Chapter 0080: Unforgettable Past Events, Early Snow and Frost Moon Respond to Snow Disaster
Moonview Tower earned its name from its excellent moon-viewing platform. After nightfall, one could look up to see the bright moon hanging high in the sky, and sipping tea under the moonlight held a unique charm.
This was Xie Chengze’s first visit, and he naturally intended to admire the moon and flaunt his romantic flair. Carrying the red sandalwood food box, he ascended to the top floor, which he had reserved for the evening, ensuring no disturbances. He could sit quietly on the viewing platform and enjoy the moon.
“Wuhen, Wuji,” he called out. Two figures instantly landed on the outer platform. Wuji stepped forward first, taking the food box from his hand. “Your Highness, what are your orders?”
Wuhen, meanwhile, pulled out a wooden chair at the tea table on the outer platform and began brewing tea with smooth, practiced movements.
“Come try these, they’re delicious. I specifically saved some for you two,” Xie Chengze eagerly sat down, gesturing for Wuji to open the food box.
Wuji happily lifted the lid, picked up a piece, and tasted it. His eyes immediately lit up. “They really are delicious.”
After saying this, he picked up another piece and handed it to Wuhen. “You try one too.”
Wuhen glanced up as if giving him a sidelong look, then lowered his head again to continue brewing tea.
“Does he not like sweets?” Xie Chengze asked, puzzled.
Wuji chuckled. “No, he wants Your Highness to feed him personally.”
Wuhen’s hand trembled, nearly dropping the teacup onto the table, but he caught it just in time. Beneath the black cloth, his eyes glared fiercely at Wuji.
Wuji: ㄟ(▔，▔)ㄏ
Xie Chengze burst out laughing and actually reached out to pick up a pastry, bringing it to Wuhen’s lips.
Wuhen lowered his gaze. Through the black eye veil, he could vaguely make out several pale, slender fingers, softly illuminated by the moonlight, glowing with a gentle luster. They looked more enticing and mouthwatering than the exquisitely crafted pastry itself.
This reminded him of his first meeting with His Highness when they were children.
Back then, he and Wuji were not yet called Wuhen and Wuji. They had been sold to a Prostitute House by distant relatives as young attendants. Because they refused to obey, they were often brutally beaten and could only huddle together in the corner of the firewood shed at night for warmth, their bodies covered in bruises and ash beneath tattered Linen Clothes.
They endured two years of abuse. The prostitutes in the house tried to coax them and forced them to learn how to serve guests. It wasn’t until a new batch of young attendants arrived that the overseers became busy training these new recruits, giving him and Wuji a chance to escape.
Amid heavy snowfall, their footprints left deep and shallow holes in the white fluff, unable to conceal their escape. He and Wuji dared not stop, running aimlessly through the streets. Behind them were the Prostitute House’s enforcers, brandishing clubs like blades, as if they would strike them down again at any moment.
Their feet grew colder and more numb, as if losing all sensation. The warm breath from their mouths gradually faded. The small hand he held in his grew cold, then warm, then cold again. Finally, at one point, that small hand slipped abruptly from his grasp, unable to hold on any longer, and collapsed into the snow. The ankles that had been beaten earlier were already swollen, bruised, and raised so high that Wuji could no longer get up, no matter how hard he tried.
The thugs caught up, smashing hard towards Wuji’s legs, their faces vicious as they taunted him to keep running. Wuji screamed for him to flee, but he didn’t know where to escape to, nor whether Wuji could survive alone if he ran off by himself.
He stared blankly at his surroundings. People walked the streets, yet not a single soul was willing to help them. They merely cast indifferent or helpless glances before hurriedly leaving the scene, afraid of getting involved in trouble.
He wanted to grasp at any lifeline, but no straw would pause even for a moment to aid him.
It wasn’t until Wuji roared at him to get lost that he snapped back to reality and dashed into a tavern. Amid the chaos of overturned tables and startled patrons, he blindly burst into a private chamber.
