Chapter 483 Hot Spring

Chapter 483: Hot Spring

Cheng Ge crouched by the edge of the hot spring, rolled up his sleeves, and began scattering flower petals.

He grabbed a handful and tossed it into the pool, muttering to himself: "Red flowers, pink flowers, floating on the water like a painting."

He grabbed another handful. "One petal for you, one for me, after the soak we'll owe each other nothing."

Another handful. "These flowers weren't cheap—can't let them go to waste."

He scattered and counted as he went, but eventually lost count himself.

He simply tipped the whole basket in. The petals spread across the entire pool, red and pink, like a pot of simmering flower porridge.

Then he started setting out the wine.

Osmanthus wine on the left, bamboo-leaf green wine on the right, daughter red in the middle—three jugs lined up in a row, spouts all facing outward.

He nodded at the three jugs and said, "You three have a big job tonight. Do well."

The jugs ignored him.

He laid out the fruits and pastries. The watermelon was cut into crescent shapes, each piece neatly arranged, like a row of little red lips.

The sweet melon was peeled and cut into small chunks, piled in a small dish like a little mountain.

The grapes were glossy purple. He picked the biggest one and popped it into his mouth, chewed, and nodded: "Sweet."

Then he picked another and nodded again: "This one's sweet too." He picked one more—"Alright, alright, if I keep eating there won't be any left."

He lit the bronze burner, and the agarwood smoke curled upward. He leaned in to smell it, sneezed, and rubbed his nose: "Alright, smells good enough."

He stood up, stepped back two paces, and put his hands on his hips, surveying his handiwork.

The hot spring steamed, petals covered the water's surface, the wine jugs were lined up perfectly, and the fruits and pastries were arranged like offerings.

The scent of agarwood slowly spread through the night air. He had turned the entire backyard into a place fit for a fairy to bathe.

Cheng Ge's mouth split into a grin, stretching from ear to ear, his whole face blooming like a chrysanthemum scalded by boiling water.

He chuckled twice, looking at the hot spring, then chuckled twice more, laughing until his eyes disappeared into two thin slits.

"Perfect!" He clapped his hands and spun around, his robe hem whipping up, nearly knocking over the fruit platter. He quickly steadied it. "Steady, steady—tonight I'm going to show my prowess!"

The moment Cheng Ge finished speaking, footsteps came from behind. A servant stood at a distance, with his head bowed, not daring to look up.

"My Lord, Young Master Wuliji has arrived."

Cheng Ge immediately straightened his back, dropping that foolish grin, cleared his throat, and made his voice steady:

"Bring him over. No matter what sounds you hear, no one comes near here."

The servant bowed and hurried off, his footsteps rapid, shoes tapping against the blue stone slabs—tap tap tap—as if fleeing.

Cheng Ge watched the servant's back disappear, listened carefully, and only when he confirmed the man was gone did he spin around and crouch by the stone platform.

His hands trembled slightly as he pulled the yellow paper packet from his sleeve and opened it.

Cheng Ge picked up the jug of osmanthus wine, pulled out the stopper, held the paper packet over the mouth, and flicked his wrist—the powder fell in with a soft rustle, landed on the surface of the wine, swirled once, and sank.

He stared at the mouth of the jug for a couple of seconds, then shook the packet again, tapping out the last bit of powder from the corners—not a single grain wasted.

Then he pushed the stopper back in, held the jug with both hands, and shook it vigorously, the wine sloshing around inside.

He shook it while lifting the jug to his ear to listen, shook a few more times, listened again, and muttered to himself: "Alright, alright, it's mixed well, it's mixed well."

He placed the jug back on the stone platform, in line with the other two, spout facing outward—exactly as before.

He stepped back half a pace, looked at the osmanthus wine, and a slow smile crept across his face—a knowing smile.

He glanced at the other two jugs—the bamboo-leaf green wine and daughter red that hadn't been spiked—and nodded, as if satisfied with his arrangement.

Meanwhile, on the other side, Wuliji followed the figure ahead of him for a while.

The night wind passed through the bamboo grove, rustling the leaves, making the candle flames in the lanterns sway.

He turned two corners along the corridor, and the flagstone path beneath his feet gradually narrowed as the bamboo shadows grew denser on both sides.

At a moon gate, the person ahead stopped, turned around, and handed the lantern over, pointing inside the gate: "Young Master, the Marquis is right in there. Please go on ahead."

Wuliji took the lantern and nodded. The man turned and left, walking faster than when he'd arrived, disappearing around the end of the corridor in the blink of an eye.

Wuliji carried the lantern through the moon gate.

