Wang Lee's mind whirls even as he continues the ritual. Why is he doing this? The question burns in his head, almost distracting him. But he doesn't let go of Jiyin. He holds the prince firm in his arms, whispering ancient words like a mantra.

  Jiyin's skin is hot to the touch now, burning with an internal fire. He gasps and shudders, every muscle clenching beneath Wang Lee's palms...

  Jiyin's body shudders again, a harsh cough shuddering out of him—but Wang Lee is quicker. He covers the prince's mouth with the hem of his own robe, muffling the sound. He leans closer, whispering into Jiyin's ear.

  "Shh, now. Easy."

  Jiyin's eyes are wide—still dazed from the ritual, but sharp enough to see everything. His lips curl into a weak smirk as he whispers, "And you say I'm the one who is a cut sleeve..."

  Wang Lee's cheeks burn hotter than Jiyin's fever. He leans in closer, hissing through gritted teeth: "You—stupid! You just came back from death and that's your first thing?!"

  A beat of silence. Then Jiyin has the audacity to chuckle.

  Jiyin's voice is hoarse but laced with teasing, his dark eyes glinting as he tilts his head. The smirk on his lips is weak but unmistakable. "If you don't like me... then why did you help?"

  Wang Lee stiffens, fingers tightening in the fabric of Jiyin's robes—before abruptly releasing him as if burned. "As a human," *he snaps back too quickly.

  Wang Lee gets up, his eyes flashing with frustration. But as his bare feet touch the floor, pain shoots up his legs—he yanks them back with a sharp inhale. "Damn it..."

  Jiyin chuckles weakly, still leaned back against the pillows. He gives Wang Lee a sly glance, his feverish eyes glittering with mischief. "Someone wants to spend the night with me, huh~?"

  Wang Lee's gaze snaps back to Jiyin, his eyes narrowing. A muscle jumps in his jaw, and he snaps back sarcastically. "In your dreams, Your Highness."

  Jiyin laughs again, the sound broken by a painful cough. His face is flushed with fever, sweat beaded on his temples. But his eyes glint with mischief as he grins up at Wang Lee, still propped up against the pillows. "Would it be so bad...?"

  Jiyin reaches under the bed, pulling out a fire spell talisman. He looks at it with a wry smile, murmuring, "My mother... she always knew not to trust guards."

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  He glances over at Wang Lee—who is still sitting there, looking a little dumbfounded. Wang Lee shifts his weight, rubbing his still-burning feet. "Ah... yes. Thank you."

  Wang lee moves.

  Wang Lee hesitates at the door, his hand hovering over the frame. The weight of what he's just done presses down on him—a forbidden ritual, treason against his own empire. His breath hitches as doubt coils in his chest.

  Jiyin lifts his head from the pillows, peering at Wang Lee with dark, fever-bright eyes. He speaks as if simply remarking on the weather, his voice a little raspy.

  "So you're a spy from Xian Tian, come to infiltrate my kingdom?"

  ...

  What?....

  How...

  Wang Lee doesn't respond at first, his mind whirling. But the words are impossible to deny. Jiyin continues. "You used the Blood Awakening. It's a secret technique, only known in the Xian Tian royal family."

  Jiyin rises slowly from the bed, his movements stiff and unstable. He sways slightly, but he doesn't let it show as he steps in front of Wang Lee, peering up at him with sharp, feverish eyes.

  "Why did they send a member of the royal family to spy on us?" he demands again.

  Jiyin's hand lands on Wang Lee's shoulder—startling the assassin, who was still looking at the ground. Wang Lee's skin burns under Jiyin's touch, the prince's palm hot with fever. Underneath his fox mask, Wang Lee's face glistens with sweat.

  Jiyin laughs softly, his voice low and mocking. "They don't care about their royal blood? Is that what you meant?"

  Jiyin studies Wang Lee closely, his grip tightening on the assassin's shoulder. He leans closer, his breath still hoarse with fever. His eyes narrow as he studies Wang Lee's mask.

  "Or... are you not of royal blood? Have you simply learned their techniques?" he challenges.

  Wang Lee stiffens under Jiyin's grip, sweat beading on his forehead. His mind races with possibilities. What will Jiyin do to him now? Will he order an execution? Torture him for information?

  He keeps his gaze down, fighting to keep his breathing even beneath the fox mask. The weight of Jiyin's gaze is almost suffocating, his hand burning through the fabric of Wang Lee's clothes

  Darkness suddenly envelops the room as all the candles are snuffed out, plunging Wang Lee into pitch black. He can't see anything—not even his own hand in front of his face. The air thickens in the sudden absence of light, and Jiyin's hand on his shoulder is the only thing anchoring him. He inhales sharply, muscles tensing as he waits for the prince's next move.

  Wang Lee is still on edge even as Jiyin speaks. He can't help but feel unsettled by the sudden darkness, and the prince's casual tone only adds to the oddity of the situation.

  Jiyin doesn't sound angry or threatening—in fact, his voice is almost nonchalant. He continues as if he were discussing the weather, his words sharp and casual in the dark. "I was just curious," he says. "It doesn't matter. You saved me, Wang Lee."

  Wang Lee's confusion only deepens as Jiyin mentions wanting to feel his face. What? The prince just came back from the brink of death, he found out that Wang Lee is an enemy spy... and here he is talking about touching his face?

  Wang Lee hesitates, his mind whirling. He can't understand why Jiyin would act so casually after such a revelation. He can't see anything, but he can feel the prince's hand still on his shoulder... and the heat of his fever.

  Wang Lee is acting on instinct now, his thoughts overruled by something else. He carefully removes the fox mask, his face still hidden in the darkness. Jiyin can't see him, of course, but Wang Lee can sense the prince's eyes trained on him all the same.

  Wang Lee's expression remains hidden beneath the shadows, his gaze fixed on the vague outline of Jiyin's face. The prince's hand is still on his shoulder, the heat radiating from his fever almost burning through the fabric of Wang Lee's clothes.

  Jiyin's hands explore Wang Lee's face, his touch gentle as he traces the assassin's sharp features. Then, his fingers brush against Wang Lee's other hand, which is pressing against his face. A pause, and Jiyin's voice comes again, low and curious.

  "Why are you covering it?"

  Wang Lee is caught off guard, his body tensing beneath Jiyin's touch. Why is he even letting the prince touch like this? But there's something about the feverish heat of Jiyin's skin that makes Wang Lee stay still.

  Wang Lee pauses, his heart rate quickening as Jiyin leans closer. He whispers, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. "It's... burned. I don't want you to see the bad side..."

  For a moment, the only sound is the faint crackle of fading candles. Then Jiyin speaks, his voice low and soft. "I like both sides of you, even if it's the elegant dancer in my palace... or the dangerous enemy spy."