The Beautiful Top Being Pursued Relentlessly [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 52

Xie Cheng’s response sent Jiang Yi into a state of pure euphoria.

Riding the high of their emotional breakthrough, Jiang Yi became uncharacteristically hyperactive. He leaned in, whispering sweet nothings against Xie Cheng’s ear.

“Good babies are always surrounded by other good babies,” he murmured. “And honestly, I’m not even that close to that Qingzhu guy. You’ll always be the most important person in the world to me, My Lord.”

It was frankly annoying.

Xie Cheng was still nursing his pride. Thus, he unilaterally declared a “cold war” against Jiang Yi.

Coaxing the “Baby”

The chicken soup, packed with various restorative ingredients, continued to simmer on the warming brazier. The fragrant steam swirled through the bedroom, finally masking the lingering, bitter scent of medicine that had hung there for days.

Jiang Yi stirred the pot with a long ladle, adding a splash of fresh water to ensure it didn’t boil dry.

On the bed, Xie Cheng kept his back turned to both the man and the pot. His fingers crept forward across the soft mattress, searching until they finally snagged a corner of his storybook.

With a quick flick, he dragged the book under the covers. He retreated into his “quilt fortress,” pulling the blanket over his head to sneakily resume his reading in the dark.

The story followed a woodland spirit who had fallen for a refined scholar. After surviving countless trials, the two ascended to immortality together, becoming a divine couple envied by all.

When he’d read it before, Xie Cheng found it cliché and dull. Now, however, he found himself savoring the details with a strange new interest.

Just as he reached the part where the spirit secretly mends the scholar’s robes, that irritating voice drifted over again:

“My Lord, if you want to read, at least sit up. Reading lying down will ruin your eyes.”

Jiang Yi stood by the pot, stirring away, but it was as if he had eyes in the back of his head. He tracked Xie Cheng’s every little movement with a voice thick with suppressed laughter.

Xie Cheng let out a muffled “Hmph” from beneath the blankets.

Mind your own business.

Despite the cold grunt, the voice coming from inside the quilt didn’t sound truly angry.

My Lord. Such a good baby. Jiang Yi grinned to himself like an idiot. He set the ladle down and turned around. He didn’t rudely yank the covers away; instead, he stood quietly, watching the large, lumpy “quilt-bun.” Even the stray silver hairs peeking out seemed to scream, “I’m ignoring you.”

“My Lord, would you do me the honor of drinking some soup?” Jiang Yi poked the quilt-bun gently, his tone soft and coaxing. “It’s nearly time for lunch, and you’re still feeling unwell. I’ve been simmering this for over two hours, the bones are practically falling apart. It’s the best thing for your recovery.”

The quilt-bun shifted, wiggling further away.

“Just a few sips? Please?”

His voice was even more syrupy than his usual flirting, as if he were pulling out every stop to win Xie Cheng over. A tiny silver tuft of hair poked out from the top of the blankets.

“You haven’t eaten, and your face is so pale. It breaks my heart to see you like this.”

Jiang Yi leaned down. His curved finger brushed against the small patch of Xie Cheng’s exposed forehead. It was ice-cold. The physician’s medicine wasn’t working fast enough.

Jiang Yi didn’t pull his hand away. Keeping his body hovered over the Prince, he let his thumb graze that smooth, cool skin with agonizing tenderness.

“Just a little bit, okay?”

The quilt-bun slowly slid down, revealing half of a head.

Jiang Yi stared down at the tip of Xie Cheng’s ear. It was a soft, flushed red, and the lobe still bore the faint, lingering mark of a toothprint, the result of Jiang Yi’s previous licking and biting.

“Even just half a bowl. It’ll warm your stomach and make you feel better. I promise, once you drink it, I’ll leave you alone to read in peace.”

Rustle, rustle. Half a head retreated back into the fortress.

Jiang Yi mentally slapped himself. “I said it wrong! After you finish the soup, I’ll read the stories to you. For as long as you want.”

The quilt-bun remained still.

“I heard the Palace sent over several rare orchids for you to enjoy. Once you’re feeling up to it, I’ll help you prune them.” He paused, watching for a reaction before adding more detail. “They’re in the small sunroom outside the study. Imagine: drinking soup, feeling energized, reading books amidst the scent of orchids. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

Xie Cheng finally poked his head out to take a breath.

God, this man is noisy. So annoying!

As Jiang Yi racked his brain for another excuse, he looked down to see Xie Cheng’s elegant profile. Strands of silver hair clung messily to his cheek.

Xie Cheng flicked a cold, indifferent glance his way. He finally opened his mouth to grace Jiang Yi with a single word: “Leave.”

“My Lord!”

Jiang Yi didn’t hear a rejection; he heard an invitation. Bolstered by a sudden surge of “leopard’s courage,” he leaped onto the bed and lunged forward, throwing his arms around Xie Cheng’s neck.

Xie Cheng’s lips were parted slightly as he panted. They looked a bit dry from the fever and lack of food. They looked. like they needed a kiss. No moisture. They needed moisture.

Xie Cheng was knocked back into the soft pillows. Just as he was about to curse the “brazen cub” off his bed, a wave of heat pressed against his face.

Sick as he was, Xie Cheng’s reactions were sluggish. His mind was a foggy mess.

The weight on top of him shifted back slightly, but the arms stayed locked around his neck. Then, he felt it—the soft, warm tip of a tongue lightly and swiftly flicked across his lower lip.

The damp, warm sensation sent a jolt through his entire body.

The “Tiger” who had successfully stolen a taste of meat didn’t retreat. Instead, he stared back with wide, round eyes.

