This kiss came completely unexpectedly.
Only now did Xie Queshan realize he had thought things too simply—being unable to lie was actually a curse.
A curse that required him to dig out with his own hands a true heart from a pile of unbearable flesh and blood, one he had never even seen himself. But he had no such experience.
He wanted her close, yet didn’t want her too close—where in the world could things be so perfectly convenient? She had already grown fangs under his care, donned armor, baring her teeth and claws, penetrating every opening.
He, on the other hand, was like a clumsy child—unable, unknowing, simply giving up in desperation.
This kiss meant to cover up had become his final wall of defense.
While Nanyi violently resisted, they continued kissing, lips and teeth tearing at each other, refusing to admit defeat, refusing to yield. Each harbored their own thoughts, yet remained inseparable.
In their movements, they knocked over a nearby flower vase, the porcelain vessel crashing to the ground. At this moment he finally caught her hands, forcibly squeezing his fingers between hers, clasping her hands tightly.
Almost stubbornly, he wanted to prove her palms were empty.
He released her lips, pressing against her forehead as he panted. This tug-of-war could finally end temporarily because of her foul play.
A moment of quiet settled between them.
Nanyi was in a daze. She actually found this kiss strange—no demand, no tenderness, but rather a near-pleading cessation. He blocked the words that kept bursting from her mouth, again and again, until finally her chest felt hollow and empty, unable to ask anything more.
Only then did she catch the faint scent of blood on him. At such close distance, this smell was amplified, and she suddenly realized he must have endured a very difficult day.
He must be exhausted too.
She looked up at him. He seemed unsure how to end this scene, slowly stepping back one step, then two, guiltily looking at the mess on the floor.
Red apricot blossoms, white porcelain, shattered together.
She didn’t know why, but she felt a bit sad.
Earlier, while waiting by the window, she had wondered why he had suddenly placed a flowering branch in his room—it wasn’t his style. But she thought it was wonderful, spring had finally reached him.
She crouched down, still wanting to salvage that branch. Lifting the stem, she found the petals were broken, soaked by water and scattered on the ground, impossible to gather up.
He grew increasingly agitated, finally speaking: “I’ll clean it up. You go back.”
Nanyi didn’t listen to him, gathering the white porcelain pieces to one side on her own, then patiently picking up the scattered flower petals one by one.
She stopped asking, stopped pressing him, but she simply didn’t want this touch of brightness to be carelessly erased.
“It’s all broken like this—what’s the use of picking it up?”
“I like it. Don’t mind me,” she replied in a muffled voice.
Xie Queshan pulled her away: “I told you it’s not necessary—don’t do anything—go.”
She looked at him stubbornly: “Let’s go pick another branch.”
They were talking at cross purposes.
After quietly facing off for several seconds, when he didn’t move, Nanyi went out the door herself.
Xie Queshan sighed. She rarely acted stubborn in front of him, especially over something as trivial as a flowering branch. Yet he vaguely understood what she was being stubborn about.
She was so good it made one’s heart soften.
His feet followed her out after all.
Outside the door in the small courtyard was a low wall, beyond which lay a garden with several flower-laden branches extending over. Under the moonlight, they rested quietly against the wall.
He saw her standing beneath the wall, stretching on tiptoe to break off a branch, still unable to reach.
He unprincipledly indulged her again, stepping forward and naturally embracing her calves, lifting her entire body up.
Nanyi cried out softly in surprise. The sensation of weightlessness made her instinctively close her eyes, and when she opened them again, she was surrounded by flowering branches.
She stiffly half-leaned against Xie Queshan. This high position made her feel dangerous, but when she tried to move, he held her very steadily, very safely.
She reached out to touch the flowering branch, and inexplicably a smile bloomed on her face.
Behind her was the dark night, before her was spring. In this moment, she couldn’t quite remember what night this was.
She allowed herself to forget in this moment—forget the turbulent waves outside, forget the disconnect between their hearts and words, forget those obscure constraints.
They were both thieves, stealing a moment of beauty from this spring night. Something that couldn’t be shared with others, beauty that belonged only to them.
She didn’t break off the branch, but instead shook the thick stem, causing petals to flutter down like snow, landing in her hair and on her clothes.
The overwhelming floral fragrance carried a hint of rawness, like unformed sweetness.
She laughed, looking down to ask: “Xie Chao’en, is it beautiful?”
He looked up, as if watching the flowers, as if watching her.
“Mm,” he answered.
Together they had escaped into the world’s smallest Peach Blossom Spring, where spring rained down just for the two of them.
He set her down, her soft arms draped over his shoulders.
As if possessed by spirits, she cupped his face, examining it inch by inch carefully. He was truly handsome—a verse from a yuefu poem she had memorized said, “Stones piled like jade, pines arranged like emerald; his beauty is matchless, unequaled in the world.” Using this to describe such a face was not excessive at all. Such a handsome man would surely be loved by many people—how had she gotten such a tremendous bargain?
Oh, it must be because he was too fierce, his eyes always seeming like freshly kneaded ink, wanting to grind everything they touched into the darkness of night.
But at this moment his eyes held light, flowers, and her.