CHAPTER 643: DID THEY TAKE YOUR INTELLIGENCE TOO

The villagers stood frozen, mouths agape, eyes wide with disbelief. Who would have imagined that the "wife" Han Xin had spoken of so fondly was not only a man but a demon. And not just any demon, but the Demon King of the North himself. The revelation shattered every assumption they had made about Han Xin’s identity. The young women who had once vied for the coveted position of concubine quietly stepped back, their hopes dissolving like frost under sunlight.

When their lips finally parted, Xiang Yu pulled Han Xin into a fierce embrace, his eyes no longer glowing with fury but softened with a glint of joy. Han Xin returned the gesture, arms wrapped tightly around Xiang Yu’s lower back, grounding himself in the warmth of that impossible love.

It wasn’t until Lian and Mei’s voices rang out, "Master!", that the two reluctantly separated. Xiang Yu turned to see the girls staggering toward him, gasping for breath, their hair windswept and wild. They had tried to keep up with him, and now they knew the truth: all these years, he had been slowing down for them.

Xiang Yu chuckled and said, "Look who I found."

Lian and Mei didn’t wait for permission. With zero decorum, they leapt onto Han Xin, knocking him to the ground in a heap of laughter and tears. They clung to him like children reunited with a long-lost father.

"Big brother, please never leave again!" Lian cried.

"Yeah," Mei added, "Master was so grumpy and mean!"

Lian nodded vigorously. "Then he would be nice the next second. It’s like he is possessed!"

Han Xin, "..."

He knew exactly why Xiang Yu had been like that. And the guilt twisted inside him.

Xiang Yu, noticing Han Xin’s wince, grabbed the twins by the back of their collars and lifted them effortlessly. "He is mortal now," he scolded. "You will make his injuries worse." The twins pouted in protest. Han Xin, on the othet hand, smiled faintly his heart aching and full.

Xiang Yu bent down, his arms steady and strong, and helped Han Xin to his feet. The violent storm had passed, but the weight of its aftermath lingered in the air like smoke. He looked into Han Xin’s eyes, voice low and resolute. "Let’s go home." Xiang Yu didn’t want to stay here any longer than he had too. He was ready to take his lover home.

But Han Xin didn’t move. Instead, he wrapped his arms tightly around Xiang Yu’s waist, burying his face against his chest. "I caused them trouble," he murmured, guilt threading through his voice.

Xiang Yu glanced around. The villagers were dishevelled, bruised, covered in dirt. Their homes lay in ruins, walls splintered, roofs collapsed. The village was in shambles, a reflection of the chaos that had erupted.

Han Xin’s hand slid down Xiang Yu’s arm, fingers curling around his. He squeezed gently, grounding himself in the warmth of that touch. Xiang Yu turned to Lian and Mei and the two immediately understood.

They turned towards the villagers who trembled in fright at their approach. Lian grinned, hands on her hips. "They made quite a mess, huh?"

Mei knelt beside a young man, helping him up. "Is everyone accounted for?"

The village elder, finally regaining his composure, cleared his throat. "Hurry up and check if everyone is safe."

Lian turned to the village elder and said, "Bring the injured over. We will take a look."

Suddenly, the broken village stirred with purpose. People moved about, their voices rose and order began to return. Lian and Mei were like sunlight after a storm. They were efficient, kind and tireless like the perfect clean up crew.

Xiang Yu turned back to Han Xin. "Are you really okay?"

Han Xin nodded. "I am fine." But as the words left his lips, his body gave out. He collapsed into Xiang Yu’s arms, clutching his robe tightly, as if afraid he would vanish.

Xiang Yu held him close, stroking his back gently, whispering into his ear with a voice soft as falling snow.

"I am here. I am not going anywhere."

***

Han Xin stirred, his breath shallow as he opened his eyes to the dim flicker of a single light swaying in the corner of the room. The bed beneath him was familiar. It was soft, worn, and scented faintly of cedar and frost. His muscles, which had been aching and tense, now felt loose, the soreness melted away like snow under morning sun.

