Chapter 480 Soulmates Meet

Chapter 480: High Mountains, Flowing Waters, Meeting a Kindred Spirit

Lin Nanshu did not speak.

His heart really was racing—thump, thump, thump—like someone beating a drum inside his chest, each thud heavier and more urgent than the one before.

Cheng Ge's fingers were still resting on his collarbone, his fingertips moving slightly, as if counting those heartbeats—one, two, three.

Cheng Ge looked up, meeting Lin Nanshu's eyes.

The candlelight fell across his face, casting his drunkenness into sharp relief.

Like someone standing in deep water who sees a lamp on the shore—and stops swimming, just watches.

"Yuli," he called again, his voice still just as soft, but every word perfectly clear, "we're married now."

Lin Nanshu looked at him for a long time.

So long that the incense smoke curled three times between them, dispersing and rising, rising and dispersing.

"Mm," Lin Nanshu said, his voice so low it sounded as if answering a question only he could hear, "we're married."

He reached out, tucking the stray lock of hair from Cheng Ge's forehead behind his ear, his fingertips grazing his cheekbone.

His hand slid down from Cheng Ge's ear, settling on the back of his neck, palm pressed against that warm skin, pressing gently to guide Cheng Ge's head into the crook of his shoulder.

Cheng Ge did not resist. He buried his face in the crook of Lin Nanshu's neck, the tip of his nose nuzzling against his collarbone, his breath fanning across that bare skin, heavy and hot, one breath after another.

His fingers were still pressed against Lin Nanshu's chest, fingertips curling slightly, like a half-opened flower that never closes once it blooms.

"Yuli." He called out in a muffled voice, the sound traveling up from the hollow of Lin Nanshu's shoulder, slurred and indistinct. "Your heart is beating so fast. I can't keep count anymore."

Lin Nanshu lowered his head, his lips brushing lightly against the crown of Cheng Ge's hair.

Like an apricot blossom falling onto still water—no sound, only tiny ripples spreading in circles.

"No need to count," he said, his voice low, like a secret meant only for the two of them. "It's always beating."

The candle flame flickered. Cheng Ge's fingers slid up from Lin Nanshu's chest, his fingertips tracing slowly along his collarbone, like drawing an invisible line.

His eyes were half-open, drunkenness making his gaze soft and hot as it rested on Lin Nanshu's face—like a lake soaked in sunlight, calm on the surface, but warm all the way down.

"Yuli." He called again, his lips nearly brushing Lin Nanshu's chin, his breath carrying the scent of wine.

His hand moved from the collarbone to behind Lin Nanshu's ear, fingers threading into his hair, pressing gently to pull his head down a little.

Lin Nanshu did not pull away. His palm was still on the back of Cheng Ge's neck, fingertips tightening slightly.

His breathing grew heavier, his chest rising and falling. Cheng Ge's fingers could feel the heartbeat beneath that skin—faster than before, so fast it seemed ready to burst out.

Cheng Ge pressed his lips forward.

Not a kiss. A touch.

A gentle brush against the corner of Lin Nanshu's mouth, like one petal falling onto another—so light it barely had any weight.

It paused for a moment, then drew back an inch. He looked into Lin Nanshu's eyes.

The candlelight flickered between them, illuminating that inch of distance clearly, like a narrow river with people standing on both banks—neither willing to cross first.

Lin Nanshu crossed first.

His hand slid from the back of Cheng Ge's neck to his cheek, palm against his cheekbone, thumb brushing across his lower lip.

Cheng Ge's lips were soft, warmed by wine until slightly hot, trembling faintly beneath his thumb.

Lin Nanshu lowered his head and kissed him.

Not like Cheng Ge's earlier feather-light brush—this was a real kiss.

His lips pressed against Cheng Ge's, moving from lower lip to upper, from corner to center, working across inch by inch, like a person slowly, carefully confirming something of great importance.

Cheng Ge's fingers slid from behind his ear to his shoulder, clutching at his loosened lapels, knuckles turning white, as if afraid he might run away.

Lin Nanshu's tongue pushed through the seam of his lips. Cheng Ge's breath hitched, and then his whole body went soft.

His back arched, chest pressed against Lin Nanshu's chest, heartbeats colliding through the fabric, impossible to tell whose was whose.

His hand slid from Lin Nanshu's shoulder to his back, fingernails scratching lightly through the cloth, like a cat sharpening its claws.

The red silk slipped from the qin table, falling to the floor with a barely audible sound.

Someone's hand brushed a string, and it hummed once, the tail note trembling.

