AYM Chapter 38

When he was little, a Daoist priest who’d visited their home once told him that his fate was exceptionally good. Although he hadn’t understood the rest, those two words ‘exceptionally good’ were like a protective talisman to him, giving Yan Yihuan the confidence to live as he pleased, without a care.

 

Who could have expected that although he now resided in the most exalted place under heaven, his days were unbearably bitter. 

 

Yan Yihuan set down his brush, massaging his sore wrist as he glanced at Li Xuanming, who was still focused on reviewing memorials. The cup of tea beside him was probably cold by now.

 

Yan Yihuan looked around then got up and went over to the brazier to pour a fresh cup of hot tea, and brought it to Li Xuanming’s side, deliberately letting that faint pink mark still lingering on his wrist show.

 

That pale wrist swayed conspicuously before his eyes, the mark particularly striking. Li Xuanming’s brow lifted slightly. He put down his brush and looked up at Yan Yihuan, his expression clearly saying, ‘Go on, speak.’

 

Joy flickered in Yan Yihuan’s heart, though his face was the picture of grievance. He kneaded at his own wrist and muttered,

 

“Last night, Your Majesty didn’t untie me. Now my wrist aches and I can’t possibly copy texts like this.”

 

“You were the one clinging so tightly to the knot. How was I supposed to untie it?”

 

“But…but I’m already worn out day and night, yet I still have to get up before dawn, and sometimes I’m not even allowed to nap at noon, always having to copy texts without stopping.” The grievance in his eyes gradually became real, even the tip of his fair nose flushed pink, and his voice lost all strength. “And…and I was forced into it.”

 

“Hm? Forced?” Li Xuanming arched an eyebrow, clearly surprised he still thought this way.

 

How could he not have noticed during these past days that at first Yan Yihuan always acted like he was being forced, yet give him a little sweetness and he’d unconsciously soften and yield, until he was nearly spent and dazed.

 

“But I truly can’t write anymore.”

 

How come the act of playing pitiful, which had always worked very well at home, was useless against this man? Yan Yihuan retracted his wrist, almost ready to resign himself.

 

“Alright.” Li Xuanming’s gaze returned to the memorials, “Do whatever you wish.”

 

Yan Yihuan’s eyes widened in disbelief. When he realized what had happened, he quickly performed a deep bow in thanks, then ran out without even looking back, as if afraid Li Xuanming might change his mind.

 

Li Xuanming couldn’t help but shake his head. Even though Yan Yihuan would have to at least act like a proper Grand Historian someday, seeing that timid, pitiful look of his, Li Xuanming’s heart inevitably softened.

 

Once again, he set down his brush and gazed out the window. There stood a wutong tree[mfn]https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Firmiana_simplex[/mfn] that had been rooted there for countless years. Beneath it was a white marble table, and in summer, the shade under that tree was especially cool.

 

Right now, Yan Yihuan was sitting at the table, resting his chin on one hand, while the other idly doodled on the tabletop. Although clearly bored out of his mind, his expression was perfectly content.

 

It seemed that as long as he didn’t have to copy texts, even sitting around in dull idleness made him happy.

 

But isn’t that precisely the type of person Yan Yihuan is?

 

Just like the long-haired lion cat he’d kept as a child, when it wanted affection, it would circle around him, rubbing its head against his hand. But if he ever tried to teach it tricks, it would keep its distance, refusing to come back no matter how he called.

 

A sudden clarity washed over Li Xuanming’s heart. What had taken root in his heart, inch by inch, was this very Yan Yihuan, so pure of thought, so free and unrestrained, so why change him into someone to fit everyone else’s standards?

 

Li Xuanming walked over to the small desk and picked up the historical records Yan Yihuan had been copying these past few days, leafing through them page by page.

 

Although it had been done reluctantly, the work was neat and meticulous. The handwriting was elegant, with no sign of careless perfunctory effort.

 

After a moment’s pause, he picked up the open history book and returned it to the shelf. In that instant, it felt as if a weight had lifted from his own heart as well.