Xie Cheng gritted his teeth. “Get. Out.”

Jiang Yi looked left and right. “But My Lord, the bed is so small. Where am I supposed to ‘get out’ to?”

Xie Cheng glared at him, but Jiang Yi just played dumb.

“I’m not wrong, am I? If I roll away, I might crush you! How about this. I’ll roll around for you to see.”

As he spoke, Jiang Yi’s tiger ears popped out from his hair. Behind him, a long tiger tail emerged, expertly curling around the base of Xie Cheng’s calf and giving it a playful tickle.

Xie Cheng continued to stare.

Jiang Yi quickly manifested his tiger paws, tucking away the sharp claws so only the fluffy, soft pads pressed against Xie Cheng’s chest.

“I’m starting the roll now!”

Jiang Yi hugged Xie Cheng tight, paws cushioning the Prince’s body, and executed a swift roll across the bed.

The world spun. When it stopped, Xie Cheng found himself back where he started—but this time, he was on top.

Jiang Yi, pinned beneath him, let out a joyous, boisterous laugh. His chest vibrated with mirth, causing Xie Cheng to tremble along with him.

Too arrogant.

Xie Cheng’s face went cold. He slammed his forehead into Jiang Yi’s in a sharp headbutt, followed immediately by a kick that sent the tiger tumbling off the bed.

“Scram!”

The Shadow in the Water Dungeon

Three days into the “cold war,” the illness Xie Cheng had contracted after the drinking bout vanished. It happened overnight, without warning.

The dizziness and stinging headaches were gone. His throat no longer felt like sandpaper, and the bone-deep chill that usually haunted him had dissipated significantly. He felt a lightness he had never experienced before.

Compared to his usual slow recoveries, this was unnervingly fast.

Xie Cheng suspected Jiang Yi had something to do with it, but he didn’t dwell on it. Coincidentally, his subordinate, Shuishi, arrived with urgent news. Xie Cheng headed to the narrow secret passage behind his study that led to the water dungeon.

As he descended the stone steps, the air grew damp and putrid. A piercing chill emanated from every direction. Xie Cheng’s pace remained steady as he stopped before a heavy iron door.

Drip. Drop.

The cell was windowless; darkness swallowed everything. The only sounds were the rhythmic splashing of water and the rattling of chains. The air reeked of iron and stagnant water.

Jiang Jingtian drifted into consciousness within the bone-chilling water. Heavy iron chains bit into his torso, pinning him motionless. He couldn’t make a sound; he could only shiver, his teeth chattering uncontrollably.

His memory was a mess of fragments. He remembered the darkness, having nowhere to go, lingering in a tavern… and then being ambushed in a dark alley. The attacker had been a master; he hadn’t even had a chance to strike back.

Who was it?

Fear and fury fought in his mind, causing his blood to boil despite the cold. He began to thrash. The chains rattled violently, and the water splashed in a frantic rhythm.

Suddenly, Jiang Jingtian’s eyes met another pair.

A short distance away, peering through a small, square ventilation slit, a pair of eyes watched him—cold and indifferent. There was no emotion in them, only an ancient, frozen river that reflected his pathetic, ant-like state.

It reminded him of the long sword that had appeared that night—how the moonlight had glinted off the blade just before it pierced his vision.

A faint sliver of light caught the figure outside. He was slender, leaning toward fragile. Standing against the light, his face was obscured, leaving only his long, silver hair visible, shimmering with a cold luster as it draped over his shoulders.

“Who are you?!” Jiang Jingtian barked, his voice cracking with false bravado.

Xie Cheng said nothing. He watched the man’s contorted face until Jiang Jingtian’s struggle died down into a pool of stagnant despair.

“You don’t know,” Xie Cheng finally said. It was his first sentence. “I thought a clever man would have realized by now.”

At his word, Shuishi opened the iron door and brought in a cushioned chair.

Xie Cheng walked in gracefully, smoothing the hem of his robe before sitting down. He sat at the perfect distance—close enough to see every twitch of Jiang Jingtian’s expression, far enough to remain untainted.

“My Lord, your tea.” Shuishi handed him a hot cup.

Xie Cheng took it, blew gently on the steam, and took a small sip. “Talk.”

“You… You are Prince Zhao,” Jiang Jingtian forced out. “What do you want?”

Once the first words were out, the rest followed in a rush, his voice rising in pitch. “Even if Pingyang has submitted to Dongli, and even if you are Prince Zhao, you have no right to secretly imprison and torture me!”

“Heh.”

A soft, airy chuckle cut through his frantic energy.

“If I were to kill you right now and pin a random crime on your head, who would dare question me?”

Xie Cheng looked down, gently blowing the tea leaves away from the surface. The rising steam blurred his exquisite features.

“No right?” He asked the question floating through the air like a feather. “Is there anything in Dongli that I cannot do?”

“Even if your patron, Xie Yuan, were standing right here, I would kill you just the same.”

Xie Cheng’s voice was as calm and slow as ever. There wasn’t a hint of emotion in it, which only made it feel more terrifyingly still.

He raised a hand. Shuishi stepped forward, shaking out a sheet of white paper. With his other hand, he grabbed Jiang Jingtian by his chains and shoved the paper into his face.

“Confess and sign,” Xie Cheng commanded.

“What crime have I committed?!” Jiang Jingtian gasped, the chains tightening around his throat.

“Denial is useless. Confess now, and you might live comfortably for a few more days.”

Xie Cheng stood up. He tossed out a single word, “Boring” and left Shuishi to handle the rest as he headed back toward the secret passage.

“Furthermore, Crown Prince of Pingyang.  You are unworthy of your title.”

Support