Extra Chapter Three Drunk Dreams
Late at night, only a few eternally burning lamps remained in the side hall of the Pure Land Heart, swaying in the cool night breeze, stretching the shadows into long and lonely ones.
When Asura found Indra, he was sitting alone on the jade steps of an empty palace. Beside him lay a delicate white jade wine jug, tilted sideways. The air was filled with the sharp, bitter aroma of wine, not the nectar commonly found in heaven, but rather a rather strong, ordinary liquor from the human world.
He rarely saw Indra like this.
Indra, always with a straight back and an expression of compassion, calculation, or gentleness, now hunched slightly. The moonlight traced his slumped shoulders, revealing a rare fragility. His long, sandy-blonde hair fell a little messily, obscuring half of his face. He heard footsteps and slowly raised his head.
Those golden eyes, always filled with too many emotions, were now covered with a layer of misty light. They looked at him blurryly, as if they had been recognizing him for a long time before they called out softly and vaguely: "...Ashura?"
His voice was softer than usual, with a hint of nasality, like a feather gently scratching the tip of my heart, bringing a subtle sting.
Asura frowned, strode over, snatched the almost empty wine jug from his hand, and said in a stern tone: "Why are you drinking this?" He knew that Indra was not good at drinking.
Emperor Shitian seemed startled by his vicious tone and flinched slightly. Then, as if aggrieved, he looked up at him with an alluring blush at the corners of his eyes, mumbling softly, "...uncomfortable."
Those two words, light and airy, were like the sharpest needle, piercing the softest part of Asura's heart. He knew what Indra was talking about. During the day, the sharp words and probing phrases of the seemingly submissive Celestial nobles, the endless trivial frictions of the two races, and those... those glances that occasionally shot towards him, then quickly turned away, filled with complex fear.
Indra shielded him from all of this, dealing with it and digesting it all. He thought he didn't care, but it turned out he was just... talking when he was drunk.
"Where does it hurt?" Asura's voice involuntarily lowered. He squatted down, looking at Indra at eye level. His fingertips moved, wanting to touch the burning corners of his eyes, but he forced himself to hold back.
Indra seemed encouraged by this rare gentle tone. He suddenly leaned forward, resting his forehead lightly on Ashura's strong shoulder, the heat coming through the fabric.
"Here..." He was drunk and tapped his heart with his slender fingers. His voice was muffled and filled with unspeakable fatigue. "Ashura... It's so heavy..."
Your trust, your dependence, your determination to keep me by your side even at the cost of the world, the indelible past between us and the possible future... all of this was so heavy. It was so heavy that he could hardly breathe, yet he carried it with such joy.
Ashura's body stiffened suddenly. Indra's warm breath penetrated the thin fabric, ironing his skin. The unique lotus fragrance, tinged with alcohol, almost enveloped him. He could feel the softness and slight trembling of the body in his arms, so fragile that it could be easily hurt, yet it held a fatal attraction for him.
His arm muscles tensed, suppressing the urge to squeeze the person tightly into his arms. His Adam's apple rolled with difficulty.
Indra seemed uncomfortable with this position, or perhaps the alcohol was taking over. He unconsciously rubbed it, his cool nose brushing against Asura's neck, sending a shudder through him. His lips were almost touching the violently beating pulse, and the hot breath he exhaled was moist with alcohol.
"Cold..." He muttered vaguely, and leaned closer to Asura as if seeking a source of heat.
Ashura's breathing suddenly became heavier. A dark storm swirled in his silver-gray eyes, suppressing so much—possession, pity, violence, and a burning pain and longing that even he couldn't distinguish. He knew that if he just lowered his head, he could grasp the softness that was so close, tinged with the aroma of wine.
His fingertips raised up, almost touching the earlobe that was glowing an alluring red.
But at the last moment, he abruptly closed his eyes, forcing down all the turbulent emotions that were surging. He couldn't. Before he could fully comprehend this complex web of guilt, possession, destruction, and reconstruction, before he could give the other person the "pure land" they truly desired, he couldn't let his drunkenness taint this heavy and fragile support.
In the end, he took off his outer robe with extreme restraint and an almost rigid posture, wrapped the slightly trembling Indra tightly, and then carried him horizontally.
Indra found a comfortable position in his arms, and settled down, as if he had finally found a safe haven, before falling into a deep sleep, his long eyelashes still stained with unshed moisture.
Ashura held him in his arms, walking step by step in the silent corridor, his footsteps heavy. The person in his arms was as light as a feather, yet so heavy that every step he took felt like treading on thorns.
The moonlight stretched their shadows very long, intertwining them, making them close and inseparable, yet it seemed as if there was an uncrossable, cold Milky Way between them.
The night is still long. The lingering drunkenness, the unexpressed feelings, and the unfettered kisses all turn into silent heart-eating termites, quietly gnawing at two closely connected yet painful hearts in every seemingly peaceful night.
Only on the edge of drunkenness and dream, those wounds and desires that cannot be revealed in the sunlight dare to carefully seep out a little bright red blood that carries desire and pain.
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