Perfunctory—clearly just going through the motions.
But he could grudgingly count it as a heartfelt effort.
Yu Lingxin didn’t ask that Jiang Nong share his heart—only that she put her heart into it.
Putting her heart into it meant she cared about him.
Jiang Nong was always sensitive and prone to overthinking, but Yu Lingxin was no less so—otherwise he wouldn’t always know what she was thinking.
His own thoughts twisted and turned in a thousand directions, elusive and hard to fathom. Even he had to reason through them repeatedly, and still couldn’t always arrive at a definitive answer that convinced himself.
But Yu Lingxin was better than Jiang Nong in one regard: no matter how complex his feelings were, they only ended up hurting others—never troubling himself.
Jiang Nong was coaxing him, and he felt coaxed. So he was satisfied, and proceeded to tell her several more tormenting jokes.
“Alright, alright—it’s getting late. We’ll continue tomorrow. Let’s sleep.” Jiang Nong couldn’t help rubbing her arms under the covers, her goosebumps scattered everywhere. She reached up and pressed his eyes, trying to pry his eyelids shut, as if that would make him shut up and fall asleep immediately.
Yu Lingxin’s lashes brushed against her palm—soft, ticklish. Jiang Nong felt his face was warmer than usual and couldn’t resist stroking it a few times.
“What are you doing? There’s no powder on my face. Is this your revenge?” Yu Lingxin rubbed his face back and forth against her palm. Jiang Nong realized it wasn’t her imagination—Yu Lingxin’s body temperature was indeed warmer than before, at least no longer cold to the touch. He must have recovered some of his health.
She touched his sharp jawline and couldn’t help feeling envious. She touched her own, trying to pull the flesh back tight, then tugged the flesh on his face downward.
Why was his flesh so firm while hers was so soft?
Damn it! She wasn’t even fat, yet she’d lost that chiseled jawline because of it.
Yu Lingxin nuzzled against her palm, and as he nuzzled, he pressed closer until he was on top of her—heavy and hard as a mountain, his fluffy hair tickling her. She pushed him away, and they tumbled onto the floor together.
Jiang Nong had grown quite a bit over the past year, but Yu Lingxin’s growth was even more astonishing. When he wrapped his arms around her, he could completely envelop her. Lying on him was like lying on a hard cushion of flesh—if she lifted her head, she could see his chin.
She lay in his arms, poking her head out from the crook of his elbow. Her smooth hair cascaded like clouds over her shoulders and pooled on his chest. Her face was flushed pink from struggling. Yu Lingxin was still being mischievous, refusing to let go, tightening his grip instead. She let out a couple of grunts, clinging to his shoulders and trying even harder to break free—like a kitten forcibly held in someone’s arms, desperately trying to escape.
Yu Lingxin was still laughing, his chest vibrating, the tremor carrying through her throat. She punched his shoulder.
She felt a chill on her chest—his skin had touched hers. He reached out and pulled her loose undergarment closed, covering even the cleavage that had been squeezed into view. He looked every bit the gentleman, saying airily: “Mind your privacy. Don’t show that sort of thing to your enemy.”
If his voice hadn’t been so hoarse, if the veins on his neck hadn’t been bulging, if there hadn’t been something pressing against her thigh—then Jiang Nong might have believed him.
She wanted to cry, but couldn’t. She wanted to laugh, but couldn’t even more. She wanted to slap Yu Lingxin, but was even more afraid he’d enjoy it.
She dropped her head heavily onto his chest, producing a long, piercing hum.
Yu Lingxin let out a muffled grunt from the impact, clutching his collarbone—it took him a long moment to recover.
Jiang Nong had been headbutting Yu Lingxin for ages, buzzing away until she’d made herself dizzy. She didn’t know when she’d fallen asleep—curled up on top of him, arms around his neck, face buried in the crook of his neck, her warm breath gently spilling onto his skin.
Warm, soft, gentle, sweet.
Yu Lingxin lay on the cold floor tiles, sprawled out, feeling her warmth and the weight of her body—entirely entrusted to him. So soft. His treasure was sleeping on top of him.
Just thinking the word made his own face flush with shame, his whole body trembling. He quickly banished it from his mind, preserving his precariously intact sense of dignity.
At his core, Yu Lingxin was a man who cared deeply about face and had fierce pride—his sense of shame was simply… different from others.
He could kneel and endure humiliation, be flogged, bark like a dog—all of it as ordinary to him as rain falling or leaves dropping from trees. But the most hidden, deepest corner of his heart—that could not be shared with outsiders.
Those tender feelings of his were meant for someone who loved him. Only when he was certain the other person loved him—and said they loved him very, very much—would he even then reveal a fraction, cautiously.
That was the one shred of self-respect he had to preserve.
When Jiang Nong had told him over and over that she hated him, that she wished him dead, he had even fooled himself—repeating in his heart that he hated her too, that his hatred was a hundredfold, a thousandfold greater than hers, that Jiang Nong owed him. That was how he maintained his dignity.
But once Jiang Nong accepted him—like now—all that hate and resentment blew away like wind. Yet still, he wouldn’t tell her he liked her, or that he loved her.
It seemed as if Jiang Nong was under his control, trapped in his world—her rise and fall, her honor and disgrace, all at his whim. After all, the husband is the wife’s guide, the husband sings and the wife follows.
But in reality, there was a chain around his neck, and the other end was held in Jiang Nong’s hand. She could loosen or tighten it as she pleased—loose, and it gave them both room; tight, and it tormented them both.
