Chapter 484 Fake Medicine

Chapter 484: Fake Medicine

Cheng Ge's hand shook, spilling a few drops of wine onto the stone platform.

He stared at Wuliji's face, at those eyes burning hotter by the second.

The taut string in his chest pulled tighter and tighter until it snapped with a sharp crack.

Something's off. Something's seriously off. This medicine is seriously messed up!

Cheng Ge shot to his feet, his inner robe still dripping wet, his bare feet sliding on the damp stone, nearly sending him sprawling.

"I... my head hurts a bit... I'm a lightweight... a real lightweight... I'll go rest for a while."

He didn't dare meet Wuliji's eyes. He turned and bolted.

He got two steps—just two—before a big, wet hand clamped around his ankle.

He kicked hard, trying to shake it loose, but the grip was like iron—unyielding.

"Today's not a lucky day! No intimacy allowed! Everything's a bad omen! The whole list is nothing but don'ts!"

He kicked once, twice—on the third, Wuliji's fingers tightened.

He pitched backward, his other foot lifting off the ground, flailing briefly before being yanked back by the waist.

"What the hell———!!!"

Lucky days, taboos—Wuliji didn't understand a word of it, and he didn't give a damn.

He hauled Cheng Ge back, wrapped him up in his arms, dipped his head, and kissed his neck sloppily.

His lips were scorching, pressing against Cheng Ge's skin with no rhythm, no finesse—just raw contact.

Touch after touch, like someone fumbling in the dark, grabbing at whatever's there.

His nose grazed Cheng Ge's earlobe, his breath hot and heavy, puff after puff, like someone breathing fire into his ear.

"I... I can't..." Wuliji's voice came out hoarse, not sounding like his own, trembling with barely contained desperation.

His arms squeezed so tight Cheng Ge felt like a rag being wrung out, every inch crushed and helpless.

Sober, Cheng Ge was no match for Wuliji—drunk, no; hot-spring-soaked, no; drugged, definitely not.

He struggled like a cat against a bear—couldn't push, couldn't break free, couldn't run.

His palms pressed against Wuliji's chest, feeling the soaked cloth and the scorching skin beneath. The heart under his hands pounded fast and hard, like someone battering a door from the inside.

His hands went weak, shifting from pushing to pressing, from pressing to clutching.

All ten fingers dug into Wuliji's lapels, knuckles white, like a drowning man seizing the last piece of driftwood.

Wuliji took a step forward.

Cheng Ge stumbled backward, bare feet sliding on the slick stone, body tilting back.

Wuliji's arm caught him around the waist, keeping him upright, and the two of them went tumbling into the hot spring together.

Water splashed everywhere, petals scattered through the air, and warm spring water rushed in from all sides, instantly erasing the last bit of space between them.

Cheng Ge's back slammed into the pool wall—bluestone, hard and cold, a stark contrast to the burning body pressed against him.

He was caught between the two—fire in front, ice behind, nowhere to go.

Wuliji loomed over him, one hand braced on the pool wall, the other still locked around his waist, trapping him in place.

Steam rose, petals drifted between them—red and pink, crushed and torn, their juice staining the soaked robe like blooming streaks of rouge.

Wuliji lowered his head and kissed him. Not the feather-light brushes from before—this was a real kiss.

His lips pressed into Cheng Ge's, from lower lip to upper, from corner to center, grinding across every inch.

His tongue pushed past Cheng Ge's lips and teeth, tangling with his, wrecking his breathing completely.

Cheng Ge's hands slid from his chest to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, gripping tight—so tight it was like he was terrified of drowning.

Wuliji's mouth left Cheng Ge's lips, trailing down his jaw, over his Adam's apple, and stopping at his collarbone.

He caught the collar of Cheng Ge's robe between his teeth and pulled it aside. The lapels fell open, baring a stretch of shoulder and chest.

Candlelight refracted off the water, spilling onto that patch of skin—so pale it was almost translucent. Water droplets slid down his collarbone, gathering in the hollow.

Wuliji's lips found that collarbone. Not a kiss—a bite. A soft bite, like tasting an unripe fruit—sour, but he couldn't bear to spit it out.

Cheng Ge's body trembled, like a plucked string, vibrating with a resonance that lingered long after.

His fingers threaded into Wuliji's hair, clenching tight, then loosening, then clenching again.

His breath slipped out through his nose, turning into a sound as soft as a kitten's mew—short, muffled, like someone murmuring in a dream, forgotten the second it's said.

Wuliji's hand traveled up from Cheng Ge's waist, undoing the tie of his robe.

The lapels fell fully open, slipping off his shoulders and floating on the water like a white blossom.

Cheng Ge's chest lay bare. Water droplets traced his ribs, gathering into thin rivulets at his waist that dripped back into the pool.

Wuliji's fingers settled on his chest—rough pads, thick with calluses—sliding from collarbone to ribs, from ribs to waist. With every inch, Cheng Ge's breath came heavier.

"Wuliji..." Cheng Ge breathed, his voice soft as melted water, rolling off his tongue and dissolving into nothing.

His hands slipped out of Wuliji's hair, coming to rest on his face. His palm pressed against his cheekbone, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth.

Wuliji's lips warmed under his touch, parting to take his thumb in, the tip of his tongue giving it a soft lick.

Cheng Ge's finger jerked back as if burned. Wuliji caught his hand, pressed it to the pool wall, and laced their fingers together.

The spring water churned between them, petals pushed to and fro—red and pink, flickering in and out of the moonlight.

