Chapter 12
Through the small window, Wen Biesang caught sight of the crown prince’s sullen gaze. He withdrew his eyes and, with a finger, pushed his horse forward on the chessboard, saying, “Imprisoned here, I have no true friends to speak of. Third Young Master, if you have time in the future, you may come visit me often.”
“Really?!” Chang Xingzhu’s joy was palpable. “Honestly, I’ve been cooped up these past few days. But with my foot injured, I can’t really go out to play. It’s wonderful that you’re willing to keep me company!”
“Not quite keeping you,” Wen Biesang replied. “I myself am now under someone else’s roof.”
Chang Xingzhu paused, then said, “Don’t lose heart. It seems the crown prince doesn’t intend to harm you. When I see him, I’ll have a good talk with him and see if he can grant you freedom.”
Wen Biesang looked at him and nodded.
The crown prince’s figure vanished at the doorway of the bedchamber.
He climbed onto the bed, lay down, and closed his eyes, but his keen ears still caught the intermittent chatter outside.
“Ah, I won! I won! Shall we play another round?”
“Sure.”
“Honestly, Xiaomengyao, I feel like we hit it off right away. How old are you this year?”
“Nineteen.”
“That’s my age too!” Chang Xingzhu’s voice brimmed with excitement. “When’s your birthday?”
“In the first month of the lunar year.”
“Me too!” Chang Xingzhu’s voice was almost loud enough to shake the roof. Cheng Yun raised his hand to cover his ears with the quilt but still couldn’t block out the noise. “When in the first month?”
Relaxing his grip slightly, the enchanting voice softly replied, “Mid-month.”
“Me too, me too!” Cheng Yun tightened his hold over his ears and heard, “Exactly which day?”
“Sixteenth.”
Cheng Yun involuntarily dropped the quilt, his pupils widening.
Outside the small room, Pang Qi’s gaze settled on Wen Biesang’s face, and Chang Xingzhu shared the same astonishment.
“You were born on the sixteenth day of the first month in the first year of Longxing?”
“Yes.”
“...The same day as the crown prince.”
Wen Biesang lowered his lashes slightly. “Is that so?”
Cheng Yun kicked the quilt away and sat upright on the bed, his expression dark and fierce.
The charmer must be lying!
“I’m a few days older, on the twelfth day of the first month,” Chang Xingzhu’s voice carried a hint of regret. “I almost thought we could share the same year, month, and day.”
“Just a few days apart.”
“That’s true.” Chang Xingzhu’s excitement returned quickly. “What do you usually like?”
“...Like?”
“What hobbies do you have?”
Cheng Yun tilted his ear slightly.
“Fireworks.”
“What a coincidence!” Chang Xingzhu exclaimed. “I like fireworks too! Speaking of which, New Year is coming soon. Let’s buy some big Dragon Roars to set off together. Do you like Dragon Roars?”
After a brief silence, Chang Xingzhu suddenly remembered something. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure Cheng Yun lets you go! I’m staying right here today. I don’t believe he won’t come back all night!”
“Aren’t you tired?”
“I’ll just sleep here with you,” Chang Xingzhu said matter-of-factly. “Your bed looks big enough for both of us!”
Pang Qi suddenly felt a chill down his spine at the door and hurriedly said, “Third Young Master, it’s getting late. You should return to the west wing.”
---
“I just said I’m sleeping here!”
“No, no, if you sleep here, I’ll likely lose my head tomorrow...”
“Why? Hey, don’t carry me—I can walk myself! Xiaomengyao, see you tomorrow—”
Wen Biesang packed away the chess pieces neatly into the box and sat back on the bed.
Just as he was about to lie down, Pang Qi appeared again at the door. “Young Master, His Highness has summoned you to study…”
Palace Wu Chang was unpredictable. Earlier in the day, he said his legs were fine and that he could walk, but at night he had someone carry him over.
This was Wen Biesang’s second visit to the crown prince’s bedchamber. The room was luxuriously appointed, every detail underscoring the prince’s noble status. The curtains hung down, and only the cold voice from inside called out, “Come to the bedside.”
Sliding down from the chair, Wen Biesang sat on the broad step equal in length to the bed. There lay a pair of soft-soled white shoes embroidered with crane patterns. Palace Wu Chang seemed somewhat unconventional—at home, he was either with disheveled hair, acting unruly, or lazily wrapped in plain, soft clothes, giving off an unkempt appearance.
In the residence, he seldom wore elaborately patterned robes, usually just slipping on soft shoes to walk around.
A book was handed out from behind the bed curtains. Wen Biesang glanced at it—it was yet another popular supernatural tale circulating in the market.
He took it and opened the page, hearing the crown prince ask, “What did you talk about with Chang Xingzhu?”
“Some trivial matters.”
“Tell me about it.”
“...” Why are you so boring?
In a voice calm to the point of coldness, Wen Biesang repeated their conversation simply. Cheng Yun sat cross-legged, tapping his knee with a finger. As Wen Biesang spoke of the man’s birthplace and age, then his likes, the prince suddenly paused.
