Spring Desire, A Kiss That Turns Into Feelings

Ninth Royal Uncle's massage technique was superb—his pressure was a touch heavy, but never painful. A faint tingling ran through her fingers, the chill of his ten icy fingertips somehow radiating a hidden warmth. The soreness in her fingers vanished almost instantly.

Serena Feng was so comfortable she was about to fall asleep. To relieve the soreness in all ten fingers so quickly—Serena was sure Ninth Royal Uncle's skill far surpassed Lance's. She even suspected Nolan might have deliberately studied massage.

Serena sniffed, okay, she admitted this idea made her secretly happy, even a little smug. But at heart, she was still a rational person...

After her moment of gratitude, Serena's mind started racing again—the more she thought, the stranger it seemed. She could understand Lance knowing acupressure points; someone who trained hard for years would pick up pain-relief tricks. But how could Ninth Royal Uncle know such things?

Unable to figure it out, Serena decided not to dwell. Some things aren’t worth overthinking—dig too deep and you’ll just want to know more, and that’s dangerous...

As always: the more you know, the faster you die. She wanted to live a few more years. Nolan’s secrets were none of her business; what interested her now was his finger-massage technique.

Serena’s curiosity was itching like a cat—she really wanted to ask Nolan where he’d learned this massage, and whether he’d teach her. Lance wouldn’t teach her, but maybe Nolan would, since he didn’t make a living off it.

But Nolan seemed to read her mind. Before she could speak, he said, "If your hands ever get tired again, remember to tell me. If I’m not around, I’ll send someone to help."

In other words, from now on, the job of massaging Serena’s hands belonged to Nolan alone. Serena could forget about learning it herself—he certainly wasn’t going to teach her.

“Um... Isn’t that a bit much?”

Nolan lifted his eyelids and shot Serena a glare, bluntly interrupting her: "Move closer."

As he spoke, Nolan pushed the little table and chairs in the middle further into the carriage, removing the only obstacle between them and gestured for Serena to come forward. But...

The carriage was so big that even if Serena moved forward, the distance between them remained. She leaned in as far as she could, but Nolan was still dissatisfied.

"Sit here." Nolan shifted to the right, leaving space at his side.

Sit side by side with Nolan?

Serena felt a lot of pressure, stubbornly refusing to get up. She forgot, though, that her hands were still held by Nolan—if she didn’t move, Nolan certainly would.

Serena never noticed how or when Nolan exerted force; all she knew was that after a quick spin, she was sitting right next to him, pressed close.

They were so close that with the slightest breath, the unique bamboo scent of Nolan enveloped her. Maybe Serena was overthinking it, but she kept feeling there was a familiar medicinal aroma on him too.

To confirm her suspicion, Serena turned her head, leaned toward Nolan, and took a deep breath. Before she could analyze the scent, Nolan flicked her forehead: "What are you spacing out for?"

Smack—a crisp sound, leaving a red mark on Serena's forehead.

"Ouch!" Serena cried out, forgetting her suspicion for the moment. She shot Nolan a wounded look and tried to rub her aching forehead, but her hands were still trapped in his grasp—no matter how she tried, she couldn’t pull free. Serena didn’t dare struggle too hard, afraid of hurting herself.

"Let go!" Whether Serena realized it or not, her tone was pure girlish pleading, without a trace of authority.

Whether Serena noticed or not, Nolan certainly did. His eyes finally softened with a hint of laughter, his frosty aura melting away. He leaned in and lightly kissed Serena on the forehead. "It doesn’t hurt now."

It was the tone adults used to soothe children, but Nolan’s actions were anything but childish. After the kiss, he didn’t pull away—instead, he gently lingered, lightly licking Serena’s forehead, leaving it warm.

Boom—her blood rushed the wrong way. Serena was totally stunned; her mind had only one thought: Nolan was kissing her.

What was Nolan thinking?!

Serena was more startled than pleased, her whole body stiffening like a block of wood.

Nolan hadn’t planned this at all—it was pure accident. He remembered seeing the late Empress comfort the Crown Prince this way as a child: whenever the Prince got sick, she’d kiss his forehead and he’d beam, saying it didn’t hurt anymore.

Back then, Nolan had envied the Crown Prince. As a boy training in martial arts, he was always covered in injuries, hurting so much he couldn’t sleep. Every day he wished someone would kiss away his pain like the Empress did for the Prince—but no one ever did.

No matter how badly he was hurt, there was never anyone like that for him.

When he grew up, Nolan realized that pain couldn’t be kissed away so easily. But seeing Serena cry out today, and with his hands occupied, something stirred in him—he bent down and kissed her forehead.

A kiss might not erase the pain, but it did make the heart feel better.

But Nolan forgot—he wasn’t the late Empress, and Serena wasn’t the Crown Prince. They weren’t children anymore; they’d long outgrown the need for soothing.

When his cold lips met her soft skin, Nolan couldn’t bear to pull away. With Serena not resisting, he grew bolder, letting his lips trail down from her forehead...

At some point, Nolan had released Serena’s hands. One arm wrapped around her waist, the other cradled the back of her head, making it easy for him to keep kissing her...

Serena’s hands ended up locked around Nolan’s waist. It was clearly autumn outside, but inside the carriage, spring was in full bloom.

Nolan wasn’t a master at flirting—his kisses were even a little clumsy—but Serena was utterly lost in them, not even thinking of resisting.

There was no lust in Nolan’s kisses, no hint of disrespect. His touch was solemn, pure—yet it melted Serena’s heart, leaving her limp in his arms.

The carriage was too small, the air too thin—Serena felt her brain was starved of oxygen. She couldn’t think at all, barely aware of what she was doing.

Nolan’s black eyes seemed almost magical, able to draw a person in. Serena was completely lost in their depths, unable to escape.

Her clear eyes grew misty, gaze unfocused. Serena felt like she was walking on clouds, dazed, unable to tell dream from reality.

Right now, Serena was like a puppet, letting Nolan move her as he pleased. When her arms circled his waist, her mind cleared for a split second—just enough to note: Nolan’s waist was perfectly proportioned, fitting her embrace exactly.

A flurry of kisses fell across Serena’s face, light and heavy. Seeing her flushed cheeks, Nolan grew playful and gently nipped her small nose...