She cast a hook into her ear and tugged it out, smoothly taking half of Gan Xun’s heart with it.
The other half remained in her chest, beating solidly and excitedly, feeling and storing up affection.
She hadn’t expected Zhao Chiyun to treat her this way, or to state it so bluntly. If it had been up to Gan Xun, she would have hemmed and hawed, her mind full of last night’s experiences, yet unable to voice anything more explicit.
With her chin pinched and her ears covered, she nodded with flushed cheeks.
“Okay.”
It sounded reluctant, but Zhao Chiyun pretended not to notice.
Her mind flashed back to the day they moved. When she followed Cui Can’s lead and praised Lawyer Tang’s impressive mouth, both Gan Xun and Cui Can had laughed—that stifled yet irrepressible kind of laugh.
Tang Sifeng had been quite awkward. Though she nodded and smiled at Zhao Chiyun, it was unnaturally stiff, as if the praise wasn’t for her clever lawyer’s tongue but a jab at her poor professional skills.
Zhao Chiyun hadn’t understood at the time, only knowing they were up to no good. She hadn’t asked then, nor thought to ask later.
Now she had grown and suddenly comprehended. She firmly believed it meant exactly what she thought.
For a moment, she was utterly speechless toward these modern people. How could they be so frivolous and reckless? They were just chatting as friends, yet they went straight to that topic, laughing and teasing in silent accord.
Was something as tumultuous as stormy waves commonplace for them?
And she had gone and praised Tang Sifeng!
Gan Xun, this wicked woman, hadn’t told her a thing, making her embarrass herself back then and only realize it now.
But it was in the past. Making a fuss now wouldn’t help, so she held back from scolding Gan Xun while they were still in the afterglow.
During her ablutions, the world spun around her. Zhao Chiyun leaned against the wall, wiped her cheeks clean, and carefully dried her hands.
Looking at herself in the mirror, perhaps due to her sickly pallor, she noticed her appearance and demeanor had changed from before.
She saw herself every day and had even curled her hair and done makeup to transform her look, but those times brought only novelty and joy.
The sense of strangeness sprouted suddenly now, like weeds, quickly overgrowing and laying waste to the splendid estate.
Like an arrow, it struck her squarely.
Without her flowing skirts and intricate embroidery, without hairpins and elaborate coiffures, her gaze differed from before. Her expression no longer held arrogance and pride, and even her speech unconsciously mimicked the locals.
This was the Zhao Chiyun that Gan Xun loved.
Naturally, she didn’t dislike this version of herself. But inevitably, she wondered: was this still Zhao Chiyun?
With no titles preceding the three words “Zhao Chiyun,” she was no longer the esteemed Qinghe County Princess of the prince’s mansion. She had become an ordinary person, her life and name stripped of all nobility.
Perhaps she still had some looks to speak of in the past, but after this illness, they had dulled. Suddenly, she didn’t want to look at herself anymore.
The future was like a fogged mirror—indistinct, impossible to wipe clear.
The past felt as distant as a previous life.
She was trapped in the present, caught between advance and retreat. No amount of pleasure seemed enough to compensate.
Smoke and cooking sounds drifted from the kitchen. She thought at least someone loved her, so she wouldn’t be alone.
But she still feared one phrase. Amid her weakened body, the aftermath of catching a chill and their indulgence, she silently recited it to herself:
Die in a foreign land.
Gan Xun cooked porridge in the morning and specially brought it into the room, feeding Zhao Chiyun spoonful by spoonful.
After the rain stopped, the sun rose bit by bit, nearly spilling over the edge of the dark clouds, accompanied by rising warmth.
The room grew cozy, no longer as chilly as the night before. Gan Xun blamed herself even more for it—how could she have been so inconsiderate last night, letting Zhao Chiyun lie outside the covers, sweating?
Zhao Chiyun had little appetite and stopped after a few bites.
Gan Xun coaxed her a couple times, and she ate two more spoonfuls before firmly refusing to touch it again.
Gan Xun took her temperature again; the fever was rising a bit. She made her take fever reducers and an effervescent tonic.
“Sleep a little more, okay? You might feel better when you wake up.”
Gan Xun helped her lie flat and, after her eyes closed, gently massaged her aching head.
“Your mood’s off, isn’t it?”
Zhao Chiyun didn’t even open her eyes. “Why do you say that?”
“I can tell you’re down.”
Lack of energy was different from unhappiness.
When Zhao Chiyun first woke, even though she was uncomfortable from the illness and embarrassed about last night, making her a bit standoffish, her eyes had still sparkled and her expressions been lively as Gan Xun talked to her.
But after Gan Xun went to the kitchen and returned with breakfast and medicine, Zhao Chiyun became distracted. She looked listless, her face gloomy, like weather that hadn’t cleared.
“No,” Zhao Chiyun said.
Gan Xun thought for a moment, then lifted her hand to touch her own ear.