He only mentioned being born in the first year of Longxing but didn’t specify the month or day.
“He asked me what I liked. I said fireworks. He said he liked fireworks too and mentioned going to play with Dragon Roars during the New Year. Then Pang Qi told him to go back to sleep.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
He hadn’t mentioned sharing the same birth date with the crown prince.
This charmer was indeed odd—he avoided learning anything that might bring them closer.
Cheng Yun took a deep breath and said coldly, “You like fireworks, huh?”
Wen Biesang had just opened the book to read when he heard the question and didn’t know how to respond.
“Why do you like fireworks?”
“They’re beautiful.”
“What’s so special about fireworks?”
“...” Are you really that dense?
Wen Biesang pressed his lips firmly and said, “I like the sound, the smell, and the colors of fireworks.”
“What colors do you like?”
“Calcite, natrolite, malachite, barite, celestine...” Wen Biesang answered expressionlessly, then abruptly fell silent.
He should have said red, yellow, green, blue—not the mineral sources of those colors.
Within the curtains, Cheng Yun let out a low chuckle of triumph.
Wen Biesang clenched the pages in irritation and turned his face away. The bed curtains suddenly parted, and the crown prince’s smiling face appeared, drawing close so suddenly that their noses nearly touched.
Wen Biesang immediately recoiled but moved too forcefully, losing his balance and tumbling off the step.
Cheng Yun caught his wrist and pulled him back, noticing his eyes were slightly reddened and his wrist trembling.
As if from anger.
“...” So sensitive? Cheng Yun was puzzled, but having gained the upper hand, he didn’t press further. He snorted coldly and magnanimously let go. “Read your book.”
Wen Biesang did not think the prince’s failure to expose him outright meant mercy. Rather, he suspected Cheng Yun had something worse planned.
It must be that Zhou Xuan told him something...
They were working together...
Perhaps he already knew the purpose of Wen Biesang’s return to Shengjing.
Wen Biesang’s face was pale, gradually growing colder.
The sound of reading came steady and calm. Cheng Yun tucked the curtains at the head of the bed. Looking at his icy expression, he muttered something and soon fell into a deep sleep.
Yesterday, when the charmer read to him, he had no dreams. But tonight, he dreamed of him again.
Only this dream was clearly ill-timed.
Deep in the bed curtains, flickering candlelight cast overlapping shadows on the drapes.
He pressed a somewhat eager kiss onto the scar on the charmer’s wrist, reverently and obsessively kissing his palm and fingertips.
He didn’t spare the ankles either, trailing upward all the way to the thighs.
He utterly despised this self. No one would believe this dazed figure was Palace Wu Chang.
No matter how much he liked someone, he would never reveal such absurd, clingy, and lost behavior.
That posture filled him with shame, humiliation, even disgust.
How could he show such intolerable obsession? He wished he could slap himself to death to avoid living with such disgrace.
In past dreams, he was always split into two—a sober self and a lost self. But tonight seemed different.
He saw the slender white wrist he held, the string of wet marks left on the supple thighs, the rosy lips gently bitten by teeth...
Strangely, he felt a certain impulse, a sense of immersion.
Wen Biesang sat on the bed’s edge, rubbing his tired eyes.
Suddenly, he noticed the once peaceful Palace Wu Chang growing uneasy.
Tilting his head, he saw the prince’s brows furrow, a thin sweat beaded on his nose, and a faint blush spreading across his pale face.
He raised his neck, turned his head inward slightly, then back again, pulling open his collar to reveal a similarly flushed collarbone and strong, firm chest muscles.
Wen Biesang: “?”
Having a nightmare?
The bulging Adam’s apple moved forcefully as the crown prince licked his lips with difficulty.
Wen Biesang looked at him in confusion, hesitating before glancing down at his book.
After a moment’s thought, he raised the book and gently fanned the prince with it.
The flickering candlelight was snuffed out by the breeze, plunging the dream into darkness. Cheng Yun suddenly opened his eyes, breathing heavily, his pupils moist and unfocused as he stared at the ceiling.
Wen Biesang closed the book.
The rustling sound of the closing pages brought Cheng Yun back to awareness. He turned his gaze to Wen Biesang’s face.
The candlelight dimly illuminated the room; the figure seated at the bedside was blurred, but the striking features beneath the lamp softened with an ethereal beauty, indistinguishable from the dream.
Cheng Yun, dazed, slowly reached out. Just as his fingertips were about to touch Wen Biesang’s cheek, a cold voice interrupted: “You had a nightmare.”
Cheng Yun’s eyes dropped to the book in his hand, as if suddenly understanding something. He sat up abruptly, yanking the quilt over himself. His expression was one of sudden alarm.
Wen Biesang: “...Did you dream of me?”
Cheng Yun’s breath came fast as he glared at him.
His face flushed and paled in turns, the corners of his eyes red, ears flushed, a mixture of shame and anger. After a long moment, he grit his teeth and said, “Get out.”