young master is really… beautiful.
He cleared his throat and tried reasoning again.
“Stop crying, or your eyes will swell up. If you don’t want me to help with the medicine, I can ask Xiao Qiao to come in.”
Wen Tian sniffled, still hiding his face, giving him no response.
Chu Xiangtian clicked his tongue. This little ancestor, he thought—he’d lived nearly twenty-seven years and had never coaxed anyone like this.
But since he was the one who made him cry, he had to fix the mess himself.
After some thought, he offered his biggest concession yet.
“Alright, alright. Stop crying and I’ll grant you one request.”
The sniffles halted briefly. Wen Tian lifted his head, tears still streaking his cheeks. In a hoarse voice, he said, “I want to go home.”
Chu Xiangtian: …
He’d dug his own grave.
Coughing lightly, he quickly glanced away in fear that one wrong word would make Wen Tian burst into tears again.
“Not right now,” he said hastily.
“But I promise—within ten days, I’ll send you back.”
Wen Tian’s red-rimmed eyes studied him, trying to gauge the truth.
Chu Xiangtian softened a little at that vulnerable look.
“Keeping you on the mountain is just a temporary thing while I take care of some business. Once it’s done, I swear I’ll send you back, safe and sound.”
Wen Tian narrowed his eyes suspiciously. After a moment, he asked in a quiet voice, “Ten days?”
Chu Xiangtian nodded, firm.
“Ten days, at most.”
He looked and sounded sincere—not like he was making things up. And realistically, what reason did Chu Xiangtian have to lie to someone who was already in a bandit’s den?
After a moment’s hesitation, Wen Tian gave a tiny nod and reached up to wipe his tears away.
Seeing the crying finally stop, Chu Xiangtian’s restless heart settled. He remembered his original purpose and pushed the bottle of medicated wine toward Wen Tian.
“I’ll have Xiao Qiao help you. This stuff only works if it’s rubbed in thoroughly.”
Wen Tian pressed his lips together.
“No need to trouble her. I can do it myself.”
“How are you going to reach your back?” Chu Xiangtian frowned.
“It’s either Xiao Qiao or me. Pick one.”
Wen Tian bit his lip, brows drawing together in embarrassment. After a moment, he ducked his head and handed the bottle over.
“Then… I’ll trouble you, Chu-dangjia.”
Chu Xiangtian grinned and took the bottle.
“Alright then. Take off your robe and lie down on the bed.”
And just like that, they were back where they started.
Wen Tian hesitated as he placed his hands on his collar. Chu Xiangtian didn’t rush him, didn’t even glance his way.
Wen Tian let out a breath, quietly pulled down his robe, and lay down on the soft bedding, adjusting until he was comfortable. Only then did he say softly, “I’m ready.”
Chu Xiangtian’s gaze landed on his bare back—and all thoughts of mischief vanished. His fair skin was covered in dark bruises, some angry and swollen.
“How did it get this bad?” he asked, frowning as he gently pressed a fingertip to the pronounced shoulder blade.
Wen Tian flinched at the touch, goosebumps rising on his skin.
With his cheek resting sideways, he mumbled, “It’s always been like this since I was young. Same injuries always hurt more on me than on others.”
Of course the little noble was delicate.
Chu Xiangtian warmed the medicine between his palms, then pressed it softly to a bruise.
“These need to be massaged out or they’ll linger. It’ll hurt. Bear with it.”
Wen Tian nodded, fingers tightening around the blanket.
Chu Xiangtian only used a fraction of his strength, but even then, Wen Tian still cried out from the pain.
Startled, Chu Xiangtian immediately paused.
“It hurts that much? I wasn’t even pressing hard…”
Tears fell again before Wen Tian could stop them. He sniffled, voice barely audible.
“Could you… be gentler?”
Looking at the way Wen Tian’s lips had gone pale from biting them, Chu Xiangtian adjusted his pressure even more, barely using any strength now.
The bruises were bad. If they weren’t worked out, they’d take forever to heal. Better a short pain than a long one.
He kept his eyes averted and focused on the task, slowly easing out the worst of the bruises with careful hands.
Outside the window, Changxi was peeking in with a suspicious look. The candlelight cast shifting shadows of two figures inside—one tall man kneeling on the bed, his hand moving rhythmically up and down.
Low, broken sobs leaked from the room.
Thinking of the pretty young noble inside, Changxi couldn’t help but mutter to Zhou Chuanqing, “This… doesn’t feel quite right…”
They’d been drawn here by Wen Tian’s pained cry earlier. Zhou Chuanqing glanced in, yawned, and said, “Nothing scandalous. Go back and sleep.”
Most of the others wandered off, but Changxi stayed, still anxious. After all, he was the one who’d brought the boy here.
If the boss really messed him up, he’d feel at least a little guilty.
Just as Chu Xiangtian finished rubbing in the medicine, he noticed a shadow moving outside the window.
He calmly draped Wen Tian’s robe back over him, then stepped outside. Sure enough, there was Changxi, hunched like a bear, nose pressed to the window.
“What are you looking at?”
“N-nothing—” Changxi waved his hand. Halfway through, he realized something and froze.
“B-Boss!”
Chu Xiangtian’s mood soured at the memory of Wen Tian’s injuries. He glared and kicked Changxi.
