“Pssht——”
A plume of white smoke suddenly rose, carrying with it the acrid smell of damp charcoal. Chai Xiaomi couldn’t dodge in time and was choked into a fit of coughs, her eyes rimmed red.
Through the swirling smoke, she felt a tight grip on her wrist, and the next thing she knew, she was pulled into a warm embrace, just barely avoiding the direction the smoke was spreading.
In truth, Wu Li’s body was naturally cooler than most people’s. Usually, when they held each other, she was the one who felt like a little portable heater.
But right now, Chai Xiaomi was truly cold, so even his embrace felt warm.
“Cough, cough, cough...” She covered her mouth, pulled herself out of his arms without looking at him, and crouched back down to pick up the fallen fire striker, continuing to strike it over and over again.
Wu Li stood behind her, watching her stubbornly bent head and slightly tensed shoulders. A flicker of defeat darkened his eyes.
He sighed, crouched down beside her, and lowered his voice. “Mimi, how can damp charcoal ever catch fire?”
“Yeah, I’d like to know that too.” She didn’t stop her movements. “How can wet charcoal ever ignite? Is everything I do just useless?”
She paused, then suddenly threw the fire striker to the ground with a slap.
Turning to face him, she said, “Just like a damp heart—no matter how hard you try, you can never warm it up, can you?”
“It is warm.”
Wu Li grew anxious.
As if desperate to prove something, he grabbed her hand and pressed it against his chest. His mismatched eyes burned with light—a desperate longing.
“It’s been warmed ever since you came along.”
Chai Xiaomi didn’t move.
Her gaze shifted away from his face, gliding subtly over his collar.
His inner shirt was always black, which had the advantage of hiding any bloodstains. He was smart enough to rub spices or dried flowers on the collar in an attempt to mask the faint smell of blood.
The sea air itself was already thick with a briny scent, making it hard to pick out anything else. He should have hidden it perfectly.
But he gave himself away with the biggest clue.
Earlier on the deck, when her neck shrank at the sting of a snowball, he didn’t take off his coat.
In the past, the first thing he’d always do was strip off his own clothes to wrap her in them. But this time, he’d just picked her up, and that single detail betrayed his guilt.
In that instant, she had guessed he was injured.
Chai Xiaomi pulled her hand out of his grip without exposing him. “I don’t care if it’s warm or not. From today on, you’re sleeping on the floor. Don’t even think about climbing into bed. Go hug your little secret and sleep.”
She picked up the fire striker from the ground and jabbed at the charcoal angrily.
Wu Li watched her in silence, a faint swirl stirring at the bottom of his eyes.
What he had hoped for most was waking up each day to find her nestled in his arms.
If he couldn’t sleep in the bed, then what was the point of getting married? Going back to sleeping on the floor—how could that still be a husband and wife?
No way!
“Mimi.” His voice was hoarse, barely pushing the words out.
“What?” She didn’t look up.
There was a moment of silence behind her.
“...If I tell you, don’t cry, and don’t worry.”
Chai Xiaomi’s fingers froze.
She turned around, her face expressionless, but her eyes were already glistening. “Why would I cry?”
Wu Li watched her, clearly on the verge of tears but stubbornly holding it together, and something inside his chest tightened.
“Then promise me first—don’t cry.”
“Fine, I promise you.”
“Last time you tricked me before we went into the fox dream. Your word alone won’t cut it. Swear on something.”
What a sly man—Stinky Lili had even picked up her tricks.
But a witch always has a counter-spell. Chai Xiaomi raised four fingers, putting on a solemn face. “I, Chai Xiaomi, swear to the heavens above that no matter what I hear right now, I absolutely will not cry.”
...
That night, the young man had fully learned a lesson for life: a woman’s mouth is not to be trusted—even if she swears an oath.
After he finished explaining the matter about the mother insect,
the little girl cried until deep into the night, and he could do nothing but comfort her until then.
At his wit’s end, he frantically pulled aside his clothes to show her. “Look, it’s all healed. Really.”
Chai Xiaomi reached out and gently poked it, then quickly pulled her hand back, afraid to apply any pressure. Her face was covered in tears, her eyes as red as a rabbit’s, her nose also flushed, but she still leaned in for a closer look.
“You’re lying.” She sniffled, her voice thick. “It can’t be fully healed inside yet. Otherwise, why is your face so pale? It’s all my fault... my fault for not being careful enough to notice anything.”
A fresh string of tears fell.
“If I’d known, I wouldn’t have made you teach me archery these past few days... You must have been in so much pain, still stuck listening to me play those boring tunes on a single bowstring...”
Wu Li sometimes really wondered if she was made of water.
Her tears were like beads off a broken string, slipping and sliding, completely unreasonable, and no matter how fast he wiped them away, they kept coming.
The handkerchief she had once given him—treasured, kept tucked on him, hardly used—he had to bring it out tonight. It was busy work, wiping left, then right.
The three immortal names embroidered on it bled from the tears, blurring into a dark blotch.
In her tear-blurred haze, Chai Xiaomi glanced down and saw the words on the cloth had all smeared together, leaving only the character for “pain” still barely legible.
At that sight, her heart ached even more.
“Wuuu...”
Sobbing and sniffing, she suddenly remembered the brown sugar water the white cat had mentioned. Scrambling on the bed, she tried to stand up. “Right, right—you need to replenish your blood!”
Wiping her face haphazardly, she swung her bare feet off the bed. “I’ll boil you some brown sugar water. Old Ji was right, it does rebuild blood. Wait for me—I’ll make you something nourishing...”
Before she could finish, before her feet could hit the floor, she was scooped back.
“Nothing is more nourishing than you.”
Wu Li’s large palm splayed on her waist, his slightly husky voice drifting down from above, low and a little raspy.
Chai Xiaomi looked up and met his mismatched eyes, which reflected her tear-streaked, messy face.
“Mimi, give me a kiss.” He leaned closer until his nose was almost touching hers. “Kiss me once, and I’ll be fine.”
Chai Xiaomi blinked her drenched eyes, teardrops still clinging to her lashes. “Really?”
A faint smile curled at the corner of his lips. “Really. Isn’t my wife my little cotton ball?”
Since he put it that way, then kissing him once—no, a hundred times—was no problem at all.
She cupped his face and planted a kiss on his crimson, thin lips.
But she didn’t pull away.
Suddenly, she noticed something strange about him. With all the blood and injuries anyone else would have endured, his lips would have turned pale. But aside from his face being a little whiter than usual, his lips were still rosy, giving the appearance of plenty of vitality.
That’s why she had overlooked everything and let him keep up his long deception.
Her heart ached, soft as water. She gently traced a fingertip over his lips, then climbed astride his body, wrapped her arms around his neck, lowered her head, and pressed an infinitely tender kiss onto his mouth.
It was not like the previous brief, skimming-the-surface kiss.
It was deep, lingering, a kiss filled with worry and lingering fear.
Wu Li was frozen for a moment.
He hadn't expected a kiss like this.
Ever since Chai Xiaomi gradually figured out that this young man would turn from a docile dog into a wolf in bed, she rarely initiated such provocative actions.
But now, to soothe him, she didn't think much about it.
