Before he had even dismounted at the gates of the heir apparent’s residence, A-Ji hurriedly asked the gatekeeper whether Little Shu was in.
In the past, he had always known Little Shu’s whereabouts better than anyone. Yet over the past two or three months, he had not even known whether Little Shu was at the palace or at the residence.
The gatekeeper quickly stepped forward to take A-Ji’s horse. “His Highness the heir apparent caught a chill at the start of the month. He has been recuperating at home these past days and has scarcely gone out.”
After answering, the servant also congratulated A-Ji on passing the examination.
A-Ji paused slightly. Even the gatekeeper knew that he had passed; Little Shu must have known as well. Otherwise, how would the servants have learned of it, unless Little Shu had ordered someone to go and check the results?
The thought brought a faint sweetness to his heart. Little Shu still cared about him, after all. But upon hearing that he had caught a chill, A-Ji’s heart also tightened with discomfort. He had been far too negligent in his concern for him.
A-Ji hurried into the residence.
He did not need a servant to lead the way. He knew Little Shu’s courtyard too well. With his long legs carrying him swiftly ahead, the household servants hurried after him.
The moment he reached the courtyard, A-Ji heard two subdued coughs from behind the closed door.
Qin Shu was inside, half reclining on a cushioned couch. His left side rested against an armrest, and he held a military treatise in his hand.
He truly was ill. He had not left the residence for several days, and so he wore plain sleeping robes beneath a thick, soft outer garment, loosely tied around his slender frame.
Afraid that he might catch another chill, the servants had kept the room warm with charcoal braziers and laid a furry blanket over his legs and feet.
At the sight of the boy rushing in, Qin Shu lifted his eyes. After only one glance, he lowered them once more to the book on the armrest.
“Why have you come here at a time like this, instead of celebrating at home?”
Qin Shu’s coolness made a brief flicker of frustration rise in A-Ji’s heart, but he knew himself to be at fault.
And when he saw Qin Shu’s already pale, aloof face—his lips now nearly bloodless from illness, making him seem all the more fragile—his heart clenched painfully.
He walked up to him and tucked the furry blanket more closely around him. “Have you seen a physician? Have you taken your medicine? When did you catch this chill? Are you still feeling unwell?”
As he spoke, he reached out to feel Little Shu’s forehead, intending to take his pulse as well.
Qin Shu leaned back slightly, making his refusal clear without a word.
“Little Shu…”
He would not allow it, and he was ill besides, so A-Ji did not dare force the matter.
He could only soften his voice, sounding half coaxing and half pleading, just as he had when he was little and wanted someone to stay with him a while longer.
“So you’re not avoiding me anymore.”
After a long pause, Qin Shu finally spoke.
His gaze was always calm and distant, and he rarely spoke. Even when he did, his tone remained flat. Yet there was unmistakable irritation in those words, and something like resentment as well.
A-Ji looked up at him, then abruptly reached out and caught his hand, clasping it tightly in his palm.
Though he was three years younger than Qin Shu, that was only true for part of the time. Qin Shu had been born in the first half of the year, while he had been born in the latter half. In other words, he had turned sixteen in the latter half of last year, and this year he was already in his seventeenth year. At that age, he had shot up rapidly—not only had his arms grown longer and his palms broader, but he had become much taller than Qin Shu, and altogether a full size larger.
He took Qin Shu’s slightly cool hand in his own, nearly enveloping it entirely.
He had grown even taller than he had been a few months ago, when he had leaned close to Little Shu and told him he was taller now.
“I’ve missed you terribly these past weeks, the weeks before that, even before the New Year. Even after entering the examination compound—sleeping in that place, cold as an ice cellar, I couldn’t sleep. I spent whole nights thinking about you.”
A-Ji was speaking honestly.
“I wasn’t trying to avoid you on purpose.”
Little Shu looked at him without saying a word.
Ever since they had been children, A-Ji had possessed a glib tongue, skilled at coaxing and wheedling. No matter how great or small the matter, he could always smooth it over like that.
Qin Shu thought that, as before, he might easily yield to A-Ji’s soft entreaties. But in the months they had spent apart, he had thought a great deal.
He had been strict with A-Ji in his studies—perhaps strict enough to make A-Ji resent him. If he interfered in A-Ji’s feelings as well, A-Ji might come to dislike him even more, until even the bond they had shared since childhood was damaged beyond repair.
Qin Shu asked himself whether he could accept it if things truly came to that.
Clearly, he could not.
Yet he also knew with perfect clarity that he could not indulge A-Ji’s fickleness simply because he feared being disliked by him even more.
Rongrong was a good girl...
Qin Shu pulled his hand from A-Ji’s grasp. “You’ve grown up too. From now on, I won’t go against your wishes or interfere in anything you do.”
“Little Shu!”
A-Ji immediately grew anxious. He truly wanted to pounce onto the bed and bite him, but the mark from that bite in their childhood still remained; naturally, he did not dare bare his teeth for real.
Hearing words that sounded so much like a line being drawn between them, he was angered, but at a loss for what to do. He could only throw himself forward and wrap Qin Shu in a tight embrace.
Qin Shu lost his balance, and the two of them tumbled onto the bed.
