Hot flashes

Cheng Yan stared at the densely packed scripture for a long time, then suddenly seemed to have realized something. He leaned back on the couch, crossed his legs, and swung his toes back and forth, the smell of alcohol emanating from his body.

"Shen Shiyu," he drawled, "are you—" He paused deliberately, observing Shen Ji's reaction. Shen Ji didn't even flinch. "—Unsatisfied?"

After saying those two words, he burst out laughing, his shoulders shaking so much that the wine jug almost slipped from his hands.

He caught it in a flurry, spilling half the wine from the pot. He didn't care that it got on his sleeve, and even leaned over to stretch out his wet sleeve in front of Shen Ji. "Smell it, smell it, this is top-quality Zhuyeqing. Want to have a sip? To calm down your temper?" Shen Ji moved half an inch to the side, avoiding the sleeve.

Shen Ji finally looked up at him. Cheng Yan felt uneasy under that gaze, but emboldened by the alcohol, he not only didn't shrink back, but instead raised his chin and stiffened his neck to meet it. "What are you looking at? Am I wrong? If you're not guilty, why are you blushing?" Shen Ji's face didn't turn red.

Cheng Yan leaned closer, almost touching his face, and examined him carefully before finally admitting, "Oh, it's not red. It's probably just the light."

He shrank back, leaned back on the couch, and held the wine pot up to his eyes, shaking it. There was still a little more than half a pot left, and the wine shimmered with an amber light under the moonlight.

He tilted his head back and took a gulp, but he drank too quickly and choked. He bent over and coughed for a long time, until tears came to his eyes.

After coughing, he wiped his mouth with his sleeve, leaned towards Shen Ji, and slumped on the couch like a lump of mud, his head resting on his arm, looking at him sideways.

"Shen Shiyu, what's the point of you?" His voice softened, carrying a sticky tone from the mix of alcohol and drowsiness. "What's so interesting about books? What's so good about reciting scriptures? Look outside, how beautiful the moon is, how pleasant the wind is—" He pointed out the window.

He drew a circle in the air with his finger, almost poking Shen Ji's nose. "You should go out for a walk and find a girl—" He paused, looked Shen Ji up and down, wrinkled his nose, as if he had thought of something inappropriate, "Never mind, girls probably can't stand you."

He started laughing to himself again, laughing so hard his whole body trembled. After he had laughed enough, he took another swig of wine.

Shen Ji turned a page of the book, the pages making a slight rustling sound.

Cheng Yan's gaze followed the page as it turned, then suddenly leaned closer, this time even closer, close enough to see the curve of Shen Ji's eyelashes.

"I'm serious, have you been practicing some kind of kung fu? The kind that prevents you from being near women?" he asked earnestly, his tone surprisingly showing genuine concern. "If that's the case, then it's really terrible."

"Look at you, so young, not bad-looking—well, not bad-looking at all—and your family is rich and powerful, yet you spend your days reading the Diamond Sutra." He clicked his tongue and shook his head, looking heartbroken, as if Shen Ji's marriage was a heavy burden on Cheng Yan's shoulders.

Shen Ji closed the book. Cheng Yan's eyes blinked as the book closed. "What exactly are you trying to say?" Shen Ji's voice was neither loud nor hurried, as if he were asking a trivial question.

Cheng Yan was taken aback by his question, his tongue tied in knots, the alcohol making his mind work three beats slower than usual.

"I wanted to say—" He thought for a moment, then realized he couldn't remember what he wanted to say, so he simply put the question out of his mind and changed his approach. "Would it kill you to smile?" he said, reaching out to pull at Shen Ji's lips, trying to force a smile onto that expressionless face.

The moment her fingers touched Shen Ji's cheek, her wrist was grabbed by a hand.

Shen Ji's hands were cold, his knuckles were hard, and the tight grip on his wrist felt like an iron band. It didn't hurt, but he couldn't break free.

Cheng Yan struggled twice but couldn't break free, so she simply gave up and let him hold her, tilting her head to look at him. "Let go." "No." "Why are you holding me like that? Are you afraid I'll run away?" He chuckled, "Where can I run to? You've locked me here to write, I can't even get out the door, what are you afraid of?" Shen Ji released his grip and picked up the book again.

Cheng Yan rubbed his wrist, which had been gripped so tightly that it left a red mark, looked down at it, and suddenly laughed. "Shen Shiyu, your hands are so cold." He held out his hand, palm up, "Shall I warm them for you?" Shen Ji ignored him.

Cheng Yan waited for a while, and seeing that he ignored him, he withdrew his hand, took another swig from the wine pot.

This time he drank slowly, taking small sips. After finishing, he put the wine pot on the ground, lay down on the tatami mat, and stared blankly at the beam above his head.