Chapter 69: Tears Streaming Down at This Very Moment

For a moment, Yuan Shaolin thought he was hearing things. But when those clear, lustrous eyes, as bright as pearls, looked at him with that familiar earnestness, Yuan Shaolin truly heard his own chaotic heartbeat. All he could see were those serious eyes; all he could hear, apart from his pounding heart, were the words of comfort that had echoed endlessly in his dreams. As those earnest eyes and that heartbreakingly familiar voice gradually overlapped, Yuan Shaolin found his face wet with tears, though he didn’t know when it had started. With shock and deep longing, his tears washed over his frozen heart again and again, uncontrollable, irrepressible.

It was only when Long Yin, still tipsy, reached out with slender fingers to poke Yuan Shaolin’s cheek that he seemed to awaken as if from a dream. He grabbed Long Yin’s mischievous hand, his face taut, eyes locked onto Long Yin. Something flickered in his gaze—a storm barely held back. After all these years together, if anyone understood him best, it would be this youth. He didn't believe Long Yin would joke about such things just because he was drunk. In all their interactions, Long Yin had seemed so uninhibited, yet always managed, so naturally, to avoid his boundaries, quietly protecting his pride.

Yuan Shaolin was in utter turmoil. The haze of drunkenness was swept away by that single sentence. The matter between him and Dongfang Ning, under Long Yin’s hazy drunken words, became so clear—down to the smallest detail, which only someone who had personally experienced it could know. Once he was certain it was no joke, the hope and denial in his heart were finally shattered by the truth.

Long Yin was Dongfang Ning. Four years after Dongfang’s death, Long Yin was born...

The wine bottle in Yuan Shaolin’s hand had long since fallen to the grass, its contents spilling onto the ground.

A breeze swept by, scattering pink petals through the air. Yuan Shaolin looked utterly lost. He stood, but Long Yin caught his sleeve. The wind made Long Yin shiver as if he felt cold. He looked up at Yuan Shaolin with confusion and innocence, as if to ask, “What’s wrong?”

Yuan Shaolin looked at Long Yin; his heart was so stuffed with tangled kindling that he couldn’t think straight. Every emotion surged up at once—stifling, painful, infuriating—a thousand knots impossible to untie.

“Your Highness?” Long Yin tilted his head, and his mask slipped off, revealing a stunningly beautiful face. In that instant, Yuan Shaolin jerked as if struck by lightning, his reaction so intense that Long Yin was pushed against a tree trunk and let out a pained moan. Yuan Shaolin, startled by Long Yin’s cry, broke into a cold sweat. He gathered the youth into his arms, seeing the fresh cut and blood on his forehead. His body began to tremble, and only after a long moment did he steady himself enough to take out a healing card and tend to the wound.

Yuan Shaolin was nearly consumed by his own tangled emotions. Holding Long Yin tightly, he suddenly broke into tears. He didn’t know what he was feeling—only that he needed to let it out, or he would go mad.

Why did you let me know? Why? Why did you hide it from me? Why? Dongfang Ning, knowing my feelings for you, why…? He couldn’t understand, couldn’t forgive—a thousand grievances, ten thousand grievances. Yuan Shaolin wished he could break the person before him into pieces and absorb him into his very being, so he could feel the passion that filled every cell, so he might understand how merciless it was—to watch him drown in endless longing, to live every second in loneliness...

“What do you want from me? Why did you let me find out…” Yuan Shaolin voiced his suffocating pain, his heart as if plunged into ice, and in the end, he could only drown his sorrows in wine.

Long Yin, dead drunk, slept soundly in Yuan Shaolin’s arms, unaware that he had confessed, word for word, all the secrets he would otherwise take to his grave.

The next day.

Long Yin rubbed his forehead, surprised at how awful this body felt when truly drunk. This sensitive body was a complete mess compared to the iron constitution of his past life. Dizzied and miserable, he leaned against Xiao Chui’s head and swore never to drink again.

Xiao Chui supported Long Yin out of the dormitory, glancing over. His own tall, sturdy body was now fully grown; Long Yin had grown taller too, but compared to Xiao Chui, there was no comparison. Carrying Long Yin was effortless. As they departed for the Federal Card Comprehensive Academy, Long Yin had already decided—other than Xiao Chui, he’d bring no one else. Even Yuan Shaolin, after more than ten years together, would remain in the shadows. Even so, since they were leaving, why hadn’t Yuan Shaolin appeared yet? Others might not come to see him off, but Yuan Shaolin would never miss it.

Xiao Chui scratched his head, looking a bit silly. “Yin, His Highness hasn’t come yet!” Over the years, Xiao Chui seemed to have internalized the bear clan’s gentle simplicity, making people forget he was actually a ninth-rank card beast.

Long Yin looked around—indeed, he didn’t see Yuan Shaolin. That was strange. He’d been drunk last night and was certain His Highness had brought him back. Where had he gone? Frowning, Long Yin felt a sudden anxiety.

