Hot flashes

The night was thick, and the candlelight flickered on the gilded lampstand, turning the warm light in the room into fragmented amber hues that flowed between the closed doors and the hanging curtains.

The air was filled with a thick, almost sweet and fishy smell, mixed with incense, sweat, and another more intimate and intense scent.

Zhou Heng lay on his back on the disheveled brocade quilt, his vision blurred by tears and sweat. He could only see Xiao Jue's silhouette against the light, looming over him as heavily as a mountain.

His fingers dug deep into Xiao Jue's taut shoulder muscles, his fingertips turning white from the force, then loosening due to the continuous trembling, leaving only faint red marks.

"Okay...okay..." Broken syllables squeezed out of Zhou Heng's throat, heavy with nasal tones and an uncontrollable sob, "Xiao...Xiao Jue...not...enough...really enough..."

From her lips, which were stinging from repeated biting, to her aching and burning waist and abdomen, every part of her body was screaming for overload and collapse.

Xiao Jue, however, seemed not to hear.

He remained silent, his thin lips pressed into a cold, hard line. Only the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, along the sharp lines of his jaw, dripped onto Zhou Heng's equally sweaty chest, creating a small, cool patch.

His gaze was shrouded in shadow, obscure and unfathomable, with only two eerie flames burning deep within, locking onto every subtle change in the expression of the person beneath him—the furrowed brows, the dazed eyes, the lips swollen from his kisses, and the tears that rolled down uncontrollably.

This silent attack was more oppressive than any words.

Zhou Heng's pleas for mercy did not bring him any respite; instead, they acted as a catalyst.

Just when Zhou Heng thought his consciousness was about to dissipate into a void of white light.

Zhou Heng collapsed, utterly exhausted, his chest heaving violently, thinking the torture was finally over.

"Turn around."

Xiao Jue's voice finally rang out, but it was incredibly hoarse, rough and husky with a hint of lust, leaving no room for doubt.

Zhou Heng had not yet recovered from the dizziness of the previous round.

"No..." Zhou Heng sobbed.

He closed his eyes and buried his burning face in his arms.

Zhou Heng's cries and pleas had become so faint as to be barely audible, leaving only broken breaths.

His response was a fierce kiss on the side of his neck, with a biting force, as if it wanted to devour him whole.

Xiao Jue's breathing became completely disordered, heavy and labored, mingling with Zhou Heng's weak sobs.

One of the candles had gone out sometime ago, making the room even darker. Only the faint moonlight filtering through the window outlined the overlapping silhouettes on the bed.

The shadow was sometimes taut like a bow, and sometimes soft like water.

In the end, Zhou Heng didn't even have the strength to sob anymore, and his consciousness was drifting.

The world finally quieted down, leaving only the two of them breathing heavily, unable to calm down for a long time.

Xiao Jue held the person, who had completely softened into a puddle of spring water, tightly in his arms. Their sweaty chests pressed together, their heartbeats pounding like drums, gradually becoming synchronized.

His lips landed on Zhou Heng's sweaty nape, the force finally shifting from fierce to a weary gentleness.

Zhou Heng didn't even have the strength to move a finger. He closed his eyes and let the tears slide down his cheeks and into his hair.

In the last hazy moments before he fell into a deep sleep, he seemed to feel Xiao Jue's hand gently stroking his sweaty forehead.

The moon outside the window quietly moved across the mid-sky.

As autumn fades into winter, the damp cold of Jiangzuo is even more biting than the dry chill of the north.

Inside the Jingbei Prince's mansion, however, a tense atmosphere prevailed. Since the day the kite fell, Xiao Jue had never mentioned the Southern Capital envoy again, but the expressions of the generals and staff coming and going in the mansion grew more and more solemn each day, and even Chang An was unusually hurried.

Zhou Heng felt bored all day. Xiao Jue remained silent, and then a steady stream of items were brought into the room—fashionable Jiangnan silks, exquisite stationery, and even a pure white Persian kitten, supposedly a gift from a vassal merchant.

"Is it afraid I'll suffocate?" Zhou Heng poked the kitten's soft belly, and the kitten meowed softly and rubbed against his fingers.

Chang An stood to the side with his head down: "His Highness said that if the young master is bored, he can give the cat a name."

Looking into those deep blue cat eyes, Zhou Heng suddenly thought of the snow that never melts on the Cangyun Ridge in the Northern Border: "Let's call it... Cloud Cluster."

The cat had a name and seemed to have recognized its master, sticking to Zhou Heng's feet all day long.

On the morning of the sixteenth day of the twelfth lunar month, when the first snow fell, Xiao Jue did not get up as early as usual.

He leaned against the headboard, watching the fine snow falling outside the window, and suddenly said, "The army will set off in three days."

Zhou Heng paused in his hand as he was grooming Yun Tuan. Sensing the change in atmosphere, the cat jumped off his lap and scurried to the foot of the bed to curl up.

"Where...are you going?" Zhou Heng heard his voice sound a little hoarse.

"Heading south." Xiao Jue sat up, took the wooden comb from Zhou Heng's hand, and began to slowly comb his messy long hair. "First stop, Chuzhou."

Chuzhou. Zhou Heng quickly reviewed the map he had peeked at during this period in his mind—it was one of the gateways to the Southern Capital, nestled against mountains and beside water, easy to defend and difficult to attack.

"So fast..." Zhou Heng murmured.

Xiao Jue skillfully tied up his hair and secured it with a simple jade hairpin. "The provisions are sufficient, and the morale of the army is high. If we drag this out any longer, Nandu will recover, and it will be difficult to attack."

"I..." He turned his head to look at Xiao Jue, "And what about me?"

Xiao Jue met his gaze for a moment, then suddenly smiled: "Stay in the manor, take care of yourself, and wait for me to return."

"That's all?" Zhou Heng was unwilling to accept it.

"That's all." Xiao Jue stood up and began to put on his armor. He hadn't worn that heavy black iron armor for several months, and as he put it on piece by piece, the clanging sound of metal clashing was particularly clear in the quiet morning.

Chang An silently entered to serve, handing over a sword, wrist guards, and a cloak.

Finally, Xiao Jue picked up the seal of the Prince of Jingbei from the table, weighed it in his palm, and put it into his pocket.

He turned around, and clad in armor, he appeared even taller and more imposing than usual. The candlelight danced on the cold, hard metal, illuminating his expressionless face.

"Xiao Jue," he called out to him.

The man, who had already reached the door, stopped and turned around.

Zhou Heng got out of bed, her bare feet stepping on the cold floor tiles, and rushed to him. She managed to squeeze out only one sentence: "You...come back soon."

Xiao Jue frowned slightly as he looked at his feet, which were red from the cold. He bent down, picked him up, and put him back on the bed, pulling the blanket over him tightly. "The floor is cold." Then he paused, reached out and stroked his cheek. "Okay, come back soon."