EIP 37

Zhou Jun kissed with devotion, murmuring softly, “Wake up, my love.” The warmth of his lips gradually heated the cheek beneath them, his mouth gently brushing over every inch of Yong Jin’s face. He watched as Yong Jin’s skin turned a deeper shade of red, realizing that he must be pretending to be asleep. It seemed Yong Jin couldn’t maintain the pretense any longer and finally opened his eyes.

In those eyes, Zhou Jun caught a glimpse of himself, which left him feeling a bit disoriented. He was genuinely exhausted and longed to curl up in this warm room, wrapped around the warm body beside him for a peaceful sleep. As the scent of the rose reached Yong Jin, it mixed with the lingering smell of blood and gunpowder on his hands. Zhou Jun noticed that Yong Jin’s complexion was a bit pale, but his gaze softened as he leaned affectionately against the pillow. Zhou Jun’s fingers lightly caressed Yong Jin’s earlobe, massaging it tenderly.

Yong Jin grasped his wrist, pulling him closer for a closer look. Zhou Jun’s right hand was covered in small, shallow wounds, scattered all over. Exhausted, Zhou Jun barely registered what Yong Jin asked him, his senses dulled. All he wanted was to climb into bed and sleep, but his body betrayed him. Before he could make it onto the bed, he succumbed to sleep, missing Yong Jin’s grim expression and the explosive outburst that followed when he picked up the phone.

It felt like he slipped into another dream, one that was both fleeting and prolonged. In this dream, he wandered through a courtyard overflowing with vibrant red roses, his steps cushioned by the soft moonlight. He was hand in hand with someone, though he couldn’t tell who. The grip was firm and tinged with displeasure. Dreams made no sense; he couldn’t see the owner’s face, yet he could feel the irritation radiating from them. A gentle breeze swept through, carrying the fragrance of the blooms. He thought to himself that the moonlight was perfect, and the beauty was exquisite.

The person replied with restraint, “I’m not a woman.” The voice was familiar, but in the dream, Zhou Jun couldn’t recall who it belonged to. Perhaps it was the nature of dreams that made him shameless and bold: “But I want to be with you.” He was drunk, his mind a jumbled mess, as if he couldn’t quite grasp the logic of it all. “It has to be a man and a woman to be together.” Then, his hand was pushed away, and the person said, “Who wants to be with you?”

Zhou Jun stood frozen, feeling that the person’s words held some truth. How could someone who wasn’t a woman be with him? Yet, why did he feel such a strong affection for them? His heart raced, quickening to the point of pain. The person stood quietly a short distance away, seemingly watching him. Zhou Jun gasped as if he had an epiphany, and he said, “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. I can be your woman.”

His words made even his muddled mind blush. He heard the person chuckle softly, “What nonsense.” The tone was unceremonious, yet quite gentle. Zhou Jun grinned as he took the person’s hand again, playfully rubbing the not-so-soft fingers, then bringing them to his lips for a kiss.

Suddenly, he woke up, feeling a searing pain in his leg. He opened his eyes, gasping for breath, realizing that the chandelier on the ceiling was unfamiliar. Blinking to clear his vision, his memories gradually returned. He had collapsed beside Yong Jin’s bed after coming to deliver flowers. The pain in his leg persisted, and he slightly lifted his neck to look down.

Yong Jin bent over, tending to the wound on Zhou Jun’s thigh. His pants had been cut open, and glass shards were being carefully extracted with tweezers. The wound was both gruesome and terrifying, so bloody that Zhou Jun couldn’t bear to look at it. Yong Jin seemed lost in thought, frowning at the injury, motionless, with his long lashes casting shadows over his cheeks.

A ridiculous thought flickered through Zhou Jun’s mind: would Yong Jin cry? But he didn’t. After a brief moment of daze, Yong Jin resumed his task, and Zhou Jun felt no warmth of tears on his leg. For some reason, Zhou Jun felt a twinge of disappointment. Just as he was about to relax and lie back, he heard Yong Jin let out a soft sigh.

He watched as the man lowered his head and placed a gentle kiss on his wound. The touch was so light that Zhou Jun barely felt any pain.