Her chin still bore the sensation of Zhao Chiyun’s pinch—not hard, but Gan Xun had never been handled that way before and couldn’t forget it.
Looking down, she saw the bedsheet beneath Zhao Chiyun that she’d meant to change. Satisfaction mingled with unease in her heart.
Maybe right after waking, Zhao Chiyun hadn’t had time for deep thoughts, so her mood had been okay.
But once fully alert, various emotions welled up, leading to her low spirits.
That was Gan Xun’s guess, so she asked directly: “Chiyun, do you regret it? Was last night a mistake with me?”
After a moment of silence, Zhao Chiyun opened her eyes and looked up at her.
Seeing this, Gan Xun thought she’d hit the mark and continued.
“You don’t have to worry about hurting my feelings. If you say it, I’ll respect you. Whatever you say no to, I won’t do. I won’t do anything you don’t like—even if it’s everything.”
She busily tucked in the already well-covered quilt.
She’d made up her mind. “From now on, let’s keep things chaste.”
Zhao Chiyun said flatly, “What do you mean by chaste?”
“Plain and simple.”
Seeing her still expressionless, Gan Xun explained, “Pure romance, nothing so intense anymore.”
Saying it aloud, she felt hypocritical.
Because deep down, she was disappointed and reluctant. It was hard to go from extravagance to frugality in a relationship—who liked stepping back?
But she feared Zhao Chiyun was forcing herself. Maybe after trying it, she’d found she didn’t like it—not only tiring, but making her body feel awful.
So she was unhappy?
It had to be.
The topic veered unexpectedly into territory Zhao Chiyun hadn’t considered. She thought calmly for a moment about why Gan Xun was saying these polite words.
The strange melancholy from gazing in the mirror resurfaced, compounded by her physical discomfort, filling her with displeasure and dejection.
She asked, “Gan Xun, now that I’m sick, do I look bad?”
Her angle of response startled Gan Xun, who shook her head and said honestly, “How could you? It doesn’t affect your looks—you’re even beautiful when sick.”
She wasn’t flattering anyone. The person she liked was simply stunning, even furrowing her brows and cradling her forehead like Xishi holding her heart.
Hearing the praise didn’t cheer Zhao Chiyun. She continued, “Do you think I’m still like I was before?”
“Before?”
“When I first arrived.”
“Not a bit changed—just less formal and prim, more lively.”
Fearing she’d overthink, Gan Xun added, “But your temperament is still great, different from people here. I like it; nothing’s gotten worse.”
Gan Xun remembered Zhao Chiyun didn’t like being told she blended in with locals.
Zhao Chiyun seemed about to speak but held back. When Gan Xun leaned in to listen, she finally asked, “Did my ban on oral play disappoint you earlier?”
Gan Xun knew why she’d hesitated, but this topic was worlds apart from the previous one.
She blinked in surprise, wanting to laugh to ease the mood but unable.
“No, what’s wrong with you?”
“No? I saw you weren’t willing.”
Gan Xun said, “Whether willing or not, it’s something that makes me happy. How could I be disappointed?”
“Then was it that you weren’t satisfied with our lovemaking last night? My performance didn’t please you? Or did my sudden decision to stop, not letting you continue, make you unhappy?”
Zhao Chiyun stated it calmly. By her nature, she should have been shy, but with her mood and stamina both low, she lacked the energy to feign modesty.
Gan Xun looked astonished.
Zhao Chiyun was certain. “Did I guess right?”
Gan Xun smiled and denied it. “Has the County Princess’s fever made her delirious? Why are you talking nonsense?”
“I’m talking nonsense?”
“It’s nothing like that. How could you think so? Wasn’t I enthusiastic enough? It was all mutual consent—I won’t say thanks for that, but I know better than to be unhappy about it.”
“Where’s your confidence as the peerless beauty, the most noble in the capital? Did a fever burn that away too?”
Gan Xun grew more baffled and rubbed Zhao Chiyun’s head.
Zhao Chiyun disagreed. “Who makes solemn vows about such things? Even the highest-spirited have doubts.”
“Then why don’t you trust solemn vows about this?”
“Gan Xun, you should take your temperature too. Weren’t you the one who first said you didn’t want it anymore, all in the name of respecting my wishes?”
Zhao Chiyun said coldly, “If I want it, I want it. If not, I don’t. I only told you not to do that—when did I say we should go chaste?”
Thanks to her eloquence, Gan Xun pieced it together at once. After all that circling, that was the point.
She breathed a sigh of relief and explained, “I saw you barely ate and ignored me, no appetite or mood. I thought my words made you recall last night and get upset.”
“I said we could skip it, as long as you’re not unhappy.”
“I never said I didn’t want it.”
Zhao Chiyun looked at her. “Gan Xun, how could you think I’d be unhappy afterward? Wasn’t my willingness obvious? Where’s your confidence as the school belle?”
“Who said I’m the school flower?”
“Cui Can did.”
