Mr. You's fictitious marriage

Chapter 4

The instinct of the royal guard kicked in, and You Huo pushed open the tightly shut door of his husband's sleeping chambers. He quickly moved to the other's bedside, assuming that the other must be in pain to be making this kind of sound.

However, as he reached out to offer aid, he suddenly felt a pair of strong arms tighten around him. He was pinned down by Qin Jiu's hold.

"Qin Jiu, stop!" cried You Huo as he deftly evaded the erratic clutches of his partner and subdued him. Finally, he placed a soothing palm upon Qin Jiu's fevered brow in hopes of rousing him from his stupor.

"Wake up, it's me!" he exclaimed with urgency. Qin Jiu's blurry eyes gradually regained some awareness at the sound of his voice.

"Forgive me," Qin Jiu croaked, his countenance unlike anything You Huo had ever seen before and his voice hoarse with emotion.

You Huo halted the man with a gesture, understanding that he was too out of sorts to make sense: "I shouldn't have barged in unannounced. I was worried something had happened to you."

Qin Jiu leaned more into You Huo's cold fingers on his brow: "Sometimes," he murmured faintly, "my mind does play tricks upon me." He shifted his gaze to meet You Huo's penetrating stare. "I just hadn't expected you would be able to hear it."

The moments between them seemed to weigh heavily in the air, like a dense fog that refused to lift.

"I... was in the library."

Qin Jiu swallowed hard and took a deep breath, his countenance indicating that he was all too familiar with these episodes. He summoned the butler and attempted to plaster a superficial grin on his face in an attempt to hide his true emotions. However, despite his efforts, there was a palpable sense of resignation that seemed to emanate from him. "You see, that's why I prefer to be alone during those times," he continued softly, "nightmares are the flip side of the "praised war hero"—one that society would rather not acknowledge."

You Huo furrowed his brow, and for a moment it seemed as though he would leave. Instead, without any regard for propriety, he lowered himself into the bed beside Qin Jiu.

Cold fingers weightlessly passed through his locks before withdrawing. Though brief, almost unnoticeably and unthinkingly, the touch brought momentary solace to his troubled mind. It was akin to a snowflake delicately skimming the calm surface of a tranquil lake, long dormant and forgotten. That speck of intention was gone, but the still waters of his soul were stirred; small ripples turned into tumultuous waves, threatening to engulf his entire being in their wake.

Unbeknownst to him, the words left him, one by one, with ease he hardly believed possible for himself. Throughout his life, he never found pleasure in speaking of his family. Amidst a military expedition, when comrades fervently exchanged tales around the flickering flames of the campfire, he remained taciturn and uninterested.

When those young lads, without roots or branches, were swept away from hearth and home by the relentless tempest of war, what remained of them? And he was one of the most destitute among them.

He talked about his family for the first time in forever. It was a topic long neglected, and yet, to his surprise, it brought him unexpected solace—though fleeting, the joy he felt could not be denied.

He reminisced about his childhood, the memories flooding back with such clarity that it was as if he were reliving them. He spoke of his parents, the warmth of the fire on a cold winter's night, the smell of his mother's cooking, and the sound of his father's laughter. These were the things he had taken for granted, and all that remained were those few intangible memories.