Hot flashes

The small banquet was moved to the waterside pavilion, which made the atmosphere much more relaxed.

Zhou Heng sat at the lower end of the table, seemingly listening attentively to Mr. Du and Zheng Huai's advisors discussing Yingyang's mulberry and hemp production this year, but his mind had already wandered far away, filled with the phrase "medicine...bamboo forest..." behind the artificial hill, playing on repeat and impossible to shake off.

He couldn't help but steal a glance at the man in the main seat—Xiao Jue sat upright, his profile as sharp as if carved by a knife.

Zhou Heng wondered to himself: Could Miss Zheng's amateurish tricks really fool this shrewd man? What if he had worked for nothing and ended up getting himself into trouble?

The wine intensified, and the warmth enveloped us.

Zheng Huai, perhaps sensing the right atmosphere, clapped his hands again.

This time, instead of musicians, several graceful dancers dressed in sheer, colorful gowns entered.

The music shifted to enchanting and lingering string and bamboo instruments, and the dancers moved to the music, their eyes conveying a hidden allure. The air in the warm pavilion seemed to suddenly become thicker.

Zhou Heng's gaze was initially fixed on the rim of his cup, but it was inadvertently drawn to the swirling colorful sleeves and the tinkling of ankle bells. Looking up, he saw graceful dance movements, the outlines of the dancers' bodies faintly visible beneath the light gauze, and a rich fragrance wafting through the air.

Since I transmigrated, all I have seen are the harsh winds and sandstorms of military camps and life-and-death battles. I have never seen such a magnificent scene before.

He was momentarily stunned, his gaze unconsciously following the lead dancer's slightly upturned eyes. As she turned, her eyes seemed to sweep across the room intentionally or unintentionally, as if carrying a hook.

Zhou Heng's heart skipped a beat, and he hurriedly lowered his eyes. His ears felt hot, and he felt his mouth was dry. He picked up the wine glass in front of him and took a big gulp.

At the head of the table, Xiao Jue was listening to Zheng Huai speak in a low voice, and out of the corner of his eye, he caught Zhou Heng's momentary loss of composure.

Seeing him hurriedly lower his head to drink, his ear tips turning red, Xiao Jue's expression remained unchanged, but the fingers resting on his knees curled slightly, almost imperceptibly.

Just then, a maid carrying a new wine pot approached Xiao Jue's table with her head bowed.

Chen Zhen, who had been standing there like a door god, suddenly fixed his gaze on them.

Zhou Heng's heart leaped into his throat! It's here!

In a moment of quick thinking, he suddenly burst into an even more violent cough, stumbled forward, and swept a plate of fragrant osmanthus cakes, which he hadn't had a chance to eat yet, onto the ground.

"Splat!" The white pastry blossomed on the smooth floor tiles.

"Oh dear! I'm so sorry!" Zhou Heng coughed violently as he frantically tried to pick up the items, creating a chaotic scene.

Chen Zhen was indeed drawn to the sudden "pastry attack".

In the blink of an eye! The maid moved with the speed of the wind and her movements were as fast as magic. In a flash, she replaced the old wine pot on Xiao Jue's table with a new one, and then she made her way out, disappearing into the shadows and keeping her merits and fame hidden.

Zhou Heng caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye, and a huge weight was lifted from his heart. Brilliant!

He didn't see that after Chen Zhen withdrew his gaze, the look in his eyes as he stared at the new wine pot was so cold it could freeze a person to death, and his hand was already on the hilt of his knife.

He didn't even notice that when Xiao Jue was pretending to pick up pastries, he quickly and coldly glanced in the direction where the maid had disappeared.

Xiao Jue seemed oblivious to everything, and even very naturally reached out and picked up the newly replaced wine jug.

Zhou Heng's heart skipped a beat. He quickly picked up his wine glass and pretended to drink, but his eyes couldn't help but peek over the rim of the glass.

Xiao Jue took a clean cup, slowly poured half a cup, and even held it to his nose to smell it, his posture as elegant as if he were appreciating some century-old wine.

Inside the warm pavilion, singing and dancing filled the air, and the sounds of stringed instruments were deafening, yet Zhou Heng felt as if time had slowed down.

Xiao Jue lowered his eyes to look at the wine in his glass, paused for a moment, then raised his wrist, tilted his head back, and downed the half-glass of wine!

