Lin Aiyun lowered her head, a little embarrassed. Her gaze caught the bloodstains on his clothes, and her expression shifted again: “How’s your wound? And where are we? What about those bad guys?”
A flurry of questions spilled out, dissolving the lingering, tender atmosphere and replacing it with tension and urgency.
She grabbed his hand, inspecting it from every angle—front and back, up and down. She noticed that not only his arm but also his back was stained with blood, the sight alarming. In that short moment, her heart was suspended in midair again, and the tears she’d barely managed to stop welled up once more.
Seeing this, Xiao Cheng quickly explained: “We’re in a village called Changzhu. We’re safe now. I’m fine—it’s nothing serious. I’ll just put on some medicine later.”
She didn’t usually cry much, but today she’d turned into a veritable fountain, her eyes reddening at the slightest thing. Was she that frightened? Or was she worried about him?
“Is there no medicine here?” Lin Aiyun looked around the room—a simple farmhouse room. She guessed that after she’d fainted, Xiao Cheng had asked to borrow it from a nearby villager.
When they’d been chased, the sun was still high—now it was nearly dark. With all this time wasted, and Xiao Cheng still hadn’t treated his wound, it was clear there was no medicine here. At that thought, she couldn’t stay put. She threw off the covers and started to get up: “Let’s go to a hospital now. If you don’t treat that wound soon, it could get infected.”
Having spent so much time at the Liu household, she knew at least that much about basic medicine.
“There is medicine.”
As for why he hadn’t treated it promptly—Xiao Cheng’s gaze flickered. He’d been watching over her the whole time, waiting until she woke to feel at ease. He hadn’t thought about himself at all. Besides, he’d suffered far worse injuries before. This little scratch wasn’t worth fussing over; he could take care of it later.
“Huh?” Lin Aiyun blinked. “Where is it?”
“Right here.” Xiao Cheng pointed to the medical kit on the low stool by his feet—the one Dongzi had brought earlier.
Following his gesture, she finally noticed the kit in her blind spot. “Is there a doctor here? If not, I can help. I’ve changed dressings for patients at Auntie Hui’s place before. I’m not a professional, but I can handle this.”
Hearing this, Xiao Cheng swallowed the “yes” that was on the tip of his tongue and shook his head instead: “Then I’ll trouble you.”
Truthfully, he could have handled it himself—he always had. But with someone offering to help, why not take it?
The moment the words left his mouth, Lin Aiyun threw off the covers and reached for the medical kit by the bed. Naturally, their long-held hands parted. He rubbed his palm regretfully, then began unbuttoning his shirt with quick, practiced movements. In no time, it was off.
Just as she’d finished checking the contents of the kit, Lin Aiyun looked up—and a muscular male torso was suddenly right there in front of her. She froze.
Even if he had to take it off, did he have to do it so suddenly? Couldn’t he give her a moment to mentally prepare?
Although she’d seen it before—plenty of times in her past life—she still got embarrassed!
Seeing her face flushed red, yet her eyes still shamelessly fixed on his body, Xiao Cheng raised an eyebrow. He shot her a look that asked what she was waiting for, then curled his lips and reminded her: “Teacher Lin?”
“Is there any clean warm water? I need to clean the wound first.” Lin Aiyun took a deep breath and pushed the distractions from her mind.
“Wait here. I’ll get it.” Xiao Cheng was about to walk out half-naked when she quickly called him back: “Put your shirt on before you go out.”
He turned and saw her long lashes trembling. The indigo floral top she wore made her pale skin even more striking—she looked like a spring pear blossom in full bloom, impossible not to like.
Unusually obedient, he threw his shirt back on—though it hardly made a difference—and rushed out the door. Before Lin Aiyun could stop him, he was gone. She could only sigh and pray that no one was outside.
But in the yard at that moment, Dongzi was squatting on a big rock, chewing on dried pumpkin seeds, his beady eyes darting around. He seemed to be aimlessly gazing at the sky and ground, but in truth, he was fixed on that closed door.
“You got here fast.”
Standing properly beside him was Zhou Jin, who had just arrived, his eyes also fixed on the same door.
“That woman looks familiar, but I can’t remember where I’ve seen her.” Dongzi frowned, his tongue rolling out a pumpkin seed shell into the dustpan by his feet. “You’re always with Brother Cheng—you must know who she is.”
Zhou Jin glanced at him and said unhurriedly: “She’s Brother Cheng’s calligraphy teacher from Lanxi County.”
“Bullshit. With how Brother Cheng dotes on her, she’s just a calligraphy teacher? Are you trying to fool me?” Dongzi smacked his lips, struggling to spit out a seed shell stuck between his teeth, his words garbled.
Zhou Jin didn’t answer and showed no intention of continuing the conversation.
Not minding the silence, Dongzi smirked: “Even if you don’t say it, I know—this is definitely Brother Cheng’s secret girlfriend.”
After a pause, he added hesitantly: “Or maybe a woman he’s paying for.”