Beneath his feet was a winding, pebble-paved path, lined with green bamboo on both sides. The night wind blew through, and the bamboo leaves rustled, as if whispering to each other.

The lantern light was dim, illuminating only a few feet of road ahead; beyond that, everything blurred.

He hadn't walked far along the path when he caught a whiff of fragrance carried on a wave of warm air.

He followed the scent, and the scene suddenly opened up before him.

The hot spring was hidden behind a rockery—a square pool built of bluestone, steam rising from the surface in white billows, like a small patch of cloud trapped in the courtyard.

Flower petals covered the water's surface, red and pink, gently swaying in the lantern light.

On the stone platform beside it stood three jugs of wine, neatly arranged, spouts facing outward.

Fruits and pastries were arranged neatly, like offerings.

The agarwood in the bronze burner still curled up, thin wisps of smoke bending and spiraling in the warm air.

Fine wine, fresh flowers, fruits, incense. Everything was in place. Only one thing was missing—the man.

Wuliji stood at the edge of the pool, raising the lantern higher. His gaze swept from the wine jugs to the fruits, from the fruits to the petals, and from the petals back to the empty stone platform.

He frowned slightly. He was about to speak—

The surface of the water stirred.

The petals were pushed apart from below as something rose, scattering to both sides, revealing a patch of dark water.

Bubbles gurgled up—one, two, then a stream of them—as if something was rising from the depths.

Wuliji's gaze fixed on the churning water. He leaned forward slightly, and extended the lantern a little further.

The water's surface burst open. A pair of hands shot out from below, fingers spread wide, water splashing everywhere, petals splashing into his face.

Those hands seized Wuliji's collar precisely and yanked him downward.

Wuliji pitched forward, the lantern flying from his hand, arcing through the air before landing on the bluestone slabs, rolling a couple of times with a clatter, and going out.

Then came a thunderous splash—water shot up three feet high, petals scattering everywhere like a crimson rain.

Cheng Ge surfaced from the water, wiped the water from his face, and laughed so hard his eyes squeezed shut.

Still laughing, he backed up a few strokes to create some distance, watching Wuliji rise from the water.

Soaked through, hair plastered to his face, water droplets dripping down his sharply defined jaw, his clothes heavy with absorbed water and hanging on his frame, making his build look broader and more solid than usual.

Cheng Ge pointed a finger at him, laughing so hard he nearly choked: "Hahaha, you look like—a bear just dragged out of a river!"

Wuliji blinked, water sliding off his eyelashes.

He looked at Cheng Ge, not angry, the corners of his mouth slowly curling up—like a footprint left in the snow, shallow but crystal clear.

He reached up and wiped the water from his face, his gaze landing on Cheng Ge.

Cheng Ge's white underrobe was soaked through, clinging to his skin, showing the skin underneath.

Petals clung to his shoulders and collarbone, red and pink, like someone had stuck them on.

Wuliji's throat bobbed once, but he stayed silent.

Cheng Ge finished laughing, dog-paddled to the edge of the pool, and hauled himself out, dripping wet.

Dripping water, he left a trail of wet footprints on the bluestone slabs.

He walked over to the stone platform, picked up the jug of osmanthus wine, pulled out the cork, and held it to his nose and sniffed.

Pleased with himself, he turned back to Wuliji still standing in the pool and shook the wine jug: "Come up and drink! Soaking in a hot spring without a drink is a total waste!"

Wuliji climbed out of the pool, water streaming off him, forming a small puddle at his feet.

He walked over and sat down by the stone platform. Cheng Ge had already poured a cup and handed it to him.

Wuliji took it, glanced at the amber liquid in the cup, and knocked it back in one go.

"Good?" Cheng Ge asked, eyes bright.

"Good," Wuliji said.

Cheng Ge poured another cup, and Wuliji drank it.

Third cup, fourth cup—Cheng Ge poured eagerly, and Wuliji drank like a champ, cup after cup, like it was water.

Cheng Ge stared at his Adam's apple, each bob made the stone in his heart rise another inch.

Almost there, almost there—a few more cups and he'd be out cold.

He poured and counted the time in his head: one cup of tea, two cups of tea, three cups of tea—

But to his surprise, Wuliji's eyes only grew wider and brighter.

Not the hazy look of someone drunk, but the clear brightness of someone who'd just chugged ten cups of coffee—so bright it made Cheng Ge's heart sink.

Cheng Ge could clearly feel his breathing change too, from steady to deep and long, his chest rising and falling, the hot spring's steam flushing his cheeks red.

It seemed like fire burning from the inside out, spreading from the base of his neck all the way to the tips of his ears, scorching those two ears like two roasted leaves.

Cheng Ge: "???" Something feels off here, doesn't it?