I Sealed the Demon Lord for a Hundred Years, Now He Wants His Jailer novel · Chapter 5 of 24

Chapter 5: Eat What I Give You

"What's the thirtieth night?" Wuhen said.

"I don't know yet."

Chenjue crushed the white silk in his fist.

"But I know that old man. He never says a thing without a knife under it."

"He's a coward. Cowards write notes," Wuhen said.

"Then I'll answer him in person."

"After you've eaten," said Wuhen, "I'm told you're particular about that."

Chenjue looked at him, and something in his face loosened.

"After we've eaten," he said.

The dining hall of the Black Palace was a long room of black jade, with a table that could have seated a hundred.

It was set for two, at one end.

Chenjue carried Wuhen in and sat him in the chair at the head of the table.

He took the chair at his right hand and pushed a plate across.

It held a slab of braised pork, glossy with dark sauce, and a heap of steamed buns.

The smell made Wuhen's mouth water against his will.

He took one bite of the pork and put his chopsticks down.

"It's salted like the sea."

"Eat," Chenjue replied.

"The last cook was a better man. I'm sorry for him."

"Eat what I put in front of you." Chenjue's mouth twitched. "That was one of the terms."

Wuhen looked at the plate.

Then he looked up with a slow, cold smile.

"Then put something in front of me worth eating."

For a moment Chenjue didn't move.

Then he laughed, a real laugh, rough and startled.

"You really haven't changed."

"I've changed a great deal. I'm thinner," Wuhen answered.

"You're a menace."

He picked up a bun, tore it in half, and held one piece up to Wuhen's mouth.

"What are you doing?"

"Feeding you," Chenjue said.

"I have hands."

"They're shaking." Chenjue's eyes dropped to them, then came back. "Open."

Wuhen's face went hot.

He opened his mouth.

The bun was soft and sweet, with a filling of red bean paste, and he nearly groaned at the taste.

Chenjue's thumb brushed the corner of his lip, wiping off a crumb.

Neither of them said anything.

A second bite.

A third, and then a strip of the pork, and then a spoonful of the broth, held steady while Wuhen drank.

By the time the plate was clean Wuhen's heart was thumping against his ribs, and it had nothing to do with hunger.

"That was better," he said.

"It was the same food."

"It was the way it came."

Chenjue's hand stopped halfway to his own cup.

"I could do that every day."

"Don't. I'll get used to it," Wuhen said.

"That is the plan."

The red eyes were dark and bright, fixed on his mouth.

Wuhen had his last sharp remark ready, and he never said it.

Chenjue stood, took the dishes in both hands, and swept the whole table clear.

Plates, cups and dishes went crashing to the floor, and sauce splashed black on the jade.

Wuhen stared at the wreck.

"That was good porcelain."

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