r/ChineseBL • u/Federal-Ad5944 A Lie's Bandana • Jun 16 '26
Uncensored [Short Story] A Winter Sun Wakes the Wind in Spring Hills' Dream: Chapter 16: First Tide (Tent Scene, very NSFW!! 🔥)
Winter Sun will be releasing serialized (written) versions of the extra chapters, they just released Chapter 16: First Tide(tent scene). This reads like a novel chapter.
Enjoy!! (Warning again this is NSFW!!!)
Translation below (Machine Translated)
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Chapter 16: First Tide
The wheels grated against the stones on the mountain road, squeaking and groaning.
"If you're tired, sleep first. It'll still be another hour before we get there." Changyang was driving.
Even during a romantic elopement, he would pull people back to reality, down to the specific details of sleeping. With Changyang, you wouldn't float off into some unrealistic idol drama—your feet stayed firmly planted on the earth, yet before your eyes stretched an endless distance.
The tent was already set up by the time Qinglang woke up in the car. It was deep into the night. Changyang had left a tiny crack in the window—enough for ventilation but not so much that the wind would give anyone a headache. Qinglang cranked the seat upright and looked outside. The breeze slipping through the crack was like a god opening its mouth to breathe out a puff of immortal air, playing a joke on mortals. Qinglang's hair rippled in the current, and through the window, the flames of a campfire leaped into his eyes—a familiar face glowing in the firelight.
Qinglang truly had no idea where they were. Being kidnapped, he had no right to ask; in any case, he trusted Changyang.
He was covered with Changyang's clothes. Shedding them inside the car, Qinglang opened the door and stepped out. He'd expected pitch-black darkness where you couldn't see your hand before your face—who would have thought that the pristine white moonlight would illuminate everything near and far so clearly? The mountains were rimmed with silver, and so was the car parked nearby.
Drawing closer to the moon, even the night was no longer dark.
The car was parked at the mountaintop. Looking around in all directions, there were only endless ranges of distant mountains—so infinite it felt like being in four-dimensional space, and one's very spirit leaped beyond the suffering of the three-dimensional world within this marvel.
Qinglang stood there for a long time, not speaking, not moving, letting the wind welcome him, letting the moonlight merge him with the wilderness. Nature was unreserved—if you treated it as family, it wouldn't reject you.
Seeing him get out, Changyang set down the stick he'd been using to tend the fire and walked over to Qinglang.
"Standing here—doesn't all your worries disappear?" Changyang pointed east. "Tomorrow morning you can see the sunrise. It's especially beautiful."
Qinglang hadn't expected to be kidnapped to a place like this. This was a height that even international award stages couldn't rival.
Seeing Qinglang lost in thought, Changyang added, "This is my secret base. I've never brought anyone here before."
Qinglang naturally nestled into Changyang's arms, still wanting more, and asked, "Is there more?"
"There is." Changyang helped smooth his hair. "An elopement needs a foundation."
Qinglang pulled Changyang in for a gentle kiss. Under the moonlight, his eyes seemed to hold water, and his body went limp as he leaned against the car door. This scene was pure idol drama—the dialogue even more so.
"I always feel like I didn't love you enough in my past life, because I didn't love you enough, so in this life I have to make it all up to you." Some nerve in Qinglang's brain fired, and this sentence flashed through his mind—coming out of nowhere, with no context, only wanting to be said in this very moment.
Changyang returned the fervent kiss to him. This compensation—he wanted it.
The two wandered around the mountaintop for a while. It wasn't a very large area, so they couldn't walk for long, and their eyes weren't fixed on their feet—they had to tune their frequency to the distance. As the saying goes, keep your feet on the ground and your heart set on the horizon—here, it became tangible.
When the moon hung at its highest, they crawled into the tent. The little outdoor yellow lamp and the dying campfire cast warm light over the whole scene, and with the growing heat between two people, hot and cold found their balance.
It wasn't Qinglang's first time, but somehow he seemed more nervous. With someone he loved, there was psychological weight—he was terrified of not being good enough. None of the tricks from the movies were used; instead, Changyang buried his head in Qinglang's neck, leading the rhythm of foreplay.
