Chapter 47: Is it sweet?

Xue Yin curled up on the bed, her forehead pressed against the cold stone wall.

Pain spread from her abdomen to her back, then radiated out to her limbs.

Cold sweat soaked through her simple white clothes, trailing down her waistline.

She bit her lower lip, keeping her breathing as light as possible.

This wasn’t her first time with her monthly cycle, but it was the most painful.

‘Damn it,’ she cursed inwardly.

‘Of all days, I had to test the new formula today.’

But more than the formula, she was afraid of losing her composure in front of him—whether it was for the dignity of being his master, or… something else.

Suddenly, a knock came at the door.

Her worst fear had come true.

‘Just my luck. Murphy’s Law, huh…’

“Master, are you awake?” Jin’s voice came through the door.

“It’s late and I noticed you haven’t gotten up for meals, so I brought you breakfast.”

“Don’t… come in!”

Xue Yin’s voice squeezed through her teeth, trembling with suppressed pain.

Jin hesitated for a moment.

He could hear the abnormality in her voice.

His hand was already on the door.

“Sorry, Master,” he said, and pushed the door open.

Morning light flooded into the room.

He saw her curled up in the corner of the bed, silver hair spread messily across the sheets.

Her eyes were half-open, her starry pupils misted over.

The moment she saw him, her pupils contracted—as if he had stumbled upon some secret.

“Don’t move.”

Jin’s voice was low, carrying an unyielding force.

Xue Yin tried to sit up, but as soon as she pushed herself halfway, another wave of sharp pain hit her abdomen.

She let out a muffled groan and went limp.

Jin was already by the bed.

He pressed a hand gently on her shoulder—the pressure light, yet steady as a rock.

“Wait for me.”

He didn’t wait for her answer.

He turned and left, his footsteps quickly fading down the hallway.

Xue Yin lay in bed, listening to faint sounds coming from the kitchen direction: the light clink of pots and bowls, the bubbling of boiling water, the dull thud of a knife on a chopping board.

She closed her eyes.

It didn’t take long for her to realize that Jin was making her a new breakfast.

Suddenly, she remembered a long time ago, by a campfire in the Red Desert, how he had crouched there too, handing her roasted meat.

‘Hah… so much time has passed, and yet it feels like yesterday.’

Jin walked back in carrying a tray.

On it were warm millet porridge, tender steamed egg, and a small dish of pickled green plums.

“I added shredded ginger and brown sugar to the porridge.”

Xue Yin had no strength to speak.

She gave up struggling and nodded slightly.

Jin sat on the low stool by the bed, scooped up a spoonful of porridge, blew on it to cool it, and brought it to her lips.

Xue Yin opened her mouth.

The warm millet porridge slid down her throat, and the warmth slightly chased away the chill.

But then the next wave of pain struck.

She arched her body violently, clutching her abdomen with her hand.

The bowl nearly tipped over.

Jin steadied the bottom of the bowl firmly, not spilling a single drop.

“It hurts…” she finally couldn’t help but let out a low moan.

‘The moment I said that, I regretted it. Too weak. Too unlike myself. When there’s someone trustworthy around, you can’t help but rely on them.’

“Bear with it for a moment,” he said softly.

“I’ll get a hot water bottle.”

Jin stood up too quickly.

His sleeve caught the alchemy reagent bottle on the table.

When he hurriedly reached to steady it, his finger was cut by a shard of broken glass, and a bead of blood welled up.

Xue Yin looked up and saw the blood on his thumb.

Her brow furrowed.

‘How many times has it been already? In moments like this, he’s always the one taking care of me.’

“Jin, don’t go.”

Her voice was weak, but left no room for refusal.

Jin turned back.

He saw her struggling to sit up, silver hair falling over her shoulders.

Xue Yin brushed her hair behind her ears—slow but determined—then reached out her hand to him.

“Come here.”

Jin approached, instinctively hiding his injured hand behind his back.

“It’s a small wound. Nothing serious.”

Xue Yin didn’t say anything.

She grabbed his wrist, pulled it toward her, lowered her head, and closed her lips around his thumb wound.

Her lips were impossibly soft, sending a jolt like an electric current through Jin.

Xue Yin’s mouth was hot, carrying the lingering sweetness of the brown sugar ginger porridge, mixed with the faint metallic taste of his wound.

The combination fermented into a dizzying scent between them.

Jin could clearly feel the slight movement of Xue Yin’s tongue—gently, almost tenderly, licking the edge of his wound.

At that moment, it felt as if all the blood in his body reversed course, rushing to his head.

Every limb and bone screamed for him to draw closer, to embrace her, to kiss her.

He could only stare fixedly at her lowered brows and eyes, watching her silver hair slip from her shoulder and fall onto the back of his hand.

The tip of Xue Yin’s nose was almost pressed against his palm.

Her warm breath brushed over his skin.

