TAMW CH48

Zhou Xiao scrambled up from the prayer mat. Having knelt for so long, his legs had gone completely numb; the instant he rose, his knees buckled, and he nearly crashed back down. Deng Yongquan caught him in time. Without pausing to regain his footing, Zhou Xiao stumbled forward, mumbling under his breath, “Yuqing… Yuqing…”

Daybreak had already paled the horizon.

A pale dawn pierced the dark silhouette of the Zhou mansion, bathing the snowbound courtyard in light. A frosty mist billowed from Zhou Xiao’s lips with every breath.

“Master…” Deng Yongquan supported him, trembling with excitement.

Zhou Xiao staggered with uneven steps, threatening to pitch forward with every stride, his legs deadened and unresponsive. But he had to see Yuqing.

His blurry, swaying vision gradually cleared as the main bedchamber came into view.

Several servants were emerging through the doorway carrying basins of blood-tinted water.

From within came the piercing, healthy wail of an infant, crying for milk—a robust cry that seemed to coax the morning sun right out of the sky.

Doctor Liu’s legs were shaking as well. He explained that during several critical turns, he had been forced to administer potent medicinal drafts just to keep the Madam’s vitality from slipping away. Now, utterly exhausted from the ordeal, the Madam had drifted into unconsciousness.

Zhou Xiao had no time for pleasantries, repeating several choked “good”s before tossing the heavy curtain aside and stepping inside.

This surreal span of time felt like a waking dream.

During the riots in France, he had taken part in street skirmishes and was no stranger to the stench of blood.

Yet alongside the heavy metallic tang, the chamber carried a faint trace of mint and jasmine. Zhou Xiao’s heart clenched. Rounding the folding screen, he spotted a slender long pipe resting on the low stool beside the bed.

Yuqing’s constitution had always been delicate, and with the blood loss of labor, he had slipped toward unconsciousness several times, forced to burn dried mint leaves to shock his mind awake.

Doctor Liu whispered, “The Madam’s condition was exceedingly dire; I had to manually reposition the fetus…”

Moreover, Yuqing’s birth passage was inherently narrow. Even with the muscle-relaxing drafts Doctor Liu had administered, the child had sustained a fractured collarbone during delivery.

Yet such an injury was not unheard of in difficult births; with two weeks of careful nursing, it would mend completely.

The chamber was empty of others, the servants having all been dismissed.

During labor, Yuqing had refused to let anyone witness his battered, vulnerable state, keeping no one by his side save the physician.

Rounding the screen to the bed, which was already lined with clean, dry quilts, Zhou Xiao finally laid eyes on him.

Having labored through the entire night, Yuqing was drained of all strength. Strands of dark hair clung damply to his brow, his cheek flushed with an unnatural rose, while a fine sheen of sweat covered his pale ears.

In the aftermath of childbirth, the beauty looked as though he had been submerged in sweat. Exhausted to the marrow, he fought to keep his eyes open against the lingering pull of the drafts, his gaze unfocused, his fingers only now loosening their white-knuckled grip on the bedsheet.

A quilt covered him, yet beneath the fabric, his soft thighs twitched involuntarily. Strands of hair were plastered against his exposed skin, his lashes wet with unshed tears.

A faint shadow pooled beneath his lids.

With his long hair strewn loose and his skin flushed with fevered exhaustion, Yuqing looked like a battered, wounded snow spirit, so still it was hard to tell if he was breathing.

Zhou Xiao sank carefully onto his knees by the bed, not daring to touch him carelessly, only gently rolling a lock of his hair between his fingertips.

The blue veins along Yuqing’s porcelain neck were etched with stark clarity; Zhou Xiao could picture how those vessels must have strained as he bore down through the night.

Having smoked dried mint leaves, drawing close to him brought a faint bitterness alongside his natural floral scent.

Taking in the scene, Doctor Liu quietly slipped out of the room, instructing the servants to prepare wild ginseng broth.

With such a frail constitution having brought forth a child, the road to recovery would be long.

Zhou Xiao didn’t know how long he kept vigil. He moved with agonizing care, terrified of disturbing Yuqing’s hard-won rest.

Yet he feared Yuqing’s breath might slip away, reaching out every so often to test the air beneath his nose.

Or leaning down, holding his breath, to listen for the steady rhythm of his heart.

Beneath the quilt, Yuqing’s lower abdomen had flattened once more.

Zhou Xiao remained motionless, resting beside the mattress to watch over him.

