ITF Chapter95

The deliberately chosen daggers, the leather cord worn around his wrist, the concessions made before parting, and that stiff, rigid back view.

With so many clues left behind, it wasn’t that Luo Congye hadn’t noticed them.

He was simply too afraid to believe it.

He was not a religious man. From the moment he was saved from the edge of a blade by that fourteen-year-old youth, a singular deity had appeared in his life.

From the age of six to twenty-four, from watching over him to yearning for him, he had both anticipated it and not dared to. He had imagined this affirmative answer countless times, yet when it finally came, he still found himself unable to believe it.

Was it a dream?

Yet the tactile sensation of this kiss was so incredibly real.

His expression was vacant, as if he were sleepwalking. Bai Heting pulled back a fraction, looking at him, and asked, “Are you going to let me kiss you now?”

His handsome brows arched slightly, his downward gaze appearing somewhat arrogant. Before Luo Congye could react, he asked again, “Why the moon?”

Compared to the moon, Bai Heting preferred the sun. The sun was always warm, capable of bestowing energy for all things to grow.

As for the moon…

It was neither as large nor as bright as the sun; it was merely a useless ornament hanging in the night sky.

What was so good about the moon?

“The moon…” Luo Congye, who’s entire being is still drifting inside the dream, replied blankly, “…the moon is icy cold.”

Hearing this, Bai Heting’s expression turned icy cold as well.

He grew even more dissatisfied with this metaphor.

“But the moon makes the dark night very bright.” Luo Congye stared unblinkingly at his face, a face so beautiful it created a sense of distance.

He murmured blankly, “And it’s beautiful.”

The breath Bai Heting exhaled across his face paused for a brief moment. When he spoke again, the coldness in his expression thawed slightly.

“Have you been watching too many theatrical plays?” He rested both hands on the armrests of the wooden chair, leaning back against the backrest, and gave a soft snort.

“Racking your brains, standing on your tiptoes, wanting to get closer to me?” A hint of disdain touched that perfect countenance. “Then why is it that I’m the one who has to go and invite you every single time?”

Luo Congye was stunned by his question once again.

He remembered the night Bai Heting returned to the capital from the south; he hadn’t joined the other domestic servants to welcome the general’s triumphant return, even digging up a clumsy excuse—”I’m busy.”

That night, Bai Heting had also thrown a temper.

Unable to refute him, he remained silent under the weight of this interrogation for a moment, before lifting both hands to place them over Bai Heting’s, saying softly, “I’m dumb.”

Unlike the previous “I’m dumb,” this one was genuine and sincere.

Bai Heting wanted to scold him again, but a shadow suddenly fell across his vision.

A wine-scented breath came rushing over him. Luo Congye ignited a fire between his lips, a blaze that sealed his throat, stole his breath, and burned away every harsh word he had not yet spoken. Bai Heting was trapped within two strong arms; the back of his hand was pressed until it turned red, while a pair of striking peach-blossom eyes were veiled in a misty haze under the edge of suffocation.

Now he felt that the sun might not be so great after all.

When it burned like this, it could claim a person’s life.

Luo Congye kissed him for a while. Once he had his fill, he finally released Bai Heting’s hands and rested his chin on his shoulder.

“I missed you so much.” He braced both hands against the armrests of the wooden chair, his breathing still ragged. “After leaving, I was thinking of you every single moment.”

Bai Heting’s ears had also been caught by that fire. He raised his arms and wrapped them around Luo Congye’s waist.

“I told you long ago.” Yet the hoarseness in his voice stripped General Bai’s reprimand of its severity. “Do not be half-hearted on the battlefield.”

Luo Congye’s throat suddenly tightened—

A hand slid along the small of his back, moving upward inch by inch. He used his right arm to scoop up Bai Heting’s back, intending to lift him up, but that hand suddenly came to a halt.

Bai Heting asked abruptly, “Was this sustained at the beginning of winter?”

Luo Congye raised his head in surprise.

Bai Heting’s fingers were currently pressing just beneath his shoulder blade. In that exact position lay an arrow wound that had only recently healed.

That arrow had struck roughly three fingers away from his heart; though it wasn’t life-threatening, it had still forced him to recuperate for nearly ten days. At the time, he had given strict, repeated instructions—no one was allowed to pass word of his injury back to the island. Even Lin Zaichang and Lin Qian had been kept completely in the dark.

“Who tipped you off?” He muttered displeasedly.

Bai Heting’s fingers lingered on that unfamiliar scar for a brief moment before pulling his hand away.

“The letter from that week,” he answered calmly and succinctly, “was very short.”

Luo Congye was left dazed.

“How—” Before Bai Heting could finish his sentence, his body suddenly lost its center of gravity. He tightly wrapped his arms around Luo Congye’s neck out of sheer reflex with his legs dangling in the air for a few moments with nowhere to settle.

But Luo Congye held him with absolute stability.

Supporting Bai Heting with both hands, he carried him forward face-to-face. Only then did Bai Heting relax a little, his fingers sliding down to press against those firm back muscles.

Having gone through the trials of the front line, this guy had become sturdier than before.

He seemed to have grown taller too.

Bai Heting found himself feeling a rare touch of envy toward Alphas. At eighteen, his own height had far exceeded the vast majority of his peers. But after differentiating into an Omega, his skeletal frame seemed to cease its development, and he had barely grown an inch since.

This brat, who had once been only half his height, now stood so much taller than him.

“Help me tear the suppression patch off.” Handled by his touch, Luo Congye’s breathing grew heavier, and the strides beneath his feet lengthened.

The tone of these words was somewhat grating. Bai Heting looked down at him and asked, “You’re commanding me again?”

A trace of irritation crept onto those tightly knitted brows. Luo Congye bounced him a bit higher in his arms and explained earnestly, “My hands are full.”

Having said that, he buried his face into Bai Heting’s chest once more, rubbing against him with deep attachment.

“I’ve been holding back for so long.” His voice softened as well, sounding muffled. “It hurts.”

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