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

His fingers clenched the hem of his clothes so hard his nails nearly dug into his palm, using the pain to remind himself:

‘This is Master. This is Xue Yin. The person you swore to protect. You cannot have improper thoughts when she is at her weakest.’

Deep in his dark red pupils, molten gold flames ignited.

Even his breathing became scorching hot.

He could even smell the faint herbal scent in her hair, mixed with the dew of early morning, weaving into an invisible net that trapped him firmly in place.

Three seconds.

Or maybe five.

Time seemed stretched, yet frozen.

Finally, Xue Yin released her mouth.

When her lips left, a thin silver thread followed, vanishing in the morning light in an instant.

She wiped the bloodstain with her fingertip, her voice calm:

“Take it slower next time. No need to be so flustered. I’m not that delicate. My body can still hold up.”

Jin lowered his head to look at her, squeezing out only two words:

“Understood.”

Xue Yin lay back down, pulling the blanket up to cover herself, leaving only her starry eyes exposed.

“I want to drink more.”

“Understood.”

He picked up the bowl again, his movements a little slower, and fed her until it was finished.

After setting down the bowl, Jin didn’t leave.

He just sat on the low stool, his palm still resting on her abdomen, continuously transferring heat.

“Jin’s cooking is still as delicious as ever,” Xue Yin said with her eyes closed, as if trying to confirm something.

“You said before, if I ever want to eat something, you’ll make it for me no matter what, right?”

Jin’s voice was very gentle, but every word was solemn:

“Whatever Master wants to eat, I’ll make it. Today, tomorrow, every day from now on. Anytime, anywhere.”

The afternoon sunlight slanted in through the window, falling onto the floor.

Although Xue Yin could barely get out of bed, her body was still weak and limp.

She wanted to go to the basement storage room, but Jin blocked her at the door.

“Vera went to handle government affairs. Ailia sent over some red date tea.”

Jin’s tone left no room for argument.

“Master, please rest today.”

Xue Yin frowned.

“I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupted, his gaze firm.

“Strength isn’t about never falling down. It’s about knowing when to take a break.”

Xue Yin looked at him, then suddenly laughed.

Her laughter was weak but genuine.

“Since when did you learn to preach such grand principles?”

“Master is always the one teaching others. This time, you need to let yourself be taught.”

Jin stood beside her, his gaze falling on the side of her neck.

There was a faint scratch there—one she had made herself when the pain was unbearable.

He wanted to massage that mark away for her, but he knew that some pain could only be endured by her alone.

All he could do was stand by, waiting for her to be willing to lean on him.

Xue Yin suddenly asked, “Why are you so good to me?”

Jin was caught off guard for a moment, and the words tumbled out:

“Because I like you, Master. You already know that.”

No embellishments.

No testing.

He just said it so plainly, as if he had rehearsed that sentence a thousand times in his heart.

The two sat side by side.

Neither spoke.

The wind swept through the corridor, stirring her silver hair, and occasionally a strand brushed against his arm.

After a long silence, Xue Yin whispered, “…Thank you.”

Jin was stunned.

“Is it that surprising that I thank my own disciple?”

She lowered her head, her fingertips unconsciously tracing her own lips—as if the salty, bitter taste of his blood still lingered there.

“Every time I soften my heart, I feel like I’ve taken one step closer to you. We clearly agreed that neither of us would cross the line anymore…”

Then, Xue Yin took something out from her sleeve.

It was a new scarf woven from delicate silk threads.

“For you.”

She handed it to him, her tone deliberately flat.

“The old one needs replacing. Keep that one as a family heirloom for yourself.”

‘Actually, the old scarf is still usable. But Xue Yin wanted to give him a new one. Like them—they also need a new beginning.’

Xue Yin looked at him and straightened the creases of the scarf around his neck.

“This one turned out nice. Not a waste of all my effort.”

Jin gazed at Xue Yin, his eyes full of tenderness.

He reached out, his fingertips lightly brushing the back of her hand.

She didn’t pull away.

He tentatively moved another inch, pressing his finger pads against her knuckles.

Still, she didn’t withdraw.

Slowly, he slid his fingers between hers.

Xue Yin didn’t respond, nor did she refuse.

She simply let him hold her hand for a long, long time before slowly curling her own fingers and gently hooking them around his.

The sun set in the west, stretching their shadows long across the stone floor.

Gradually, the shadows overlapped, but never crossed the line.

On that day, they finally stopped using the titles of “Master” and “Disciple” to keep two hearts that had already drawn close apart.

But they also tacitly stopped right before that line—just like the scarf, though it wrapped around the neck, it left enough room not to suffocate.

Some words don’t need to be spoken.

Some people don’t need to be possessed.

As long as they stand behind you, they are the light that illuminates the rest of your life.

We are each other’s chosen ones.

Drawing close in pain.

Keeping boundaries in clarity.

Loving in silence.