Chapter 10
The once bustling and magnificent Prime Minister's residence is now just an empty shell, with a few old men guarding it, but it's deserted. Lu Xuejin cleaned out two rooms, and Tengluo Ziyan was right next to them.
His house was simple yet elegant. His father was poor, and he was influenced by this from a young age, so he had no fondness for frivolous or extravagant furnishings. The most common thing in the house was the bookshelves, which stretched from the entrance to the bedside, along the walls. They contained books he had collected from childhood to adulthood, as well as some of his favorite items.
"May I...may I come in?" Murong Yue asked, standing at the doorway, slowly examining his room.
Lu Xuejin: "Of course, Your Highness, please."
"I had only heard rumors of your passing the imperial examinations, but seeing these books... it's truly astonishing." Murong Yue looked at the rows of bookshelves and asked, "May I take a look?"
"Please make yourself at home, Your Highness," Lu Xuejin said, noticing the sudden awkwardness upon entering.
As for the books, he only glanced at them before quietly looking away.
“I loved reading when I was young, but now I feel… the more I read, the less useful it is,” he said.
Murong Yue asked with a hint of doubt in his eyes, "How could that be... The more books you read, the better."
"..." Lu Xuejin smiled. "That's not wrong. But if you become too obsessed with books, you'll drift further and further away from the real world. There are countless truths in books, but they are all illusions. In the end, you still have to return to reality."
He stared intently at the books, lost in thought. His brown eyes held a deep, melancholy. He glanced at Murong Yue as he picked up a book; each page contained philosophical reflections he had once written.
“Like my mother, I don’t like reading,” Murong Yue said to him. “My mother once told me that if someone truly enjoys doing something, that joy itself is incredibly precious, far outweighing any benefits it brings. Otherwise… life is empty, just a void. I think there’s some truth to what she said.”
He paused slightly upon hearing this, realizing the boy was trying to comfort him. This feeling was quite novel; it was usually him comforting others.
"Consort Li is far more insightful than I am."
“My mother never thinks about the future or the past, only about today. I don’t think that my mother’s way is good… but I hope that by borrowing my mother’s words, I can alleviate your troubles.”
“Yes, I understand Your Highness’s meaning,” Lu Xuejin’s expression softened considerably. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
"No need to be so polite," Murong Yue said.
“Speaking of which… you’re a bit older than me, so how should I address you? Calling you ‘Young Master’ like they do feels a bit strange,” Murong Yue said, meeting his gaze before looking back at the book. “…Call me Brother Changyou. How about that?”
Changyou.
The boy's low, drawn-out voice fell into his ear like a drop of water falling on a lake, giving him a strange feeling. To describe it, it was like the cat he had been watching on the windowsill approaching him, stretching out its paw, and gently scratching at his heart.
"As Your Highness wishes," he replied, his eyebrows slightly lowered, his eyes completely enveloping the boy.
The boy was intently looking at the books, his long, slender fingers tense, but he relaxed slightly upon hearing this. His sharp eyes inadvertently turned to him, and he asked again, "Brother Changyou, are we sleeping in the same bed tonight?"
He nodded. "I returned home in a hurry today and only had two rooms prepared."
Murong Yue: "Apart from my mother and uncle... I have never slept with anyone else."
Lu Xuejin had spent some time in the military camp and didn't care about this matter. Besides, his bed was spacious enough that he could easily sleep two more Murong Yues. He did notice that Murong Yue was somewhat reserved, sleeping far away from him at night, with the boy's back to him keeping his distance.
He found it amusing; the boy's back was curled up into a ball, turning into a New Year's picture doll guarding him closely.
He closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep. Whether it was because he had returned home today, or because the anniversary of his mother's death was approaching, he dreamt of things from long ago.
In the dream, it was also in his room, with the exact same window. He was reading by the window when suddenly a rainstorm started, disturbing the pear blossoms in his yard. He looked up and saw the pear blossoms falling to the ground. In the distance, his father, without an umbrella, was just gazing at him through the window, his face lost in thought.
“Father,” he called out.
He called for help, and people walked towards him, their bodies covered in mud and water.
"Did Father go out?" he asked.
"I just returned from His Majesty's... For some reason, I thought of your mother today," his father said to him. "What books have you been reading lately?"
“The one I bought last time,” he said, putting down his book as he watched the rain outside getting heavier. “I’m going to take the umbrella to my brother.”
My father's face in my memory is blurred, a dark, lifeless mass, exuding a desolate, deathly aura, like a thin paper figure under the eaves.
"Changyou," his father seemed to call out to him.
He turned his head, and the other person was still standing there. They didn't say anything, just stared at him, soaked to the bone, rainwater dripping from the side of their clothes and wetting the bookshelf beside them.
His father had been gone for some time, and he had never dreamed of him before. But today, he suddenly dreamed of him, and his chest tightened. In the dream, his father's face looked at him, which inexplicably pained him. The torrential rain in his memory spread towards him, soaking him completely, and the cold seemed to penetrate his very bones.
...His father had something to say to him.
He was busy writing articles all day long and never noticed that his father had something on his mind.
The thoughts and ideas expressed in writing could neither save his father's life nor change his own fate.
He realized he was completely drenched by the rain in his dream, a bone-chilling cold enveloping him, causing rusty lines to grow deep within his bones. The dream weighed him down, making it hard for him to breathe.
"Changyou... Changyou..."
He watched himself in his dream walk out the gate, grab a red umbrella, and head to find someone. He pushed open the gate of the military camp, where Xue Yi was waiting for him.
