MOGHA Chapter 114

After Ye Shanshan got home, he originally planned to explore some “new worlds” with Gong Yue. But as soon as he saw the bed, drowsiness overcame him. The untamed energy he had earlier couldn’t be mustered anymore, and within a few minutes of lying next to Gong Yue, he fell fast asleep.

At some point, he started dreaming. In the dream, a spaceship landed in City B, and beings from his home planet had come to take him back. They were furious that he hadn’t completed his mission to destroy Earth and decided he would be immediately terminated.

Just as he was gripping Gong Yue’s hand tightly, refusing to let go no matter what, he suddenly woke up.

When Ye Shanshan opened his eyes, he was met with a pair of bright, round eyes staring back at him. In his arms, he was hugging Gong Yue’s white pillow, clutching it tightly.

“…”

Feeling utterly embarrassed, Ye Shanshan set the pillow aside and picked up the little cat in his arms. They stared at each other for a moment, big eyes looking into smaller ones. Then, he patted the cat’s shiny tail and asked, “How did you get up on the bed? Where’s my Ge?”

His heart was still racing a bit from the dream. After calming himself down, he glanced at the still-dark sky outside the window. Moving sluggishly, he shifted his sitting position, torn over whether he should keep hugging the pillow and go back to sleep or get up to find his Ge. Before he could decide, he heard the door open.

Gong Yue walked into the bedroom, now wearing a white shirt and a brown suit vest. He spotted Ye Shanshan sitting on the bed, staring blankly at him. Gong Yue quickly approached, reaching out to touch Ye Shanshan’s forehead. “Shanshan, are you feeling unwell?”

Ye Shanshan instinctively shook his head, placed the little cat on the floor, then wrapped his arms around Gong Yue’s waist and leaned against him. After hesitating for a long while, he finally shared the gist of his dream. “Ge, I feel a little scared.”

He’d said it, but even he couldn’t clearly explain what exactly he was afraid of.

Gong Yue’s hand gently stroked the back of his neck, and Ye Shanshan clutched at the cool fabric of Gong Yue’s shirt. Tilting his head back, he met Gong Yue’s downward gaze, and his heart suddenly felt a bit steadier. “We’ll always be together, right?”

“Mm, we’ll always be together.”

Hearing this answer, Ye Shanshan suddenly moved with lightning speed, lifting the hem of Gong Yue’s shirt and pressing his face directly against Gong Yue’s warm skin. Feeling the heat of his body, the unease in Ye Shanshan’s heart was gradually soothed, bit by bit.

After a short while, Ye Shanshan found himself giggling foolishly. Taking advantage of the moment, he stuck out the tip of his tongue to lightly lick Gong Yue’s abs and murmured softly, “Ge, you’re really, really amazing.”

Before Gong Yue could respond, Ye Shanshan sat up straight, carefully placing his fingers on Gong Yue’s neatly tied tie and slowly pulling it loose.

Once the tie was tossed onto the floor and Gong Yue’s vest removed, Ye Shanshan nimbly unbuttoned the first button of the white shirt with his thumb and forefinger. He leaned forward and kissed the bit of exposed skin on Gong Yue’s chest.

Then, placing his fingers on the second button, Ye Shanshan looked up at Gong Yue with seriousness in his gaze and asked,
“Mr. Gong, may I?”

His tone carried a hint of coyness, but his expression and voice were utterly earnest. “The ancients said, ‘The morning sets the tone for the day.’”

With that, Ye Shanshan quickly unbuttoned the rest of the shirt, his fingers trailing slowly along the lines of Gong Yue’s abs. In a straightforward manner, he said, “So, I want it. Will you give it to me?”

Just as his fingers continued teasing, Gong Yue reached out to clasp Ye Shanshan’s hand, intertwining their fingers. Bending down, Gong Yue lightly nipped Ye Shanshan’s nose before pressing him down onto the bed. His breath was heavy as he leaned close to Ye Shanshan’s ear, the sound inexplicably making Ye Shanshan feel it was very sensual.

“I’ll give it to you. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

Hearing that, Ye Shanshan’s face instantly flushed red—talking like this was too much! He couldn’t take it!

When Gong Yue finally left for work, it was two hours later than usual.

Ye Shanshan earnestly helped Gong Yue fix his tie, his cheerful smile fully restored. “Mr. Gong, see you tonight! I’m heading to the set later. I don’t have many scenes left, so I’ll wrap them up quickly and finish shooting.”

“Mm, I’ll come to pick you up tonight.” Gong Yue hugged him briefly before letting go with restraint and walking out the door.

