Chapter 40

Inside the bed curtains, everything was shrouded in deep shadow. Wen Besang’s gaze was hazy, and his mind felt somewhat muddled as well.

Cheng Yun had already released his grip on Wen Besang’s wrists, but the young man still obediently kept his hands resting flat at his sides, his entire posture radiating a sense of lingering aftertaste.

In the dimness, he could not clearly see Cheng Yun’s expression; he could only instinctively lick his lips, which had just been thoroughly kissed.

That kiss had felt immensely comfortable. A nimble entity had intertwined with his, swirling back and forth, and the wet, slick sounds had made him feel as though he had plunged into a bizarre yet absurd dream—one he never wanted to awaken from.

Subconsciously, Cheng Yun wanted to put some distance between them, but Wen Besang suddenly straightened his torso and actively pursued him.

Cheng Yun: “……”

His entire body stiffened, his face a mask of utter disbelief.

Wen Besang’s thick eyelashes fluttered slightly. Slowly raising a hand, he caught a strand of Cheng Yun’s long hair that draped over his shoulder, hooking it with his finger and winding it around. Feeling a slight tug of pain, Cheng Yun leaned in closer, their nose tips colliding once again.

“A-Ah Sang……” Cheng Yun stammered, “Do, do you want to continue?”

“I want to……” Wen Besang’s voice was soft, and his breath was equally soft, carrying a bewitching trace of wine and an elusive fragrance. He withdrew his hand from the other’s hair, gently brushed against the other’s lips, and proactively parted his pearly teeth to tentatively push the tip of his tongue forward.

Cheng Yun drew in a sharp breath.

Having not slept a wink all night, when Pang Qi came to attend to him in the morning, all he saw was the Crown Prince pressing his palm against his face, his elbow propped on the table, looking as though he were suffering from a splitting headache.

When Pang Qi cautiously inquired, Cheng Yun only replied in a hoarse voice: “It’s nothing. This prince wishes to be alone for a moment.”

He truly wished to put an end to it all. Peeking through the gap between his fingers, Cheng Yun stared down at his other hand.

The Crown Prince’s hands were fair and slender, with distinct knuckles and fingers that looked exceptionally powerful, yet at this very moment, they were trembling imperceptibly.

His fingers curved unconsciously, as if he could still feel that dense, tight warmth, accompanied by the succubus’s soft, delicate whimpers.

He hid his hand away and closed his eyes once more.

A demon was a demon indeed. While the creature repeatedly claimed to dislike him, whatever was meant to happen in the dream had ultimately come to pass.

Unlike the dream, however, this time he had experienced countless details with crystalline clarity.

For instance, when he kissed the scar on the succubus’s wrist, the creature would bend his wrist and lightly scratch his cheek with his fingertips.

When his lips brushed against the navel, the succubus would lower his waist slightly and sway it from side to side.

And when he kissed the birthmark, the young man’s legs would tighten and part in turns, as if enduring an almost unbearable sweet agony.

Cheng Yun closed his eyes tightly.

The bone of his ear was still faintly aching where it had been clamped by the other’s knees; in the end, he had done what he had always vowed he would never do.

A sudden movement from the inner chamber made Cheng Yun instantly straighten up. After a few breaths, he managed to compose himself entirely.

He picked up the teapot on the table, poured a cup, and tilted his head back to empty it.

Then he poured another and chugged it down as well.

Just as the entire pot was drained, Wen Besang finally sauntered out from the inner rooms, swaying unsteadily.

With a calm gaze and an expressionless face, Cheng Yun looked toward him.

He wanted to see what excuse this demon had left to offer today.

“I’m hungry.” Dressed only in a single undergarment, Wen Besang rubbed his eyes, cast a casual glance at him, and turned to head out in search of Pang Qi.

“Come here.”

A voice came from behind. Wen Besang paused, turned his head back to look at him, his sleepy features tinged with a hint of puzzlement.

Cheng Yun extended a hand toward him, and Wen Besang stared at it blankly.

“……Kiss me.” Cheng Yun’s ears turned red, though his expression remained composed.

Wen Besang blinked, then shook his head: “Hungry.”

He turned around and continued on his way to find Pang Qi.