But the latter seemed unlikely. Xiao Cheng was never the type for that. If he’d wanted, he could have filled the capital from south to north with women he kept.
“Calligraphy teacher?” Dongzi chewed on those words, slowly sensing something off. “Since when did Brother Cheng have the leisure to learn calligraphy in some small county?”
Then a flash of realization struck him. He jumped up from the rock, nearly dropping the pumpkin seeds in his hand. His lips moved for a moment before he finally said: “No wonder she looked familiar—this is that woman we spent so much effort finding last time!”
“The one we pulled out of that basement.” Afraid Zhou Jin wouldn’t understand, he added.
Watching Dongzi bounce around on the big rock like a monkey swinging a broadsword, Zhou Jin rolled his eyes so hard they nearly flipped to the back of his head. His face screamed one word: “Speechless.”
Xiao Cheng stepped out of the room just in time to catch the scene.
These two—one always trying to pry into the other’s business, the other perpetually annoyed by the first’s endless chatter—inevitably created all sorts of comic moments whenever they were together. After all, being able to make someone as stoic as Zhou Jin lose his composure was a talent in itself.
“Brother Cheng, is the missus awake? I’ve been keeping some egg custard warm—should I bring it now?” Dongzi shoved the pumpkin seeds back into his pocket, plastered a grin on his face, and sidled up to him with an expression so fawning it was hard to look at.
Then, noticing Xiao Cheng’s less-than-dressed state, he dramatically covered both eyes with one hand and grinned meaningfully: “Oho, you’ve got quite the energy, don’t you?”
“Missus?” Xiao Cheng ignored his other jabs, letting out a scoff at the new title. It sounded ridiculous at first—but on second thought, he realized he hadn’t immediately denied it. Instead, something inexplicable stirred in his chest.
“Hehe, still trying to keep it from me, eh?” Dongzi waggled his eyebrows.
Xiao Cheng crossed his arms and paused before asking: “What makes you think she’s your missus?”
“With my smarts, I could tell at a glance it wasn’t ordinary, haha! Brother Cheng, you’re not exactly the caring type.”
At that, Xiao Cheng’s expression darkened. But Dongzi, oblivious, kept going: “Yet today, you went out of your way to take care of everything for her—carrying her all the way back, finding new bedding and clothes, feeding her ginger soup yourself, and standing guard for so long.”
“If she’s not the missus, is she your sworn sister?”
Since Xiao Cheng hadn’t denied it, Dongzi took it as tacit confirmation and spoke without restraint.
“Brother Cheng, Dongzi’s drunk—don’t take him seriously.” Zhou Jin walked over from a distance, gave a brief nod of greeting, and made to drag Dongzi away.
“Zhou Jin, are you out of your mind? I haven’t touched a drop today!” Dongzi struggled against Zhou Jin’s iron grip, but to no avail, so he let himself be pulled along.
Xiao Cheng stood there for a long while, lost in thought. Finally, he tossed a curt remark at their retreating backs and turned toward the kitchen, showing no intention of holding anything against Dongzi.
“Meeting tonight.”
“Yes.”
—
When Xiao Cheng returned to the room with the warm water, Lin Aiyun had already put on the straw sandals by the bed and stood up. She came to meet him the moment he entered, reaching out to take the wooden basin.
“Sit down quickly.”
He sat on the bed as she dipped the towel into the basin, wrung it out, and draped his dirty shirt—still loosely thrown over his shoulders—over the back of the chair.
“Need help?”
“No, I’ve got it.” Lin Aiyun took a deep breath. Now that she was closer, she could see just how gruesome his injuries were—new wounds layered over old scars, crisscrossing and tangled. For a moment, she didn’t know where to begin.
Some of the gashes on his arm were deep; the others weren’t as bad.
“If it hurts, tell me.” Her voice was gentle. She waited for him to nod before she started wiping from top to bottom. The white towel quickly turned red. She winced just looking at it, but Xiao Cheng didn’t so much as furrow his brow—as if he couldn’t feel a thing.
She could only wipe twice, then check on him, afraid he was gritting his teeth through the pain.
But every time she looked, his eyes were already on her—fixed, unblinking, like a predator’s, unashamed.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” Being watched for so long made her uneasy, and she finally snapped.
What she didn’t expect was an answer she couldn’t have predicted. Startled, her hand jerked, pressing the towel hard against his wound. She pulled back quickly, but not before a low grunt escaped him.
“Teacher Lin sure has some strength.”
His teasing came hot on its heels. They were close, and his warm breath brushed against her neck, making it itch. A blush crept across her face. The air around them seemed to thin, the temperature rising, her body growing warmer.
“It’s because you—”
The rest of her words died in her throat. Embarrassed and flustered, she turned to leave—but the man let out a soft sigh, reached out, and caught the hem of her clothes. His hand found her waist, pulling her into his arms. The moment their bodies met, it was like molten lava surging—intense and hot.
Leave a Reply