Chapter 22
Turning past the cobblestone corridor, a bright and open space suddenly appeared before me.
The backyard of the new inn, "Qingzhuxuan," is hidden behind a dense bamboo forest. The green tiles and white walls are covered by dappled bamboo shadows, and the air is filled with the moist scent of grass and trees. Compared to the cramped and oppressive inn of the previous night, this place is like a completely different world.
"This way." Xiao Qiyun's voice echoed softly through the bamboo grove as he turned and led Sheng Xuan toward the east wing. Two plain gauze lanterns hung under the eaves, casting swaying, fragmented light on the ground through the bamboo shadows. Even the sound of footsteps was mostly absorbed by the thick moss.
Sheng Xuan pushed the wheelchair behind, the fragrance of bamboo leaves lingering around his nose, and the slight irritation from the journey gradually dissipated. He glanced at Su Zhelan in the wheelchair; her eyelashes drooped low beneath her veil, and her breathing was even as if she were asleep—perhaps the effects of the sedative hadn't worn off yet, or perhaps the tranquil environment had made her lower her guard; the boy's originally tense shoulders now relaxed, and his profile appeared exceptionally soft in the bamboo shadows.
"We're here." Xiao Qiyun stopped in front of a wooden door carved with bamboo patterns. He inserted the key into the lock and turned it twice, making a soft "click." As he pushed the door open, a faint sandalwood scent wafted out, a hundred times fresher than the musty smell in the room before.
The room was more spacious than expected. A pear wood couch with a moon-white brocade quilt was placed by the window, and the view outside the window was of a lotus pond. In the corner stood an antique shelf with several small celadon figurines. The most wonderful thing was that there was a square skylight in the roof, and the sunlight shone through the thin clouds and cast a diamond-shaped bright spot on the floor.
“It’s much better than that wretched place.” Sheng Xuan pushed the wheelchair into the room, his tone clearly relaxed. His gaze swept over the soft stool by the couch and the warm teacup on the table—obviously, Xiao Qiyun had already arranged for someone to take care of things, and even the tea was the kind that Su Zhelan usually drank.
Su Zhelan shifted in her wheelchair, uttering a muffled murmur. Her eyes, hidden behind the veil, trembled slightly, as if she were about to wake up but was pulled back by sleepiness.
Sheng Xuan immediately eased the force of pushing the wheelchair. When he bent down and got closer, he smelled the herbal scent mixed with medicinal fragrance in Su Zhelan's hair, and the possessiveness that had just emerged in his heart suddenly softened.
"She's fast asleep." Sheng Xuan's voice was very low as he touched Su Zhelan's hand with his fingertips, finding it warm and soft.
The silence in the room seemed tangible, pressing down heavily, yet carrying the light fragrance of bamboo leaves. Sheng Xuan stood beside the wheelchair, looking down at Su Zhelan's profile, which appeared exceptionally fragile behind her eyelid veil, and sensing the lingering weariness emanating from her.
She took a deep breath, as if making a decision. "I carried him to the bed."
Before Xiao Qiyun could respond, he had already bent down and picked up Su Zhelan.
Su Zhelan seemed still immersed in the rustling of bamboo leaves and the warmth of the sunlight, his body limp and without the slightest resistance. He only unconsciously hummed softly the moment Sheng Xuan steadily lifted him up and removed him from the wheelchair, and his head naturally and dependently rested on Sheng Xuan's shoulder.
Beneath the thin veil, warm breath brushed against the skin of Shengxuan's neck.
The moment Su Zhelan leaned closer, Sheng Xuan's body stiffened almost imperceptibly. He held his breath, tightened his grip on his arms, and took the lightest, most steady steps toward the wooden bed covered with plain sheets.
Sheng Xuan gently placed Su Zhelan in the center of the bed, then carefully pulled the thin blanket over Su Zhelan's chest.
As he covered her with the blanket, his fingertips accidentally brushed against the back of Su Zhelan's neck, where the skin still felt cool from the ointment. Su Zhelan frowned in her sleep and shrank further into the brocade quilt.
After doing all this, Sheng Xuan straightened up. His gaze lingered on Su Zhelan's peaceful sleeping face for several seconds, his eyes filled with an overwhelming mix of heartache, protectiveness, and an indescribable anxiety. He needed to catch his breath.
Sheng Xuan turned around and glanced at Xiao Qiyun, who had been standing quietly by the door like a silent guardian statue.
Sheng Xuan's lips moved, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he only said quickly in Xiao Qiyun's direction in an almost stiff tone: "...You...look at him." His tone was not like a request, but carried a tension that he himself did not realize.
Xiao Qiyun shifted his gaze from Su Zhelan and calmly met Sheng Xuan's gaze, which was filled with complex emotions.
He showed no displeasure at Sheng Xuan's commanding tone, only nodding very slightly, his voice low and steady: "Yes, don't worry. He needs to rest."
Sheng Xuan was taken aback by Xiao Qiyun's calm response, and that inexplicable irritation welled up in her heart again.
He stopped looking at Xiao Qiyun and Su Zhelan on the bed, turned around abruptly, and strode towards the door. He opened the door with a suppressed force, but then suddenly softened his movements as the door hinges creaked slightly, as if afraid of disturbing Su Zhelan.