“It’s the middle of the night—what the hell are you creeping around for?!”
Changxi was thick-skinned and took the blow without complaint. He took a step back and pointed toward the room.
“He’s… okay, right?”
Chu Xiangtian scowled.
“What could possibly be wrong with him? If you’re fine, then get lost and go to bed!”
Changxi took another peek. The shadows on the window had vanished and the room was silent. He still wanted to ask something but saw Chu Xiangtian’s growing impatience.
Not daring to linger, he trudged back toward his hut.
Chu Xiangtian unclenched his fists and exhaled. One more second and he really might have punched the guy.
Back inside, Wen Tian had gotten up and dressed neatly, though his hair was a tousled mess and his face and neck were slick with sweat.
He couldn’t sleep like this. As uncomfortable as he was, he didn’t want to bother Chu Xiangtian again—but in the end, he quietly asked, “Is there somewhere I can wash?”
“It’s easy to catch a chill after sweating,” Chu Xiangtian said, not approving the request. But he turned and brought over a basin of hot water.
“Make do with a wipe-down.”
It wasn’t ideal, but it was enough. Wen Tian thanked him and rummaged on the table for a cloth tie, loosely binding up his hair.
His delicate nape was exposed, pale and slender, dotted with bruises, while damp black strands clung to his neck. He looked like a fragile sculpture carved from jade—unintentionally alluring.
Chu Xiangtian found it difficult to look away.
Wen Tian dipped the cloth into the water, preparing to clean himself, but noticed the man beside him hadn’t moved. He looked up and said politely, “I’m going to bathe now.”
Chu Xiangtian blinked, then quietly left.
Once he was gone, it felt as if the room had been freed from a suffocating pressure. Wen Tian let out a breath and carefully wiped himself clean.
When he finished, he collapsed into bed, fast asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.
Wen Tian slept deeply, curled slightly on his side to avoid pressing on the injuries on his back.
As he shifted, the longevity lock around his neck slipped from his collar, the dull silver glinting faintly in the darkness, casting a soft, pale sheen across his resting form.
His brows were lightly furrowed in his sleep, his breathing calm and even.
It was a peaceful night.
The next morning, Wen Tian was jolted awake by soft rustling and whispering.
Warm sunlight streamed lazily through the window. Outside, the hushed voices murmured without pause.
Wen Tian groaned, half-asleep, and grumbled irritably, “Who’s talking…?”
The whispering stopped at once.
He blinked himself more awake, rubbing his forehead, still unsure whether he was dreaming or awake.
“He heard us,” one voice whispered again.
A second, calmer voice replied, “Don’t worry. He can’t hear us.”
Wen Tian: …
His senses instantly sharpened. He glanced around the room—there wasn’t much furniture, and definitely no place for someone to hide.
He quickly dressed and crouched down to peer under the bed. Nothing.
But the voices continued.
“The weather’s so warm this year. I think I’ll bloom in half a month.”
Wen Tian: ???
Bloom?
He followed the sound, eyes narrowing in confusion, until they landed on two potted plants by the window—two lush peonies. One of them already had a tiny flower bud nestled atop its central stem.
Curious, he leaned closer.
The peony with the bud gave the barest little shake.
And that same voice sounded again: “Why is this person leaning so close to my bud? What a pervert!!”
Wen Tian: …
He recoiled in shock, eyes darting around the room again. But the corners were bare—there was absolutely nowhere for someone to be hiding.
Worried it was some kind of prank, he yanked open the window and looked out. The courtyard was empty.
Then the second peony fluttered its leaves in agreement.
“But he is very good-looking.”
The two voices chattered on and on, drifting from the warmth of the sun to how many blossoms they were planning to produce this year.
Wen Tian listened in stunned silence, the whole conversation making him feel like he’d fallen into a dream.
He’d only slept one night—how had the world turned upside down?
Wen Tian rubbed his temples, then, as if in a trance, walked back to bed and threw himself under the covers, firmly shutting his eyes in denial.
But the whispering didn’t stop.
If anything, it grew more animated.
The entire plant was now gently quivering. Normally, Wen Tian might’ve thought it was just the breeze—but hearing them talk with his own ears, he could no longer deceive himself.
When it rains, it pours. Wen Tian didn’t know whether he’d encountered demons, spirits, or just plain madness, but after everything he’d endured, this was the last straw.
His nerves frayed, he stomped over, grabbed the two peonies, and marched them outside into the sun.
He slammed the door and windows shut, finally muting their incessant chatter.
Outside, the peonies were quite delighted.
“Oh, the sun feels so nice! How did he know we wanted sun?”
Wen Tian: …
Lying back on the bed with a splitting headache, Wen Tian couldn’t fall asleep again. After tossing and turning a while, he finally sat up in defeat and vented his frustration by punching his pillow a few times.
Once he was done, he listened for any sounds outside. With a solid wall in between, their voices were barely audible now.
He strained to hear, then suddenly dashed out and brought the flowerpots back inside.
Kneeling in front of the peonies, he gave up all pretense and asked bluntly, “Are you two demons?”
The budding peony rustled its leaves and whispered to its companion, “Is he talking to us?”
The second one, more composed, replied, “It sounds like it.”
The one with the bud screamed in panic, its leaves shivering.
“What do we do?! He can understand us! Is he a monster?!”
Wen Tian: …
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