Hot flashes

The winter in Wuwei City was spent enduring bloodshed and mud. The Qiang and Hu offensive gradually weakened, allowing the Northern Liang army to catch its breath.

With the military order to reward meritorious service issued, the atmosphere in the camp eased slightly. Zhou Heng received a generous reward, but he became even more low-key. Apart from handling documents, he hardly moved around the camp and did not associate with people he did not know.

Xiao Jue's official duties remained as heavy as ever. The battles at Fukou Pass and Wuwei brought him prestige, but also more covetousness, suspicion, and urgent follow-up matters.

He remained the same calm, decisive, and deep-thinking Marquis of Zhenbei, deciding military affairs, receiving his subordinates, and patrolling the camps, with only a few hours of rest each day.

However, something seemed to have changed subtly and silently.

This change did not stem from any earth-shattering event, but rather from a fleeting glimpse in the dimly lit alley that night—disheveled clothes, flowing black hair, cheeks flushed with fear and shame, and a section of neck that appeared increasingly pale and fragile as it struggled.

In the military camp, homosexuality and the sharing of pleasure and the cutting of sleeves were not uncommon. Xiao Jue was neither enthusiastic about it nor contemptuous of it. He regarded it as the same as other desires existing in the army. As long as it did not violate military discipline or affect the overall situation, it was just an insignificant private matter.

He had never associated Zhou Heng with such matters. His impression of the boy was that of a somewhat peculiar subordinate, perhaps harboring some secrets, but generally "useful."

Until that night.

He saw Zhou Heng's pathetic state as another man harassed and attempted to assault him in that manner.

At that moment, he saw not only a frightened subordinate, but also a young man who was coveted because of his appearance and appeared powerless and vulnerable in the face of absolute power.

A strange, slightly scrutinizing tone crept into his usual way of evaluating his subordinates.

The next morning, I saw Zhou Heng again in the outer study.

Zhou Heng was all dressed neatly, his hair was tied up in a bun, his clothes were straight, and he presented the documents with his head bowed and eyes lowered. Apart from the faint dark circles under his eyes and his more silent demeanor than usual, there was almost no trace of the previous night.

Xiao Jue took the document, but his gaze lingered on it for a moment longer than usual.

It wasn't intentional; the scene simply overlapped automatically with the one from last night—disarray and order, panic and calm. The stark contrast made him unconsciously glance at it a few more times.

He noticed that Zhou Heng's skin was indeed very fair, which stood out somewhat among the generally dark and rough skin of soldiers.

It wasn't a sickly paleness, but a moist, almost radiant whiteness, as if nourished by the moisture of Jiangnan. At this moment, due to tension or something else, her cheeks had a very faint pink tinge.

Her eyebrows and eyes were delicate, her nose was straight, her lips were well-defined, and when she lowered her eyes, her long eyelashes cast small shadows under them.

He possessed a clean, refined, and even scholarly handsomeness that clashed with the ruggedness of the military camp.

Xiao Jue shifted his gaze, focusing on the military report in his hands. But that impression had already been quietly imprinted.

After that, these unintentional "second glances" began to happen frequently.

When Zhou Heng bowed to report, Xiao Jue noticed a small patch of fair skin on the back of his neck, contrasting with his dark collar.

He would recall how that neck had been forced to tilt back that night, exposed to the moonlight and the greedy gaze of another man.

When Zhou Heng pursed his lips slightly due to focus, Xiao Jue could catch a glimpse of the clear curve of his lips and the slightly pale color of his lips due to the effort he was putting into them.

Occasionally, Zhou Heng would unconsciously rub his reddened fingers due to fatigue or cold, and his slender knuckles and reddened fingertips would catch the occasional glance of Xiao Jue.

These observations were all instantaneous and subconscious, mixed in with the busy intervals of official duties, and even Xiao Jue himself might not have been clearly aware of them.

He just felt that this clerk named Zhou Heng seemed to be more conspicuous than before.

On a winter night, the north wind swept across the city walls of Wuwei, whistling and swirling up fine snowflakes.

The lights in the central command tent were finally extinguished, and the intense military consultations that had lasted for several days came to a temporary end. The generals and their staff members left, exhausted.

Xiao Jue sat alone behind his desk in the inner room, not resting immediately. On the desk lay a finely drawn map of the mountains and rivers of the northwestern border, with several key passes and water sources repeatedly circled in vermilion ink.

The candlelight flickered, casting swaying shadows on his cold, handsome profile, his brows furrowed with an inescapable melancholy and contemplation.

Exhaustion surged up like a tide, and the old injury on my shoulder throbbed faintly in the cold night.

He rubbed his temples and finally got up to walk to the simple bed in the corner of the inner room.

I lay down fully clothed, and it took a long time for the cold bedding to warm up with my body.

The wind howled outside, mingled with the rhythmic, heavy footsteps of the night patrol soldiers. My consciousness gradually blurred and sank amidst exhaustion and the dull pain in my body.

The dream was initially a jumble of fragments.

The Black Stone Ridge on both sides of the Fukouxing Gorge, the dark, twisting mine tunnels, the shrill whistling of arrows piercing the air, and... a face covered in tears of fear, appearing exceptionally pale in the dim light. The images flashed back and overlapped repeatedly.

Gradually, the dream became clearer. It was still that dim alleyway in the barracks, the moonlight pale and dim.

Ahead, a figure was staggering and running, his robes disheveled, his black hair flowing freely, and his breathing rapid and broken—it was Zhou Heng.

Unlike that night, the alleyway seemed to stretch on endlessly, with no exit.

Zhou Heng ran desperately, but he couldn't escape the cramped shadow.

He could clearly see the thin shoulders and back of the person in front of him, which were heaving violently as he ran, and the neck that was completely exposed during the struggle, so white it was almost blinding. He could even smell the unique scent of the young clerk in the air, a mixture of cold sweat and a very faint scent of soap.

A strange, burning impulse spread silently through his chest.

He wanted the person in front of him to stop. Not with a command, but with… something else.

In his dream, he quickened his pace.

They easily caught up with the figure fleeing in vain. Zhou Heng turned around in alarm, his face still showing the fear and shame of that night, his eyes wide open, reflecting his own image.

There were no words. In the dream, he reached out and easily grasped that slender wrist.

The touch was icy cold, yet it ignited a burning heat in his palm. Zhou Heng struggled violently, letting out suppressed sobs, but his strength was like an ant trying to shake a tree.

He pressed Zhou Heng against the cold, rough earthen wall. Zhou Heng was forced to tilt his head back, his neck completely exposed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in fear.

A few strands of her loose black hair clung to her sweaty forehead and cheeks, making her skin appear even more dazzlingly white.

Those eyes, which were always lowered or darting around rapidly, were now filled with unbelievable panic and... a kind of almost broken despair that he had never seen on Zhou Heng's face before.

In his dream, he lowered his head and approached those slightly parted, bloodless lips.

He could feel the other person's body trembling violently, and hear their broken breathing. His fingers touched the neck, and beneath the delicate skin, the pulse was beating fast and rapid, like that of a dying animal.

Then, he pinned the person down completely. The cold wall, the burning body, the struggle, the panting, the rustling of clothes, and... a dark and surging desire that almost broke through the dam of reason.