Chapter 60: Cherry Lips, Winter Dreams
When they finally found Hua Ling and Xinyu huddled inside the cave, the snow had stopped falling. Xinyu immediately released Hua Ling's hand, as if just realizing he was holding it, and quickly stood up, brushing off his robes.
Yan Zheng exhaled deeply. "Good thing you two are safe."
No one asked why Hua Ling didn't speak—he only followed quietly, eyes downcast. Xinyu didn't look at him either.
On the way back, Lingque huffed beside Xinyu. "You couldn't even hunt a bird. I'm so embarrassed."
But Xinyu's mind wasn't there. His ears still rang with Hua Ling's voice: I missed you too.
It repeated over and over, as if caught in his heartbeat. He knew he always said strange things when he was drunk, but this… This felt different.
Xinyu suddenly turned to Lingque. "Hey… Lingque."
"Hm?"
"What does it mean if… I think of someone a lot? Not too much—just… every day. Even in dreams. And when they're near, I—I stare at their lips. And when they're not around, I… kind of miss them? And I worry. A lot."
Lingque stared at him like he had grown antlers.
"Even though I'm half spiritual beast, I've never seen a bigger dumbass," she said coldly. "Chen Xinyu, are you in love?"
Xinyu blinked.
He didn't answer. He just rushed ahead, footsteps suddenly fast.
When they returned to the sect, he went straight to his room, slammed the door, and stood there in the silence, heart pounding.
Back and forth, he paced. Like a trapped animal.
"In love?" he muttered to himself. "Impossible…"
But the thought crept in like frost under a door.
Do I really want to kiss him?
He froze.
Immediately, he shook his head. "No—absolutely not."
But his mind betrayed him. He remembered Hua Ling's cherry-colored lips, slightly parted as he leaned close. That fleeting scent of wine and warmth. The way his voice sounded when he whispered—
Xinyu covered his face with both hands, groaned, then dropped face-first into his bed.
Elsewhere, the sect buzzed with quiet preparation.
The Lunar New Year was tomorrow.
Rou Rou sat knitting scarves on the veranda, humming to herself, eyes sparkling with excitement. She loved the holiday—every sect member returning, familiar faces, stories shared over wine and dumplings.
Lan Xueyao lounged nearby with a book in hand, occasionally glancing at Rou Rou's knitting.
Lingque napped like a cat in a sunny spot, arms behind her head.
In the kitchen, Shen Yao was diligently folding dumplings.
"Where's that brat Xinyu?" he asked, squinting toward the hall.
Lingque yawned. "Sleeping. Still."
"Still? He said he'd help. Lazy brat."
In Xinyu's room, the blanket was half off, his face turned toward the wall.
He was dreaming again.
In the dream, he was walking through a quiet orchard, picking fruit. Just as he reached for a low branch, a hand caught his wrist—warm, gentle.
He turned.
It was Hua Ling.
Without a word, Hua Ling took a fruit and pressed it to his own mouth and ate it . Then, his hand trailed upward, brushing fingers against the corner of Xinyu's mouth.
Xinyu shivered.
"You…" he murmured. "Your lip color… it's nice."
Hua Ling leaned closer. "Do you want me to give it to you too?"
His lips hovered just a breath away—so close, almost there—
"CHEN XINYU!"
Xinyu bolted upright, hair a mess, cheeks burning. "Shixiong?!"
Shen Yao stood in his doorway, arms crossed. "Stop dreaming and come help with dumplings."
Xinyu clutched his blanket. "I was napping!"
"You promised. Get up."
And just like that, he was dragged out of bed and toward the kitchen, still dazed from the dream that never quite ended.
Chapter 60
The dumpling dough clung to Chen Xinyu's fingers like remorse. His thumbs pushed unevenly at the thin edges of the wrapper, and another dumpling sagged tragically between his palms.
"Xinyu!" Shen Yao's chopsticks whacked him lightly on the forehead. "That's the sixth one that looks like a dying bat."