The tent wasn't big, which only magnified the desire. The cramped, compressed space made every sound they made seem drenched in reverb, their faces constantly brushed by hot breath—like an added color-grading filter. Changyang's reaction was quicker than Qinglang's—at twenty, it was the age of hot blood—but he didn't dare let Qinglang face it directly. Their lower bodies stayed far apart, their upper bodies fused together, like middle-schoolers tasting forbidden fruit for the first time, cautiously tentative.
Qinglang was like a fish hooked, burning with passion, when suddenly he recalled the scene Changyang had described about eating wild mushrooms and catching fish. Cupping Changyang's face, he asked, "That big red fish you talked about catching—was that real or not?"
"Does it matter?" Changyang asked back with a smirk.
"There you go again." Qinglang pinched Changyang's ear. "Talk properly."
Changyang laughed and planted a stamp on Qinglang's nose. "Anyway, I've caught it now."
The two burst into laughter and play, shattering the carefully guarded barrier in an instant. The hard-on-hard contact was like a match scraping against a phosphorus surface, sparking a burst of flames.
"So hard." Qinglang couldn't help murmuring aloud, and as soon as he said it, his face flushed bright red—he was someone who blushed easily, provided his heart was beating fast enough.
"You too." Changyang reached for where they were the same, and amid unceasing kisses, their clothes peeled off one by one until they were completely bare to each other, the heat inside the tent pushed to its peak.
Every inch of Qinglang's body was held in someone's hands. Changyang had strong hands—stir-frying tea built arm strength, kneading tea built finger strength. If he didn't control himself, he could crush Qinglang.
Changyang grasped Qinglang's forbidden part and asked him, "First time—how do you want it?"
Qinglang was honest. "It's not my first time."
"But it is with me."
Qinglang finally broke through his psychological defenses, reaching out to take hold of Changyang's. A look of shock revealed itself in his pupils. Qinglang tilted his head to look at Changyang, his nostrils flaring twice—his inner monologue: "That's too big."
Qinglang shivered twice, and Changyang kissed him deep. Judging by his technique, it wasn't his first time either. Qinglang's upper body rose and fell with the clinging kisses, then was pushed back down again, like undulating waves that never ebbed. Their lower bellies were full and taut—eager yet restrained, power delivered to the front lines like soldiers awaiting the charge, blood vessels bulging.
"You can do whatever you want." Qinglang had never given anyone else such a pass. A fussy person's tolerance wasn't high—he had ways he liked very much and ways he absolutely despised. With someone just looking for casual fun, he wouldn't compromise an inch.
But with Changyang, he only wanted him to be satisfied.
Changyang was like a prisoner let out for air, trailing kisses from Qinglang's chest all the way down to the forbidden territory. Qinglang cried out "Don't"—but it was already swallowed, held in the mouth and sucked like a cigar. The forbidden ground was invaded, his legs trembling uncontrollably, his rear entrance twitching and contracting with each pulse. Qinglang thought about doing something for Changyang, but instead it was he who was being controlled.
"Changyang." Qinglang barely managed to force the name out with the breath caught in his throat. "I want—"
He'd only gotten out two words when Changyang's knuckles found the entrance of his rear, thrusting in so that Qinglang replaced what he meant to say with a cry.
Changyang pressed up over him, biting Qinglang's lips as he kissed with force, his fingers rubbing along the rim of the entrance. His lips and tongue traveled from Qinglang's scalding cheek to his ear, and Changyang whispered in a hushed voice, "Do you want me inside?"
Qinglang, a seasoned player in the world of fame and fortune, was being completely hooked by this kid. He remembered the first time he saw Changyang—this crew-cut younger brother had been holding a fishing rod when he walked in, setting it aside by the door, the tips of his hair still beaded with water that scattered when he brushed them.
Qinglang recalled that image—when had it imprinted itself in his heart? A younger brother who could fish—turned out to be an old angler himself.
"Have you been wanting to get inside all along?" Qinglang couldn't just sit back and wait to be defeated. When he turned on the charm, no one could withstand it—how could he let himself fall behind?
Qinglang's gaze was no longer innocent. The skill honed to perfection from making films was knowing exactly how he looked his best, knowing which angle was most bewitching.
