Hot flashes

When Zhou Heng woke up, he was lying in a room.

The room was small and simply furnished, with a couch, a table, and a chair. An oil lamp sat on the table, its flame flickering and casting his shadow on the wall.

Someone was speaking beside him, their voice very low, as if afraid of waking him. He couldn't hear what they were saying, only vaguely recognizing the words "Second Young Master," "Northern Border," and "General Han." Then he fell asleep again.

When he woke up again, he blinked, and the light slowly gathered, turning into an outline—someone was sitting by the bed, very close, close enough to see the dark stubble on his chin.

Xiao Jue's eyes were red as if he had been up for days and nights, with dark circles under his eyes, and his lips were dry and cracked. He looked as if something had hollowed him out from the inside out.

He saw Zhou Heng open his eyes and was stunned for a moment. Then he reached out his hand, his fingers paused in mid-air before falling and landing on Zhou Heng's face.

With trembling fingertips, I touched from my brow bone to my cheekbone, and from my cheekbone to the corner of my mouth.

Zhou Heng's throat felt like it had been sanded with sandpaper; he couldn't squeeze out a single word.

Xiao Jue withdrew his hand, stood up, and walked to the door. He said something to the person outside. Then he came back, sat down on the edge of the bed, and took Zhou Heng's hand again.

"Awake?" Xiao Jue asked softly, his voice hoarse.

Zhou Heng nodded, his throat so dry he couldn't speak. Xiao Jue picked up the bowl from the table, helped him up, and fed him half a bowl of water.

The water was warm, with a slight medicinal taste, and slid down his throat like a life-saving elixir. Zhou Heng drank the water, leaned against the wall to catch his breath for a while, and asked, "Where am I?"

"The Northern Border," Xiao Jue put down his bowl. "General Han's territory."

Zhou Heng was stunned for a moment.

He thought they would die in the mountains. Unexpectedly, they survived and even made it to the North.

Xiao Jue seemed to know what he was thinking and said, "You were unconscious for seven days. The physician said that if it had been a few days later, you wouldn't have been able to be saved."

Zhou Heng didn't speak. He looked at Xiao Jue, at the dark circles under his eyes, at the cracked lips, and at the scars on the back of his hands that hadn't faded yet.

He wanted to say something, opened his mouth, but only managed to squeeze out two words: "And you?"

Xiao Jue was stunned for a moment.

Zhou Heng asked, "How are you?"

Xiao Jue looked at him, and he nodded. "I'm fine."

In the days that followed, Xiao Jue began to gather his father's old troops.

General Han was a rough man, a master of warfare, but lacking when it came to shrewd matters. Xiao Jue was different. He seemed to have matured overnight.

The boy who used to chase chickens and dogs at Fuyun Manor was gone. Standing in front of Zhou Heng was a silent, taciturn young man with a thin layer of frost in his eyes.

Zhou Heng stayed by Xiao Jue's side. He helped Xiao Jue win over his old subordinates and offered advice.

When Xiao Jue trained his troops, he helped manage the grain and fodder accounts. When Xiao Jue negotiated with others, he helped analyze the pros and cons. They fought many battles, from small-scale skirmishes to large-scale campaigns, from the northern border to the Central Plains, from having nothing to possessing half of the country.

Xiao Jue became increasingly silent, speaking less and less, and laughing less and less. Yet, in front of Zhou Heng, he would occasionally reveal a glimpse of his youthful self.

Once, Xiao Jue got drunk. It was the anniversary of his father's death. He was drinking alone in his room when Zhou Heng pushed open the door and saw him leaning against the couch, clutching a wine pot in his hand, his face covered in tears.

He saw Zhou Heng, paused for a moment, then turned his head away. Zhou Heng walked over and took the wine jug from his hand. Xiao Jue didn't say anything, but simply leaned on his shoulder, just like many years ago in that cave.

Zhou Heng sat there, letting him lean against him.

Xiao Jue leaned against Zhou Heng, his breathing gradually becoming steady. Zhou Heng looked down at him; he was already asleep, his brows still furrowed, and his eyelashes still damp with tears.

Zhou Heng reached out and tucked the stray strand of hair behind his ear.

Xiao Jue did not wake up. He curled up next to Zhou Heng, like a beast that had retracted its claws, exposing its most vulnerable parts.

They lived like this for many years. Zhou Heng was always by his side.

To outsiders, their relationship appeared to be that of ruler and subject, close friends, and brothers who had risked their lives together. No one knew when the inexplicable feelings in Zhou Heng's heart began to sour.

He couldn't explain it himself. He only knew that, from some unknown day, his heart would race when Xiao Jue was near, he would look away when Xiao Jue looked at him, and he would toss and turn at night thinking about things he shouldn't be thinking about.

After Xiao Jue ascended the throne, everything changed. Zhou Heng had his own residence and no longer needed to live in the palace.

He thought that after moving out, those chaotic thoughts would gradually fade away. But Xiao wouldn't let him leave.

Every few days, he was summoned to the palace for meetings, which would last until late at night. Then the palace would say it was too late and he should stay overnight. After staying overnight, the next day there would be another meeting, which would last until late at night, and again the palace would say it was too late.

Zhou Heng felt a chill run down his spine. He began to hide.

When Xiao Jue summoned him to the palace, he claimed to be unwell. When Xiao Jue sent someone to inquire, he said he was busy. After avoiding him several times, Xiao Jue stopped sending anyone. Zhou Heng breathed a sigh of relief, but also felt somewhat disappointed.

That night, Zhou Heng was reading in his study when the door was pushed open. Xiao Jue stood in the doorway, dressed in casual clothes, his hair loosely tied back, as if he had just come from his bedchamber. Zhou Heng was startled and stood up. "Your Majesty—"

Xiao Jue walked in. He walked slowly, each step light, yet each step felt like it was treading on Zhou Heng's heart. He stopped in front of Zhou Heng.

The two were very close, so close that Zhou Heng could smell the familiar sandalwood scent emanating from him. Zhou Heng took a step back, and Xiao Jue took a step forward. Zhou Heng retreated again, and Xiao Jue advanced again.

He retreated to the edge of the desk, with nowhere left to go. Zhou Heng's lower back pressed against the edge of the desk, his hands resting on it, his knuckles turning white. Xiao Jue lowered his head and looked into his eyes.

Those eyes were deep and profound, like an ancient well with candlelight reflecting at the bottom, flickering intermittently.