In the evenings, after the intense training ended, the two would sit together again for dinner.
Over these few days, Yu Huaiting had been, on the whole, very well-behaved.
No temper tantrums, no forcing people, one could even say he was docile and obedient.
But in some tiny details, he still secretly hid his little shady intentions, like a large dog trying to mark its territory.
For example, drinking water.
There were clearly two cups on the table of completely different styles, even distinguished clearly by color.
Yet Yu Huaiting insisted on waiting until Fu Songcheng had just finished drinking and set his cup down, then very naturally pick up Fu Songcheng’s cup and, right where Fu Songcheng’s lips had just touched, tip his head back and take a big gulp.
After drinking, he’d sneak a glance at Fu Songcheng’s reaction from the corner of his eye, as if testing the bottom line, or as if declaring some hidden sovereignty.
Fu Songcheng quietly watched him perform, not saying a word—and the next day still used that cup to drink.
This secretly delighted Yu Huaiting for a long time.
Fu Songcheng knew the possessiveness hidden behind Yu Huaiting’s childish antics, but he didn’t call it out.
As long as Yu Huaiting didn’t vent these extreme emotions into harming others or destroying the basic respect between them, these harmless little gestures—having no real impact either way—he let them be.
…
Time flew by, and it was the noon of the day to enter the instance.
After lunch and a short rest, the two together clicked instance matching. Yu Huaiting had some strange odds and ends—he took out a red string and tied it around both their wrists.
“This guarantees we get matched into the same instance.”
Fu Songcheng raised his wrist, and pulled by the short red thread, Yu Huaiting’s wrist was pulled up too.
He asked Yu Huaiting curiously, “If you had this thing, why didn’t you use it last instance? What if we hadn’t been matched together last time?”
Yu Huaiting felt guilty—how was he supposed to say that last instance in Avalon, he actually hadn’t been so set on teaming up with Fu Songcheng and had been too lazy to use the item.
Saying that would probably make Fu Songcheng unhappy. Yu Huaiting shook his wrist. “I used a different item last instance to bind to you.”
Fu Songcheng gave Yu Huaiting a skeptical look and reluctantly accepted his explanation.
Just then, instance matching completed.
[Loading instance.]
[A-rank faction confrontation instance: A Thought of Old Dreams.]
“Faction confrontation?”
Yu Huaiting raised an eyebrow. “Looks like this time we’ll have to fight to the death first thing in there.”
He grabbed backward, and the massive black greatsword appeared in his hand once more.
He held the hilt one-handed, casually swinging it twice through the air; the blade cut through the air with a dull whoosh-whoosh, and he looked eager to try.
“Yu Huaiting.” Fu Songcheng frowned and spoke up, cutting off his peacock display. “No rush. Put the sword away. There’s plenty of time to fight once we’re in the instance.”
“Fine, fine.”
Yu Huaiting obediently flipped his wrist, the huge greatsword instantly dissolving into a streak of light and vanishing. He shrugged, the very picture of “whatever you say” obedience.
This time the wait was especially long.
Yu Huaiting leaned close to Fu Songcheng. He keenly sensed that Fu Songcheng’s body was slightly tense, his back ramrod straight, his lips pressed into a thin line.
Yu Huaiting reached out, his somewhat cool palm patting gently on Fu Songcheng’s shoulder, and even giving his tense muscles a squeeze.
“Don’t be nervous.” Yu Huaiting’s voice sounded especially clear in the empty loading space. He lowered his head slightly, leaning close to Fu Songcheng’s ear, his tone full of confidence. “I’m here. Faction confrontation, whatever—anyone who dares mess with you, I’ll chop them back to their hometown first.”
Fu Songcheng’s shoulder stiffened under his squeeze. Feeling the warm breath by his ear, he didn’t feel comforted at all—instead he felt even more helpless.
Fu Songcheng: With you here I’m even MORE nervous, alright, bad dog?
But before he could voice his complaint, the system’s countdown had already hit zero.
[Instance loading complete. Loading… 3, 2, 1.]
A violent vertigo, accompanied by an even more intense sensation of weightlessness, struck suddenly. Fu Songcheng instinctively closed his eyes.
The surroundings were swallowed by endless darkness.
……
Fu Songcheng’s consciousness gradually returned.
The first senses to recover were touch and hearing.
He was sitting in a narrow, soft space, his body swaying and jolting gently to some rhythm.
Something extremely heavy seemed to be pressing on his head, weighing down his cervical spine with a dull ache.
The clothes he wore were also unusually elaborate—layer upon layer. Though the fabric was smooth and soft, in this cramped space it felt especially stuffy and restrictive.
At the same time, a wave of extremely noisy sound poured into his ears like a tide.
There was deafening gong and drum music, the high, festive wail of suona horns, and the clamor and laughter of countless voices woven together.
“The bride is here—”
“What a grand spectacle. As expected of a marriage between the Yu and Fu families!”
Hearing these sounds, Fu Songcheng’s heart gave a violent lurch.
He snapped his eyes open.
What met his eyes was a field of red.
His vision was completely blocked by a piece of red fabric.
He looked down at himself.
Elaborate red silk, exquisite mandarin-duck-in-water embroidery, wide water sleeves, and layer upon layer of pleated skirt hem.
He raised his hand and found that the red thread Yu Huaiting had tied around his wrist had disappeared—it must have been a one-time item.
Fu Songcheng touched the heavy thing on his head that made his neck ache—the cold metallic texture, the hanging tassels, and the feel of various pearls and jewels.
It was a phoenix crown.
And what he was wearing was an extremely ornate traditional women’s wedding dress.
“…”
Fu Songcheng sighed in resignation inwardly and shut his eyes deeply.
Playing a woman again.
He was in a bridal sedan chair, and outside a grand wedding procession was taking place.
And he was the bride.
The noise outside grew louder—gongs and drums shaking the sky, laughter filling Fu Songcheng’s eardrums.
He gradually accepted his identity. If he was the bride, then who was the groom?
Fu Songcheng extended his slender fingers and gently pinched the red veil blocking his vision. He hesitated half a second, then lifted a corner of it.
The sedan’s interior was dim, with only a sliver of light coming through the gap at the door. By that faint light, Fu Songcheng saw a small window on the side of the sedan, covered by a layer of red gauze.
He leaned forward slightly, trying to peer out through that little window to check the environment outside.
Just as he’d lifted the red veil most of the way, revealing his cool, guarded face—
The sedan’s main entrance, the heavy red door curtain, was suddenly flung open from the outside without warning.
Light rushed instantly into the cramped compartment.
Fu Songcheng instinctively narrowed his eyes, his right hand already having drawn his dagger from the system space out of pure reflex.
But the next second, he relaxed completely.
The newcomer wore an extremely refined Chinese-style groom’s red outfit. A wide jade belt cinched his waist, accentuating his already broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted figure to perfection.
Above that was a face Fu Songcheng knew all too well.
Sword-sharp brows, star-bright eyes, a high nose bridge, and that signature medium-length white curly hair.
At this moment, those dark eyes that always carried a hint of wildness and playfulness were filled with delight.
Yu Huaiting.
That one look instantly relaxed Fu Songcheng’s nerves, stretched to their absolute limit.
The hand that had been gripping the dagger slowly loosened.
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