Black Magic Rose Chapter 3
byChapter 3: Meticulous Care
In the early morning, a sliver of pale light stubbornly squeezed through the gap in the heavy curtains, like a sharp blade carving a fine bright line in the dim room, illuminating the motes of dust slowly floating in the air.
Shu Yijin woke up very early. Or rather, he barely needed the prolonged sleep humans required. The sense of fatigue in this body was more of a novel experience for him than a necessity. He lay on the soft but unfamiliar bed in the guest room, his crimson eyes opening in the gloom. There was no grogginess typical of waking up, only a cool, clear alertness.
He quietly listened to the sounds of the massive estate waking up. Faint footsteps of servants drifted from afar, along with the subtle clinking of utensils. Everything was orderly, imbued with the cold, regulated discipline characteristic of a great noble family. This place lacked the dead silence and decay of the Shu Family’s annex, yet it held a deeper, more profound suppression, constrained by invisible frameworks.
The corner of his mouth curved into an almost imperceptible arc. What a perfect stage for a good show.
He rose, washed up, and changed into the high-quality but conservatively styled clothes the Wen Family had prepared for him. The soft cotton fabric clung to his skin. The unfamiliar sensation made him frown slightly, but he quickly smoothed it out. Disguise, naturally, had to start with every detail.
When he pushed open the heavy door to Wen Jingheng’s bedroom again, his face wore a perfectly calibrated expression of gentle tenderness, tinged with a hint of timidity and worry. He carried a silver tray holding warm water, a soft towel, and some basic cleaning supplies. His movements were cautious, like a novice afraid of making a mistake.
“Jingheng, good morning,” he whispered, as if afraid of disturbing the sleeping man. His voice echoed slightly in the empty room, emphasizing the surrounding silence.
He placed the tray on the bedside table, then walked to the window. Instead of pulling the curtains wide open to welcome the sunlight, as a normal person would, he carefully covered the existing gap, ensuring no excess sunlight could penetrate and disturb the “patient’s” rest. The room once again sank into the carefully maintained gloom suitable for deep sleep, with only the bedside lamp emitting a constant, warm yellow glow that failed to truly warm the heart.
Only after completing this did he return to the bedside, his gaze resting on Wen Jingheng’s tranquil sleeping face. Today, he looked no different from last night, as if the passage of time had frozen upon him.
“The weather seems nice today, unfortunately, you can’t see it.” Shu Yijin gently began wiping Wen Jingheng’s face with the damp towel. He had adjusted the water temperature perfectly. The warm towel brushed across the forehead, eyebrows, nose bridge, and cheeks. Every inch of skin received meticulous care. His movements looked clumsy yet incredibly earnest. His fingertips occasionally brushed against Wen Jingheng’s skin, leaving a cool sensation.
“When I was little, I was often sick and spent a lot of time in bed too,” he said in that soft, self-communing tone while wiping, as if sharing a secret. “At that time, I used to think that if someone could just talk to me like this, maybe it wouldn’t feel so sad.”
His words were a mix of truth and fabrication, incorporating vague memory fragments of the body’s original owner. Carefully embellished by him, they sounded exceptionally genuine and believable, enough to move anyone who cared to listen.
After wiping the cheeks and neck, Shu Yijin paused. The next steps required closer contact. He gently lifted a corner of the thin blanket and began wiping Wen Jingheng’s arms. His movements remained soft, but his eyes subtly changed. The previous vulnerability was replaced by a cool scrutiny.
His fingertips seemingly inadvertently brushed the inside of Wen Jingheng’s wrist, where the pulse beats and where one of the body’s energy areas is more active. Simultaneously, he concentrated, carefully sensing the changes in the Seal within his own body.
Like a stone dropped into a lake, an almost imperceptible ripple spread out again. The chains of the Seal seemed to vibrate slightly. Although far from loosening, the definite reaction caused a flicker of light to pass through the depths of Shu Yijin’s eyes.
It was effective. Physical contact, especially continuous and gentle contact with the intention of “care,” could indeed cause the Seal to resonate. Was it because the implicit meaning of “intimacy” or “acceptance” in this action weakened the resistant will belonging to Wen Jingheng within the Seal? Or was it simply the mutual influence of energy fields?
He needed more experimental data.
Shu Yijin continued his movements, wiping one arm, then switching to the other. His actions were unhurried, as if he were truly focused on the nursing work. But only he knew that with every touch, the duration his fingertips lingered, and the pressure applied, were undergoing subtle adjustments and tests.