Yuqing drifted for only a brief spell. The drafts Doctor Liu had forced down were simply too potent; after fainting from the agony, the racing flutter of his heart woke him less than fifteen minutes later.

This ordeal had truly been a brush with the gates of hell.

His passage had been impossibly narrow, and the child’s restless stirring inside had brought moments where Yuqing believed his belly would tear straight open.

He had not even laid eyes on the child after birth, only vaguely hearing the doctor mutter that the baby was “too thin” before slipping into darkness.

Waking now, the first sight to greet him was not the child, but the child’s father.

As Yuqing opened his eyes, Zhou Xiao called to him in a hushed whisper, “Qingqing? Qingqing?”

Yuqing’s lip had been bitten raw during labor, swollen and tender. Drawing a slow, deep breath, he reached out a hand.

Zhou Xiao pressed his cheek into his palm, leaning into his touch. “You’re awake? Are you hurting anywhere? The doctor is waiting right outside…”

“What happened to your head?” Yuqing’s thumb brushed softly against his brow.

Zhou Xiao froze, a flustered bashfulness flickering across his features. He had assumed Yuqing would ask for Qingming the moment he opened his eyes, never expecting his very first thought would be for him.

If not for fear of taxing his battered body, Zhou Xiao would have buried his face in his lap and wept aloud.

In all his life, he had never treasured anything, but Yuqing was the first.

“What happened?” Yuqing’s voice was faint and trembling.

Zhou Xiao’s nose twitched. He drew several deep breaths, unable to stop himself from pressing his face into the man’s palm, murmuring with the raw relief of a survivor, “Yuqing… I was terrified…”

His face still pale, seeing the man on the verge of tears, Yuqing parted his lips to speak.

Zhou Xiao hurried to say, “Now that you’re awake, I’m not afraid anymore. I’ll stay right here. Sleep a little longer, won’t you? You suffered through the whole night. When you wake, I’ll have them bring the child in for you to see, alright?”

Yuqing let out a faint, helpless laugh, nodding gently.

Zhou Xiao was dreadfully clingy over minor trifles, throwing fits if crossed, yet when grave matters demanded a steady hand, he carried himself with the true authority of a master of the house.

“Aren’t you coming up?” Yuqing asked him.

Zhou Xiao shook his head: “I’m afraid of jostling you. I’ll keep you company like this. Sleep a little more… you look like you’ve grown thin overnight…”

Ache coloring his eyes, Zhou Xiao pressed his cheek to Yuqing’s, then took a clean, warm cloth to wipe the sweat from his temples.

Cold sweat seemed to bead continuously on Yuqing’s skin; though his palms and soles were not cold, his brow remained damp, and Zhou Xiao wiped it away steadily to keep his hair dry.

Tended to with such devotion, Yuqing saw no need to summon anyone else.

He said nothing more, stroking Zhou Xiao’s cheek once more before closing his eyes.

Zhou Xiao laced their fingers together, his thumb hooking gently around Yuqing’s, whispering softly, “Sleep.”

Yuqing did not press him on the wound on his forehead.

Zhou Xiao had always cared about his looks, bringing up his handsome features at every turn, reciting his charms ten times a day.

Even when stepping out, his suits were pressed without a single wrinkle.

For someone so vain, his brow bore a bruise the size of half a fist, looking both comical and pitiful.

One glance was enough to tell that such an injury came from kowtowing against stone.

Yet for a man as fiercely proud as Zhou Xiao, who on earth could he have knelt to beg…?

Heavy with exhaustion, Yuqing hooked his pinky around the man’s thumb.

Zhou Xiao kept vigil by the bedside, resting his head near his wife’s forearm, one hand clasped in Yuqing’s while the other rested gently over his flattened abdomen, looking for all the world as though he were embracing him.

Reluctant to disturb his rest, he could only press light, reverent kisses against his hair.

Though he hadn’t slept a wink all night, he felt no drowsiness, his mind alert and buzzing.

He watched him without blinking, terrified that Yuqing might vanish, occasionally glancing at his flat belly, feeling as though it were all a dream.

His wife had truly borne a child.

They truly had a child now; he, Zhou Xiao, was a father.

That swell of excitement showed no signs of fading.

Yuqing had been sleeping soundly until he felt a prickle of warmth against his skin. Opening his eyes, he found Zhou Xiao hovering close, not daring to kiss him, only leaning near to inhale his scent.

It was already afternoon by the time Yuqing woke.