Cheng Yun had no choice but to step down from the couch and pick up a heavy cloak to wrap around the young man’s shoulders. As Wen Besang opened the door, a wave of biting cold air rushed in, causing him to sneeze heavily several times.

During the meal, Cheng Yun sat beside him, wanting to say something yet unsure of how to broach the subject.

Tentatively, he picked up a piece of celery and brought it to the other’s lips.

True to form, Wen Besang accepted whatever was offered without hesitation.

In truth, whether Cheng Yun fed him or not made little difference; the young man quickly stuffed himself, then sauntered back to the bed.

Last night had been entirely too comfortable, and afterwards Wen Besang had felt as though every ounce of energy had been drained from his body. Now, his limbs felt weak and heavy, and all he wanted to do was sleep.

The Crown Prince, who had dutifully waited on him the entire night: “……”

He gazed at the other’s retreating back, words trembling on the tip of his tongue, yet left unsaid.

He desperately wanted to ask: Don’t you have anything at all to say to me?

In the end, he took a deep breath, flicked his sleeve, and strode off to the study.

Wen Besang collapsed onto the bed and fell fast asleep.

When he finally woke up again, it was already afternoon. He retrieved his belongings from the chest brought by Chen Changfeng and resumed concocting gunpowder. The moment Cheng Yun returned, he found the young man sitting on the long couch, grinding substances back and forth.

That dark powder emitted the unburned scent of sulfur, prompting Cheng Yun to stride over and say, “You are not allowed to do this here.”

Wen Besang paused his actions, but Cheng Yun had already continued: “Go to the back. What if you blow up the bedchamber?”

“It won’t just explode all at once.”

“And just how many times do you plan on letting it explode?”

Before long, a group of attendants carried his equipment away, relocating it to the room adjacent to the study.

Wen Besang had no objections. Lowering his head, he resumed fiddling with his walnut shells, meticulously smoothing the insides with a small file.

Silently, Cheng Yun seated himself not far away, watching him busy himself until the sky faded into dusk, yet failing to voice a single question the entire time.

Returning from the adjacent study back to the bedchamber, Wen Besang washed his hands and went out to look for Pang Qi. “I want to take a bath.”

“Right away, Young Master, please wait a moment.”

Wen Besang sat upon a soft cushion, crossed his legs, and began munching on the snacks Pang Qi had prepared for him.

As he ate, he casually flipped through a picture book.

Cheng Yun sat down opposite him, poured himself a cup of tea, and asked, “Chang Xingzhu’s things?”

“M-hm,” Wen Besang replied. “He gave it to me after he finished reading it.”

“He has always been fond of picture books, sometimes even drawing them himself, always dreaming of finding a publisher to print his works someday.”

“I’ve seen the picture books he drew. They’re very interesting.”

Cheng Yun raised an eyebrow. “I knew it. He didn’t even bring a single guard with him; he must have sneaked back here on his own.”

Intrigued, Wen Besang asked, “Why would he sneak back?”

“Naturally because his uncle doesn’t allow him to play around with such things.”

“But I think his drawings are exceptionally good.”

“It’s precisely because he wastes all his time on these useless pursuits that he has made zero progress all these years.”

“Yet his drawings are good.”

“He is a member of the Chang family; what good is being talented at painting?”

Seeing no point in arguing further, Wen Besang lowered his gaze and went back to his picture book.

Clutching his teacup, Cheng Yun had a thousand things trapped in his throat. Taking another sip of tea, he finally spoke: “Wen Besang……”

“Yes.” Wen Besang lowered the book once more and looked up at him.

Unprepared for the young man to suddenly meet his gaze so directly, Cheng Yun stiffened his back awkwardly and asked, “Did you…… previously…… have someone in your heart?”

“No.”

“Then has anyone ever held you in their heart?”

“Does Xie Ninghong count?”

“Does she genuinely like you?”

Cheng Yun found it hard to believe. The way Xie Ninghong looked at Wen Besang—though such a description felt entirely inappropriate to apply to a young maiden—somewhat resembled a mother gazing upon a child.

“I don’t know.”

“What about Xie Lingshu? Has he ever said to you…… well, that he likes you?”