When he wiped Wen Jingheng’s chest with the warm towel, the resonance of the Seal seemed even more pronounced. Beneath his fingertips were warm skin and firm muscle lines, demonstrating that this body, even in sleep, had not completely lost its strength. Shu Yijin’s fingertips traced the contours of the pectoral muscle, finally resting on the left chest, over the heart.
Through the skin and bone, he could feel the steady, powerful heartbeat beneath. Thump… thump… thump… The drumbeat of life, and one of the cornerstones of the cage that imprisoned him.
Here, the Seal’s resonance was clearest. For a fleeting moment, he even felt an extremely faint, warm energy that seemed to want to flow back into Wen Jingheng’s body from the point of contact, but it was immediately blocked by the stronger power of the Seal.
Shu Yijin’s eyes narrowed slightly. Was this… Wen Jingheng’s own Holy Energy? A subconscious rejection of his contact as the “Evil God” while in an unconscious state? Or did this energy backflow actually work both ways? Was his touch, while loosening the Seal, also inadvertently nourishing Wen Jingheng’s dormant body and consciousness?
This discovery brought a hint of unexpected displeasure. He had no intention of serving as Wen Jingheng’s awakener and nutrient source. His goal was to break the Seal, not to heal the caster.
It seemed he needed to control the method and degree of contact more cautiously. Perhaps he should seek contact points that maximized the disturbance to the Seal while minimizing energy backflow.
He continued wiping without showing any change in expression, then changed Wen Jingheng into a clean shirt. Throughout the process, he acted like a shy yet dutiful spouse, his movements gentle, occasionally even blushing (a pretense, of course) from “accidentally” touching the other’s skin, his eyes darting away—perfectly fitting the image outsiders would have of the weaker party in this absurd marriage.
After cleaning the upper body, the more private parts would be handled by the professional male nurse who arrived at a fixed time daily. Shu Yijin appropriately showed a look of relief, stepping aside to carefully wipe his own hands with the warm towel, as if the recent contact had cost him great effort.
The nurse was a taciturn middle-aged man, whose movements were skilled and efficient. He ignored Shu Yijin’s presence and left silently after finishing his work.
The room was once again left with just the two of them.
Shu Yijin walked to the window, his back to the large bed. His gaze seemed fixed on the heavy curtains, but in reality, he was observing the blurred reflection of the room on the glass, cast by the sliver of light filtering through the curtain gap. He was processing the information he had just gathered.
Physical contact was effective, but needed optimization. Contact on different body parts yielded varying effects. Contact might trigger a bidirectional energy flow, posing a potential risk. Wen Jingheng’s state of consciousness was questionable and required further probing.
A preliminary plan formed in his mind. He could not rush and arouse suspicion. He needed to seamlessly integrate this “probing” into the daily routine of “meticulous care,” like boiling a frog in warm water, making everything appear natural.
He turned around, the gentle, harmless mask back on his face. He walked to the bedside, picked up a comb, and began to groom Wen Jingheng’s hair. Wen Jingheng’s hair was black and stiff, much like his personality. Shu Yijin’s movements were light and slow, the comb teeth passing through the strands with a faint rustling sound.
“Your hair is a bit stiff,” he whispered, with a hint of affectionate complaint. “Like mine. Though mine seems longer…”
Combing the hair was also a form of contact. Moreover, this contact carried an obvious connotation of “care,” perhaps lowering the Seal’s vigilance? While combing, Shu Yijin continued his one-sided “confession,” the content ranging from his difficulty adjusting to the Wen Family’s diet to innocuous memories of his past in the Shu Family—a mix of truth and falsehood, delivered with full emotion.
He was like the most dedicated actor, performing a monologue titled The Deeply Devoted Caretaker before his sole audience (who may or may not be present).
Time slipped away quietly. When Shu Yijin felt that today’s “contact dosage” was sufficient and wouldn’t arouse suspicion from any potential observers, he stopped. He put everything back in place, tucking the blanket around Wen Jingheng, his movements as gentle as if handling a fragile treasure.
“Alright, that’s enough for today.” He leaned down, whispering close to Wen Jingheng’s ear, his warm breath brushing the earlobe. “You must ‘rest’ well… I look forward to our next ‘meeting.’”
His words carried a subtle double meaning. Then, he straightened up and, as quietly as he had arrived, withdrew from the room, gently closing the door behind him.
After the soft click of the door closing, silence returned to the bedroom.
The bedside lamp remained dim yellow, casting the shadow of the person on the bed long against the wall.
In the dead silence, Wen Jingheng’s fingers, resting by his side, curled inward ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly. His fingertips seemed to want to grasp something, but ultimately, they relaxed powerlessly.
Only a faint, elusive scent, cold and mysterious, belonging to Shu Yijin, seemed to linger in the air.