 

In another five or six days, it would be time for the spring hunt. Li Xuanming thought of how all the princes would gather in the capital, including Li Xuanjing.

 

He looked at Yan Yihuan, who was sprawled on the table, the corners of his lips curved into a smile laced with deeper meaning.

 

The days that followed were truly happy ones for Yan Yihuan. Although he still had to accompany the emperor to court and sat properly behind the desk, he would spend his time scribbling and sketching on paper. At last, he no longer had to painstakingly puzzle over what all those ministers were going on about.

 

But there was also something that displeased him. Ever since that day when the emperor told him he didn’t have to copy texts anymore, for some reason, His Majesty had suddenly started acting like a proper gentleman.

 

Actually, no, he wasn’t a proper gentleman at all. He’d tease him until he was wound so tight it hurt, only to suddenly say there was morning court the next day, telling him not to let his mind wander, and then turn over and go to sleep.

 

The first couple of times, Yan Yihuan actually believed him, he gritted his teeth and calmed the restless heat in him.

 

But tonight, it was happening yet again. Yan Yihuan panted, his body curling up of its own accord, and at last, heedless of the emperor lying right beside him, he reached down to touch himself in secret.

 

Behind Li Xuanming came faint rustling movements, mixed with soft gasps and the occasional uncontrollable moans. Li Xuanming had his back to Yan Yihuan, and although his eyes were closed, the corners were already flushed bright red.

 

As desire took over, Yan Yihuan no longer cared about anything else. Little murmurs spilled from his lips as his mind went hazy, clearly on the brink. 

 

But the next instant, his body was suddenly pulled into an embrace. With a startled cry, he felt as though he’d been dropped from the clouds straight to the ground, shivering in frustration. However, not long after, a large hand replaced his own, moving with gentle, tender strokes that always seemed to avoid exactly where he wanted to be touched most.

 

Yan Yihuan’s head went numb. His hand instinctively grabbed the wrist that held him, trying to tug it lower, but it was obvious his strength was useless here.

 

It was on purpose!

 

He interrupted him on purpose!

 

Tears welled up at the corners of Yan Yihuan’s eyes from the torment. Unable to bear it, he turned over to face Li Xuanming’s chest, seeming to steel himself before squeezing his eyes shut and letting his own hand wander downward.

 

The moment that soft palm wrapped around him, Li Xuanming’s back went rigid and he nearly let out a sound. The tentative movements that followed were clumsy but especially enticing.

 

Yan Yihuan felt a faint smugness in his heart. Sure enough, he wasn’t completely unaffected after all. But his hand was already sore, at this rate, when would it ever end?

 

Li Xuanming thought that if this unskilled fumbling kept up, he might just explode. With a sudden movement, he flipped Yan Yihuan beneath him, pressed in for a deep kiss, and replaced that hand with his own.

 

The next morning, Yan Yihuan was listless after being called up early. He’d thought he could finally relieve the pent-up ache of the past few days last night. But even after bringing him to climax, it ended with the same words, telling him to sleep well, without taking things any further.

 

The more he was denied, the itchier his heart grew.

 

Yan Yihuan even thought about it carefully when he was bored. Why bother being so fixated on getting revenge by pressing Li Xuanming beneath him? Lying down and letting it happen seemed pretty good too, and far less work.

 

Hmm… no, that’s not right. If Li Xuanming got serious, he really couldn’t handle it. But honestly, how could he be so cruel? Either tormenting him to death or suddenly not touching him at all!

 

As Li Xuanming was meeting with his ministers, Yan Yihuan sat alone at the marble table beneath the wutong tree, brows furrowed as he brooded. Suddenly, someone called out softly behind him,

 

“Third Young Master, Third Young Master?”

 

He was right outside the imperial study, where nothing much could endanger him, and palace servants usually wouldn’t take the initiative to approach him. Yan Yihuan turned around in puzzlement, only to see an unfamiliar eunuch half-hidden behind the tree, whispering to him.

 

Author’s note:

Little Yihuan: I was forced.

Li Xuanming: Oh~ really~? Then Zhen won’t force you, alright?

Little Yihuan: Can you possibly be any more shameless?!