After sending Gong Yue off, Ye Shanshan stretched lazily and headed to the walk-in closet. He grabbed a white V-neck knit sweater, threw on a down jacket, and left for the set.

When he arrived at the temporarily adjusted dressing room, Xu Luoyang was already in full makeup, with the stylist working on his belt. Upon seeing Ye Shanshan, Xu Luoyang immediately covered his eyes dramatically.

“Shanshan! Broad daylight, under the clear sky, are you serious?”

Ye Shanshan scratched his head, confused. Seeing Xu Luoyang gesture to his neck, he turned to look in the mirror and discovered his neck was covered in hickeys, both deep and shallow, glaringly obvious.

He hadn’t realized earlier because he had been wearing a scarf. But after entering the indoor space, feeling warm, he’d taken the scarf off, exposing everything.

Not feeling embarrassed at all, Ye Shanshan happily hummed a tune and found a concealer on the table, meticulously covering the marks. However, the thought of the scratches he’d left on Gong Yue’s back instantly made him bubble over with joy.

Once Ye Shanshan was done, Xu Luoyang leaned in to gossip. “By the way, Director Zhang has been super irritable since early this morning.”

Ye Shanshan tilted his head in curiosity. “Did he go to buy roasted sweet potatoes and find out they were sold out?”

“…” Considering Ye Shanshan’s unique logic, Xu Luoyang refrained from commenting and instead spilled the truth.

“Yesterday, your character’s costume photos were released. Director Zhang thought they’d definitely trend in the top five or even top three. But this morning, when he checked, the costume photos didn’t make the list. Instead, a fan-made compilation video of your roles went viral. He’s now debating whether to pay for a trending topic because it feels too humiliating otherwise.”

Hearing that, Ye Shanshan became interested. Taking out his phone, he opened Weibo and saw the hashtag #YeShanshanCompilation ranked fourth, while the topic for the costume photos had slipped beyond the top twenty.

Clicking on the video, he discovered it spanned his first side-character role to the latest costume photos, as well as appearances from Xu Luoyang’s livestreams in costume. Despite spanning both ancient and modern styles, the transitions were seamless and harmonized beautifully.

The video’s bullet comments were so overwhelming that when Ye Shanshan turned them on, the screen became completely covered, and the video lagged terribly.

“—Trending! Trending!! I never thought I’d live to see a role compilation for Ye Shanshan! I was ready to ask my grandkids to burn me one after I died. Didn’t expect to see it in my lifetime. Hugging myself tightly!”

“—Can’t believe we finally have enough material for a compilation! It’s heart-wrenching, but the result is stunning! Ye Shanshan is a visual god—every frame could be a poster. Must brag about this a thousand times!”

Xu Luoyang cleared his throat, drawing Ye Shanshan’s attention. “Shanshan, when we have time, let’s go eat garlic-flavored fish. I know a place that’s amazing.”

Ye Shanshan’s eyes lit up. “Let’s go! But can we skip the garlic flavor? I don’t like garlic; it’s too overpowering.” His senses of taste and smell were too sensitive, making garlic unbearable.

Xu Luoyang’s heart skipped a beat—another trait confirming his suspicion that Ye Shanshan might be a vampire. Garlic aversion, huh? It had to be! Swallowing nervously, he nodded. “Sure, they have other flavors. We’ll decide when we get there.”

Walking out of the dressing room feeling dazed, Xu Luoyang looked at the overcast sky and thought, The world isn’t what it used to be anymore.

By the time Ye Shanshan finished his makeup and arrived on set, the snow machines were already humming. Fake snow covered the fences and rooftops, and the plum grove set was fully constructed.

Director Zhang was giving Xu Luoyang some pointers. “The first scene is a solo one for Shanshan. We’ll add narration and flashback effects later to evoke emotion. The second scene has you entering from the main gate and discovering your younger brother, Ji Lingyun, lying in the plum grove, dead. That’s where the emotions peak. Give it your all.”

Xu Luoyang, dressed in silver armor, clutched the script printout and nodded seriously. Meanwhile, Ye Shanshan, known for improvising, didn’t get any specific instructions and was simply told to walk through the plum grove to familiarize himself with the blocking.

Once everything was ready, Director Zhang called for action. Ye Shanshan adjusted his costume and slipped a small blood pack into his mouth.

Opening his eyes after a brief pause, his hands gently gathered his worn, plain robes around him. He coughed softly a few times, exuding a frail, sickly air as if he had been ill for years.

