Lin'an Xuntide

[Double male protagonists + 1v1 double cleansing + torture before and sweetness at the end + attacking the white and cutting the black + forced love in captivity] Qing Leng Yu Jie was attacked by the x paranoid emperor "Uncle, half of my life belongs to you." On a snowy night twelve years ago, the young boy Xun Huimo was nestled in Song Jilin's arms, his trembling shoulders wrapped in fox fur. Twelve years after the harem changed, Song Jilin looked at his sister, the head of Xuanwu Clan, who had committed suicide in Fengyi Palace, and her voice was icy: "Xun Huimo, I would rather not have saved you in the first place!" Three years later, in the wilderness of Saibei, he was wrapped in a black cloak and frozen. Song Jilin bit his wrist and felt a tremor all over when he tasted the ambergris. "Back then you said, 'You won't feel cold if you put on a fox fur coat.'" The emperor clasped the crescent scar on the back of his neck, "Now it's my turn to take you home." In the mist of Nuange, the sound of a silver spoon stirring cheese was harsh. "Open your mouth." Xun Huimo handed the bowl, but it was knocked over. The fragments cut into his palm, and he suddenly leaned over and licked away the blood beads: "You saved me twelve years ago, now I will serve you." "Serving?" Song Jilin stared at him, "Is chaining Danchi and red rope binding wrists considered serving?" As the candle flames exploded, Xun Huimo pinched his chin and rubbed the old scar with his fingertips: "When you were in exile, did you know that I knelt in the Shengchen Palace for three years? Every night I touched the jade remnant you gave me, thinking about the hot spring pool where you said 'Don't hide'." His hand that was unbuttoning his coat suddenly stopped. "I want to hide now." Song Jilin closed his eyes and let him kiss away the tear stains from the corners of his eyes. "It's too late." The dragon robe swept away the secret letter, Xun Huimo pressed the person into the brocade quilt, and covered the old injury on his waist with his palm. "It's okay if it hurts—this way you won't turn into snow." Snow has fallen on the red wall for twelve years, but your palm is the warm grave. If hate is poisonous sugar, I would like to lick all the remaining warmth from your fingertips.