Zhou Jun waited, hoping for him to look up. Yong Jin seemed to finally snap back to reality, casually lifting his gaze. Their eyes met, like two streams colliding, and instead of separating, they twisted together in a tender embrace. That single glance made Zhou Jun inexplicably shy, prompting him to look away and lie back down.

He rested his head on the soft down pillow, the gentle clinking of medicine bottles nearby creating a pleasant melody. The crystal chandelier cast a kaleidoscope of colors across the room, its facets capturing hues and spilling out tiny shards of light. Yong Jin shifted slightly, his hand reaching out to touch Zhou Jun’s face but hesitating to make contact, wary of his injuries.

Zhou Jun clasped Yong Jin’s hand, pressing his face into it and whispering, “It doesn’t hurt that much.” Yong Jin’s breathing grew heavier, and Zhou Jun noticed the tension in his furrowed brow and clenched jaw. Unable to resist, he reached up and ruffled Yong Jin’s hair, as if soothing a child. He had touched Yong Jin’s hair many times before; it was soft and obediently lay in his palm, so different from the man himself.

After Yong Jin finished tending to his wound, he climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around Zhou Jun, holding the uninjured side. It was almost illogical, but Zhou Jun felt as if Yong Jin had been wronged somehow. A strange sensation stirred in his heart, as if he truly owed something to this man beside him, making him want to steal a kiss.

Yong Jin raised his hand and grabbed something from the tray on the bedside table, placing it in Zhou Jun’s mouth.

It was a jujube, its sweet flesh and crunchy skin filling Zhou Jun’s mouth with sweetness. Yong Jin’s voice came softly from beside him, “The kitchen is still preparing some nourishing food; it’ll be here soon. For now, just have a jujube to tide you over.”

Zhou Jun rolled the jujube pit around with his tongue, finding it a bit amusing. He was just nursing some superficial wounds, yet Yong Jin, who had faced storms and challenges in the army, was now treating him with such care. This only made Zhou Jun’s heart soften further.

He decided to take the initiative and apologize. “I was wrong this morning. You don’t need to forgive me. Just look at me now, in this pitiful state—it’s like karma coming back to haunt me. You should be angry with me for a few days, scold me properly, and then we can make up. How does that sound?”

His words felt insincere, though. Zhou Jun knew himself too well. He had deliberately gotten hurt to evoke Yong Jin’s sympathy. He figured that if Yong Jin was concerned enough, he might overlook the minor misdeeds he had committed. Yong Jin listened to him, a mix of exasperation and amusement on his face. This young master had him wrapped around his finger, toying with him in every way imaginable.

He straightened up against the headboard, neither expressing agreement nor disagreement, but his face no longer showed the tenderness he had just exhibited when he secretly kissed Zhou Jun’s wound. Zhou Jun still leaned back on the pillow, his eyes had transformed into a pure blue, making him look even more beautiful, as if he became more enchanting whenever he wanted something from Yong Jin.

Yong Jin wore a stern expression and ignored him. Zhou Jun furrowed his brows and gently squeezed Yong Jin’s fingers, trying to comfort him. He recalled the scene from his dream, and in an attempt to lighten the mood, he shared its content as if joking around. The moment he finished speaking, however, he regretted it. The subject of his dream was someone unknown, another man entirely.

He was feeling lightheaded and this topic was certainly not a wise choice. To his surprise, Yong Jin didn’t seem angry at all. The corners of his mouth even hinted at a slight smile. Zhou Jun looked up at Yong Jin, somewhat astonished. However, Yong Jin covered his eyes with his hand, teasingly asking, “How do you know it was a dream?” Zhou Jun blinked deliberately, brushing his eyelashes against the palm of Yong Jin’s hand. He replied, “Of course it was a dream. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have said such nonsensical things.”

Yong Jin withdrew his hand. When Zhou Jun looked again, he saw that the smile had vanished from his face. Yong Jin pulled back the covers and lay down, turning his back to him. “Go to sleep,” he said. Zhou Jun couldn’t help but reflect on his shifting moods, like the unpredictable weather, shifting at a moment’s notice.

He rubbed his forehead, his gaze settling on a spot. The roses he had sent didn’t bloom well and had dropped a few petals, yet they were arranged in an exquisitely crafted porcelain vase. The mismatch made Zhou Jun smile faintly.