After a while, Xiao Chui grew impatient and stomped his foot. Having spent over ten years in Dezhou, he couldn’t wait to see what the other states of the Federation were like. He wished he could step onto the airship and be whisked away to the Federation right now.

Long Yin drank some hangover remedy and felt much better. Unable to sit still, he slid off Xiao Chui’s shoulder and walked toward the place where they’d drunk the night before. Halfway there, he stopped, turned back, and said to Xiao Chui, “Let’s go.” For some reason, Long Yin had a feeling that leaving this time would make things complicated. He always trusted his instincts, so he turned back. After all, once he reached the Federal Card Academy, he and His Highness would cross paths on the Federation’s network. Whether or not he was seen off didn’t really matter—they’d already had their farewell drinks last night. This was how Long Yin comforted himself.

But things never go as one wishes. The more you try to avoid something, the more it comes for you. Just as Long Yin was about to board the airship, Yuan Shaolin appeared. From a distance, he seemed different somehow. Long Yin sensed he should leave quickly, but before he could board, Yuan Shaolin swept over, pulling him off the steps of the airship.

Long Yin’s usually calm heart began to race, a trace of panic rising—something was clearly out of control.

“Your Highness…” he called tentatively. At the sound of his voice, Yuan Shaolin snapped back to himself and set Long Yin down. Long Yin looked up, and in the next moment, he was pinned against a tree trunk by Yuan Shaolin. “Your Highness—mm…” Long Yin’s eyes widened in disbelief. Yuan Shaolin was kissing him?

“Mmm…” In those wide eyes, he saw anger and despair swirling in the silver irises. The spiritual force Long Yin had been ready to use to push Yuan Shaolin away suddenly dissipated. Feeling the other’s despair, Long Yin found himself unable to resist. That look of despair always made him incapable of refusal. Thinking of Yuan Shaolin’s strange behavior that morning, and now this reaction, Long Yin understood: his drunkenness last night must have ruined everything. He just didn’t know how much Yuan Shaolin had learned—but judging from this, it must have been a lot.

Despair deepened in Yuan Shaolin’s eyes. No matter how passionate the kiss, or how intense his feelings, Long Yin’s gaze remained clear, even thoughtful. Yuan Shaolin finally let go of his lips, his fingers tracing over the soft, now slightly swollen lips, evidence of his earlier fervor and need. Yet Long Yin was unmoved, gazing back at him with a pity that made Yuan Shaolin want to tear him apart. Yuan Shaolin suddenly laughed—a calm, quiet laugh that lasted so long even Long Yin felt a pang of pain. Only then did Yuan Shaolin release Long Yin and step back.

That step was so close, yet so distant—within reach, yet separated by mountains and rivers.

They stood there quietly, eyes locked. The turmoil in Yuan Shaolin’s gaze stung Long Yin’s eyes.

Long Yin’s eyes shimmered, and he sighed deeply in his heart. So, he knows.

There was nothing more to say. Both understood. After so many years together, silence became a pain that pierced to the bone. Long Yin knew that, no matter how much he tried to make amends, the moment Yuan Shaolin knew the truth, nothing would ever be enough to fill the emptiness inside him. The coldness and loneliness that once welled up from Yuan Shaolin were now even more intense. In the end, Yuan Shaolin could not forgive him. At this moment, Long Yin finally understood Yuan Shaolin could never forgive him—never.

That unchanging, emotionless smile just now had brought tears to Long Yin’s eyes. Yuan Shaolin would go mad, he thought. Surely he would.

But what could he do? He was no longer Dongfang Ning—he could never be Dongfang Ning again. His feelings for Yuan Shaolin were complicated; he could accept him, protect him, open his heart to him, show his true self, but one thing was clear: his feelings for Yuan Shaolin were not enough to make him become Dongfang Ning again.

He could be a lifelong friend, a partner, a brother—but nothing more. At this thought, Long Yin gave a bitter smile. It seemed they could never go back.

Though neither had spoken the truth aloud, both knew things could never be the same.

“Why?” In the end, Yuan Shaolin still asked.

“Because I am Long Yin.” The low, helpless words made Yuan Shaolin’s body tremble, his face growing a shade paler. He knew what Long Yin meant—because he was Long Yin. He understood. Just like last night, when he saw that breathtaking face, it was not the familiar one from his dreams. The two faces overlapped but could never truly merge. This person was Dongfang Ning, yet not Dongfang Ning. And the one who moved his heart was Dongfang Ning. To see that beautiful face and know it wasn’t the one he ached for—this was a puzzle that could never be solved.

Yuan Shaolin laughed. This time, the laughter was no longer calm but tinged with desolation and sorrow. The person before him was both the one he loved and yet not...

“Safe travels.” Yuan Shaolin turned away, something inside him shattering, tears streaming uncontrollably down his face.

Author’s Note: Well, that’s the end of the Dezhou arc. Next up: the Federation arc.