Chapter 51 – A Hand That Wouldn't Let Go
The lanterns above swayed faintly, casting honeyed shadows across the walls of the strange chamber. The silence was deep, like the bottom of a lake. Chen Xinyu knelt beside the bed, fingers trembling as he reached out to feel Hua Ling's pulse—steady, but faint, like a thread drifting through smoke. His skin was unnaturally warm, a fevered heat clinging to him like fire trapped beneath porcelain.
Xinyu soaked a strip of cloth in water and pressed it to Hua Ling's forehead with careful hands, as though handling the broken shards of a once-sacred artifact. His eyes, always unreadable, now betrayed a trace of helplessness.
"Dianxia…" he murmured low, the syllables crumbling in his mouth like frost touched by flame.
Suddenly, a hand shot out from the bed.
Xinyu flinched—but it was too late. Hua Ling's fingers, burning with fever, clutched his wrist like a shackle forged in heat. Before he could react, Xinyu was pulled forward, the air rushing past him, and his back slammed against the soft mattress.
In a heartbeat, their positions reversed.
Hua Ling was above him.
A pair of unfocused eyes, glazed with the haze of drugs, stared down into Xinyu's widened gaze. His hair hung around his face in disheveled sheets of black silk, lips parted slightly, breathing heavy and erratic. His body trembled—not from weakness, but from something coiled deep inside.
"Dianxia—!" Xinyu struggled, shocked, trying to wrest free. "What are you doing?!"
But Hua Ling's hands, fever-strengthened, pinned both of his wrists down beside his head with terrifying ease. The silk sheets crumpled beneath them. Xinyu's breath caught in his throat, the close scent of sandalwood and blood rushing to his head like wine. The crown prince leaned closer, his feverish breath ghosting over Xinyu's cheek.
Too close. Too warm. Too much.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
Xinyu turned his head sharply just as Hua Ling lowered his face.
The kiss, if it could even be called that, landed on his cheek—clumsy, unfocused—and then, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, Hua Ling collapsed forward with a low exhale and lost consciousness again, his body going slack against Xinyu's.
The weight crushed him—his chest, his throat, his thoughts.
For a moment, Xinyu didn't move.
His arms were still trapped. His heart was racing with reckless abandon, drumming like thunder in his ribcage. His face burned. Then, slowly, with great effort, he rolled Hua Ling off him and cradled the man back onto the bed.
He sat up with difficulty, feeling the tremble in his own limbs. He pressed his fingers to Hua Ling's pulse again—still steady.
Only then did he step away, staggering toward the heavy wooden table across the room like a man fleeing the aftermath of an explosion. He dropped into the chair, breathing hard, one hand pressed to his own chest as if trying to hold his heart inside.
"What was that just now…?" he whispered. His fingers were damp with sweat. His eyes—still dazed—drifted back to the bed where the crown prince lay, unconscious, peaceful, as if he hadn't just set fire to the fragile thing Xinyu called control.
—
Meanwhile, deeper within the cave system, shadows were stirring.
Mochen's boots struck the stone path with urgency, the flickering flame in his hand casting long silhouettes against the moss-covered walls. Lingque was beside him, worry carved into every line of her face. Then—faintly—echoing from somewhere ahead: sobbing.
Tang Tang.
Lingque darted forward like an arrow loosed from a bow. She reached the source—a narrow chamber cloaked in damp gloom—and there, curled up in a rusted iron cage, was the small girl. Tang Tang's sleeves were torn, her cheeks dirtied with tears.
"Tang Tang!" Lingque's voice broke. She dropped to her knees and pulled the girl through the broken bars, sobbing as she held her tight.
"Jiejie's here now—I'm here."
"Don't cry…" Tang Tang, wiping her sister's tears, smiled faintly. "It wasn't your fault."
Mochen stood a few paces back, his face carved from stone. His eyes flicked once toward the sisters—and then away.
"Where's Xinyu?" he asked, sharp. "Did you see him?"
Tang Tang shook her head.
Mochen cursed under his breath and turned, heading deeper into the tunnel without another word. Lingque, wiping her face, took Tang Tang's hand and followed.
—
At the same time, in a more opulent hall adorned with veiled lamps and velvet cushions, Demon Xu reclined lazily upon a raised seat. One servant fanned him; another poured sweet wine into his cup. A third fed him slices of jade-pale fruit.
"Did you deliver that little prince to my chamber?" he asked, licking juice from his fingers.
A guard bowed low. "Yes, Master."
"Good." He chuckled, deep and oily. "Let him taste torment. Then—send the remains to his father."
The guards bowed again and left.
Unbeknownst to them, in the shadows of the corridor just outside, Chi Ruyan held her breath.
She had followed them for hours—her body stiff from crouching, her feet blistered—but she hadn't dared move. Now, hearing those words, her heart galloped in her chest like a terrified horse.
They were going to kill him.
She turned and vanished into the dark like a ghost.
—
Back in the strange room of lantern-light, Xinyu paced restlessly. The silence pressed against his ears like cotton soaked in blood. He kept checking the door—still no guards.
"What are they waiting for?" he muttered, brows furrowed.
Behind him, a low sound—a moan. He turned.
Hua Ling stirred restlessly on the bed, a faint frown between his brows, his fingers twitching against the sheets. His skin was still too pale, a sheen of sweat coating his collarbones. A drugged fever still gripped him.
Xinyu hesitated.
He didn't want to touch him again—not after what just happened—but…
He sighed. Stepping forward, he sat down and placed a hand on Hua Ling's chest, channeling a steady stream of his own qi into the man's meridians. His energy moved slowly, carefully, as though smoothing out a tangled thread.
Gradually, Hua Ling's breathing evened out.
Xinyu exhaled, exhausted. He drew his hand back, rising to leave.
But just as he stood, a hand shot out once more.
This time, it was not wild—just desperate.
A soft whisper—ragged and half-dreamed—broke from Hua Ling's lips.
"Don't leave…"
Xinyu froze.
His eyes widened, breath caught in his throat. He turned slowly, looking down at the prince whose eyes remained shut—but whose hand clung tightly to his wrist, as if that single touch anchored him to life itself.
The room fell into stillness once more.
Only the lanterns swayed.
And Xinyu, heart trembling like a reed in the wind, could not take another step.