He slipped out, and with a quick, yet gentle motion, closed the door behind him, as if something was chasing him as he fled.
Bang.
After a barely audible sound of the door closing, only Xiao Qiyun and Su Zhelan, who was sleeping peacefully on the bed, remained in the room.
Xiao Qiyun remained standing in place, without moving immediately.
His gaze fell once more on the door that Sheng Xuan had closed, lingering for a moment, his eyes deep and unreadable. Then, he slowly and silently walked to the bedside and sat down.
The bamboo shadows swayed on the window paper, cutting the figure on the couch into fragmented spots of light. Su Zhelan's breathing was as even as water in a pool, her veil slipped down to her temples, revealing half of her porcelain-like face, her lips slightly moist and red from drinking tea.
Xiao Qiyun stood by the couch, his fingertips hovering in mid-air. The sandalwood incense swirled around his nose, intertwining with the medicinal scent emanating from Su Zhelan, forming a dense web. He recalled Su Zhelan's furrowed brows in her nightmare last night, and the profile bathed in light under the temple fair fireworks. His throat suddenly tightened—the suppressed thoughts of the past few days were sprouting like bamboo shoots breaking through the soil, growing wildly in the quiet afternoon.
He slowly leaned down, his shadow completely enveloping Su Zhelan. His fingertips first landed on Su Zhelan's brow bone, gently caressing the slight wrinkles, as if smoothing out an unawakened dream.
Su Zhelan groaned softly in her sleep, burying her head deeper into the brocade quilt, her lips slightly parted, letting out a breath of warm air.
It was this soft hum that completely shattered Xiao Qiyun's restraint.
He lowered his head, his lips lightly touching that soft spot. It was hotter than he had imagined, carrying the bitterness of tea and the unique sweetness of youth, like sucking on a honey-coated pill.
Su Zhelan's eyelashes trembled suddenly, and his lips pursed unconsciously, but Xiao Qiyun gently pressed his chin with his fingertips to prevent him from closing them tightly.
The kiss was light, with a tentative hesitation, like a fragile piece of glass. Only when Su Zhelan's breathing became erratic and her eyes welled up with tears did Xiao Qiyun pull away slightly, his fingertips sliding down her chin to her neck, pressing on her throbbing pulse through her thin shirt.
“Ze Lan…” he called softly, his voice hoarse as if it had been sanded, his fingertips circling his collarbone.
Su Zhelan's body tensed in his dream, the scar on the back of his neck faintly burning. He unconsciously raised his hand to push, but Xiao Qiyun grabbed his wrist and pressed him down on the bed.
That hand had distinct knuckles and thin calluses from years of holding a pen, yet its strength was so steady that no one could break free. The other hand slid inside the collar of the clothes, stroking the protruding spine on the back, as if tracing a series of hidden piano keys.
The bamboo shadows suddenly swayed violently, and the wind chimes on the eaves jingled.
Xiao Qiyun snapped back to reality and saw that Su Zhelan's veil was half-soaked with tears and her lips were swollen and red as if they were stained with rouge. He was shocked to realize that he had lost his composure.
He quickly withdrew his hand, straightened Su Zhelan's clothes, and as his fingertips brushed against her lips, which were burning from the kiss, Su Zhelan suddenly opened her eyes.
The gaze behind the veil was misty, blurring the line between dream and wakefulness, fixedly "staring" at him. Xiao Qiyun's heart pounded so hard his ribs ached, but he quickly pulled the veil back, concealing the unsettling sight, and his voice returned to its usual calm: "Awake? Thirsty?"
Su Zhelan didn't speak, but a very soft sob rolled out from her throat.
Xiao Qiyun brought over the cool tea and fed it to his lips with a small spoon. Looking at his trembling eyelashes, he suddenly felt that this stolen intimacy was like a sword hanging over his head, both dangerous and something he was willing to drown in.
Watching Su Zhelan finish the last sip of tea, lie back down, and close her eyes, Xiao Qiyun took the teacup and placed it on the table. He then didn't approach the bedside again, nor did he make any unnecessary noise. He simply sat quietly, leaning back slightly, his gaze fixed on the swaying bamboo grove outside the window.
Sunlight filtered through the bamboo leaves, casting dappled shadows on his serene profile. The only sounds in the room were Su Zhelan's even, long breaths, the faint scent of sandalwood, and the ceaseless rustling of bamboo leaves outside the window, all weaving together a tranquil and comforting silence.
Xiao Qiyun seemed to blend into the tranquil backdrop. His presence was subtle, yet incredibly solid.
His gaze would occasionally drift from the bamboo grove to the mound on the bed covered by a thin blanket, confirming that Su Zhelan's breathing was still steady and undisturbed. Then, his gaze would return to the window, as if guarding the peace in this room, and also guarding the bamboo grove outside that brought peace.
Time flowed slowly in this silent vigil. The anxiety and tension that Sheng Xuan took with her when she left seemed to have been soothed and dissolved by the tranquility of the room and Xiao Qiyun's rock-solid silence.
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