Chapter 481 Serve Tea

Chapter 481: Serving Tea

Cheng Ge didn't wake until the sun was high in the sky the next day.

Sunlight leaked through the cracks in the window, glaringly bright. He rolled over on the pillow.

His whole body felt like it had been taken apart and put back together, every bone in a place it had no business being.

He lay there staring at the bed canopy, his mind completely blank.

Last night was like a shattered mirror—pieces scattered everywhere, pick up one and lose another.

Red silk, the sound of the qin, dragon-and-phoenix candles, Lin Nanshu's face, that mole below his collarbone in the candlelight...

Damn! He squeezed his eyes shut, his ears on fire.

The door opened gently and closed just as softly. Light, careful footsteps crossed the room and stopped by the bed.

The mattress dipped slightly as Lin Nanshu sat down at the edge.

Cheng Ge kept his eyes shut, his lashes fluttering like butterfly wings.

"Muyu, you awake?" Lin Nanshu's voice was low, with a hint of morning raspiness.

Cheng Ge didn't move, still playing dead. Lin Nanshu didn't push him, just sat there in silence.

After a long moment, Cheng Ge couldn't take it anymore. He opened his eyes and met Lin Nanshu's gaze.

That look was soft and gentle, like a spring breeze skimming a lake—not cold, but it made his heart itch.

Cheng Ge's ears grew even redder, the flush spreading from his earlobes to the tips, burning crimson.

"You feeling okay?" Lin Nanshu asked.

Cheng Ge shook his head, the movement so small it was barely noticeable.

His throat was dry—he couldn't talk, and didn't want to.

Remembering that "Lin Lang" from last night, he wished he could bury his face in the pillow and just die of shame.

Lin Nanshu reached out and helped him sit up, slow and careful.

Cheng Ge's waist screamed in silent protest the moment he sat up, and he gritted his teeth without making a sound.

But when his feet touched the floor, his legs buckled for a second, and he pitched forward half a step before Lin Nanshu caught him steady.

Cheng Ge gripped the bedpost and stood there a while, waiting for the soreness to pass, cursing silently in his head: damn, wine and lust really do a man in.

He looked down. His underclothes were different—not the ones from last night.

A bamboo-green robe sat folded neatly at the foot of the bed, washed and scented with incense.

His gaze lingered on the robe for a moment, but he didn't dare ask who'd changed him, who'd washed it, who'd scented it.

Ask nothing, and he could pretend a magical snail girl had done it all.

Lin Nanshu stood beside him, one hand still on his arm, not letting go.

"Lift your arms," Lin Nanshu said.

Cheng Ge froze for a second, then instinctively raised his arms.

Lin Nanshu released his arm, picked up the robe from the foot of the bed, shook it open, and draped it over his shoulders.

Cheng Ge's arms hung stiff in the air, like two wooden poles someone had propped up, with no idea where to go.

Lin Nanshu calmly helped him get his arms through the sleeves, then drew the lapels together. His fingertips brushed across Cheng Ge's collarbone and hesitated—

A pause so slight that if Cheng Ge hadn't been watching his face the whole time, he'd never have noticed.

But Cheng Ge noticed. His ears flushed again, burning.

The sash wound once around Lin Nanshu's fingertip, gave a gentle tug, and knotted.

Cheng Ge looked down at the knot—neat, proper, neither too tight nor too loose. Just like the man himself: everything just right, nothing overdone.

"There." Lin Nanshu stepped back half a step, gave him a once-over, then reached out to smooth a wrinkle on his shoulder.

Cheng Ge opened his mouth, wanting to say thanks, but the words felt too stiff.

He wanted to say "I can dress myself," but that felt too cold.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. In the end, he said nothing.

He just stood there, like a seedling that had just been watered and hadn't perked up yet—wilted on the surface, but the roots were alive.

Lin Nanshu turned and walked to the door, cracked it open, and gave a quiet order.

Before long, a servant boy came in carrying a brass basin, steam rising off it, with salt and a cloth set beside it.

The boy kept his head down, set the basin on the stand, and backed out without once daring to look up.

Cheng Ge walked over, bent down, and scooped up water to splash on his face. The water was a bit hot, and a thin flush bloomed from his face down to his neck.

He rinsed his mouth with the salt, then washed his face again with another scoop of water, moving much slower than usual.

Lin Nanshu stood behind him, quietly watching the damp strands of hair clinging to the nape of his neck as he washed.

"I already asked His Majesty for the day off from court for you," Lin Nanshu's voice came from behind.

Cheng Ge was rinsing his mouth and gave a vague "mm" in response.

He thought, fine, whatever—it wasn't like he could show up to court looking like this anyway.

He lifted his head from the basin, water dripping off his chin.

Lin Nanshu handed him the cloth. Cheng Ge took it and wiped his face in a couple of careless swipes, lingering a little longer around his ears.

Lin Nanshu reached out, took the cloth from his hand, folded it, and set it on the stand.

Then he picked up a wooden comb from the table and moved behind Cheng Ge.

