Ice Dragon and Flower

chapter 2

Thunder roared across the heavens, followed by streaks of lightning tearing through the skies. Dark clouds gathered swiftly, bringing with them a sudden summer downpour. By sheer instinct—just as he always did whenever dragging her into mischief—he scooped up the young maiden still munching on lychees and dashed into the hall. One arm cradled her, the other held the hem of his robe over her head, shielding his childhood sweetheart from the rain.

He burst into his bedchamber. Raindrops clung to his long black hair, a few trailing down his face before sliding along his throat. The girl, freshly set upon a chair, stole a glance at his neck, swallowing hard as her tongue flicked over her lips. He shook his head, scattering droplets from his hair.

“Like a dog shaking its fur,” Mẫn Nguyệt’s rosy lips blurted without thought.

He froze, whipping his head around, his collar damp and loosened.

“I just shielded you from the rain, yet you dare call me a dog? Then I shall bite you to death!”

He lunged, rough hands from years of martial training digging lightly at her waist, tickling her. Their laughter filled the chamber, echoing bright and unrestrained. But in their play, she tumbled from the chair. His face turned ashen; panic surged. He wrapped her tightly, twisting so that his own back struck the cold floor.

Then he stiffened, crimson spreading across his face—her dewy lips had landed squarely against his throat.

“Aiya, Sixth Brother, what’s wrong with you?” Mẫn Nguyệt sat up, oblivious to the scene, shaking him urgently. His clothes were disheveled, and upon his lips bloomed the most foolish smile.

[Heavens above, she kissed me! She touched me—that means she likes me, she’s mine, mine!]

“Did the fall knock your wits loose?” she muttered, still shaking him, stray strands of her hair brushing against his cheek.

He sat up suddenly and clasped her in his arms as though to merge her into his very being, smiling foolishly all the while.

[Or maybe he’s just hurt.] She thought, patting his back gently.

Outside, the rain continued its relentless drumming upon the tiled roof. Bai Long remained in the courtyard, drenched and sulking, tucking its head beneath a great tree while the rest of its long body was battered by the downpour.

[And what about me? You damned master, hurry and summon me back into your spirit space! At this rate I’ll turn into a water dragon!]

---

A FEW DAYS LATER

The heat returned, though slightly muted beneath scattered clouds. Bai Long had gone on strike, refusing to act as an air conditioner after that drenched debacle. By morning, he was forced to seek relief in the bathhouse.

Freshly awakened, sweat clung to his brow, dampening his dark hair. He carried his garments into the bath chamber, where the wide pool had been filled with crystal-clear water carried in at dawn.

“Must be clean and refreshed… or else she’ll complain again.” He muttered to himself as he stepped in.

Droplets slid down his skin, gliding past his throat, tracing the defined lines of his abdomen. No doubt because someone once mentioned liking abs, he had trained them diligently. After bathing, he sank deeper into the water, “resolving” the morning troubles every young man faced—one hand moving, the other clutching the handkerchief Mẫn Nguyệt had once dropped, pressing it against his face.

When it was over, Huang Lãnh Thiên remained in the water, catching his breath. But just then—the familiar ambush arrived.

The door crashed open with a kick, the jingle of bells at Mẫn Nguyệt’s waist heralding her entrance. Her bright voice followed, shattering the quiet.

“Sixth Brother, let’s go out of the city today!”

She strode in boldly—not that she was unaware he was bathing, nor that men and women ought to keep propriety. But since childhood, he had never stopped her, even emphasizing that she was the only one allowed such liberties.

Today, however… he had just finished something, hand still holding her handkerchief—the very one he had vehemently denied possessing. He sprang up, hurriedly hiding it beneath the water, his limbs flailing without direction, uncertain whether to cover above or below. In the end, he chose to shield his face, as though that would disguise his identity.

“Sixth Brother, you sure know what part to cover,” she teased with a mischievous laugh, her voice making his face flush hotter. He scrambled out, drying himself in haste, slipping into his clothes.

“You wicked little lecheress! Don’t you know how to knock?” he scolded, half sulking.

[I want her to look… but not now! I haven’t finished growing yet. Hm, did I pose well just now?] His mind betrayed him even as his lips pouted in irritation.

Dressed at last, his hair still damp, he donned a jet-black cloak—like a black dragon instead of Bai Long. After all, wasn’t it her favorite color?

“Out of the city, you say? Did you even ask your father’s permission? I won’t suffer punishment for abducting the Preceptor’s daughter again!”

He recalled last month, when he had taken her to a festival beyond the walls. The Preceptor, unaware, had mobilized the Imperial Guards with the emperor himself to find his precious daughter. The result? He had been punished by his father, forced to transcribe scriptures a hundred times before being released.

He summoned Bai Long from his spirit space. The dragon emerged majestic, eyes sharp as though preparing for battle. Cold mist emanated from its snowy birthplace, and with a mighty roar it unleashed a powerful gust of wind—only to be met with a resounding smack! to the head from nowhere