“No.” Wen Besang replied, then countered, “What kind of liking do you mean?”

“I mean…… that kind of liking, the kind between a husband and wife.”

As he waited for the answer, he held his breath in secret.

Wen Besang shook his head. “There is no such thing.”

“Then…… if he were to kiss you, would you refuse?”

Wen Besang had just shifted his gaze back to the picture book when he immediately lifted it again to look at him, his expression filled with astonishment: “Naturally I would refuse.”

A ripple stirred within Cheng Yun’s chest. “So, until now, am I the only one who has ever kissed you?”

“M-hm.”

Relief washed over Cheng Yun, and a suppressed smile tugged at his lips. Shifting from the opposite side to sit right beside Wen Besang, he wrapped an arm around the young man’s slender waist, rested his chin on his shoulder, and complained with a hint of grievance, “And here I thought you didn’t like me.”

Wen Besang answered with utmost candor: “I don’t like you, though.”

The heart that Cheng Yun had just settled was abruptly jerked back into mid-air. Pulling his chin away, he demanded, “What do you mean by that?”

“Look,” Wen Besang said flatly. “If I say I don’t like you, you feel like I’m bullying you. But if I don’t remind you, you forget all over again.”

Reaching out, Cheng Yun hooked the backs of the young man’s knees, pulled him directly into his lap, and gently turned his face so that he was forced to look right into his eyes. “You said you don’t like me?”

Wen Besang stared straight into his eyes. “I don’t like you.”

“……But when I kissed you yesterday, you clearly enjoyed it very much.”

“M-hm.” Wen Besang reached out to touch the other’s lips. “I like being kissed.”

Cheng Yun’s breath hitched. He pressed further: “Do you…… know what I did to you last night……”

His gaze drifted downward toward Wen Besang’s lower body, and Wen Besang promptly reached out to touch him there.

Cheng Yun: “……”

With great difficulty, he dragged his gaze back and locked eyes with Wen Besang’s face.

The young man’s expression was pristine and innocent, entirely devoid of the shame one ought to feel after committing such an indecorous act.

Swallowing heavily, Cheng Yun regulated his breathing and said, “I…… I helped you…… didn’t you actually like it?”

“I like mouths,” Wen Besang replied matter-of-factly while picking up the other’s hand and adding, “I like fingers.”

Then he looked back up at him: “I don’t like you.”

“……” Cheng Yun choked completely.

He had to admit that when he touched the young man yesterday, he had indeed harbored selfish motives; otherwise, he would never have slipped his fingers inside, only to have the succubus purr and whimper with pleasure at the time. He had simply assumed the other must have developed some genuine affection for him, only to discover now that this creature was plainly treating him as nothing more than a tool.

At last, he finally understood why, even though the two of them had been so passionately intertwined in the dream, he had still found the roof familiar and had even ended up getting kicked off the bed.

It was because this demon only loved his body.

“Hah.” Cheng Yun let out a dry laugh, laced with a trace of resentment, a hint of murderous intent, and a warped sort of resignation.

Sensing the shift acutely, Wen Besang immediately reached for the thunder-fire bomb hidden beneath the table, only to have his wrist instantly caught in a firm grip.

Staring straight at him, Cheng Yun asked, “Xie Lingshu is so good to you, why didn’t you let him kiss you?”

Wen Besang met his gaze, his expression growing somewhat solemn. “He wouldn’t kiss me.”

“Hypothetically speaking—why would you refuse?”

Wen Besang remained silent.

The corners of Cheng Yun’s mouth twitched upward into an exaggerated smile, his stare remaining unblinkingly fixed on the young man as he spoke in a soft, dulcet tone: “Why is that?”

Wen Besang still said nothing. He felt that the other’s smile was far worse than no smile at all; those bared, pearly-white teeth looked terrifyingly sinister, making him look all the more frightening.

He attempted a slight struggle, but the smile on Cheng Yun’s lips gradually faded, his eyes growing darker and more brooding by the second.

Suddenly, Wen Besang tilted his face upward and planted a light kiss on the corner of the other’s mouth.

In an instant, that terrifying aura of ferocity vanished into thin air, leaving Cheng Yun utterly tranquil and rooted in place.