Chapter 310: Duel of Wits (V)

Under the torrential downpour, their blood seemed to run with molten fire and lava—every brush of skin or breath sent uncontrollable sparks flying.

Le Wuya was the first to break, shivering, sucking in breaths...

Hold him tight.

Can't push away.

How could he push away?

He clutched his wrist, his head swimming in dizzying waves.

From the burning, unmistakable desire.

After sucking until his tongue went numb and prickled with pain, Xiang Zhijie was the first to stop, pressing his forehead to Le Wuya's nose with lingering affection, rubbing against it, then with a touch of greedy fondness, using the tip of his own nose to nudge the little mole on Le Wuya's face.

Le Wuya indulged him: "That's quite enough of that."

Xiang Zhijie looked at him, his very bones aching with the effort of holding back, having to grip his own wrist to hold back the clamor and urge surging through his veins.

He held up one finger, asking for his approval: "Give me another kiss."

Le Wuya arched an eyebrow: "...What?"

Xiang Zhijie's face flushed, but he persisted: "One kiss."

Le Wuya straddled him, gazing down at him with amused, appraising interest: "Speak up—the rain's too loud, I can't hear you."

Xiang Zhijie: "...Teacher knows exactly what I said."

Le Wuya loved teasing gentlemen—even hypocrites would do. It made you want to peel off that upright, proper exterior and see what was really hidden underneath.

He said sincerely: "I honestly didn't hear you."

Xiang Zhijie: "I..."

Le Wuya grabbed his outstretched finger, pushed it over his head, and pinned it to the ground with unmistakable, high-handed force, leaning down to kiss him.

Xiang Zhijie's eyes went a little wide.

His body, his desire—like a mighty bow pulled to full draw by the best archer in the world.

Le Wuya wasn't much of a kisser. Copying how he used to eat twisted candy as a kid, he went at it with a mix of kissing and licking for a bit before finally sitting up, grinding on him a couple of times, relentlessly teasing him: "I'll give you one more chance—say it louder. What was it you said you wanted a minute ago?"

Xiang Zhijie didn't hesitate. He pushed him down, about to pin him in return, when the muscles that had just surged with power suddenly went stiff.

...Le Wuya looked down.

He couldn't help it—a snort burst out, and he gradually doubled over laughing.

Xiang Zhijie's face went bright red. Propping himself up halfway, he said in a hurt voice: "Teacher, don't laugh."

"I'll owe you one. I'll owe you one." Le Wuya looked up with laughing eyes, brushing against him through the thin pants. "Or is the Sixth Prince too impatient to wait, not wanting to owe it, and wanting me to pay up right here?"

Maybe it was too much stimulation—Xiang Zhijie grabbed him and hauled him away.

Just then, Zhou Wenchang nearby let out a low groan, his eyelids fluttering as if he might wake.

"I knocked him out." Even pressed against the tree by Xiang Zhijie, Le Wuya still had the nerve to peek around. "Afraid he'll see? Want me to go hit him a few more times?"

Xiang Zhijie saw that Zhou Wenchang only grunted a few times and didn't come to, and gently nudged Le Wuya's legs apart with his foot: "What did he do? ...Teacher, please spread your legs a little wider."

Le Wuya tilted his neck, brazenly showing off the scrape, and tattled: "Look!"

Xiang Zhijie said in a gentle tone: "Does Teacher want me to take care of him?"

"No need. Get on with your own business." Le Wuya, through their intimate embrace and closeness, kept shaking off the drowsiness around him while slyly soaking up the heat from Xiang Zhijie's body.

Xiang Zhijie flicked another sidelong glance at Zhou Wenchang sprawled in the mud.

His right arm was bent at a weird angle.

"Once there was a guy who didn't behave." Le Wuya murmured by his ear, half-teasing, half-threatening. "And then his arm just broke, for no reason."

Xiang Zhijie immediately pledged: "I'll behave."

