Song Liang was not as badly injured as Xie Yun, but his wounds were far from minor. His constitution was strong, yet he was still mortal. Besides, he had inhabited Li Huai’s body for only a little over three months, leaving limited time for improvement. Facing two successive groups of enemies atop the cliff had left him with numerous cuts and several internal injuries.
He did, however, have 3085, which could analyze his physical condition at any moment and immediately offer the best advice. But when he asked about Xie Yun, 3085 told him the system could access only its bound host’s bodily data, not that of scenario NPCs. It therefore could not determine Xie Yun’s actual condition.
At the time, Xie Yun still lay unconscious in his arms. Song Liang had broken off the rear portion of the arrow piercing his chest, leaving only a section embedded in his flesh. Blood kept flowing, soaking through his black clothes and wetting Song Liang’s arms and fingertips. The sticky, dark red blood contrasted starkly with Xie Yun’s increasingly pallid face. He looked as though he might stop breathing at any moment.
Turning over 3085’s phrase “scenario NPC” in his mind, Song Liang suddenly gave a brief laugh. Its meaning was unclear, yet it inexplicably silenced 3085. Only after they found an herb recorded in the system’s database—one that stopped bleeding and promoted tissue growth—among wild thorn bushes outside the cave did it dare speak again, explaining the instructions one by one.
Song Liang followed them all. He chewed the herbs to a pulp and pulled open Xie Yun’s robes, exposing his broad chest. The smell of blood struck him. The wound over his chest had begun to darken, and blood covered almost his entire upper body.
Without a flicker of expression, Song Liang packed a large handful of the chewed herbs into the bloody opening. Then he tore up his outer robe and pressed the fabric firmly over it, layer after layer, holding it in place.
3085 did not dare make a sound. Eventually, staring at Xie Yun’s bare upper body, Song Liang abruptly chuckled and remarked that if the man woke to discover he had been undressed and seen half-naked, he would surely make a fuss again.
3085 hesitated but remained silent.
Song Liang did not press it. After watching for a while, he dressed Xie Yun again in his bloodstained inner robe. Then, with one hand pressed over the wound and the other around Xie Yun’s waist, he nestled close and fell asleep.
Only now, when Xie Yun opened his eyes, did 3085 finally see its host return to his usual self: careless, unrestrained, and bold, as though nothing mattered to him and nothing could frighten him.
And the moment Xie Yun asked about his host’s injuries, it could scarcely wait to speak.
【Your ribs! Your shoulder! And the wound on your lower leg from searching for herbs—】
Song Liang ignored its anxious cries. He smiled and teased Xie Yun, then unhurriedly lit a fire. Only afterward did he sit with his back to him, gather up his loose hair, and remove his inner robe.
The back revealed before Xie Yun was beautiful—not with a fragile, delicate beauty, but one full of strength. Flesh and bone were finely proportioned. His shoulders were not as broad as a seasoned fighter’s, but his waist was slender and supple, the thin layer of muscle perfectly balanced. His spine was straight, his slightly raised shoulder blades like butterflies resting on pale skin. Yet a savage wound marred the center of that beautiful back. Its ragged edges held tiny fragments of stone, dark scabs clinging to exposed red flesh—a shocking sight.
Xie Yun’s gaze trembled, almost scorched by the bare back before him. Then his pupils contracted at the sight of the wound.
“A sharp rock pierced me when we fell. It nearly reached my spine. Had it done so, I would have had no chance of surviving. That was why I got angry and pressed on your arrow wound.”
Song Liang spoke with his head half turned. In the wavering firelight, his features seemed washed in the luster of jade. He no longer resembled the bloodthirsty tyrant outside Zhaoyang Palace, nor the fiercely competitive emperor who had crossed blades with him on the southern peak of the Western Hills. He looked like a beautiful, exalted statue, enshrined far above.
Xie Yun could not help reaching out to touch that dreadful wound, yet he did not know what to say.
