Hot flashes

When Zhou Heng woke up again, it was already noon.

Sunlight streamed obliquely through the gaps in the tent, cutting a bright line across the ground.

He shifted and realized he was still in the same position he had been in before falling asleep—his face buried in Xiao Jue's shoulder, his right hand clutching his clothes, their hands clasped together, palms touching, warm and cozy.

Xiao Jue remained seated, leaning against the tent wall with his eyes closed. His breathing was even, as if he were asleep, but the hand Zhou Heng was holding gently stroked the back of his hand with its fingertips, as if it were an unconscious, habitual action.

Zhou Heng, in this position, secretly glanced at Xiao Jue.

The sleeping person's brows and eyes relaxed a little, but their eyebrows were still slightly furrowed, as if they had some unpleasant dream.

The dark circles under his eyes had faded a bit, but they were still quite noticeable. A new stubble had sprouted, leaving a faint bluish patch on his chin. The bandage on his shoulder had been changed sometime earlier; the bloodstains were gone, and it was neatly wrapped.

Xiao Jue's eyelashes fluttered.

Those eyes opened, initially hazy, but quickly focused, landing on Zhou Heng's face. Then, the haze in those eyes faded away like mist blown away by the wind, revealing the deep undertones beneath.

Zhou Heng felt a little flustered under that gaze and subconsciously wanted to look away.

"What are you looking at?" Xiao Jue asked, his voice low and hoarse from just waking up.

"N-nothing." Zhou Heng looked away and realized that his hand was still being held, so he quickly tried to pull it back.

No twitching.

Xiao Jue gripped it tightly, as if on purpose.

Zhou Heng tried to pull again, but still couldn't budge it. He glared at Xiao Jue and said, "Let go."

Xiao Jue didn't loosen his grip. Instead, he tightened his grip on the other hand, his thumb slowly rubbing against the back of his hand.

"The fever has subsided," Xiao Jue suddenly said.

"what?"

"He had a fever all night, but it's gone now." Xiao Jue looked into his eyes. "Is there anything else that's bothering you?"

Zhou Heng paused for a moment, then carefully examined his body. His left shoulder still hurt, but it was much better than before, probably because it had been re-bandaged.

The wound on my head felt cool and refreshing, unlike the burning pain it had caused before. Although my body was still sore and weak, the chill that seeped into my bones had disappeared.

"It seems... much better," he said.

Xiao Jue hummed in agreement and finally released his hand. He tried to stand up, but paused—it must have aggravated the injury on his shoulder.

Zhou Heng, with his sharp eyes, noticed that his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly for a moment, and quickly sat up to help him.

"Don't move." Xiao Jue pressed him down, then slowly stood up and stretched his shoulders. "Chen Shen."

The tent flap was lifted, and Chen Shen entered silently. He saw that Zhou Heng was awake, paused for a moment, and nodded slightly: "Young Master is awake."

Zhou Heng nodded, a little embarrassed. He remembered that Chen Shen had been following Xiao Jue around non-stop, and probably must be exhausted too.

"Prepare some food," Xiao Jue said, "soft and easy to digest."

Chen Shen accepted the order and withdrew.

Only two people remained in the tent. Zhou Heng sat on a simple mat on the ground, while Xiao Jue stood beside him, a short distance apart, and neither of them spoke.

The sunlight shifted a little further and fell on Zhou Heng's knees.

"You..." Zhou Heng began.

"I..." Xiao Jue began.

Both of them stopped.

Zhou Heng looked up at him: "You go first."

Xiao Jue did not refuse. He walked over and sat down next to Zhou Heng—not on the floor, but cross-legged on the spot, facing Zhou Heng, the distance between them was a little too close.

"When you were unconscious, you talked a lot of nonsense," Xiao Jue said, looking at him. "Do you remember?"

Zhou Heng's heart skipped a beat. Was he talking nonsense? What did he say? That dream? Or—

"You said," Xiao Jue paused, "'I won't abandon you.'"

Zhou Heng was stunned.

Xiao Jue looked at him with a deep gaze.

"And you said," his voice was low and calm, "that I've been looking for you, for a long time."

Zhou Heng's breath caught in his throat for a moment.

Xiao Jue didn't say anything more. He reached out and pulled Zhou Heng into his arms.

This time I held him very lightly, as if afraid of breaking something.

Zhou Heng buried his face in the crook of his shoulder and didn't move for a long time.

After a long while, a muffled voice came from his chest: "What else did I say?"

Xiao Jue thought for a moment and said, "I want to eat candied hawthorns."

Zhou Heng: "..."

"They say the cloud is a good cat."

