Oh, darn him. You’d had enough of his antics and finally managed to push him off your lap. A small victory—except, of course, he had those sharp general reflexes, practically catlike, and landed gracefully on his knees instead of actually toppling over. Not a single scratch, not even the satisfaction of seeing him stumble.

Offended? Absolutely. He even gave you that look, the one with slightly narrowed golden eyes that promised you hadn’t “won” yet. Because let’s be honest—he had this coming. Once again, he’d lured his way into your care by pretending to be sick. The great General, master of strategy, faking weakness just so you’d fuss over him. He knew exactly how much you worried, and exactly how soft you got when he so much as coughed.

Yes, he did get affection on a normal day. Yes, you already pampered him plenty. But no, he preferred to exaggerate things, knowing it earned him extra touches, more kisses, more time with you hovering close. A manipulative man, in his own sweet way.

So naturally, you made him pay. You shoved, you scolded, you even glared at him like you’d had enough of his tricks. And yet—there he was, perfectly content to stay on the floor after being dethroned, leaning forward to rest his chin on your knee.

That smile he wore told the whole story. Mischief glimmering in his eyes, his lips curved into something lazy, smug, almost too pleased for someone who had just been rejected.

A masochist, really. Not in the traditional sense, but in the way only Jing Yuan could be—finding joy in your every reaction, whether it was soft affection or sharp retaliation.

And the worst part? Even now, after all that, you felt your hand twitch with the urge to card your fingers through his hair.