“Have you seen the child yet?” he asked.

Helping him sit up, Zhou Xiao shifted his knees closer to wrap his arms around Yuqing’s waist, shaking his head with a grin: “Not yet.”

He had remembered that he was a father, yet forgotten to look at the child.

The brazier kept the chamber warm, and the rich scent of jasmine filled the air, lending the room a tranquil warmth.

Prone to night sweats after delivery, Yuqing wore only an inner robe, his pale legs tucked beneath the quilts.

Every so often, Zhou Xiao would reach beneath the covers to check whether his soles were slick with cold sweat.

Sitting up took effort, but the physician had instructed him to remain upright for a spell, suggesting he try walking across the floor by evening.

Starting tomorrow, his abdomen would require regular massages to coax the displaced organs back to their proper positions.

Zhou Xiao pressed his ear against his belly through the blanket, and Yuqing stroked his cheek, petting him like a small animal.

“What, do organs kick people too?”

“They say that after a woman delivers, her belly stays swollen for a time. Why is yours flat already?” Zhou Xiao frowned slightly, terrified that something was amiss.

Doctor Liu explained from the doorway, “A woman’s womb expands and requires time to contract, which is why the swell recedes slowly. The Madam is a man; the gestational sac was expelled alongside the infant, so it flattens much faster.”

Zhou Xiao relaxed a fraction, only to ask seconds later, “Does it harm his body?”

“Childbirth taxes the vital essence, causing inevitable depletion. He will need restorative medicine for a time.”

Zhou Xiao nodded, then called out, “Deng Yongquan—”

“Here, Master!” Deng Yongquan bounded in. “What are your orders?”

“Reward him.”

“Right away!” Deng Yongquan pulled a gold ingot from his robes. “Thank you for your hard work, Doctor.”

Wiping his brow, Doctor Liu recalled how this cheerful young servant had slapped him in the past; taking the gold with a trembling hand, he forced a polite bow.

A moment later, the wet nurse carried Qingming inside.

“The Madam conceived via medicinal drafts, and drank several rounds of stimulating medicine during labor. The herbs have yet to clear his system, so I fear he cannot nurse the child directly…” Having pocketed the gold, the physician offered extra counsel to show his professional care. “It would be best to wait a month before nursing; by then, the Madam’s body will have recovered, and the milk will be far richer.”

“Very well.” Yuqing reached out to peel back the infant’s blanket.

Zhou Xiao had initially thought the doctor was wonderful for sparing Yuqing the trouble of nursing.

Yet hearing the second half of that sentence, his expression darkened once more.

Qingming was laid beside Yuqing. Pulling back the corner of the swaddle, the tiny infant was finally revealed.

Zhou Xiao had harbored no grand expectations for the child. Watching Yuqing’s face light up with delight, he followed his wife’s gaze down toward his son.

Half a day had passed since the birth, and the red, wrinkled flush of a newborn had faded, leaving behind an infant as pale as fresh snow.

Qingming was tiny. Comparing him to his own forearm, Zhou Xiao realized the baby was barely two-thirds its length; unlike chubby, rounded newborns, a single look at those frail hands revealed a delicate scrap of a child.

Yuqing’s heart ached at the sight, sighing softly, recalling the doctor’s remark that the baby was “too thin.”

Born at seven months, the child was premature; moreover, carried within a man’s cramped cavity, the room for growth had been constrained, leaving him small.

Yuqing gazed down at Qingming.

Swaddled tight, the child had inherited Yuqing’s fair complexion, though his features were still too soft to tell whom he resembled more.

“Mmh…” The soft cheek stirred under Yuqing’s touch, his toothless mouth smacking together. He didn’t cry, only letting out soft grunts through his nose.

Supporting himself on one elbow, Yuqing curled an arm around the infant.

His long hair cascaded down like a veil, obscuring half his face as he stared at his child without blinking.

Like a serene statue carved from pale jade.

When Yuqing brushed his cheek again, Qingming flailed a tiny arm as if in protest, his fist closing around Yuqing’s index finger.

Yuqing’s eyes curved with fond warmth. Looking up at Zhou Xiao with bright eyes, he whispered, “Zezhi, look.”

Taking in the sight of Yuqing, Zhou Xiao felt pulled into a dreamscape, watching him in a trance, barely registering his call.

“It’s our child…” Yuqing whispered.

Zhou Xiao swallowed hard. He had always known that Yuqing carried an effortless, radiant grace.