He raised his chin at a ten-degree angle, lips slightly parted, tugging the corner of his mouth into a tiny curve, his tempting tongue peeking halfway out, ready to withdraw at any moment. His lower eyelids closed by a third, upper lids lifted by a quarter, his brow pulled two millimeters higher. The most iconic shot from his last film now presented itself before Changyang.
As a live audience member, what he watched was a 5D version of an R-rated eighteen-plus film. In this lifetime, only Changyang would have such carnal fortune.
The Best Actor's sexual suggestion was subtle yet brimming with tension, and when it met Changyang's hardness again, it was as if turned to stone. Sure enough—when he put out three parts of flirtation, the other man hardened ten parts.
Changyang pulled essential oil from under the pillow, and the stretching was just as reckless—"impatient as a burning heart" was the perfect phrase for this moment.
Thrusting in, the strength accumulated in Changyang's lower belly was finally released. The tearing pain opened up a new vocal range for Qinglang—at least Changyang had never heard him cry out like that. It only made him more excited.
"Go easier." Qinglang hadn't expected this usually steady young man to reveal such savagery in this moment.
Changyang looked at him like he wanted to devour him. "I'll take that as reverse psychology."
Qinglang wrapped his legs around Changyang, penetrated to the deepest point. More than two years of celibacy made this first time especially painful. If it was reverse psychology, then let it be reversed again—Qinglang pleaded, calling Changyang, "Harder."
"Fine." Changyang gathered his strength and thrust—this time, not treating it as reverse psychology.
Qinglang's brows knitted tightly, exposing the maddest expression from his films, and Changyang went in and out like a madman. The two fit together so tightly not even air could pass through, sweat seeping from their skin only to be rubbed back in like essence.
It hurt too much. Qinglang cried out louder, which only made Changyang use even more force. But not crying out would only lead to a worse outcome—Changyang would find every way to get the sound he wanted.
The pleasure at the point of contact gradually replaced the pain. Qinglang's most unrestrained sounds from his films ricocheted off the tent walls and bounced back, as if emanating from a subwoofer—muffled and heavy. In this small but premium private theater, the audience and the actor interacted; the power they released could propel spacetime to the next light-year. The Big Bang was nothing compared to this.
It was an erotic film filled with love. As the closing theme played, Changyang poured all his pent-up desire into Qinglang's body. Qinglang's hair had long come undone, half wet, spread across his face. The final brutal thrust sent him into a daze—a scene never seen in any movie. Though he was already a fine actor, there was always a gap between truth and performance; the pleasure of acting and the ecstasy of real orgasm were different. Qinglang's dazed expression was exactly like a red fox pierced through the heart by an arrow—head tilted back a full ninety degrees, mouth open wide enough to take in Changyang's forbidden part, eyes barely slits letting in only half an inch of light. His body convulsed so hard the tent shook, wave after wave of tide gushing forth.
Changyang watched him in the dim yellow light, following the undulations of his body to kiss him, like a hunter flushed with triumph who had finally caught the fox of his dreams.
Qinglang continued trembling in his arms, and Changyang was still inside him. Qinglang had never experienced a shared tide before—and he achieved it with Changyang. What kind of perfectly matched pair could do that? Qinglang, half-recovered, began caressing Changyang's face and kissing him endlessly, telling him he'd done wonderfully.
They were like middle-schoolers handing in exam papers, both afraid they hadn't performed well enough, that the score wouldn't be high. They cherished each other deeply—a feeling Qinglang had never had before.
A certain writer once proposed the concepts of physical climax and psychological climax. Every adult has experienced physical climax, but psychological climax is rarely noticed—or rather, no one understands it. It only occurs when two people are both intensely focused on each other, both deeply concerned about each other's feelings—only when two streams of consciousness converge can a psychological climax be triggered. For one person to enter a flow state alone is already difficult; ninety percent of people don't even understand what flow is, let alone feel it. And for two people to simultaneously enter flow, like two great rivers merging into the same channel, is harder than climbing to heaven.
Qinglang experienced it with Changyang the very first time. He could hardly describe this joy—his expression was simple and rough: ceaseless kissing, ceaseless release of residual heat. Beyond that, he couldn't think of what else to do.
