* Mpreg. The top has amnesia.
Night fell, and heavy snow swirled outside the palace.
The guard found out where the musician lived. In the dead of night, dressed in plain clothes, he went to visit in secret.
It was a dilapidated hut. As he neared the door, he heard muffled groans from inside.
His heart aching, the guard didn’t stop to ask permission. He burst through the door.
The musician was curled up on a tattered straw mat, clutching his back and groaning in pain. His words were indistinct, like the whimpering of a small beast.
Hearing footsteps draw near, he struggled to turn his head and rasped,
"Who is it?"
"It’s me."
Before he could ask another question, he was pulled into a strong, sturdy embrace. Through his thin clothes, he felt warm skin and the steady beat of a heart.
"I brought you some porridge. Here, have a little."
The warm millet porridge slid down his parched throat and into his stomach. At last, the ice in his heart began to melt.
The guard blew out the candle, drew him into his arms, and on the humble earthen bed, they shared their heartbeats and body heat.
The musician’s belly gradually grew, hanging heavy in front of him. And with his back injury refusing to heal, every time he played the qin, he had to endure excruciating pain.
But the emperor often sent the guard away, so he could no longer hear the musician’s flowing melodies with his own ears.
"What is it? Can’t bear to part with him? Then why not drink this cup of poisoned wine in his place?"
*The full story is on Aifadian: Chuan Baizhi
Theme: Give birth, give birth, give birth