Le Wuya looked down between his legs, his laugh breathless: "I don't know, seems to me you're not behaving."

Xiang Zhijie didn't take the bait: "If Teacher really thinks I'm misbehaving, you're free to run."

Le Wuya certainly wasn't going to run.

Not only did he not run—he defiantly wrapped his arms around Xiang Zhijie's neck: "Enough talk. Show me what you've got."

Their clothes stayed neat as they nuzzled and clung to each other under the ancient tree.

The rain's hungry roar burned away the soft rustle of fabric and swallowed the slow trickle of water.

As the rain let up, the world settled into peace.

Le Wuya leaned against the tree, eyes shut, lashes fluttering, trying to regain his balance.

Xiang Zhijie watched him quietly, with a stubborn, devout intensity, working along the firm, beautiful curve of his waist, pressing and kneading with careful, deliberate strokes, as if molding clay, wishing he could knead his own heart, mixed with water, bit by bit into Le Wuya's flesh and bone.

Le Wuya felt nothing but soothing comfort. After a good while, he opened his eyes and nonchalantly straightened his slightly rumpled belt and robes.

Xiang Zhijie asked: "Teacher, can you walk?"

Le Wuya: "That's a joke. What do you think you're capable of?"

With that, he took a step—and went limp, crumpling straight into Xiang Zhijie's arms.

Le Wuya: "..."

Xiang Zhijie couldn't help letting out a laugh.

Le Wuya forced strength into his legs, pretending to be a man of the world: "Bet you're loving this."

Xiang Zhijie was about to say something else when he suddenly shut his mouth, pressed his lower abdomen, and drew in a sharp breath.

Le Wuya shot him a sidelong glance: "Does it hurt?"

Xiang Zhijie gave a pale smile: "It doesn't hurt."

Le Wuya: "..."

Such a poser.

You weren't whining like this when you were barreling around and nearly snapped that tree in half.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, Le Wuya still bent down: "Let me see."

As soon as Xiang Zhijie lifted his clothes, Le Wuya's brows furrowed: "How'd you get a gash this big?"

Xiang Zhijie: "It's no big deal."

Le Wuya pressed on the wound, causing Xiang Zhijie to suck in a sharp breath. He reached out and grabbed Le Wuya's wrist, looking pitiful as he bit his lip and shook his head slightly.

Le Wuya made a quick decision: "Let's head down the mountain and get you patched up."

Fortunately, not long after hauling Zhou Wenchang along, they ran into two people emerging from the woods.

Wang Cheng wiped the rain from his face and said joyfully, "Your High— Sixth Prince! My Lord!"

"Perfect timing. You did good. Once we return to the capital, I'll make sure you get a reward." With that, Le Wuya tossed the limp Zhou Wenchang in front of him, then wrapped an arm around Xiang Zhijie. "He's with me; that one's yours."

Turning to Qiu Sinian, he feigned a slight frown: "And this is...?"

Wang Cheng had already seen Qiu Sinian's empty mouth and apologized several times. When Le Wuya asked, he quickly introduced: "My Lord, this is Brother Qiu. He can't talk properly, but he can write. Thanks to him, I made it out alive."

He then said to Qiu Sinian, "Brother Qiu, this is my Lord Wenren."

Qiu Sinian remained silent, only lowering his gaze to Le Wuya's slightly trembling legs and the stained patches on Xiang Zhijie's trousers.

He withdrew his gaze and looked into the distance.

Fortunately, the sky was dark as ink, so his blush went unnoticed.

Seeing his aloof demeanor and unwillingness to engage, Wang Cheng lowered his eyes.

From his tongueless feature, Wang Cheng vaguely guessed his identity, and in turn formed some speculation about Ji Zhun's identity as well.

Not wanting to leave a bad impression on his lord—lest he badmouth him or write recklessly to the emperor—nor wanting his lord to be displeased by his arrogance, he gently mediated: "My Lord, since the rain has stopped, let's hurry down the mountain."