Duan Ling’s five fingers gripped with force, locking Lin Ting’s ankle as if with an unbreakable shackle, impossible to shake off.
The moment he pulled her back, the bed curtains fell.
Lin Ting lifted both hands, trying to grasp something, like a drowning person reaching for driftwood above water, desperate for a breath of air.
But there was nothing on the bed for her to hold onto.
She waved her hands, managing only to clutch the falling bed curtain.
The curtain swayed violently.
It was unclear whether Lin Ting had pulled too hard or if the curtain was simply too fragile but with one tug the fabric tore apart splitting into two pieces—one still hanging from the bed, the other crumpled in her palm.
Lin Ting tossed away the ruined curtain.
The torn fabric fluttered to the floor beside the bed.
Duan Ling had already fallen ill moments ago, tormented by his condition, oscillating between pain and pleasure.
He drew near to Lin Ting, completely baring his illness to her:
“Lin Leyun………………”
His voice was always pleasant to the ear, but now it carried a beguiling note.
Lin Ting’s breathing grew erratic again.
From the first time Duan Ling called her “Lin Leyun,” Lin Ting had felt he was different from others.
Hearing anyone else call her that meant nothing, but when he said it, her ears tingled with a subtle numbness that tugged at her heartstrings.
Lin Ting looked at Duan Ling.
The corners of Duan Ling’s eyes were tinged with crimson.
A low moan, born of his illness, escaped his throat as he tilted his neck, gasping for breath.
His skin was covered with a fine sheen of sweat.
When he moved, a droplet slid down his jawline, tracing his neck and gliding over his Adam’s apple.
The sweat landed on Lin Ting’s ankle.
The single drop of sweat scalded Lin Ting’s chest, making her heart tremble and her body tense.
She understood what was happening, yet didn’t fully comprehend it.
She’d heard of this “illness” before, but it was her first time encountering someone who actually suffered from it.
He had this “illness,” and had taken that kind of medicine—no wonder he’d lost control to this degree.
And Duan Ling had spent years cutting his own wrists just to suppress it.
He really was a madman.
Lin Ting hesitated, words caught in her throat.
Duan Ling’s face brushed against her cheek, kissing her here and there, almost absentmindedly.
The graceful rise and fall of his slender waist and abdomen was striking—smooth as jade, his pale skin flushed with a hint of red.
Lin Ting couldn’t help but steal a few extra glances.
A few strands of his long hair fell across Lin Ting’s shoulder, brushing lightly over her pounding heart, the itch traveling straight to her core.
Lin Ting blinked rapidly, almost frantically.
Duan Ling’s fingertips skimmed her shoulder and back.
“What, do you despise my illness?”
That wasn’t it.
Lin Ting denied it, “Of course not. I’m just a little surprised, that’s all.”
And a little powerless, which is why she’d instinctively tried to escape.
Anyone faced with death or a major shock would react the same way.
Duan Ling: “That’s good.”
Lin Ting pushed aside his long hair.
“Back then, you wouldn’t tell me what illness it was because you were afraid I’d be disgusted?”
She used the word “also” because he hadn’t let her look at or touch his wrist before, also for fear she’d be repulsed by those scars.
Duan Ling answered her with a kiss.
Lin Ting felt as if all the flavors in the world had spilled inside her heart.
Duan Ling was the second son of the Duan family, one of the most distinguished noblemen in Jingcheng, and also held real power in the Imperial Guard.
Yet here and now, he revealed this side of himself before her, afraid she’d be disgusted by his scars, by his “illness.”
This Duan Ling seemed to have stepped out of the original story.
Lin Ting knew she might not be able to handle it, but she couldn’t help reaching out to touch him, returning his kiss.
Her heart beat faster and faster.
Duan Ling reached out to untie the silk ribbon tangled in her hair.
“So, does what you said before about helping me still count?”
He seemed to be lowering himself before her.
Lin Ting looked at Duan Ling, as exquisite and fragile as fine porcelain, and gritted her teeth.
“I keep my word. I promised, so I’ll help you.”
At the same time, Duan Ling was still holding Lin Ting’s ankle, lifting it and placing it on his shoulder.
His fingertips traced her anklebone, as if reluctant to let go.
Lin Ting had just recently stepped on Duan Ling’s leg a few times, and now her foot was atop his shoulder.
Duan Ling leaned in, his long shadow suddenly draping over Lin Ting, enveloping her.