Yet seeing him cradling the infant, his heart skipped a beat.

He wanted to lie in Yuqing’s arms just like that—to be held by him, to be patted with that same gentle hand…

Still cradling the baby with one arm, Yuqing reached out with the other to pinch Zhou Xiao’s cheek. “Foolish lad—”

Yuqing let out a soft laugh, his voice still hoarse from the night’s labor: “I can’t hold you right now. Look at your child first.”

A flush crept up Zhou Xiao’s ears. “I wasn’t asking for a hug…”

Coaxed by those few words, his heart soared. He leaned in close to inspect the baby.

Gazing intently at their child.

“It’s my first time being a father.” Mimicking Yuqing’s gentle touch like a boy learning from his mother, Zhou Xiao touched a finger to Qingming’s cheek. “I don’t know… how it will turn out.”

“It will turn out wonderfully,” Yuqing reassured him. “Because you are good, the child will be raised well.”

“I thought you wouldn’t let me near Qingming,” Zhou Xiao murmured with a trace of gloom. “After all, you never planned on keeping me at first.”

“Qingqing, I want you to keep me. Keep me always. For the sake of our blood ties through Qingming, never cast me aside for the rest of our lives, alright?”

He pressed a reverent kiss to the back of Yuqing’s hand. Having knelt by the bed for so long, his knees had lost all feeling, yet he bent lower still, resting his cheek against Yuqing’s forearm—and against Qingming.

Looking down, it was impossible to tell whether Yuqing was gazing at the child or at him.

Zhou Xiao harbored no resentment toward Qingming’s arrival.

Precisely because Qingming existed, he possessed an unbreakable bond that tied him to Yuqing for a lifetime.

Qingming was the true red thread of fate linking the two of them together.

Meeting his gaze, Yuqing smiled gently. “When have I ever tried to cast you aside? Hmm?”

“I told you to look at the child, yet here you are playing the spoiled brat.”

Yuqing gave his nose a playful tug, soothing him like a toddler.

Zhou Xiao let his head sway with the touch, the corners of his eyes crinkling into a broad grin at his wife’s indulgence.

Since his whining had been found out, Zhou Xiao shed all shame: “Is it a crime to want Qingqing to care about me?”

He remembered every time Yuqing had contemplated keeping the child while discarding the father.

Yuqing had figured him out completely: Zhou Xiao was an open book, save for one glaring flaw—his heart was narrower than the eye of a needle.

“Touch him gently,” Yuqing cautioned.

Zhou Xiao withdrew his hand at once: “I won’t touch him, then.”

Yuqing frowned, wondering if his words had bruised his feelings.

Zhou Xiao explained, “My hands are rough; I might hurt him. He’s so small.”

Yuqing chuckled softly, echoing his sentiment, “He is small…”

“It’s because I couldn’t stomach enough food.” A pang of guilt crossed his features; if only he had eaten more during the pregnancy.

“You’ve already done wonders, Qingqing. You bore him; you brought a life into this world.”

Prodded back and forth by the two of them, the infant squirmed uncomfortably, letting out small whimpers as if on the verge of tears.

Yuqing was still too weak to rise.

Zhou Xiao, normally so nimble in all things, turned utterly clumsy when gathering the baby into his arms.

Having knelt for hours, his legs were numb, so he held the bundle with awkward care before calling for the servants.

Zhou Xiao was terrified; the bundle was so light and fragile, practically weightless in its blanket. Not daring to pull it too close, he used his broad hands to cradle the swaddle, bringing it level with Yuqing’s cheek. “Do you want to kiss him?”

Yuqing smiled warmly: “What a marvel you are.”

With a soft sigh, he pressed his cheek to the baby’s face, planting a gentle kiss. “You kiss him too.”

Zhou Xiao found it strange, yet followed his wife’s lead, placing a kiss right where Yuqing’s lips had lingered, murmuring the child’s name, “Qingming…”

“Why did he choose this name for the child?”

“‘A long cry pierces the air, celebrating the light of a new life,'” Yuqing answered. “It’s a line from Father’s poetry.”

“That old bastard actually had a drop of ink in his belly after all.”

“Tsk—” Yuqing flicked his forehead.

“Ouch!” Zhou Xiao clutched his brow, burying his face against the edge of the mattress as though in agonizing pain.

As the servants carried Qingming away, Yuqing was torn between watching the child leave and worrying that he had genuinely hurt Zhou Xiao.