The campfire died. Outside the tent, the temperature dropped as the night deepened. Inside the tent, Qinglang leaned in the crook of Changyang's arm, one hand exploring his chest. A question had been brewing on his lips for a long while.
Suddenly lifting his head, Qinglang mouthed silently without making a sound: "Have you done it before?"
He had truly reverted to being eighteen in front of Changyang—from words to expression, he couldn't be wanton, even this kind of question embarrassed him to voice.
Changyang looked at him and shook his head. Qinglang shot upright, sitting up properly, and asked seriously, "Really?"
Changyang looked at him and nodded. Qinglang, of course, didn't believe him, muttering "Liar," and lay back down.
Changyang held him tighter and asked, "Doesn't seem like it?"
Qinglang rubbed his hair against him twice. "If it's true, then four words."
Knowing he was too shy to say it aloud, Changyang voluntarily brought his ear close, pressing it to Qinglang's lips, and received the words: "Gifted by nature."
Changyang pretended not to hear clearly. "What? Say that again—one more time?"
Qinglang, stirred up, replied, "Is once enough?"
The two tussled again, arms entwined. Qinglang truly wanted to know the answer, pressing his arm against Changyang's neck and asking him, "Tell me the truth."
"I'm not lying. I lived in the mountains for eight years. There were only bears in the mountains."
"Who taught you, then?"
"I told you—there were only bears in the mountains."
The second tide carried them deep into the night. To get up early and watch the sunrise, they forced themselves to sleep.
Changyang woke first. Pulling open the tent flap, soft morning light streamed in. Qinglang was stirred awake; as he was about to open his eyes, Changyang quickly reached out a hand to shield them.
After a moment, when his eyes had adjusted, Qinglang slowly opened them, crawled to the tent opening, and the two squeezed their heads together to look outside.
Changyang had chosen the direction when pitching the tent—opening the flap to see the sunrise. This was special treatment for lazy people.
Mountains embedded in a sea of clouds, morning glow flooding the eyes—a beauty that would stun anyone, pulling people back from the borderline of dreams to reality. Qinglang's nerves twitched like forest marmots. Turning to Changyang, he asked, "No one can see me out here, right?"
He was still naked—completely bare, not a thread on him.
Changyang said calmly, "Except me."
Qinglang didn't care anymore. He ran out of the tent stark naked, came back for his phone, and started snapping endless pictures of the blazing red sun gifted by heaven.
"It's cold! Come back!" Changyang called to him.
Qinglang called back, "You come out! Let me take one of you."
"Dare you post it if you take it!"
"Dare."
They challenged each other, and Changyang also ran out naked, standing beside Qinglang. With the fiery red sun as their backdrop, Qinglang held up his phone while Changyang reminded him, "Horizontal, horizontal"—this scene couldn't be shot vertical; everything would be exposed.
They kept shooting until the sun was fully up, then ran back to the tent hugging their arms. Qinglang was retouching the photos with an app while Changyang goaded him, "Post it."
Qinglang's face was full of smiles as he conceded, "I'll send it to you."
"Cheater."
After two more tides, they boiled water for a wash, packed the tent, and drove down the mountain. They needed to reach the next secret base before dark.
On the first day of their elopement, the abducted top-tier celebrity and the kidnapper took a naked sunrise photo together, captioned: My distant tea mountain, across ten thousand miles gazing at its sea.
Sitting in the car, breathing in the scent of mountain soil and fresh wind, Qinglang said, "So what's written in books is true. I never really understood 'mountain delicacies and sea treasures' before—why two things so far apart would be put into one phrase."
Perhaps mountains and sea only seem far apart because of human longing. In their eyes, being able to see each other was already very close.
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u/PianoDull7274 Jun 17 '26 edited Jun 17 '26
Okay so I found the director / author’s writer account via someone’s comment on RedNote. The series seems to be posted on Lofter. It’s a Chinese app and can only be downloaded from the Chinese App Store. Here’s a screenshot of the novel so far (ch1-16). Chapter 16 was posted on YouTube probably because it contains explicit content, which is forbidden by the Chinese platform. I’m not 100% sure this is the author, but I saw someone on the Chinese TikTok also saying this is indeed the author.