Lin Nanshu's kiss moved from Cheng Ge's lips, trailing down along his jaw, past his Adam's apple, settling on his collarbone.

His lips were hot, pressed against that thin layer of skin, he could feel the pulse jumping beneath.

Cheng Ge tilted his head back, his neck arching into a beautiful curve. The candlelight fell across it, like a piece of porcelain held in someone's hands—white, translucent, ready to shatter at a touch.

His hand withdrew from Lin Nanshu's back, returning to his own waist, fumbling with his own sash.

His fingers were clumsy with drink. He tried twice and couldn't undo it, his brow furrowing in frustration.

Lin Nanshu's hand covered his, stilling it.

"Let me," Lin Nanshu said, his voice hoarse, like sandpaper against wood—rough, but gentle.

His fingers hooked the sash at Cheng Ge's waist, giving it a light tug. The sash came loose.

The lapels fell open, sliding from his shoulders, revealing a swath of shoulder and chest.

The candlelight fell across that skin, white to the point of near transparency. Below the collarbone was a tiny mole, like a single drop of ink on rice paper.

Lin Nanshu lowered his head, his lips pressing to that mole.

Cheng Ge's body trembled. His fingers threaded into Lin Nanshu's hair, tightening, then loosening, then tightening again.

His breathing grew ragged, and a soft sound escaped from his nose—like a cat's mew—short, muffled, like someone saying something in a dream and forgetting it the moment it was spoken.

"Yuli..." he called, his voice soft as melted water, rolling off the tip of his tongue and dissolving into nothing.

Lin Nanshu lifted his head, meeting his eyes.

Cheng Ge's eyes were full of candlelight, bright as two burning stars, swimming in their sockets, making Lin Nanshu's heart ache.

His lips were slightly swollen from kissing—red, moist, like a cherry that had just been bitten, juice nearly spilling out.

"Can you see me clearly?" Lin Nanshu asked, his voice so low it seemed to vibrate directly from his chest, bypassing his throat, bypassing his lips, delivered straight into Cheng Ge's ears.

Cheng Ge shook his head, swayed twice, then wobbled three times, the corners of his mouth curling up into a smile both foolish and sweet.

"Yuli," he said, his voice slurred, but every word spoken clearly, "my, Lin-lang."

Lin Nanshu's Adam's apple bobbed.

He lifted Cheng Ge up from the piano stool, Cheng Ge's legs wrapping around his waist, arms looped around his neck, the whole of him hanging off him like a koala—clinging tightly, clinging with total trust.

Lin Nanshu carried him two steps and set him down on the bed.

The bed curtain fell, the red silk drifting once outside it, lifted by the breeze, then settling back.

The candle flame still burned, flickering twice on the bronze stand by the window before steadying, its glow filtering through the curtain and washing everything inside in a warm, rosy glow.

Cheng Ge lay on the pillow, hair spilled across it, black as ink poured out, framing a face flushed with wine and lust—like a still-wet painting, pigments gleaming, bright enough to dazzle.

He reached out, seized Lin Nanshu's collar, and pulled him down.

Lin Nanshu braced over him, arms planted on either side like a bridge arching over him, sheltering him beneath.

Cheng Ge lifted his head and kissed Lin Nanshu's jaw. Then again. Then again.

The third kiss landed on the corner of his mouth, the fourth on his upper lip, the fifth on the tip of his nose.

Each one featherlight, gentle as a butterfly alighting on a flower—wings still fluttering, the blossom already trembling.

"Lin-lang," he murmured, voice soft as sleep-talking, "hurry."

Lin Nanshu lowered his head and pressed his lips to Cheng Ge's.

This time it wasn't slow like before—it was deep, heavy, like a man who'd walked through a desert and finally spotted water, wanting nothing but to drink his fill.

Cheng Ge's hands slid from his collar down to his waist, fumbling at his sash.

This time his hands didn't shake—one tug and the sash came loose, robes falling open, their chests pressed together, skin against skin, so hot Cheng Ge hissed, then laughed.

"So hot," he said, eyes curving into crescent moons.

Lin Nanshu said nothing, only drew him closer.

The candlelight inside the curtain swayed, throwing their tangled shadows on the canopy above.

Like a painting brushed onto the canopy—two figures holding each other, so tightly you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

The red silk drifted once more outside the curtain, then settled silently to the floor and lay still.

The incense smoke still curled up, thin and twisting, spiraling in the candlelight, dissolving and rising, rising and dissolving.

"Candle shadows sway crimson, incense smoke curls fine, the night watch nearly done.

Remember fallen swords and blossoms, sobbing zither strings; sleeve fragrance spent, wine mood fading.

