Hot flashes

After the door closed softly, the room fell completely silent, with only the occasional crackling of the candle wick and Zhou Heng's slightly heavy breathing due to his drunkenness.

Xiao Jue walked to the edge of the short couch and looked down at the person on it.

Zhou Heng was very drunk. His brows were unconsciously furrowed, and his cheeks were still flushed, which spread all the way to his ears and neck.

Her usually neatly tied hair was completely loose, and her jet-black hair was spread across half of the pillow, with a few strands sticking to her sweaty temples and the corners of her lips.

The collar of the outer robe had been slightly pulled open from the earlier movement, revealing a section of clearly defined collarbone and a small patch of skin below it that shimmered warmly in the candlelight, rising and falling gently with each breath.

Xiao Jue's gaze darkened, as if thick ink had dripped into a deep pool.

The fragments of my dreams over the past few days overlap with the unsuspecting reality before me now. A certain impulse, forcibly suppressed by reason, bursts forth under the catalysis of alcohol and silence, becoming more turbulent and more concrete.

He bent down, his fingertips first touching Zhou Heng's burning cheek. Beneath the delicate touch, there was the fresh, warm flow of blood.

Her fingertips moved down, lifting the already loose hem of her garment. The fabric rustled softly as it rubbed against the fabric.

In his drowsy state, Zhou Heng seemed to feel a little uncomfortable. He let out a muffled moan and unconsciously twisted his body, trying to get rid of the touch that disturbed his peaceful sleep. However, due to his drunkenness, he was weak and powerless, and it was more like an unintentional acceptance.

Xiao Jue no longer hesitated. He waved his hand to extinguish the nearby candles, leaving only one lamp in the corner, casting a dim and ambiguous halo of light. Then, he bent down…

In the dark, vision is diminished, making other senses exceptionally sharp.

The warmth of skin against skin, the subtle rustling of fabric, the suppressed breathing, and the occasional faint sobs of discomfort that escaped Zhou Heng's lips unnoticed—all these sensations tickled Xiao Jue's nerves like feathers.

The body beneath his palm was thin yet supple, with the lean lines characteristic of a young man, and was exceptionally soft and warm due to his intoxication.

Xiao Jue's actions carried his usual domineering and controlling nature, yet because the object was a completely unguarded unconscious person, they were mixed with an indescribable, almost provocative patience.

He meticulously explored this youthful body that had never belonged to anyone before, as if surveying his own territory, not allowing anything to be missed. The effects of the alcohol seemed to have spread from Zhou Heng as well, permeating the air with a slightly intoxicating, decadent atmosphere.

During the process, he caught a glimpse of the plain white porcelain vase beside his pillow. Chen Zhen's "thoughtfulness" glaringly reminded him of the nature of his actions at that moment.

A hint of displeasure flashed through his mind, but he did not stop. He simply swept the porcelain bottle off the bed with a soft "thud" as it rolled into a dark corner.

After an unknown amount of time, everything calmed down.

Xiao Jue got up and, in the dim light, glanced at the person still fast asleep on the bed, whose brows were now furrowed with even deeper weariness and whose lips were even redder.

Her disheveled, wet black hair clung to her cheeks and neck, her entire being enveloped in a breathtakingly glamorous aura, as if she had been thoroughly plucked.

He pulled the quilt over Zhou Heng, covering him up and concealing all traces. Apart from the lingering, ambiguous atmosphere in the air and Zhou Heng's unconscious curled-up posture in his sleep, it was as if nothing had happened.

Xiao Jue walked to the window, pushed it open a crack, and let the cold winter wind blow in, dispelling the warmth and coziness of the room.

His face was expressionless, his eyes were calm and deep in the darkness, only the rise and fall of his chest was slightly more noticeable than usual.

……

Zhou Heng was awakened by the biting cold of the early morning.

His head was throbbing, as if it were about to explode; his throat was parched; and all the bones in his body felt like they were falling apart, especially his waist and legs, which were extremely sore and weak.

He opened his eyes blankly, only to be met with an unfamiliar tent ceiling. Memories returned—last night's banquet, being urged to drink by Chen Zhen and several generals, and then… he remembered nothing.

This is... the outer room of the Marquis's bedroom? Why is he sleeping here?

Zhou Heng was so startled that he sat up abruptly, the brocade quilt slipping off and bringing a chill.

He looked down to check himself. His clothes were on, though a little wrinkled, but still neat. Apart from the pervasive aches and the discomfort of a hangover, there was nothing unusual.

Was it Captain Chen who placed him here? Because he was too drunk to be taken back to his own barracks?

Zhou Heng was filled with mixed emotions. He was grateful for Chen Zhen's care, but also deeply felt that he had been disrespectful for falling asleep drunk in the outer room of the Marquis's residence.

Despite feeling unwell, he hurriedly tidied his clothes, folded the quilt, and tiptoed to open the door.

As usual, Chen Zhen stood ramrod straight outside the door. When he saw him come out, he nodded with a normal expression: "Clerk Zhou is awake? The Marquis has already gotten up and gone to the drill ground."

"Captain Chen, last night..." Zhou Heng said with a look of regret and embarrassment.

"It's alright," Chen Zhen interrupted him, his tone indifferent. "The Marquis knew you were drunk and asked you to rest here. Now that you're awake, go wash up and have some breakfast. There are still some documents to organize today."

"Yes, thank you, Captain Chen!" Zhou Heng quickly replied, feeling somewhat relieved. It seemed the Marquis hadn't blamed him.

He dragged his aching body away, feeling that the hangover was particularly severe this time, as if his whole body had been run over by a car.

He simply assumed it was because he had a low alcohol tolerance, was not used to sleeping in the same place, and might have caught a cold, without considering any other possibilities.

Xiao Jue practiced shooting on the training ground. The air was bitterly cold, but it couldn't completely dispel the lingering, subtle emotions of satisfaction in his heart.

When I returned to the study, Zhou Heng was already there, his face pale, trying to organize documents. His movements were a little slower than usual, and he would occasionally furrow his brows slightly and press his lower back, which was barely noticeable.

Xiao Jue's gaze fell on him, lingered for a moment, and then he casually looked away and began to deal with military affairs.