Cheng Ge's back pressed into the cold pool wall, his chest against Wuliji's burning body. Two temperatures closed in on him from both sides, leaving him unable to tell cold from hot, sober from drunk.

Wuliji's mouth found Cheng Ge's chest. From collarbone to heart, from heart to ribs, moving lower inch by inch.

Like someone measuring a land he'd traveled far to reach, each step slow and deliberate, as if terrified of missing something.

Cheng Ge's hand slipped free of his fingers, coming to rest on his back. Nails scraped lightly, from shoulder blade to spine, from spine to waist.

Wuliji's spine arched beneath his fingertips, like a bow pulled taut, the string stretched to its breaking point, ready to snap at any second.

Steam rose, candlelight flickered, and petals were crushed and scattered between their bodies.

Cheng Ge tipped his head back, his neck curving in a beautiful line, his Adam's apple bobbing once. His lips parted, and a long, shaky sigh slipped out of him.

That sigh was like a string stretched to its limit—it trembled for ages, then snapped, and the echo hummed in the air, hanging there for a long time before fading.

Wuliji pressed his face into the crook of Cheng Ge's neck, his nose tip pressed just behind Cheng Ge's ear. His breath was heavy and hot, each puff hitting that warm patch of skin.

Cheng Ge ran his fingers through Wuliji's hair, gently combing from his forehead to the back of his head, then down to his shoulders.

Wuliji's hair was stiff, not soft like his own—just like its owner, calm-looking but stubborn underneath.

Cheng Ge's fingers combed through Wuliji's hair, stroke after stroke, like grooming a wild, unruly horse.

Wuliji's breath stayed buried in the crook of his neck, heavy and hot, so hot that the base of Cheng Ge's neck turned red.

Cheng Ge leaned on the pool's edge, stretched out a wet arm, and scooted his head up to the stone ledge. He opened his mouth and grabbed a grape between his teeth.

The grape was a dark, almost black purple, perfectly round. He held it between his teeth, the skin brushing his lower lip, juice about to spill.

He pulled back, grape still in his mouth. Wuliji reached out to take it, but Cheng Ge turned his head, dodging.

Wuliji's hand froze in midair. Cheng Ge watched him, the corners of his mouth slowly curling up. The grape swayed between his teeth, like it was shaking its head, like it was saying "nope."

He raised his chin and leaned in toward Wuliji.

Not quick—real slow. So slow that Wuliji could see the water drops on his lashes, the fine sweat on the tip of his nose from the steam, the purple stain on his lips from the grape juice.

The grape inched closer to Wuliji's lips, so close that Wuliji could smell its sweetness, mixed with the wine, mixed with the warmth of Cheng Ge's breath.

Cheng Ge kept his eyes open. He watched Wuliji's eyes, watched the fire in them grow, watched his own reflection get closer in them.

Cheng Ge's lips pressed into the grape, and the grape pressed into Wuliji's lips.

Cheng Ge bit into the grape. Juice burst between them—purple-red, dripping down Cheng Ge's chin, running from the corner of Wuliji's mouth.

Cheng Ge didn't pull back. His lips stayed on Wuliji's, only the leftover grape skin and purple-red juice between them, pressed tight.

Wuliji's lips shifted, and Cheng Ge's lips moved along with them.

The leftover grape skin got crushed between their lips, and more juice spilled out.

This time it ran down Wuliji's chin, dripping onto his collarbone—purple-red, like a mole spreading open.

Cheng Ge pulled back a little. He looked at the purple smear at the corner of Wuliji's mouth, then stuck out his tongue and licked his own lips.

"Good?" he asked, his voice so quiet it was like sharing a secret.

Wuliji nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing again.

Cheng Ge reached out, palm against Wuliji's cheek, thumb wiping the purple juice from the corner of his mouth.

Wuliji's face was so hot it made Cheng Ge's fingertips tingle.

His palm rested on Wuliji's cheekbone, and he could feel the muscles underneath twitching a little.

Like a horse reined in—wanting to bolt, but still waiting for the word.

Cheng Ge leaned in, noses touching, breaths tangled together until neither could tell whose was whose.

"You ate my offering," he said, his voice low, like it was rising from deep in his throat, carrying a softness he'd never heard in himself before. "So now you gotta take care of me."

Wuliji's eyes went dark.

He pulled his hand back from Cheng Ge's waist, grabbed his shoulder, and spun him around.

Before Cheng Ge could react, his back hit Wuliji's chest, the back of his head settling into the crook of Wuliji's shoulder, wrapped up from behind.

Wuliji's arm wrapped around his waist again, tighter than before—so tight that Cheng Ge felt like a crumpled piece of paper, every wrinkle pressed smooth.

Cheng Ge braced his hands on the pool wall. The bluestone was hard and cold, his fingertips digging into the gaps between stones, knuckles going white.

Wuliji pressed up from behind—chest to his back, thighs against the backs of his legs. Every inch of skin was on fire, burning so hot that sweat started to bead down Cheng Ge's spine.

Wuliji buried his face in the nape of Cheng Ge's neck, nose tip brushing his hairline, lips pressing against his skin over and over, like counting his vertebrae—one, two, three.

The incense on the stone ledge flickered all of a sudden.

Cheng Ge's hands on the pool wall clenched suddenly, fingers spreading then curling, nails scraping the bluestone with a faint sound, like a cat's claws on wood.

"Holy shit..." His voice shook, forced out of his throat—thin and broken, like shattered porcelain, pieces all over the floor, impossible to pick up. "Fuck..."

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