Temples touched by spring clouds, lapels hiding the autumn moon, a moment of tenderness offsets the year's chill.

Where the gaze rests, stars sink in the eyes, tides surge in the heart. How many joys and sorrows in this mortal world—only this feeling cannot be undone.

Let willow fluff scatter in the wind, it returns to earth at last; let the tide follow the waves, it never reaches the mulberry fields.

Fingers twining through dark hair, lips holding red buds, souls from now on bound in two places.

The whisper ends, twin red beans, planted at the brow's curve."

Beyond the moon gate, Lin Zhufeng flattened himself against the doorframe, half his head poking out to peek inside.

He looked in again, his beard twitched twice.

"Heh—!" The grin spread from the corners of his mouth to his brows, from his brows to his ears, his whole face like a chrysanthemum someone had pried open.

"Grand Tutor, are you looking for something?"

Lin Zhufeng: "!!!"

Lin Zhufeng's smile froze on his face, that chrysanthemum snapped shut in an instant, every petal retracting, cleanly, not a single one left.

He straightened up and turned around, left hand tucked behind his back, right hand stroking his beard.

"Nothing... just had a few too many cups at the banquet," he said, voice unhurried, gaze drifting over the two servants' heads toward a distant moon that didn't exist. "Stepped out to walk off the drink."

With that, he walked away with his hands behind his back, strides long, robe hem flapping with a whoosh.

The two servants watched him vanish at the end of the corridor, exchanged a glance, then both pressed themselves back behind the moon gate, faces pressed to the wall, eyes straining inward.

Bai Yuxing patted Zhou Ming's arm, voice low: "Quick, write it down!"

Zhou Ming pulled a small notebook from his sleeve, charcoal tip pressed to the page, scribbling furiously.

As he wrote, he muttered the words he'd just set down—

"The curtain hangs red silk, candle shadows sway with light. Cheng the student lies supine, hair loose upon the pillow, face like peach blossoms, eyes holding spring water.

Lin the student bends over, arms braced on either side, meeting him with kisses. Two lips joined, like fish drawing water, clinging and unwilling to part..."

Bai Yuxing listened, utterly entranced: "Brother Gu truly has a way with words, a real way!"

"Lin the student parts his teeth with his tongue, Cheng the student breathes softly, chest rising and falling, warm as jade, fragrant as incense.

Cheng the student's arms climb Lin the student's neck, ten fingers threading through hair, gripping tight, unwilling to let go..."

"Slow down, slow down," Bai Yuxing peeled his face off the door and leaned over to watch him write. "That line's good, that line's good—'ten fingers threading through hair'—you're writing too fast, the characters are flying off the page."

Zhou Ming paused, traced out the four characters "gripping tight, unwilling to let go" more clearly, then continued.

From inside came another muffled, low call, the voice soft as melted sugar, oozing sticky-sweet through the crack in the door.

Bai Yuxing's eyes lit up again, nudging Zhou Ming with his elbow: "That line! Did you record that line?"

Zhou Ming's pen tip swiveled, adding a line: "Cheng the student calls softly 'Lin-lang,' voice laced with wine, like a plea, like a dream."

Bai Yuxing nodded with satisfaction and pressed his face back to the door.

Inside, there was a moment of silence, then a lilting sound drifted out.

Zhou Ming's pen tip hovered in midair, waiting a moment, confirming no more sounds came, before setting down and continuing:

"Lin the student's kisses descend gradually, past the chin, over the throat, stopping at the collarbone.

Cheng the student's skin is white as snow, bone ridges faintly visible; Lin the student bites it with lips and teeth, Cheng the student shudders, a thin sound escaping his throat, like a cat's mating call."

Bai Yuxing immediately added, speaking rapidly, "Robes and sashes all undone, gown and mantle fallen to the floor."

Cheng's skin shone fairer than snow, his waist slender and delicate. Lin's hand traced his back, smooth as polished jade. Their bodies intertwined, skin against skin, burning like charcoal.

Cheng let out a low moan, faint as a mosquito's hum, pliant as cotton wadding. Lin did not answer, only kissed deeper and held tighter."

Bai Yuxing and Zhou Ming took turns adding lines, their grins growing more lewd by the second.

When they finished, they put their heads together to review the entire piece of erotica, then gave each other a thumbs-up.

"What prose!"

"Right back at you!"

Bai Yuxing clapped Zhou Ming's shoulder with feeling: "You and I, my friend, are truly soulmates in art—kindred spirits through and through! Hahaha—!!!"

They exchanged a glance, then laughed silently again, covering their mouths and tiptoeing away.