"Brother Changyou—"
He suddenly opened his eyes, his whole body drenched in cold sweat, and a young boy's face loomed close in front of him.
Murong Yue's eyes reflected his own, his expression gloomy and unpredictable, but the gloom faded when he saw that Murong Yue had woken up. He felt warmth on Murong Yue's forehead, and the boy's palm landed on it. A deep voice came from behind him, "Brother, you had a nightmare."
"But what terrible thing did you dream about?"
He slowly came to his senses, looked out the window, and saw dark clouds in the night sky; it was about to rain.
"It's nothing... Did I scare you? I guess you've been thinking too much lately, which is why you're having nightmares."
"Did I wake Your Highness?" he asked.
“No, I wasn’t asleep just now. I saw that you looked pale and I was worried that you were having a nightmare,” Murong Yue said to him. “I don’t know what kind of nightmare you were having… With me by your side, you don’t need to be afraid, brother.”
He suddenly felt warmth in his palm. In the dim darkness, the boy looked at him sideways, his dark and sharp eyebrows and eyes surrounding him, and his lips turned up.
"...Brother, you can continue sleeping."
The boy's palm was hot and burning, dispelling some of the chill. He watched quietly, wondering if it was the boy's words that had put him at ease. He wanted to say something, but drowsiness prevented him from speaking. He only knew that he hadn't let go of the boy before falling asleep.
The rain in his dream drifted further and further away, and his father's face disappeared along with it.
Before going to sleep, he noticed a sensation on his fingertips. The hot fingertips brushed against the gaps between his fingertips, rubbing against every part of his hand from palm to wrist, as if trying to leave a trace of heat. This made him curl his knuckles, as if every part of his hand was being invaded.
The next day.
Early in the morning, Lu Xuejin woke up to find that no one was beside his bed.
He recalled what had happened the night before; the boy who had comforted him before bed had disappeared. He instinctively went to look for him and found Tengluo struggling to carry a bucket of water.
"Where is the Ninth Prince?" he asked, noticing Tengluo's unhappy expression and showing concern for her, "What's wrong?"
Tengluo had been holding back for a long time, and finally managed to come out, only to be woken up early in the morning. His Highness only knew how to order her around. When she saw her young master, she immediately complained, "His Highness went to the hut and got up early in the morning to take a bath, making a fuss about having me prepare water for him."
"He just bathed yesterday. I boiled the water for him before he left, and now he wants to bathe again. I've never seen His Highness so clean when we were in the palace." Tengluo carried the water angrily.
“Well…” Lu Xuejin was unaware of the boy’s habits. Seeing that Tengluo was unwilling to lift it, he took the bucket from her. “I’ll do it. You go back to sleep for a while.”
“Young master…” Tengluo said, then added shyly, “This servant will do it.”
Lu Xuejin: "It's alright, you can go and rest."
He carried the water to the hut, and as soon as he stepped outside, he heard a familiar boy's voice coming from inside.
"Just leave it outside, don't let it in."
Lu Xuejin was about to come in to check on the boy, worried that he might catch a cold. Before she could finish speaking, he had already pushed open the door.
"Your Highness?"
The young man in the room had just taken off his clothes, his dark hair was loose, and his handsome, aloof face was slightly turned to the side as he casually leaned against the pool. His long robe hung to one side, revealing his nearly adult male body, which was completely naked.
Lu Xuejin's gaze paused on a certain spot, and she remembered that the Ninth Prince was at the age of youthful vigor, so it was not incomprehensible that he was like this so early in the morning.
He made eye contact with the boy through the air, and in just three seconds, the boy turned completely red.
The boy had been by his side the day before while he was having nightmares, and the boy's body heat still lingered on his pillow.
"...The water is here," he said, quietly leaving the bucket behind and pretending not to care as he went out.
As he stepped outside, the image lingered in his mind. Only when Ziyan came over to talk to him did he come back to his senses.
Ziyan asked, "Young master, shall we go to the ancestral hall now?"
He answered and waited outside for a while before the boy came out. The boy's ears were still red, and he came out wearing only a thin shirt.
When they met eyes, Murong Yue immediately looked away, his eyes darting around uncertainly, and an awkward silence filled the air between them.
He couldn't help but sigh and asked Ziyan to bring him a garment. The silver cloak was adorned with flowing crane patterns; he admired birds soaring high, pure and free.
"Your Highness, don't catch a cold." He draped a cloak over Murong Yue's shoulders.
His eyes reflected the boy's expression. Not knowing how to ease the tension, he pondered for a long time before saying to the boy, "Your Highness need not take it to heart. I have already forgotten what happened earlier."
"We are both men, there's no need to take it to heart."
"..." Murong Yue glanced at him sideways, "Brother, you've seen other people's too?"
This question stumped him. In the military camp, everyone showered together, and no one would care about such things. He replied, "I've seen some by chance."
After he finished speaking, the boy inexplicably became unhappy. A flash of anger crossed his eyes, but he quickly regained his composure. Looking at the boy's expression, he couldn't help but sigh.
"Your Highness, would you like to come with me to the ancestral hall?"
Upon hearing this, Murong Yue looked at him and said, "If you don't want to go, Your Highness can wait for me here."
“…I’m going,” Murong Yue said to him. “I’ll go with my brother.”
As the boy passed by, his fingertips brushed against his, skin to skin, and the boy's knuckles inexplicably recoiled. He recalled the sensation in his dream the previous day, and a strange stickiness appeared on his palm, making it tremble as if wrapped in sweat. Perhaps the temperature was too scorching, for he instinctively pulled away when he touched him.
A note from the author:
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