Hu Xiaoyu didn't hear Yu Tan's answer.
His mouth was claimed instead, a low, domineering tease cutting warm at his ear. "I'm in the mood now."
The mood had begun as sleepless irritation—sharpened by a security feed of a certain someone in nothing but briefs, hugging his pillow, one bare foot on his blanket, sleeping like he owned the place. Careless, reckless—slim waist, long pale limbs sprawled without shame.
Not that Yu Tan would ever say any of that aloud. He did as he pleased; why would he report every impulse to a little toy?
Once again, air fled Hu Xiaoyu's lungs. But that wasn't the point.
He couldn't sense the green jade. Panic sparked. He gathered a thread of spiritual power and wedged the blanket between them, stuffing it into Yu Tan's hold in his place.
For a man, interruption at that moment was lethal. Even with iron self-control, Yu Tan wanted to take him then and there. Veins flared at his wrist where he gripped the blanket. His voice went cool. "What, you don't want to?"
Darkness meant nothing to a fox.
"Yu Tan," Hu Xiaoyu asked, "where's the green jade I gave you?"
A faint, guilty tilt of the head. "Put away."
He didn't know foxes saw in the dark. He hadn't bothered to scoop his face.
Something was off. Hu Xiaoyu's voice trembled. "You didn't… lose it, did you?"
The mere thought slowed his heartbeat. The jade—condensed from a nine-tailed sky-fox's heart's blood—was unique. He had no second drop to forge another.
Hearing the tremor beneath suspicion, Yu Tan's heat guttered. He found himself soothing. "I didn't lose it."
"Then let me see it."
"Tomorrow. It's late."
In truth, the jade sat a thousand miles away with his senior brother, Fan Yingqi.
"I want to see it now," Hu Xiaoyu insisted. Brows pinched, he added softly, "It's very important. If…if you really lost it, just tell me. I won't blame you. Don't be afraid."
Imagining it gone hurt like a knife. But people mattered more than things. He'd learned that from Yu Tan.
In the former life—when he'd been a clueless little fox—he'd once knocked down a treasured inkstone and hid on a beam. Yu Tan had stood below, arms out, voice warm: "You matter more than an inkstone, Little Fish. If you know you were wrong and fix it, you're a good fox. I'm not angry. Come down."
Remembering that, Hu Xiaoyu shoved the blanket aside and hugged him, patting his back. "Did you really lose it?"
Yu Tan asked instead, "And if I did? Is jade more important than me?"
Unreasonable. High-handed. But Hu Xiaoyu had never hidden how much the jade meant, and it rubbed Yu Tan wrong.
A sigh at his shoulder—desolate, earnest. "It's just… I don't have another one to give you."
All annoyance melted.
"Little fool," Yu Tan said softly, "I keep what you give me properly. It's in a bank safe. I'll show you tomorrow."
Relief loosened the boy's spine. "Don't lock it up. Keep it on you."
Yu Tan agreed.
Nothing further happened. Yu Tan wanted to continue, but Hu Xiaoyu's mind snagged on the jade and wouldn't settle. In the end, Yu Tan took a cold shower. To the sound of running water, Hu Xiaoyu drifted under—whether from safety or the aftereffects of losing heart's blood, who could say.
When Yu Tan came out, he stood on the bed for a while, tugged the blanket over the boy's bare stomach, killed the light, and left.
Ten minutes later, a thousand miles away—
"Little brother," Fan Yingqi groused, "it's two in the morning, not two in the afternoon."
Hearing the request woke him fully. "You're getting stingy. I can't even study it for a month?"
He'd nearly put the jade on an altar, unable to place its origin but keenly aware of the dense, steady spiritual clarity sealed within—priceless to cultivators. He'd begged to make it a temple guardian treasure. Yu Tan refused. Fans bargained down to a month. And now this.
Yu Tan pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn't one to go back on his word. But a pair of anxious fox eyes hardened his resolve. "I'll send someone tomorrow."
Hu Xiaoyu knew none of it.
End of Part I.