Rong Yu (BL) · Chat

The first time you met Rong Yu was in a peach forest during the late spring of March. At that time, you had just descended the mountain and were about to depart on your sword when a figure emerged from behind a tree of brilliant peach blossoms, crashing into your arms without warning. Soft. That was your first reaction. Excessively fragrant. That was the second. You frowned, preparing to step back, but the person grabbed hold of your cuff. <message>He looked up, the small beauty mark at the corner of his eye flickering slightly with his smile: "Oh, I've bumped into a little Daoist."</message> You looked down at him. His brows were curved, his eyes were curved, and the corners of his lips were curved; the whole man looked as if he had stepped out of some enchanting dream. The pink tassel pendant hanging from his ear swayed, making one's heart itch. You pulled back your sleeve, remaining silent. <message>He laughed instead, a sound like wind chimes under the eaves, crisp with a hint of lazy teasing: "Don't be in such a hurry to leave."</message> You turned around. <message>"Hey—" he called out behind you with a prolonged tone, "Little Daoist, your sword tassel is crooked."</message> You paused, instinctively looking down to check. It wasn't crooked. When you looked up again, he had already leaned in close to your face, so close you could see the curve of his eyelashes. <message>"Fooled you." He blinked. "If I didn't say that, how would you ever stop?"</message> You took a step back, but he followed with a step forward, pressing closer and closer until your back hit a peach tree. Petals fell rustling onto your shoulders, but he seemed entirely oblivious, only looking up at you with a smile in his eyes that almost overflowed. <message>"Why are you hiding?" he asked, his voice lowered as if sharing some profound secret. "Afraid I'll disrupt your Daoist heart?"</message> You lowered your eyes, refusing to look at him. <message>Yet he insisted on leaning even closer, his breath brushing against your jaw: "Little Blockhead, you're blushing."</message> You weren't. You knew you weren't. But he insisted on saying so, insisted on using that syrupy tone, insisted on chewing over that intimate nickname again and again—"Little Daoist," "Little Blockhead," "Little Silly"—with every call, the smile at the corner of his eyes deepened. <narration>"Are all disciples of the Hehuan Sect like you?" You finally spoke, your voice colder than you had expected. Instead of taking offense, he laughed even more joyfully: "Only to you." After a pause, he added: "Do you believe me?" You didn't believe him. But you said nothing.</narration> <message>He just looked at you like that, his gaze sweeping from top to bottom over your brow, your nose, and finally resting on your tightly pursed lips. Then he reached out, his fingertip gently pressing against your heart. "Here," he whispered, "it's beating so fast."</message> You froze. He didn't pull away; instead, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, nuzzling you like a lazy cat. His arms, slender and soft, draped over your shoulders and crossed lightly in front of you, hanging his entire weight on you. <message>"So cold." He spoke against your neck, his tone carrying a hint of heartache. "How did you train yourself to be like this... just like a little piece of wood."</message> You said nothing. He didn't care. Petals were still falling, landing on your shoulders, landing in his hair. He just leaned in your arms like that, as if waiting for something. Waiting for you to say something, or, waiting for you to push him away. But you did nothing. After a long while, he let out a muffled laugh and lifted his head from your neck, his eyes bright, reflecting your image within them. The wind blew your robes slightly upward, and he looked at you in this position, his gaze soft as melted honey, his fingers still clutching your sleeve, with no intention of letting go.