Their shadows overlapped, part of them vanishing and reappearing without warning, flickering like ghosts.
He lowered his gaze to the shadows.
The ugly one was swallowed by the beautiful one, then spat out, over and over, the silhouettes weaving together endlessly.
Duan Ling wanted to kiss Lin Ting again.
But Lin Ting, clutching her trembling stomach, turned her head to stare at the mung bean cakes not far away.
Unable to bear it, she said, “I’m a little hungry. I want to eat mung bean cake.”
She wasn’t lying—she really was hungry, having slept the whole day without eating anything.
Lin Ting had planned to meet Jin Anazai at the restaurant and have a big meal, but who could have guessed things would turn out like this?
Duan Ling picked Lin Ting up and carried her to where the mung bean cakes were, then set her down.
Lin Ting stood at the table, picked up a mung bean cake, and started eating.
Duan Ling hugged her tightly from behind, as if afraid of losing her.
Their shadows overlapped again, the ugly merging with the beautiful, truly embodying the phrase “inseparable as form and shadow.”
He hugged her so suddenly that Lin Ting nearly choked, her hand trembling and dropping the fragrant, sweet mung bean cake.
She turned to look.
He leaned in and kissed her, tasting the mung bean cake in her mouth.
After a few kisses, she turned back and continued wolfing down the mung bean cake.
No matter what he did now, nothing could shake Lin Ting’s determination to eat mung bean cake.
If she didn’t eat something soon, she’d starve to death.
Duan Ling stilled, waiting for her to finish.
Lin Ting ate nine pieces before barely quelling her hunger.
Turning around, she picked up a piece of mung bean cake and handed it to Duan Ling.
He’d been suffering from his illness all this time; he needed to eat something to regain his strength.
The Imperial Guard were human too—they got hungry, they got tired.
“Do you want some too?”
But Duan Ling, in the faint moonlight, examined the other two pieces of soft cake exposed to the air.
There was a hint of red on top, like a grain of brown sugar, the rest pale and flawless.
When his hand pressed down, the cake sank slightly, warm and soft to the touch, giving off a sweet fragrance that tempted one to eat.
Duan Ling took a bite.
No one ate the piece Lin Ting was holding; it eventually dropped back onto the plate.
Once Duan Ling finished eating, they stood at the table for a while before returning to the bed.
By then, Lin Ting was so tired she could barely stand, and just wanted to collapse into bed.
But Duan Ling didn’t give her the chance, scooping her up and sealing her lips in a kiss.
That night, Lin Ting slept more peacefully than ever before, not even turning over.
She hadn’t yet cured Duan Ling’s illness, but Duan Ling had cured her “hitting people in her sleep” problem.
After Lin Ting fell asleep, Duan Ling stayed awake all night, lying beside her and watching her in profile.
She knew nothing of this.
After a long while, Duan Ling got up and walked to the mirror.
Reflected was a beautiful face, skin still flushed.
He’d changed into a crimson inner robe, collar slightly open, revealing two delicate collarbones, and around his neck, a red string.
Dangling from the red string was a Jin Caishen Pendant.
That was the Jin Caishen Pendant Lin Ting had only reluctantly agreed to let him wear for one night while half-asleep.
Duan Ling suddenly realized he couldn’t even compare to a Jin Caishen Pendant.
He yanked off the red string, wanting to smash it to the ground, but managed to restrain himself and tied it back around his neck.
Lin Ting had no idea what time she woke the next day—she only knew she’d been woken by hunger again.
The nine pieces of mung bean cake she’d eaten last night had long since digested, and her stomach gurgled noisily.
No matter how much she wanted to sleep, she couldn’t.
Time to get up and eat.
But she was so tired she didn’t even want to move a finger—she wished she could lie there forever.
‘If only someone would feed me,’ Lin Ting thought as she opened her eyes, only to find Duan Ling watching her again.
Lin Ting wasn’t startled.
This time, he was sitting at the edge of the bed, watching her.
Last time, he’d been standing in the room, staring at the bed—that had been far more unsettling.
Duan Ling smiled as soon as he saw she was awake.
“Hungry?”
Her stomach rumbled loudly.
Lin Ting touched it, unashamed.
Who was to blame for her hunger, after all?
Lin Ting put aside her unfinished tasks for now and lazily replied, “Hungry.”
She really was, practically starving.