He walked slowly along the stone path leading into the plum grove, the sound of snow crunching faintly underfoot.

As the snowflakes swirled down, the wind shook the branches of the plum trees, scattering blossoms like snow. After walking a short distance, as though growing tired, he reached out to steady himself on a branch. His brows knitted together as he struggled to suppress the urge to cough, but he couldn’t hold it back. A raspy cough broke the silence, and his pale cheeks flushed faintly red.

After coughing for a while, his body lost its strength, and Ji Lingyun slumped weakly against the base of a plum tree.

Beyond the high walls, the sounds of battle grew louder.

Three days earlier, the Crown Prince of the Northern Kingdom, Ji Linghuan, had personally led troops to invade Chu’s capital. In their panic, the emperor of Chu fled the city but not before sealing the hostage manor, clearing out all belongings and withdrawing all personnel—including the doctor who had been treating Ji Lingyun.

Looking toward the northern sky, Ji Lingyun took out an imperial edict he had taken from his father before leaving home. Carefully smoothing it out on the snow, he bit his finger and began to write, stroke by stroke, on the blank space.

But his failing body could no longer keep up. After just a few words, blood spattered from his mouth, staining the snow and splashing onto the golden edict. Fighting through the chaos in his breathing, Ji Lingyun continued to write, recording all the information he had gathered in Chu that hadn’t yet been sent out.

When he reached the word hope, he hesitated for a long time before finally writing eight characters: Peace across the land, with none to oppress.

At the end, he signed his name: A Zhuo.

By the time he finished the final stroke, his strength was utterly spent. It was as though he had fulfilled a long-held wish, and the suppressed coughs came out uncontrollably. His face grew even paler, and the metallic taste of blood filled his throat.

Raising his hand to cover his mouth, blood still trickled from between his fingers, staining the snowdrop by drop like falling red plum blossoms.

The pain from his internal organs made his hand, which was supporting him on the ground, clench tightly. Snow wedged beneath his nails, digging into his flesh.

The snowstorm grew heavier. Leaning against the aged plum tree, Ji Lingyun’s breathing became labored. Staring in the direction of his homeland, he slowly closed his eyes, tears silently sliding down his temples.

Without a single line of dialogue, and surrounded by a meticulously constructed set, this brief performance moved several staff members to tears. Nearby, the makeup artist, who had been waiting on standby, wiped her eyes and, unable to hold back, walked a few steps away and began sobbing.

Xu Luoyang suddenly felt as if he had been pulled into the scene by Ye Shanshan. A dull ache settled in his chest, a kind of quiet torment that lingered.

Dressed in silver armor, he walked slowly into the plum grove. When his eyes fell on the figure leaning lifelessly against the plum tree, it felt as though his throat had been violently torn apart, leaving behind a raw, searing pain.

Kneeling in the snow beside Ji Lingyun, Xu Luoyang let the blood-stained weapon slip from his hand. His rough fingers trembled as he reached out to touch Ji Lingyun’s pale face, only to recoil slightly, as if afraid of disturbing him.

The blood on the ground had already dried. Xu Luoyang picked up the bright yellow imperial edict, reading each word written in blood. When his gaze landed on the final two characters, “Ah Zhuo,” tears began to fall unknowingly. Like a wounded beast, his sobs were stifled and hoarse, his hands gripping the edict so tightly that the veins stood out prominently.

Carefully tucking away the edict, Xu Luoyang knelt on the ground, lifting Ji Lingyun’s frail body into his arms. His voice was trembling and broken as he murmured, “Ah Zhuo… Ah Zhuo, big brother is here to take you home, to bring you back…”

His voice choked, and tears fell onto Ji Lingyun’s faded robes, leaving dark, wet stains.

Standing with the body in his arms, Xu Luoyang smiled through his tears, a smile so pained it might as well have been a cry. “Ah Zhuo, look. You’ve been gone for five years, and now the Northern Kingdom has recovered. The people are well, the court is stable, and we’ve even made it to Chu’s capital…”

His words became jumbled, the weight of his grief overwhelming him. “When you left, I said I’d come to bring you back. You said you’d wait for me, that you’d wait for me to take you home. You promised me…”

But no matter how hard he tried to move forward, his legs refused to carry him any farther. Falling to his knees in despair, Xu Luoyang clutched Ji Lingyun tightly, burying his face into his younger brother’s shoulder. His voice cracked into a ragged whisper, hoarse and desperate.

“You said you’d wait for me to take you home… You promised me…”

But his younger brother, his Ah Zhuo, would never open his eyes again.

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