“She was joking. Don’t believe her.”
“I have eyes.”
The praised Gan Xun’s eyes curved in a smile, then she self-deprecated, “Confidence costs me a lot to earn. I have it in some areas, but not with you.”
These days with Zhao Chiyun, she reflected honestly: she hadn’t given much.
It was just the right encounter, when Zhao Chiyun needed her, and mutual attraction.
She was thrilled beyond measure.
But Gan Xun brightened too. “I heard that—you said it suited you perfectly.”
She murmured ambiguously by Zhao Chiyun’s pillow, “Your willingness was obvious. I’ve never seen so much…”
“Gan Xun!”
Zhao Chiyun called her name hoarsely, her gaze stopping her.
“Okay, I won’t say it. Don’t get worked up—your throat can’t take that.”
Gan Xun kissed her, tasting the tonic on her lips.
Zhao Chiyun’s thoughts scattered from the stirring. She rolled over to face the wall, not wanting to deal with her.
After a few gentle prods along her spine, her temper faded, and she gathered her thoughts. “I’m listless because when I looked in the mirror earlier, I saw myself in autumn clothes, sickly during my wash-up—no trace of my former self.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m afraid I’m starting to forget the past, forget who I am.”
“You won’t forget. Your memory’s sharp, and I’ll remember for you. Besides, you won’t stay here forever—we both know that.”
Forgetting her own sadness, Gan Xun softened. “You’re just thinking negatively because you’re sick. I get fragile and melancholic when unwell too. It passes once I recover.”
“Sleep for a bit, okay?”
“You’re right. When I’m sick, I always miss my mother.”
Zhao Chiyun choked up inevitably, recalling past illnesses when her imperial mother consort stayed by her bedside all night. Back then, she’d only worried about marriage.
She never imagined even seeing her face would become impossible now.
Gan Xun hugged her tightly at once, helpless, tears welling in her eyes. “I know. Don’t cry. Take care of yourself so you can go back and see her properly.”
If Gan Xun could decide, she’d return Zhao Chiyun to her mother without hesitation, letting them reunite.
Once calmed in Gan Xun’s arms, Zhao Chiyun instructed, “Take back everything you said earlier. No more talk of backing off.”
“Okay, no more. No backing off. We’ll go as far as we go. I never liked chaste anyway—I like it with some flavor.”
Zhao Chiyun closed her eyes to rest, then suddenly opened them and whipped around to glare at Gan Xun behind her, cheeks red. “Don’t push your luck, Annoying Ghost.”
Gan Xun laughed. Zhao Chiyun had improved—she caught everything now.
How did she know?
Oh, they ended up kissing last night after all.
While Zhao Chiyun slept, Gan Xun worked in her own room and set an alarm to check on her periodically to see if she needed anything.
It was Zhao Chiyun’s first time taking leave since starting the job. When her colleagues discussed work matters with her, they expressed some concern and also asked Gan Xun if she could still make it to the dinner gathering that evening.
Gan Xun actually didn’t want to go at all. She had finally gotten some time off and just wanted to stay home.
But she had already promised, and backing out rashly didn’t sit well with her.
When she noticed that Zhao Chiyun had woken up, she relayed the situation and asked, “Can I skip it? I want to stay home and keep you company.”
Zhao Chiyun had sweated through her clothes. This nap had lasted two hours, and it was already afternoon.
Her body felt sticky from the sweat, and she really wanted to take a bath to clean up. Fortunately, she felt much more relaxed overall, with signs of recovery.
Luckily, her constitution held up, so she didn’t need to go to the hospital.
She told Gan Xun, “Go ahead. A gentleman keeps her promises. It’s just a meal—I’ll be fine at home.”
Gan Xun took her temperature again and found that the fever had broken. Delighted, she agreed.
“I’ll go quick and get back quick.”
“No need to rush. I’m not in a hurry at home. As long as you’re really going to see your colleagues and not off on a date with some lover.”
Zhao Chiyun said half in jest.
Gan Xun was amused and exasperated. “Where would I even have a lover? Just take your medicine. Don’t get jealous for no reason.”
“How is it for no reason? You all have that term for it, right? White moonlight. Everyone’s had one, haven’t they?”
“Why bring up old history all of a sudden? Who hasn’t had a white moonlight? Don’t you?” Gan Xun shot back.
Zhao Chiyun immediately closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.
“Okay, okay, no more. You’re not burning up anymore, so you’ll recover quickly. Aside from your throat being a bit hoarse and uncomfortable, no other cold symptoms, right?”
“How’s the headache?”
“Mm.”
“Not hurting anymore.”
Zhao Chiyun thought to herself silently that the hoarseness wasn’t from the cold.
It seemed she had hurt her throat last night.
As if she could read minds, Gan Xun slipped under the covers with her and hugged her sweat-soaked body.
“Your voice isn’t loud. Don’t worry—only I can hear it.”
“Right now, you’re my one lamp of moonlight.”