"..."

"They also said that Xiao Jue was a bastard who locked people up in the palace and wouldn't let them leave."

Zhou Heng suddenly looked up, his face flushed red: "I...I absolutely did not say that!"

Xiao Jue looked down at him, a faint smile in his eyes: "I haven't said it. But you have thought about it."

Zhou Heng choked.

He wanted to refute, but looking at the almost invisible light in Xiao Jue's eyes, he suddenly couldn't say anything.

Chen Shen's voice came from outside the tent: "Your Highness, the food is ready."

Xiao Jue hummed in agreement, released Zhou Heng, and stood up to take the food box. Inside was a bowl of hot porridge, several plates of light side dishes, and two steamed buns. The porridge was thick and the aroma of rice mixed with the salty and savory flavor of minced meat wafted into his nose.

Zhou Heng's stomach growled at just the right moment.

Xiao Jue handed him the bowl of porridge. Zhou Heng took it, lowered his head, and took a sip. The porridge was warm, neither too hot nor too cold, just right for his taste. He drank half a bowl before remembering to look up: "Have you eaten?"

Xiao Jue was eating a steamed bun with some side dishes when he heard this, and he nodded.

Zhou Heng continued drinking his porridge. After finishing the bowl, he felt warm all over and his strength had returned somewhat. He put the bowl down and looked at Xiao Jue: "When...when do we leave?"

Xiao Jue paused for a moment.

"Walk?"

"Back to camp," Zhou Heng said matter-of-factly. "Now that you're out, what about the war? What about Nandu...?"

"Zhao Ting is here," Xiao Jue interrupted him. "Wang Ben is here. Shen Yu is here."

Zhou Heng blinked, waiting for what was to come.

Xiao Jue didn't say anything more. He finished the last bite of his steamed bun, wiped his hands, and then looked at Zhou Heng.

"Are you able to walk?"

Zhou Heng paused for a moment, then tried to stand up. His legs were still a little weak, but he could walk. He nodded: "I should be able to."

Xiao Jue stood up, walked outside the tent, and gave a few instructions. A moment later, Chen Shen brought in two horses—one was Xiao Jue's green steed, and the other was brown and red, both fully saddled and fitted with saddlecloths.

Zhou Heng looked at the brown-red horse, feeling a little apprehensive. He had ridden horses before, but wasn't skilled, let alone in his current physical condition.

Xiao Jue walked to his side, suddenly bent down, and picked him up horizontally.

"Hey—!" Zhou Heng exclaimed in surprise, "What are you doing! You have a wound on your shoulder!"

Xiao Jue ignored him, steadily carried the man to the front of the green horse, then mounted the horse and sat him in a circle in front of him.

Zhou Heng froze in his arms, not daring to move.

"Hold on tight." Xiao Jue's voice came from above.

Before Zhou Heng could react, Xiao Jue had already spurred his horse, and the green horse galloped off. Zhou Heng instinctively leaned back and bumped into Xiao Jue's arms, quickly grabbing the arm that was wrapped around his waist.

"Slow down!"

Xiao Jue didn't slow down. But he tightened his grip on Zhou Heng's arm, holding him firmly in front of him.

A gentle morning breeze caressed his face, carrying the scent of mountains, forests, and vegetation. Zhou Heng was initially quite nervous, but gradually, he relaxed, leaning against Xiao Jue's chest and letting him lead him forward.

The sound of hooves came from behind—Chen Shen and several guards rode up to catch up, keeping a distance that was neither too close nor too far.

"Your Highness," Chen Shen's voice came from behind, "Which way?"

Xiao Jue looked down at the person in his arms.

Zhou Heng was tilting his head slightly upwards, sunlight filtering through the leaves and casting dappled shadows on his face.

His fever had indeed subsided, and his complexion was much better than last night. Although he was still thin with prominent cheekbones, his eyes were bright as he looked at the mountain road ahead.

"South," Xiao Jue said.

Zhou Heng was taken aback and turned to look at him: "South? Aren't we going back to the main camp?"

Xiao Jue did not lower his head; his gaze remained fixed on the undulating outline of the distant mountains.

"The main camp is also in the south."

Zhou Heng blinked, realizing what was happening. Xiao Jue was going to take him all the way to Nandu.

"That war..."

"Zhao Ting is here," Xiao Jue repeated. "Wang Ben is here. Shen Yu is here."

Zhou Heng fell silent.

The mountain road winds its way, the sound of horses' hooves echoing. The sun grows warmer, and a spring breeze caresses the face.

Zhou Heng slowly closed his eyes in Xiao Jue's arms.