Song Liang did not ask him to speak. He merely handed over the remaining herbs and explained how to use them.
“I’ll trouble you with this, Your Highness.”
Xie Yun paused, then accepted the herbs, put them into his mouth, and chewed in silence.
With his back to him, Song Liang watched their shadows overlap on the cave wall, appearing intimately entwined, and instructed, “Once it tastes a little bitter, spit it out and apply it to the wound. Then—Mm!”
Before he could finish, his body jerked, the end of his sentence turning into an involuntary moan. Song Liang straightened in surprise, feeling something soft, warm, and wet gently licking his back.
“…Xie Yun, what are you doing?” he asked incredulously.
“Applying the medicine,” the man behind him answered in a low voice. Perhaps because his lips and tongue were otherwise occupied, the words came out slightly muffled, with a distinctive huskiness that made Song Liang’s ears tingle, his chest warm, and his mouth go dry.
“You… could just use your hands…”
He could say no more. The man behind him suddenly caught his waist and pulled him back.
“…Don’t move.” The low voice was so husky it was almost seductive. Then hot lips and tongue touched the center of his back again, tracing the edges of the wound with tender, lingering care. A maddening tingling spread down Song Liang’s spine and through his entire body. He could scarcely suppress a moan. If he had not felt the herbal juices trickling over his skin, he would have thought the man was deliberately taking liberties with him.
“You…” His breath came unevenly. “Could you be a little gentler?”
“Am I not being gentle enough?”
“I mean my waist.”
“…”
Xie Yun stopped and lowered his gaze to the slender, supple waist beneath his right hand. Five distinct bruised finger marks matched his grip perfectly, imprinted on the pale skin like red plum blossoms scattered over snow. They were startlingly vivid, almost painfully beautiful, stirring an unwelcome possessiveness.
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine. You were hurting more at the time.”
“…”
Xie Yun stared at those marks with darkened eyes. Brushing them with his fingertips, he said hoarsely, “I’ll put some medicine on them.”
The touch was making Song Liang’s waist tickle. At those words, he paused, then answered instinctively, “No need. Those herbs only stop bleeding and help wounds heal. They won’t clear bruises, so applying them would do no good. Save some for your arrow wound.”
For a long while afterward, there was no movement behind him. Only the hand at his waist remained, resting there almost imperceptibly.
“Are you done?” Puzzled, Song Liang began to turn, only for the hand to tighten sharply around his waist. He hissed in pain.
“…Sorry.”
The man behind him released his waist, then placed a hand on his shoulder. The pressure was deliberately light, barely resting there, yet it stopped him from turning.
Song Liang frowned and tried to look at him. As he moved, several strands of black hair gathered over his chest slipped down onto his bare back, dark against pale.
The breathing behind him noticeably faltered. Then Song Liang felt something touch his shoulder blade lightly and brush against it, tickling.
“Your hair fell down.”
Before he could ask, the man behind him spoke. His voice was very low and even rougher, teasing the ear, sounding as though he were in pain—or holding something back.
“Does your wound hurt?”
Song Liang tried to turn, but the hand held his shoulder while his inner robe was draped over him. By the time he looked back, Xie Yun had already lain down on his side, facing away.
“Xie Yun?” He leaned over to call him.
“…Get some sleep. We leave tomorrow morning.”
“All right.”
Reassured that he remained lucid, Song Liang fastened his robe and lay down beside him.
Much later, the fire had long since died. Beyond the cave, the moon and stars shifted across the sky, until a faint ray of dawn finally reached inside from the east.
At some point, Xie Yun had turned over. He lay on his side, quietly studying the sleeping face beside him. From the hair to the brows and eyes, every feature, every inch—each lingering glance seemed meant to engrave that face into his eyes and brand this person upon his heart.
Why did you have to come back? he thought.
He thought: Blame you for insisting on returning. Blame me for my treacherous heart and forbidden ambitions—for wanting to possess someone who ruled all beneath Heaven, and make him mine alone.
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