He blinked slowly, memories rushing back in fragments. He recalled the chains, the demons, and Xiang Yu’s fury. At the moment, panic bloomed in his chest.

"Yu Yu?" he called out his voice hoarse but there was silence.

He looked around. The room was empty and he was alone. Han Xin pushed himself up, ignoring the chill of the floor against his bare feet. He didn’t bother with shoes. His chest felt heavy, unbearably tight, and the anxiety clawing at him made his steps frantic. He stumbled, tripping over the edge of a rug, and fell hard, his forehead striking the floor with a dull thud.

The door creaked open. Xiang Yu stepped in, holding a bowl of steaming soup. His eyes widened at the sight of Han Xin on the ground.

"Xin-ge!" he exclaimed, setting the bowl aside and rushing over. Han Xin, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, couldn’t meet his gaze.

Xiang Yu knelt and gently lifted him before guiding him back to the bed with careful hands. He didn’t speak. He just brushed Han Xin’s hair back and checked his forehead, his touch tender.

Han Xin leaned into him, breath trembling. He didn’t leave him behind. He didn’t abandon him.

Han Xin laughed nervously, the sound brittle and soft. "I am an embarrassment, aren’t I?"

Xiang Yu, who had just tucked away a stray strand of hair from Han Xin’s forehead, paused. His fingers lingered, then slid down to cup Han Xin’s chin, lifting it gently but firmly. "Don’t ever say that about yourself," he said his voice low and unwavering. "Do you hear me?"

Han Xin’s gaze met his, and for a moment, the world narrowed to those eyes stunning, fierce, and impossibly tender. He felt small in his current state, stripped of divine power, bruised and mortal. What could he possibly offer Xiang Yu? The thought gnawed at him.

Xiang Yu saw the daze in his eyes and repeated, "Do you hear me?"

Han Xin nodded, his fingers curling into the fabric of Xiang Yu’s robes, needing the contact like breath.

Xiang Yu pulled out a small jar of healing ointment, his expression serious. "Tell me if it hurts," he murmured, his warm breath brushing against Han Xin’s cheek, sending a shiver down his spine. Han Xin was so in love with this man that he couldn’t think straight.

Noticing the silence, Xiang Yu tilted his head and asked, "What are you thinking about?"

Caught staring, Han Xin blinked and let out a helpless "Huh?"

Xiang Yu chuckled, the sound rich and amused. "Did they take your intelligence too?"

Han Xin smiled, his cheeks flushed. "Just looking at you... my mind goes blank. I can’t think straight."

Xiang Yu chuckled again, dipping his fingers into the ointment. "So it’s my fault now?"

Han Xin leaned into the touch, heart thudding. "Yes, Yu Yu... it’s all your fault. You have to be responsible for me."

The words, a silken accusation, left Han Xin’s lips a breath away from Xiang Yu’s ear. His long fingers, deft and clever, stroked a slow, possessive path down the corded muscle of Xiang Yu’s forearm, the touch electric even through the sleeve of his robe.

A low rumble, not quite a laugh, echoed in Xiang Yu’s chest. His own hands were busy, one cradling Han Xin’s jaw, the other carefully dabbing the ointment onto the faint, rising bump on his man’s forehead.

He finally met his eyes, a fond, exasperated smile playing on his mouth. "You are my husband," he stated, the words simple, factual, and utterly enchanting. "So I will be responsible for you."

Husband.

The word didn’t just hit Han Xin. it disoriented him. It was like a spark thrown into a barrel of gunpowder. His heart didn’t just leap. It felt like it shot straight up through the crown of his head, a star rocketing toward the divine realm with enough force to shatter the heavens. The air left his lungs in a silent, explosive rush.

His hand, still on Xiang Yu’s arm, slid up, his fingers finding the sensitive nape of that powerful neck. He felt the solid strength of the vertebrae beneath his touch, the warm skin, the fine hairs at his hairline. He applied the gentlest pressure, a silent, undeniable command.