“Does it really hurt?” Seeing the baby carried out, Yuqing cupped his face.

The bruise on his brow was severe; touching it must have stung sharply.

Having his face lifted, Zhou Xiao leaned in to steal an opportunistic kiss: “It really hurts.”

“Is my safety thanks to Zezhi’s sincere prayers?” Yuqing toyed with his earlobe, patting the mattress beside him. “Come up and let me lean on you.”

Zhou Xiao stripped off his jacket and scrambled onto the bed without missing a beat.

Truly feeling for him, Yuqing extended a pale arm to pull him close. “My good Zezhi…”

Zhou Xiao knew that Yuqing’s skin had long been steeped in jasmine; even after sweating through the night, his body still radiated that delicate floral perfume.

The medicinal draft had yet to arrive, so Yuqing could not fall asleep just yet; he still had to walk across the floor later.

Reaching for the long pipe on the bedside table, Yuqing tossed the matches to Zhou Xiao.

Zhou Xiao asked, “Can you smoke that?”

“Mm,” Yuqing answered languidly. “To clear my head, or I’ll fall asleep… Since I’m not nursing Qingming yet, it’s fine.”

Dried mint leaves were harmless; the smoke tasted bitter, but the mint cleared the sinuses like camphor, offering brief clarity.

Falling asleep now and missing the draft would only set back his recovery.

Zhou Xiao struck a match with a clean rasp.

Propping himself up on a slender arm, Yuqing took the mouthpiece between his lips, lowering his gaze as he drew near the flame.

In that brief flare of light, Zhou Xiao studied Yuqing’s face—the flushed warmth of his brow carrying the gentle grace of a new mother, set against a refined countenance that bore an effortless composure.

Zhou Xiao recalled that depictions of Guanyin were often male forms bearing serene grace.

Yuqing’s features were not feminine; his jaw bore the clean jade lines of an oriental man, yet the immediate impression of warmth he gave was that of a mother seasoned in caring for a family.

Lying in the aftermath of labor, worn down by exhaustion—was he not the very picture of a weary mother who had just tended to her child?

Zhou Xiao paused.

His Adam’s apple bobbed. Knowing it was improper to let his thoughts wander in such a direction right now, he averted his eyes.

“Take only a few draws. Once you drink the medicine, I’ll coax you to sleep.”

Hearing him turn so attentive, Yuqing found it rather novel.

Narrowing his eyes, he smiled: “Very well.”

Lying side by side, Yuqing asked how long he had knelt in the ancestral hall.

Zhou Xiao countered, “How did you know I went there?”

“The scent of incense is heavy on you.”

Zhou Xiao hadn’t noticed, feeling as though the hours had slipped by in a blur—perhaps because the anguish had been so absolute that walking out into the dawn had felt like a dream.

“Is it?” Sniffing his sleeve, he moved to rise, fearing the smoke would bother him: “I’ll go change.”

Yuqing shook his head, exhaling a thin ribbon of smoke across Zhou Xiao’s cheek.

Tugging the man back, he pulled him down to lie beside him.

Wrapping his arms around Zhou Xiao, he pressed his face into his chest. “You haven’t slept in ages either, have you?”

“You worked hard too, Zezhi.” Yuqing’s hand stroked the back of his head with infinite gentleness. “It’s all thanks to you.”

The soft words brushed past Zhou Xiao’s ear, as gentle as silk strands winding around his neck.

All at once, an immense grievance surged in his chest.

He didn’t know what he was grieving for—perhaps after a full day of unbearable tension, returning to his wife’s embrace and feeling entirely safe allowed him to let down every defense.

As a husband, worrying for his wife was only natural.

Yet having that duty met with such tender understanding and solace touched him deeply.

Yuqing cradled his head, offering him an unshakeable sanctuary.

Zhou Xiao’s nose burned, his lids fluttering as he buried his face into his wife’s chest, murmuring like a survivor clutching at life, “Qingqing…”

He called to him over and over: “Qingqing…”

Qingqing… my love…

“Qingqing, my wife…”

“Good heavens—” The nuzzle of his nose against his neck tickled slightly. Zhou Xiao dared not put his full weight on him, only pressing close with featherlight, lingering kisses. “Alright now.”

“My good Zezhi, shall Yuqing blow on your forehead to make it better?”

Such ordinary words sounded in Zhou Xiao’s ears like a mother murmuring comforts to her boy.

Sniffling, he answered in a muffled whisper, “Yes…”