It's done!

The little devil in Zhou Heng's mind started cheering.

He secretly breathed a sigh of relief, feeling that things were developing in the direction he had hoped for. Relaxed, he began to truly enjoy the banquet.

He was quite tipsy, feeling that his wine was really good, mellow and lingering, and he drank one glass after another until it was empty.

As he drank more, he felt a warm glow all over, and his mood became light and airy, everything seeming to take on a hazy, beautiful quality. But...it seems to be getting hotter and hotter? Isn't the charcoal fire in this heated room a bit too strong?

He put down the empty wine jug, feeling dizzy, and licked his dry lips.

It's hot, even hotter. It feels like a small stove is burning inside my stomach, the heat is gushing out, and my face is so hot I could fry an egg on it.

His heart was pounding like a drum. Zhou Heng tugged at his collar, feeling a little short of breath. Strange, he hadn't been this drunk a moment ago?

He was thinking in a daze, his eyes unfocused. When he saw the exquisite gilded wine pot on the table, he didn't immediately understand: Huh? When did I get two pots of wine?

Seeing this, the servant who had been serving wine came over at the right time and explained in a low voice, "Lord Zhou, you finished your previous pot."

This pot of wine was just tasted by the Marquis, who found it excellent and specially bestowed it upon you to try. Seeing that you were enjoying it so much, I quietly refilled it for you.

A reward...a reward?

You tasted it and thought it was excellent?

Was it specially...a gift to me?

Zhou Heng's slow-witted brain spun around twice.

boom--!!!

A thunderbolt exploded in Zhou Heng's blank mind!

That pot...that pot of wine with "spice" added?!

Xiao Jue drank it, and then... rewarded him?!

"Holy shit...!!!" Zhou Heng managed to squeeze out a weak moan from his throat.

A sensation of extreme contrast swept over him—cold sweat poured down his body outside, while inside he was burning with rage!

He finally understood what was causing this deadly heat, this uncontrollable heartbeat, this weakness in his legs and trembling hands!

It's not that the charcoal fire is too strong!

It wasn't the alcohol making me drunk!

He's fucking infected!

The evil fire within him ignored his mental breakdown, burning ever brighter, almost bursting through the top of his head.

Zhou Heng felt like a shrimp thrown into a pot of boiling water, red, hot, and jumping around.

"Ugh...uh..." He uttered a string of meaningless syllables, unable to sit still any longer, and sprang up from the stool, using both his hands and feet.

"The weekly journal? What's wrong?" someone asked in surprise.

"No...nothing! I need to pee! I really need to!" Zhou Heng squeezed out a few words through gritted teeth, his face flushed red, it was hard to tell if it was from the effects of the medicine or from embarrassment.

He didn't dare look at the main seat at all. He scrambled out of the warm pavilion at a speed comparable to an Olympic obstacle course, staggering and wobbling as if he were being chased by eighteen vicious dogs.

The night breeze didn't cool me down at all; instead, it felt like water being poured into boiling oil. With a "sizzle," my passion exploded!

Zhou Heng's vision was blurry as he stumbled aimlessly through the corridor, his mind filled with only one thought: Find a room! Hide! Cold water! Lots and lots of cold water!

Xiao Jue slowly put down the wine cup he hadn't touched since. He raised his eyes, his gaze falling on the lonely, upside-down gilded wine pot on Zhou Heng's seat, then moving to the round stool on the ground that its owner had hastily abandoned.

His face remained expressionless, but in his deep, pool-like eyes, there seemed to be shattering ice and flickering dark fire.

He stood up, his dark robes brushing against the table, stirring up a slightly chilly air.

"Lord Zheng," his voice was not loud, but it made the silence in the room even more intense, "I have some private matters to attend to, so I will take my leave first. Mr. Du, the rest is up to you."

His tone was calm, yet it carried an invisible, unsettling pressure.

Having said that, he didn't even glance at Zheng Huai's surprised and uncertain face, and turned to leave.

Chen Zhen had already followed like a ghost. When he passed Zhou Heng's "accident scene", the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly, and his eyes were complicated.

Xiao Jue walked steadily, disappearing straight into the darkness outside the warm pavilion. His direction was precise, leading directly to the end of someone's stumbling, almost abstract escape route.