Hot flashes

Zhou Heng was rooted to the spot by that gaze, unable to move. He could hear his own heart pounding, so fast it felt like it was going to jump out of his throat.

Xiao Jue reached out and placed his hand on Zhou Heng's cheek. His fingertips, calloused, rough and hot, slid slowly from Zhou Heng's cheekbone to the corner of his mouth, stopping at his lips.

Zhou Heng's breathing became erratic, and he turned his head away to avoid the hand. "Your Majesty, you're drunk," he said, his voice hoarse.

Xiao Jue did not answer. He lowered his head, his forehead touching Zhou Heng's, their breaths mingling. There was a faint smell of alcohol in their breaths, but Zhou Heng knew he was not drunk.

"What are you hiding from?" Xiao Jue asked, his voice low, as if it were being ground out from his chest.

Zhou Heng didn't speak. His hands were trembling, his whole body was shaking. He wanted to push him away, but he raised his hand halfway and then lowered it again.

Xiao Jue's hand landed on Zhou Heng's waist, pulling him closer to his chest. Zhou Heng's chest pressed against Xiao Jue's, their heartbeats mingling. He could hear the other man's heartbeat, as fast as his own.

"Aheng," Xiao Jue called his name.

Those two words fell on his ears as lightly as a feather.

Zhou Heng's eyes suddenly welled up with tears. He didn't know why he wanted to cry, but he felt something stuck in his chest for a long time, making it hard for him to breathe.

He closed his eyes. Xiao Jue's lips landed on the corner of his eye, very lightly, very hot. Zhou Heng's hands gripped Xiao Jue's clothes, his knuckles turning white. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but his throat felt like it was blocked with cotton.

Xiao Jue didn't force him. He hugged him, one hand on his back, stroking it gently.

After a long while, Zhou Heng's voice came from his chest, muffled, as if through a thick cloth. "When did you..." He didn't finish his sentence.

Xiao Jue knew what he wanted to ask. "Very early," he said, "very, very early."

Zhou Heng's body stiffened for a moment, then slowly relaxed.

Xiao Jue lowered his head, his nose touching Xiao Jue's. "Not dodging anymore?"

Zhou Heng didn't speak. He looked into those eyes so close to his own. Then he closed his eyes, his lips brushing against Xiao Jue's. Very lightly, very quickly, like a dragonfly skimming the surface of water.

The days that followed felt like they were stolen.

Zhou Heng sometimes thought this way. When he woke up at night, he could feel another person's breath beside him, warm and gentle, brushing against his face.

He closed his eyes and snuggled closer to the man.

Xiao Jue would tighten his arms around him, holding him even tighter, as if he was afraid he would run away no matter how much time passed.

That night, Zhou Heng fell asleep in the West Warm Pavilion of Qianqing Palace.

Xiao Jue was still reviewing memorials, the intermittent rustling of his cinnabar brush across the paper drifting over. Zhou Heng lay curled up on the couch, half-asleep, his consciousness fluctuating. It was at this moment that the voice rang in his mind.

Like a needle falling into water, crystal clear, devoid of emotion, word by word.

"Host ID 0731, please take note."

Zhou Heng's eyelashes twitched, but he didn't wake up.

In my dream, he was on a ship, surrounded by colorful lights and deafening music. He stood on the deck, where the wind was so strong that he couldn't open his eyes.

"A serious plot deviation has been detected in this dimension. The male protagonist, Xiao Jue, whose original romantic storyline was not planned, has now deviated from the intended trajectory. This has been determined to be due to external interference and requires immediate repair."

The sound grew clearer and clearer, like bubbles rising on the surface of water, one after another, disappearing as they reappeared.

Zhou Heng's consciousness was pulled upwards by those voices, rising above the surface of the dream, into the gray area between sleep and wakefulness. He struggled not to wake up, but the voices wouldn't let him go.

"Host 0731, you are an outsider who accidentally fell into this plane due to a spacetime tremor, and you do not belong here. Your existence has caused an abnormal shift in the male protagonist's romantic storyline. In order to maintain the stability of the plot in this plane, the system will execute a repair procedure and send you back to your original timeline."

Zhou Heng suddenly opened his eyes.

The tent ceiling was blue, and candlelight filtered in through the curtains, creating a dim glow. The sound of Xiao Jue reviewing memorials still echoed, the cinnabar brush scratching on the paper, just as always. Everything was as usual. But that sound lingered.

"The repair process will be executed in three days. At that time, the host will be sent back to the original timeline, and all traces related to you in this plane will be erased. Everyone's memories of you will be automatically corrected by the system."

Zhou Heng gripped the mattress beneath him tightly. He wanted to call out to Xiao Jue, but his throat felt like it was blocked by something, and he couldn't make a sound.

"No," he finally managed to say, his voice very soft, as if afraid of disturbing something.

The system did not respond.

Zhou Heng raised his voice a little. "I'm not leaving."

The system remained silent.

Zhou Heng's voice began to tremble. "If I leave, what will happen to him?"

The system finally spoke. "After the male protagonist's life trajectory is repaired, it will return to its original storyline. He will follow the predetermined path to become a great ruler, expanding his territory and establishing unparalleled achievements. Your departure will not have any impact on him."

"Won't cause any impact?" Zhou Heng repeated these words, feeling as if he had swallowed a handful of shards of glass.

"Yes. The system will erase all traces of you in this dimension. He will no longer remember you. No one will remember you anymore."

"After the memory is corrected, he will find another explanation. The human brain will automatically fill in reasonable gaps in memory. He will not notice anything unusual."

Zhou Heng opened his mouth.

"He's mine." Those four words slipped out, and even Zhou Heng himself was stunned for a moment.

The system paused for a moment. "He doesn't belong to you. You don't belong here either. Your existence is a mistake, and fixing mistakes is the system's responsibility."

Zhou Heng suddenly found it somewhat laughable. Wrong. All the years he had lived, the person he had loved, the paths he had walked, the blood he had shed—it was all a mistake.

Everything will be erased.

"I won't leave," he said, raising his head to the void.

"You cannot resist. The repair process will begin in three days, at which time you will be transported back to the original timeline whether you like it or not."

"Then I'll die here." Zhou Heng himself found it unbelievable when he uttered those words.

The system remained silent for a long time. So long that Zhou Heng thought it had left, that the voice sounded again, cold and devoid of any emotion.

"Your death will also alter his memory. Your death will not affect him in any way. He will forget you and continue on his own path."

Zhou Heng felt ice-cold all over. The voice was like a knife, stabbing into his chest, twisting it, and then pulling it out. He opened his mouth, gasping for breath, but couldn't inhale anything.