"I—" Xinyu blinked, ears already red, and pressed the malformed dumpling onto the tray like an offering. "Sorry, Shixiong. My hands… slipped."
"Your hands, or your soul?" Shen Yao muttered, reaching for another dough ball. "Where are you wandering off to this time?"
Lingque sat cross-legged at the edge of the table, elbow-deep in flour, watching him with a glare that bordered on pity. "He's been dazed all day. Bet his head's still stuck in that cave."
Xinyu's face burned hot. It was stuck in the cave. More accurately—stuck in the sound of Hua Ling's breath on his neck, in the look in his clouded eyes, in the soft voice saying "I missed you too."
He'd called himself a disgrace at least five times in his own mind. A pervert. A fool. A criminal. And yet, like a moth circling flame, his thoughts kept drifting back to those cherry-tinted lips, and the question he didn't dare ask aloud:
What if I want to kiss him again?
What if this time, I mean it?
He dropped another dumpling.
"Xinyu!" Shen Yao looked ready to strangle him.
"Okay okay—focus. Focus," Xinyu muttered, tying his soul down to his body by sheer force of will.
Lingque sighed, flour smudged across her cheek. "You're a hopeless case."
At the far side of the courtyard, the girls were finishing their decorations. Rou Rou held a roll of thread in her mouth as she worked.
"Jiejie," she said around the spool, "since you won the archery contest, I'm going to embroider you a phoenix on your sleeve."
Lan Xueyao flipped a page of her book without looking up. "Of course you are. I was magnificent."
As dusk settled like soft powder over the sect, the halls came alive with light. Red lanterns bobbed from every roof beam, catching the wind like whispered blessings. Paper strips fluttered against the plum branches in the courtyard—wishes inked in crooked handwriting, both childish and solemn.
Xinyu sat beneath a low-hung lantern, cutting talisman paper with trembling fingers. His qi flared faintly with each seal stroke. Beside him, a pile of gift cards were arranged in neat stacks, the corners curling with gold.
He was scribbling a note—May you find warmth this year, even in your coldest moments—when Mochen appeared, as quiet as a cat, and folded down beside him.
"Yu'ge," he said, his voice careful as always. "Can I help?"
Xinyu smiled, grateful for the distraction. "Sure. Take the gold ink. Draw a peach blossom on each one."
They worked in silence for a while, the flicker of the lantern casting shadows across their hands. Xinyu dipped his brush again, hesitated, then asked suddenly—
"Shidi, have you ever fallen in love?"
Mochen's brush froze. His lashes trembled once, almost imperceptibly.
"No," he said. Then added, too quickly, "Why do you ask?"
"No reason." Xinyu tucked the question back into the pocket of his chest like something half-forbidden. "Just curious."
Mochen said nothing more, but his strokes afterward came slower, as if he too had become preoccupied with something he didn't know how to name.
Morning rose pale and brilliant across the mountains, its first light brushing snowflakes from the rooftops like a mother's hand smoothing her child's brow.
The sect was already awake—laughter spilled from every room. Robes rustled, hands clapped, voices called out greetings. The smell of fried dumplings, sesame cakes, and sweet wine lingered in the air like a blessing.
"Happy Lunar New Year!"
"Rou Rou, give me one of those scarves!"
"Lan Xueyao, are you really wearing a phoenix hairpin and a dragon pin? Aren't you too ambitious?"
"Mind your own accessories."
Xinyu stood in the middle of the path, holding a half-folded prayer slip. Someone had written: I wish for the one I love to love me back.
He looked up and saw Hua Ling across the crowd.
The prince was dressed in light winter robes, silver-threaded and understated, his long hair tied back with a jade clasp. His face was unreadable as ever, but his eyes—when they met Xinyu's—did not look away.
Xinyu's breath caught. He opened his mouth. Closed it again.
He still didn't know what he was feeling. He only knew it twisted in his chest like a red ribbon and it burned.
maybe he'd keep being a coward.
Either way, the year had begun.
And he'd already dreamed of a kiss.