Cheng Ge saw Lin Nanshu's hand rise in the water's reflection, coming to rest on the top of his head.

The comb ran from crown to ends, once, then again—slow and gentle, as if afraid that going too fast would snap the strands, or pressing too hard would crease them.

Cheng Ge's hair was soft, catching a faint blue sheen in the morning light, slipping through Lin Nanshu's fingers one strand at a time.

Cheng Ge stood there, completely still.

The comb glided from the crown of his head to the ends of his hair, from the left side to the right, gathering it up strand by strand, and tying it with a ribbon.

"There," Lin Nanshu said.

Cheng Ge raised a hand to touch the bun on top of his head, feeling the knot where the ribbon was tied.

Lin Nanshu put the comb away. "Grandfather is waiting for us in the front hall to eat."

Cheng Ge's fingers paused, resting on the bun.

Then he dipped his fingertips in the water by the copper basin's edge and smoothed down the few unruly strands at his temples.

"Let's go."

Cheng Ge followed behind Lin Nanshu, through the corridor, around the rock garden, and along the path lined with green bamboo.

Morning light filtered through the gaps between the bamboo leaves, dappling the two of them.

Lin Zhufeng sat in the armchair in the front hall.

He wore a well-worn casual robe, sitting upright and composed, like a Buddha statue enshrined in the hall.

The moment Cheng Ge stepped through the door, he felt the tension in the room. He quickly glanced at Lin Zhufeng's face.

Cheng Ge stopped, clasped his hands, and bowed, his movements precise and proper—more formal than when he attended court.

He deliberately steadied his voice, so much so that even he felt it didn't sound like him: "Good morning, Grand Tutor."

Lin Zhufeng stroked his beard.

The stroke was so slow that Cheng Ge felt his own heartbeat slow to match.

The beard slid through Lin Zhufeng's fingers, from left to right, from right to left.

After two strokes back and forth, Lin Zhufeng finally let out an "Mm," neither forceful nor faint.

Like a teacher grading a student—no praise, no criticism, just an "Mm," leaving you to figure it out.

Cheng Ge couldn't read it.

He stood in the middle of the hall, still bent at the waist, hands still clasped, unsure whether to straighten up or remain bowed.

He stole a glance at Lin Nanshu. Lin Nanshu stood half a step away, back straight, expression calm.

Just then, a servant came in through the side door carrying a tray.

On the tray sat a cup of tea, celadon porcelain, with the lid on, steam curling up from the gap—thin and wispy, spiraling in the morning light.

The servant walked up to Cheng Ge, bowed, and raised the tray to eyebrow height.

Cheng Ge looked down at the tea, up at Lin Zhufeng, then back at the tea.

Cheng Ge: "???"

His mind raced. This scene, this setup, this atmosphere—he'd seen it in TV dramas.

Usually, it was the new bride on the second day after marriage, offering tea to her in-laws.

Cheng Ge's ears started burning again, from the lobes to the tips, turning bright red.

He wanted to say, "Is there a mistake?" or "I'm not the bride" or "I just came for breakfast."

But he opened his mouth, then shut it.

He glanced at Lin Zhufeng's stern face, the steaming tea, and Lin Nanshu standing nearby.

He suddenly remembered that last night, he'd slept with the man's grandson—

Well, not exactly defiled. It was consensual. But regardless, they'd slept together.

Having slept with the man's grandson, what's wrong with offering tea? Isn't that just proper?

Cheng Ge took a deep breath, filling his lungs until his chest felt full.

He lowered his hands from his clasped ones, picked up the cup of tea—lid still on—and gave a slight bow toward Lin Zhufeng.

"Grand Tutor, please have some tea," he said, his voice even steadier than before, so steady it sounded like he was addressing the emperor at court.

Lin Zhufeng stroked his beard again, this time a little quicker than before. The beard slid through his fingers in just one stroke.

He reached out, took the cup, lifted the lid just a bit, took a sip, and replaced the lid.

Cheng Ge straightened up and remained standing in the middle of the hall, waiting.

Lin Zhufeng set the cup down on the side table, the cup's base tapping lightly against the wood.

He turned and picked up a red lacquered box from the table beside him, carved with cloud motifs, the lacquer smooth and warm—clearly a quality item.

He handed the box to Cheng Ge. Cheng Ge froze for a moment, took it, and opened it.

Inside lay a pair of white jade ruyi, the jade warm and smooth, the carving exquisite—cloud patterns on the heads, bats engraved on the handles, symbolizing blessings from above.

Cheng Ge's eyes lit up instantly. Gifts too?!

"This is for protecting me during the coup back then. I never found the right moment to give it to you."

Cheng Ge held the red lacquered box, a grin spreading ear to ear.

If he'd known offering tea came with such fine gifts, he'd have brought a whole pot.

Not just one cup—a pot, a bucket, a vat. He'd pour it all.

Cheng Ge closed the box, hugged it to his chest, and bowed to Lin Zhufeng again.

This time, he bowed deeper than before, so deep that sincerity practically spilled from the curve of his bow: "Thank you, Grand Tutor."