Inside the chamber sat a stunningly beautiful woman in luxurious attire and an exquisitely pretty young child. The child was clearly well-cared-for, with plump, pale cheeks flushed healthy pink and innocent eyes that knew nothing of the world’s evils. Even when this ragged “urchin” barged in, the child’s gaze showed no trace of panic or disgust, completely unaware of the impending danger.
The woman, meanwhile, wore only an expression of surprise.
They seemed like good people.
But back then, having witnessed humanity’s worst in the Prostitute House, he couldn’t gamble on anyone’s momentary shifts between good and evil. He only understood that wickedness might not be virtuous, but it certainly helped people survive better.
Without hesitation, driven by his desperate will to live, he darted to the child’s side, seized the boy as a hostage, snatched the chopsticks from his hand, and pressed them fiercely against the child’s eyes.
“Save me, or I’ll blind him!” he snarled, his eyes bloodshot as he glared at the richly dressed woman.
“This princess will save you, but release him first!” The woman clearly thought him easily fooled, actually expecting him to relinquish his bargaining chip. He pressed the chopstick tips closer to those innocent eyes. “They’ve got my brother too! Save him first!”
Amid the ensuing chaos, the lavishly dressed woman roared orders to handle the situation. The warmth of the chamber gradually thawed his frozen hands and feet, making them itch and burn.
His entire body’s agony magnified tenfold in the warm room. He could no longer sense time’s passage, his itching left hand constantly rubbing against the child’s shoulder. Only when Wuji’s struggling cries echoed from downstairs did his taut nerves momentarily relax.
Yet this brief respite brought a tidal wave of mental blankness and swelling dizziness. His starved, frozen body could endure no more strain. His right hand, clutching the chopsticks, began trembling, barely able to maintain aim at the child’s eyes.
Across from him, predatory eyes watched unblinkingly, waiting for his weakness to show.
If he collapsed now, both he and Wuji were finished.
The more panicked he grew, the more his hand shook; the more it shook, the more panicked he became.
Suddenly, a warm, pale little hand steadied his own grimy, swollen one. A tender, soft voice shattered his final defenses.
He said, “Big brother, aim properly.”
“Wuhen, aim properly.”
Xie Chengze’s gentle, soft voice echoed in his ears. Before his eyes appeared that small hand from his memories—the one that had sustained him through all his years of bitter study—gently placing a pastry before his lips. Those still-innocent eyes brimmed with affectionate warmth.
Beneath the black eye veil, Wuhen’s lashes trembled slightly, his eyes brimming with profound affection. He leaned closer to the pastry, his thin lips gently capturing the young man’s fingertip before withdrawing with restrained delicacy—taking only half a bite before pressing his lips together and retreating to continue brewing the white leaf tea in his hands.
Xie Chengze glanced at him, then at the remaining half of the pastry in his own hand.
Why only half?
It seemed he truly didn’t enjoy sweet things?
Wuji clicked his tongue softly nearby, his gaze tinged with sourness. “Such waste.”
Indeed, throwing it away would be a shame.
Without hesitation, Xie Chengze popped the half-eaten pastry into his mouth and reached for other treats in the food box.
Completely unaware that Wuhen, while brewing tea, had secretly flushed red to the tips of his ears.
As night deepened, pale moonlight draped over the Moonview Terrace, casting a thin layer of silver frost upon the ground. Xie Chengze cradled the warm white leaf tea in his hands, its heat washing away the cloying sweetness left by the pastries, leaving only the subtle fragrance of warm tea.
He tilted his head back to admire the sliver of moon veiled by thin clouds, until a sudden chill moistened his eyelids, dampening his lashes.
A few sparse snowflakes drifted down, gradually multiplying into a cascade of silver shards pouring from the night sky amidst the darkness.
The first snow of Jingcheng had arrived.
The moon still hung high in the night sky—a rare spectacle of winter’s first snow embracing the moonlight. Yet none knew that a bitter cold front was advancing northward, waiting for winter’s thunder to shake the snow, soon to blanket the earth with snowy graves.