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Nie Huaisang will never admit this, but that sound? The spark of electricity as Zidian flares to life on Jiang Cheng’s wrist? That sound is about the sexiest thing he’s ever heard. The second sexiest thing? Jiang Cheng, drawn up in anger, towering over Sect Leader Yao, who is now turning an ugly shade of purple, like a rotting eggplant, as he spews nonsense about Honor and Tradition and the Fair and Equitable Balance of Power and—
Zidian snakes out, a viper strike, and upends the low table at which the old man sits, sending shards of broken pottery flying.
“You dare—“
Jiang Cheng throws a hand out, and Sect Leader Yao claws at his mouth and throat, words caught behind the powerful silencing spell Jiang Cheng has cast. Huaisang rises from his own table and saunters toward the men as the rest of the audience in the hall gapes at them. He has enjoyed watching this show, but Mingjue has trusted him to run this little meeting while he’s away visiting Xichen, and the only instructions he left for Huaisang were, If you must kill Sect Leader Yao, make it look like an accident.
Huaisang puts himself between Jiang Cheng and the pathetic old man now cowering in the arms of a pair of his retainers. He rests a hand lightly on Jiang Cheng’s chest and holds it there until Jiang Cheng’s stormy expression clears and Zidian returns to his arm. When he’s sure Jiang Cheng won’t kill anyone for at least the next ten minutes or so, he tilts his head up, and Jiang Cheng kisses him without a second thought.
“Good boy,” he whispers, too low for anyone but Jiang Cheng to hear. A faint blush stains his cheek, though only Huaisang can detect it under the simmering anger still present in his regard. “Please accept my gratitude for having chosen to defend the Qinghe Nie sect from the scurrilous rantings of this dishonorable man,” he says, loud enough to carry. “You are clearly the only candidate worth considering in the matter of my betrothal. Which,” he says, casting a scornful look at the quivering sect leader, “this...person has decided is somehow his business.”
Sect Leader Yao tries to protest, but the spell holds. Huaisang grins.
“I am also deeply impressed by your command of this spell,” he continues. “I dare say you’ve surpassed Lan Wangji in power as well as efficiency of use. Well done, my love.” He kisses Jiang Cheng again, then turns to address the assembled guests.
“Discussion on this matter is resolutely closed,” he says. He reaches out and takes Jiang Cheng’s hand. “Please, do feel free to continue with your meals. Dessert will be served shortly. But Sect Leader Jiang and I will take our leave now.”
“But what about the spell?” a harried Yao disciple asks.
“A-Cheng, what do you think? The spell usually only lasts an hour or so, but you put a lot of spiritual energy into it.”
“Give it a day,” Jiang Cheng replies. He looks at Huaisang and shrugs. “I was angry.”
Huaisang squeezes his hand. “And you redirected it so well, my love.” He spares Sect Leader Yao one last look. “If you’re still not able to speak by the time you get home, well, I imagine the Chief Cultivator can assist you.” With that, he bows to the rest of the guests and leads Jiang Cheng out of the hall.
Within the safety of their room, Jiang Cheng deflates, embarrassment winning out over anger.
“I’m so sorry I lost my temper,” he says.
“Nonsense.” Huaisang locks the door and turns to Jiang Cheng. “I meant it. I’m very proud of you.” He sits beside Jiang Cheng on their bed and takes his hand. “You didn’t have to say anything, you know. Everyone knows Yao is an ass.”
Jiang Cheng lifts Huaisang’s hand to his mouth and kisses it. “He is. But a person can only take so much. I love you, and he can eat shit.”
Huaisang laughs. “You and your mouth, A-Cheng.”
“You love it,” he counters.
“I do, but I have a much better idea for putting it to use.”
Jiang Cheng kisses his hand again. “I’m yours to command.”