The weight pressing down on him was considerable. Qin Shu frowned. “Get up.”
“No.”
Instead, A-Ji tightened his arms around him. “Even if you’re angry with me, you can slap me a few times or kick me a few times—anything is fine. But why say things like you’ll no longer care about me? If you don’t take those words back today, I won’t let go.”
Qin Shu struggled twice, but the person on top of him did not budge.
The tips of his ears reddened. He truly did not know how to deal with this man’s shameless stubbornness.
“If you hate having me restrain you, then now that I’m allowing you complete freedom to decide everything for yourself, why are you resorting to this sort of rogue behavior?”
“When have I ever said I hated you managing me?”
A-Ji stared straight into Qin Shu’s eyes. “Who said such things behind my back? I’ll smash his mouth to pieces!”
“Then why were you avoiding me?”
A-Ji fell silent at once.
Seeing him like this, Qin Shu felt only a heavy ache in his heart. “A-Ji, don’t say one thing when you mean another.”
He reached out, intending to push A-Ji away.
“All right, all right!”
A-Ji was at his wits’ end. He had meant to bury those embarrassing matters forever, never letting a second soul learn of them—least of all Little Shu. If Little Shu found out, he feared the other boy would never speak to him again.
But now Little Shu insisted on an answer. If he refused to tell the truth, Little Shu would stop speaking to him all the same.
A-Ji’s face went pale with distress. He had truly never encountered anything so difficult.
“Since you insist on knowing, I’ll tell you. But... you can’t be angry with me... Ah, well, it would be only right if you were angry. Just—please don’t ignore me.”
Qin Shu frowned, his expression strange.
Gritting his teeth, A-Ji leaned close to Little Shu’s ear and whispered a few words. His entire face immediately flushed scarlet.
Qin Shu froze where he was. It was rare for his emotions to show so plainly.
“I really didn’t do it on purpose. I wasn’t fooling around or anything—I don’t know how I ended up having that kind of dream.”
Seeing that Little Shu said nothing, A-Ji frantically tried to explain himself.
“I know it was wrong. I didn’t dare see you, and I was afraid that if I did, I’d have that kind of dream again... I... Little Shu, how about you slap me a few times?”
Qin Shu’s ears were red as crabapple petals. He awkwardly avoided A-Ji’s gaze. After listening to his rambling explanations for quite some time, he finally managed two words:
“...It’s fine.”
A-Ji’s eyes went round at once. Tilting his head, he looked at Little Shu, whose gaze had drifted elsewhere.
“You’re not angry with me?”
Qin Shu gave A-Ji’s shoulder a push. “It was only a dream.”
This time, A-Ji obediently sat up and stopped pinning Qin Shu beneath him.
He looked at the composed person before him, who seemed to think it was nothing at all.
“Have you had dreams like that too?”
Once the thought occurred to him, A-Ji’s mind began to race even further. He hurriedly asked, “Who did you dream about, Little Shu?”
Qin Shu lowered his eyes, clearly not keen to discuss it with him.
Under A-Ji’s bright, anxious stare, he could only sigh softly. “A magnolia tree, in bloom.”
A-Ji’s eyes widened. He was surprised that it could be a tree.
But he immediately asked, “Was it the magnolia tree I can see whenever I open my window?”
Qin Shu paused. No one was better than A-Ji at catching the important point.
Yet no matter how A-Ji pressed him, Qin Shu remained silent on the matter.
After asking for quite some time and receiving no answer, A-Ji finally fell quiet. He thought that Little Shu had already agreed to share such dreams with him because they were so close; surely, Little Shu was entitled to keep a few secrets of his own.
He soon got over it and brightened up again, no longer afraid of having such dreams.
“Little Shu, it’s all right if you won’t tell me.”
A-Ji gently took Qin Shu’s hand. His expression was shy, yet utterly sincere.
“If you have that dream again, I hope I’m the one in it.”
Qin Shu looked at him, a slight movement passing through his brow. Slowly, he asked, “Why?”
“Because I like it.”
A-Ji added, as though to prove his point, “I like you very much.”
Qin Shu felt his heart beating in a way that was anything but ordinary. Yet he showed none of it on his face, forcing himself to speak calmly.
“You’re still too young.”
But A-Ji was unusually serious. “I understand what you mean. Back at the examination compound, in that bitter cold, my mind had never been clearer. I thought it over again and again for several nights.
When we were children, it was the kind of affection children have—wanting to stay together because we loved to play. There could still be other children to play with. But now that we’re grown, it’s the kind of love that hopes only the two of us can be together for a lifetime. There can’t be a third person.”
“But if you think my feelings are unsettled and can’t trust me yet, then wait a few more years. When I come of age, I can say all of this again. In any case... my heart will not change.”
Qin Shu was silent for a long while. Then he gave a quiet hum of assent.
“...For these next few years, study hard.”
The corners of A-Ji’s lips lifted. Looking at Qin Shu before him, he found him simply far too wonderful, far too endearing.
He, too, murmured an assent—firmly, emphatically. “I’ll listen to you in everything.”
For once, a smile appeared on Qin Shu’s face—clear enough to be caught.
