Zhu Yun knew that in moments like this, one’s impressions were liable to be a little overblown — but she genuinely felt it: that everything she had in her, all her courage and all her wholehearted devotion, would go to this one person for the rest of her life.
A gale swept through her, shot through with thunder, ringing across every chamber of her heart.
Her body ached. But no matter how much it ached, she didn’t make a sound.
As a child, overcome with curiosity, Zhu Yun had read and heard all manner of accounts about this from various sources, and had been frightened half to death by certain very candid firsthand testimonials. Now that the moment had truly arrived, she thought: all of that was nonsense.
This couldn’t make a person feel wretched. What gave it the right to be called “pain”?
Li Xun’s movements were not exactly gentle. His brow was furrowed, his whole self poured into it — and without warning, an image surfaced in Zhu Yun’s mind: Li Xun in his shirt and trousers, folded into a chair at the base, writing code. The man she used to find so intimidating that sitting beside him made her self-conscious — that same man was now above her, damp with sweat, pressed against her, closer than close.
The thought hit her, and somewhere inside the sharp ache, something cleared and softened — like the clean, cool bitterness of good tea.
Zhu Yun held on to him tightly. She was sweating too. The small hotel bed rattled beneath them, and the sheets underneath had gone into a hopeless tangle.
Images flickered through her mind in scattered succession — the air conditioning remote on the table, his shirt crumpled in a heap on the floor, a chair knocked slightly askew, and the windowsill where specks of dust drifted, illuminated by moonlight.
She breathed in the smell of him — his natural warmth mixed with sweat, pressing in from all sides. She felt certain there was no other scent in the world that could fit with her so completely. The friction brought a sharp, stinging ache, with a fine thread of something else beneath it — her body no longer felt entirely her own.
It was a little frightening.
His lower abdomen pressed against hers — softness against hardness — and the contrast gave Zhu Yun the dizzy sense of being submerged. She was soaked in sweat, her gaze unfocused, the sheets a wrinkled mess beneath her. In a daze, she felt as though she were out on that sports field again, looking up past his shoulder at a sky dark and starless.
She could confirm it now, with certainty — love was the one faith that was the same for everyone.
She was sure every person had, at some point, imagined dying for it.
*
She didn’t know how much time had passed. He lifted his head, drenched in sweat, exhaled a long, slow breath, and finally, thoroughly spent, collapsed onto her.
Moonlight spilled across the room. He lay there catching his breath.
After a moment, he raised one arm and pressed his palm to her cheek.
“Princess……” His voice after pleasure was hoarse and low, carrying a quality that sent a slow shiver down Zhu Yun’s spine.
He lay against her chest. She could only see his hair from where she was. She answered softly, and then he continued: “The terms you set yourself — make sure you remember them.”
Mm.
Li Xun lay on top of her, thoroughly satisfied, and fell asleep within minutes. Zhu Yun had slept a lot during the day and was still quite alert. She thought she should get up and shower, but she didn’t want to let go of him.
Caught in the utterly unproductive dilemma of “let go” versus “don’t let go,” Zhu Yun endured deep into the night — until her legs had gone completely numb and she finally, reluctantly, rolled out of bed.
She told herself: don’t rush. He’s yours now.
Zhu Yun walked into the bathroom with the bearing of a victor. Half an hour later, washed and done, she climbed back into bed.
She used to be very particular about cleanliness — especially right after a shower, when she generally wanted to avoid touching anything that wasn’t a towel. But now, the moment she lay down, she pulled Li Xun — who was covered in sweat — straight back into her arms, without a moment’s hesitation.
He slept deeply, his breathing slow and even. Zhu Yun closed her eyes and felt the faint, warm stickiness where their skin met. She found it completely intoxicating.
Her thoughts grew hazy as sleep approached. The last thing Zhu Yun’s mind settled on was this:
Whoever it was that first coined the phrase skin-to-skin closeness — what a perfectly lived life they must have understood.
She fell asleep after him. She woke before him.
She had been the one holding him as they drifted off. By the time she opened her eyes, it was the other way around.
He was curved against her back, one arm looped around her, his palm resting over the back of her hand at her side. She shifted — and found her hair pinned under him.
What time was it?
The sun outside the window hadn’t climbed very high. Zhu Yun made a rough estimate: somewhere between seven thirty and eight thirty.
She was feeling a little warm, and reached out toward the air conditioning remote on the table. Li Xun was a light sleeper — he half-turned, let out a slow, heavy breath, and brought one hand up to rest across his forehead.
“……What time is it?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep.
Zhu Yun: “Not quite nine yet.”
Li Xun frowned. He brought his other hand up to cover his face as well, rubbed with slow, deliberate pressure, then opened his eyes — they were shot through with red.
Zhu Yun looked at him. “Is this what you look like every morning when you wake up?”
Li Xun shifted upward, resting his head against the wall at the head of the bed. He drew one knee up, and even his speech was sluggish.
“No.”
Zhu Yun frowned.
Li Xun looked deeply uncomfortable. He said, knitting his brows: “Get me a cigarette.”
Zhu Yun climbed out of bed and picked his trousers up off the floor. She reached into the pocket — and pulled out the gold lighter first.
Li Xun lay there in bed and smoked.
Zhu Yun: “Don’t you want to put some clothes on before you do that?”
Li Xun glanced at her sideways, and promptly kicked off the last remaining corner of the blanket as well, leaving himself completely bare in full view of her.
Still in his rebellious phase, apparently — what was this about, first thing in the morning.
Li Xun had the kind of physique that looked like it had been drawn into existence — but what was below brought Zhu Yun sharply back to reality.
This was not a drawing. This was a very alive, very real man.