Sometimes Yu Lingxin thought they could just go on like this, vague and undefined, for the rest of their lives. No need to say who liked whom, who loved whom. He didn’t even have to ask. Just like this—it was fine.
But people are always greedy—coveting more once they have some. He still wanted Jiang Nong’s love, wanted to be unique in her heart, even unto death.
His body lay perfectly still, his right hand resting on Jiang Nong’s waist, his left hand twirling her hair between his fingers, slowly winding it round and round—loosening it, winding it again, loosening it, until finally he brought it to his lips and held it there.
Yu Lingxin had made up his mind: he would push Jiang Nong, force her to kill him—or rather, give her a reason and an opportunity to do so.
He didn’t want ambiguous affection. He wanted love—clear and unmistakable.
Light, pattering footsteps seemed to rise from the ground.
Jiang Nong was woken by the sound. She propped herself up on her arms, shook her head, and realized she had been sleeping on top of Yu Lingxin—while he had slept on the floor.
Why like this? If she’d fallen asleep, he could have just woken her up and moved her to the bed. How could he have just used himself as a mattress all night?
Jiang Nong touched the floor—thankfully, the underfloor heating was on, so it was warm. Otherwise, sleeping on cold stone tiles in the dead of winter would have taken half her life.
She rubbed her eyes, intended to pat Yu Lingxin’s face, then changed her mind and stroked it instead, calling him: “Yu Lingxin, get up. Go sleep on the bed.”
Yu Lingxin had gone to sleep late. He wrapped his arm around her waist, buried his face against her chest, and only opened his eyes after a long moment.
Jiang Nong patted his cheek, pulled free of his arms, and got up to wash.
Yu Lingxin rolled over on the floor twice and fell back asleep.
Since they had agreed last night that Yu Lingxin would make it up to Jiang Nong by doing her makeup, he didn’t sleep much longer before calling Xunliang to bring in his clothes.
Xunliang came in, looked around, and couldn’t find him anywhere—until a voice came from the floor. Yu Lingxin lay there, waving at him: “Down here.”
???
What kind of strange habit was this? Sleeping on the floor?
Xunliang was startled for the first time in a long while, stepping back two paces before regaining his usual composure.
The morning sunlight was just right, streaming through the translucent shell-pane windows and brightening the table. Tree shadows slanted across the window, shaken by flocks of foraging birds, the morning light swaying along with them.
By the time Yu Lingxin had washed up, Jiang Nong was already waiting for him at her dressing table. She had even thoughtfully pulled up a low stool for him, patting it repeatedly, urging him to come sit down.
The joy of painting eyebrows—an intimate pleasure of the boudoir. Yu Lingxin hadn’t expected to have such a day.
Jiang Nong’s daily array of bottles and jars was no more than four or five—even an idiot could figure that out. It was just a matter of technique being a little rough.
Yu Lingxin confidently rolled up his sleeves and walked over—then immediately retreated back the way he came.
Before Jiang Nong sat over forty bottles and jars.
And Jiang Nong herself was looking at him with bright, eager eyes.
Yu Lingxin’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. A hint of retreat crept into his mind, and he let his rolled sleeves fall back down.
Perhaps another day. He should read a few books first, study up.
Yes, this was precisely Jiang Nong’s intention. Yu Lingxin’s forced composure greatly amused her. For the first time, she pinched her voice into a soft, saccharine coquettish whine: “Oh my, why haven’t you come over yet? Didn’t you say you’d do my makeup today? I’ve been waiting so long~”
Yu Lingxin’s body went weak from her sweetness, his mind went fuzzy, and he rolled his sleeves back up again, striding over like a warrior heading into battle.
White powders, purple powders, pink powders—various red creams, black, grey, and yellowish-brown blocks…
Jiang Nong rested her face in his palm, puffing out her cheeks to signal he should begin. Yu Lingxin closed one eye—the one that wasn’t quite clear—and looked at her, then at the array of products.
In truth, he thought Jiang Nong was beautiful. Beautiful at all times. Most beautiful when she pressed her bare, unmade-up face against his palm—fresh as a peach blossom touched with dew.
Jiang Nong, mindful that Yu Lingxin had served as her mattress all night, gave him a few hints.
Yu Lingxin took a puff of powder and gently dusted it over her face. Jiang Nong closed her eyes and said it hurt—his hand was too heavy.
“Don’t slander me,” Yu Lingxin said, though his movements did grow gentler.
Jiang Nong was lying, just teasing him.
“Does this still hurt?” Yu Lingxin asked.
Though Jiang Nong couldn’t feel any difference, she still complained that he was using too much force.
Yu Lingxin pressed the puff firmly against her forehead and sneered: “My hand wasn’t even touching your face just now.”
Jiang Nong’s eyes flew open—Yu Lingxin had gotten smarter!
She swung her legs, kicking his calf: “I was just joking with you. I won’t say anything more.”
Though Yu Lingxin knew she was being deliberate, his movements on her face grew even gentler. He dusted a light layer of lavender powder over her.
Jiang Nong looked at herself in the mirror and called him over: “You didn’t blend it evenly—look here.” To prove she wasn’t lying this time, she leaned in close—so close that her face was only a palm’s width from his eyes—tilted her head slightly upward, raised her eyes, and pointed at her forehead where the powder wasn’t smooth.
From Yu Lingxin’s angle, all he could see were her round, wide eyes looking up at him as she pointed at her forehead.
Jiang Nong was still muttering about how poorly he’d done.
Yu Lingxin only wanted to lick her.
To take the flesh of her cheeks in his mouth, suck, bite—to cover her whole body with his saliva.
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