NOVEL NEXT Chapter 283: Stay Or Go
It seemed to take forever, but finally, Lin Wei fell asleep.
It wasn't the deep, careless sleep of a child who have never known fear, but rather the kind that comes when exhaustion wrestles terror into silence.
His little body went heavy against Yizhen's chest. His breaths were pulling shallow but steady, every exhale warming the silk he refused to let go of.
I sat on the edge of the pallet, my elbows on my knees, watching. My hands smelled faintly of apples and glue, of rope burns erased, of dye scrubbed out of a scalp that should never have been touched by strangers.
Lin Wei didn't loosen his grip even in dreams. His fingers curled like claws in Yizhen's robe, as if the cloth itself was the last plank on a sinking boat. In fact, the boy even refused to lay down on the bed I had prepared for him.
It was almost like he was scared that the moment he closed his eyes, Yizhen would be gone and he would be back in the coffin.
I didn't mind. He had chosen to sleep on the other man, and as long as he was getting sleep, I was content. My only task was to keep the sea from swallowing him.
"Will he release me?" Yizhen asked finally, his voice quiet, more observation than question.
"Nope," I replied with a soft smile as I continued to stare at my son.
His eyes flicked to me over Lin Wei's small head. He didn't smile or joke around. Instead it was just the calm of a man who already knew the answer and wanted to hear me say it aloud.
Mingyu shifted behind me. He hadn't moved much since we came in, hadn't said a word while I healed our son.
Now he stepped forward, his shadow stretching long across the floor. His hand brushed the carved frame of the screen as though testing its grain, measuring how much weight it could carry before splintering.
"He won't let him go," Mingyu said. His voice was flat, cold, the tone he used when sentencing men to death. "And we won't force him. Not now."
Yaozu leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. His mouth curved in that faint smirk that always made men underestimate him before their throats went red. "That settles it, then. The boy has made the choice for us. The palace can learn to live with him as a permanent resident."
The brazier spat resin, a hiss like something trying to argue with me. I ignored it. My gaze stayed on the boy, on the raw little fists clutching cloth that was not mine.
For a breath, I hated it. Not Yizhen, not Lin Wei—just the shape of it.
The world had made my son believe safety existed in someone else's arms, and I would never forgive it for that. Then I let the thought burn out. Hatred wasted heat. What mattered was that he lived.
"You'll stay," I said, eyes on Yizhen. "Not as a guest. Not as a shadow. You'll stay here, in the east hall. You'll come and go when I say, not before. If anyone tries to bar your path to this room, they can find themselves meeting the true King of Hell."
I didn't raise my voice. The walls in Daiyu have always known how to gossip. I wanted them to carry this one clean.
Something flickered across Yizhen's face—relief, maybe, or resignation, or the last trace of a decision made three roads ago when he chose to pick up what wasn't his to carry. It vanished almost before I could catch it.
He inclined his head just enough for the firelight to touch the crane's curve at his wrist. "Understood."
Lin Wei stirred at the sound, tiny fists tightening. His lips moved against the silk. No word came, only a sigh, but it was enough. He would wake soon, and when he did, he would expect the same arms around him.
Mingyu knelt on the far side of the pallet. His gaze wasn't on Yizhen, or on me, but on Wei, mapping every line of his face as if etching it into memory. When he finally spoke, his words were clean stone.
"If this is what keeps him breathing steady," Mingyu said, "then the King of Hell stays."
He didn't look up when he said it. That was how I knew he meant it.
Yaozu pushed off the doorframe, rolling his shoulders. "Good. The rest of the palace will complain. The old men in brocade will whisper. The women with nothing but tongues will hiss behind screens. Let them. By the time they're finished, WeiWei will be running these halls again, and they'll be too busy bowing to notice who he clings to."
He snorted softly, tilting his head toward Yizhen. "Besides, it's not the worst thing for a palace to be afraid of more than one wolf in its halls."
I almost smiled. Almost.
The room settled into silence. The brazier cracked again. Outside, Shadow shifted his weight and gave a low growl to remind the night that it was being watched. The sound drew gooseflesh on the arms of the servants still huddled beyond the door, but none dared move.
I laid my hand over Wei's small fists, pressing them gently against Yizhen's robe, not to pry them loose, but to anchor them. My son clung to him as if he were the last solid thing in a world that had come apart.
And I would not argue with that.
Yizhen's eyes caught mine in the firelight.
For once, there was no mask looking back at me.
Just a raw awareness—of the child, of me, of the fact that this choice had sealed itself without either of us speaking much at all.
He didn't thank me. He didn't ask permission. He only stood straighter, as if accepting that this room was his battleground now too.
Mingyu exhaled, a slow drag of air that sounded heavier than words. He did not question me, did not protest the new shape of the household. That was why we worked. He knew when not to speak.
"He'll stay," I said once more, not for Yizhen, not for Mingyu, not for Yaozu. For the walls. For the palace. For the city that would spread it like fire through dry grass before morning.
Wei exhaled in his sleep, a tiny sound, and still didn't let go.