Chapter 292 Blur
Xiao Jue's thumb stopped at a spot on his ribs, repeatedly rubbing the thin skin as if touching an unseen old wound.
Zhou Heng knew what he was touching—it was the spot where the imperial physician had given him acupuncture when he collapsed from exhaustion a few months ago, and the needle marks had long since healed.
Zhou Heng reached out and placed his fingertips on the furrow between his brows.
Xiao Jue took his hand, cupped his fingers in his palm, and brought it to his lips.
Zhou Heng's fingers curled up in his palm.
Zhou Heng buried his face in the pillow, his back exposed to the cool air, not yet trembling.
Zhou Heng buried his face in the pillow, his fingers gripping the mattress so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
When Xiao Jue turned his face from under the pillow, Zhou Heng's eyes were already glistening with tears.
Xiao Jue's lips landed on the corner of his eye, licking away the water droplets little by little, but the action was anything but gentle; it was more like an instinctive, hungry, and almost predatory possession.
His tongue licked Zhou Heng's eyelashes.
Length of night.
The flickering candlelight cast the shadows of the two people on the wall, overlapping and indistinguishable from one another.
Xiao Jue seemed determined to reclaim everything that had been suppressed over the past few days.
Zhou Heng was no longer able to think of anything.
Those voices were swallowed by Xiao Jue, turning into an even more intense and suffocating demand.
He finally realized just how terrifying a starving wolf could be.
Moonlight seeped in through the cracks in the windowpane, falling on the ground and onto the dragon robe that had been carelessly tossed on the floor.
The night wind squeezed in through the cracks in the window, causing the candlelight to flicker violently, almost going out, but it eventually stabilized and continued to illuminate the mess in the room with its dim yellow light.
After an unknown amount of time, the hall finally fell silent.
Zhou Heng lay sprawled on the couch, too weak to even move a finger. He looked as if he had been pulled out of the water, his hair wet and plastered to his forehead, the back of his nightgown long since crumpled up.
His face was buried in the pillow, his breathing was shallow and rapid, and his chest heaved violently.
His heavy breathing sprayed behind his ear, hot and itchy.
His fingers were still around Zhou Heng's waist, his fingertips gently and unconsciously caressing the reddened skin.
Zhou Heng's voice was muffled and unclear, muffled by the pillow.
Xiao Jue pressed his ear against the back of his neck and heard the indistinct syllables roll around in his throat.
Xiao Jue turned him over and let him lean against his chest.
Zhou Heng's face was pressed against his sweaty collarbone, feeling the skin there still slightly hot. His heart was beating fast and heavy, the sound transmitted through the thin skin and muscles, making his ears go numb.
Xiao Jue's hand landed on his back, stroking it gently, much slower than usual, each stroke like soothing a frightened little animal.
Zhou Heng's fingers rested on his waist, his fingertips touching the sweat-soaked skin before falling limply down.
Xiao Jue picked Zhou Heng up and carried him to clean him up. After cleaning him up, he carried him back to the bed and held him in his arms.
Xiao Jue lowered his head, his lips brushing against the top of his head, his voice low and hoarse as if it came from the depths of his chest: "Sleep."
Zhou Heng's eyelids felt as heavy as if they were filled with lead, and his consciousness was beginning to blur.
As spring deepened, Xiao Jue's laziness grew day by day.
The morning court session was reduced from once a day to once every three days, supposedly due to "spring fatigue." However, Zhou Heng clearly remembered that he was still very energetic last spring, reviewing memorials until the third watch of the night, and the next day at dawn, he was still sitting on the throne, dressed neatly, without even yawning.
Now, things are really different. After court, he sits in the East Warm Pavilion, picks out the memorials that require his personal approval, finishes approving them in a few strokes, pushes the rest aside, and orders them to be sent to the Grand Secretariat, never to look at them again.
The old ministers in the cabinet were initially apprehensive, thinking that His Majesty was testing them. They dared not write down the drafts they submitted, and dared not accept the decrees that were returned. After several days of back and forth, they finally confirmed that His Majesty really did not want to get involved anymore, and only then did they begin to nervously take over those matters that were not originally their concern.
Once, Zhao Ting ran into Zhou Heng in the palace, pulled him aside, and asked in a low voice, "Has Your Majesty been feeling unwell lately?" Zhou Heng thought for a moment and said no.
Zhao Ting asked again, "Is it because you're in a bad mood?" Zhou Heng thought for a moment and said no.
Zhao Ting scratched his head for a while before finally managing to say, "Then why is His Majesty throwing all the memorials to the Cabinet? He's not even reading the border reports from the Ministry of War, letting the Privy Council draft the proposals directly. What do those people in the Privy Council know about border affairs?"
Zhou Heng opened his mouth, unsure how to explain—should he say that His Majesty's health and mood were both excellent, so excellent that he was thinking about which garden to visit, what dishes to eat, what books to read, and how to lure people out of the palace every day after court?
He couldn't bring himself to say such a thing.
But that's just the way it is.
Xiao Jue was like a beast that had been hibernating in the cold winter for too long. Finally, spring arrived and flowers bloomed. He couldn't wait to crawl out of his cave, spread his limbs, and lay lazily in the sunlight, unwilling to move.
He no longer buried himself in piles of memorials and stayed up all night like before.