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“You're worried Hu Xiaochen will catch on, so you're buying me time,” Bai Yutang says.
“That's part of it.” Zhan Zhao nods. Concealed among the bushes, he watches his former schoolmate with calm authority. The sight leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “But more importantly, I want to ask Lord Hu to clear up something for me.”
He fears Hu Xiaochen is already a step ahead of them.
If they move to recover the bodies now, Hu Xiaochen could easily fabricate a charge and use the law itself to restrain them. Judging by the hostility the townspeople have shown, Zhan Zhao doubts anyone would step forward to defend them. Wanshan County lies beyond their jurisdiction; should chaos erupt, they would have neither authority nor allies.
Whether they wished it or not, they were already entangled in this affair.
There was no withdrawing now.
A quiet, weary sigh escaped his lips. “Bai Yutang, you should—”
The words died on his tongue.
Bai Yutang was suddenly there.
At some point, while Zhan Zhao’s mind had been entirely occupied with strategy and calculations, Bai Yutang had stepped up directly behind him to observe Hu Xiaochen's men. Zhan Zhao, distracted for once by the weight of the case, had utterly failed to notice the encroachment until the distance between them vanished.
He had always known, abstractly, that Bai Yutang was the taller man. In the grand scheme of things, the difference meant little. Standing like this, however—trapped between the brush and Bai Yutang's solid frame—the height difference became impossible to ignore.
To look at him, Zhan Zhao had to tilt his head slightly upward.
And Bai Yutang was looking directly down at him. Not past him. Not around him.
At him.
For a breathless moment, neither spoke. The space between them seemed to dissolve entirely, compressed by an intense, sudden gravity. The world shrank. The villagers, the hidden bodies, Hu Xiaochen’s movements—all of it faded into a distant smear of color and noise. There was only the faint, crisp rustle of leaves stirred by the wind, the heavy warmth radiating from Bai Yutang's body, and the familiar, piercing brightness in those dark eyes.
A sudden, traitorous heat crept across Zhan Zhao's cheeks. The acute realization of it only made the flush deepen.
Bai Yutang's brows drew together instantly. “Zhan Zhao,” he murmured. The sharp edge of concern in his voice shattered the strange stillness.
“What is it?” Zhan Zhao asked, his voice tighter than he intended.
“Your face is red.”
Before Zhan Zhao could formulate a lie, Bai Yutang lifted his hand and pressed his open palm against his cheek.
The movement was so fluid, so utterly devoid of hesitation or self-consciousness, that Zhan Zhao froze entirely. Bai Yutang’s skin was pleasantly cool against the sudden, burning heat of his own.
Zhan Zhao’s pulse gave a violent, unruly thud.
“You really are burning up,” Bai Yutang muttered, his scowl deepening as his thumb grazed the edge of Zhan Zhao's cheekbone. “Are you sick again?”
The sheer, unadulterated sincerity of his worry was enough to make Zhan Zhao want to laugh from sheer exasperation. “No.”
Bai Yutang ignored him . His palm slid upward, shifting from Zhan Zhao's cheek to his forehead, testing for a fever with all the agonizing, meticulous seriousness of a physician examining a patient.
“You were injured not long ago,” Bai Yutang scolded, his voice dropping to a low rumble. “You haven't been sleeping. You've been running ragged across Wanshan County for days. Why wouldn't you be sick?”
“Because I am not.”
“Then explain this heat.”
Their eyes locked, inches apart. This time, unable to withstand the raw intensity of the gaze, Zhan Zhao was the first to look away. “I was merely thinking.”
“Thinking yourself into a fever?” Bai Yutang asked, his tone heavy with skepticism, though his hand lingered. His fingers brushed against Zhan Zhao's temple, a touch far softer than his words.
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Zhan Zhao's lips. “Your imagination is becoming quite impressive, Bai Yutang.”
Bai Yutang let out a soft snort, but he did not immediately withdraw his hand. For a lingering, quiet second, he simply held him there, his cool palm a steady, grounding weight against Zhan Zhao's warmth.
When he finally let his hand drop, it felt like a sudden deprivation.
“Fine,” Bai Yutang said, turning his gaze back to the commotion below, though his shoulder still brushed Zhan Zhao's. “But if you collapse later, don't expect me to hold my tongue.”
Zhan Zhao’s smile deepened, a genuine warmth settling into his chest.
For all his sharp tongue, arrogance, and endless complaints, the Jinmao Rat had always been like this. The very moment Zhan Zhao showed the slightest fracture in his armor, Bai Yutang forgot the rest of the world entirely, just to worry over the pieces.