miralunem

The part that one was most unwilling to face, the so-called truth buried in the subconscious, was as painful as an open wound once revealed. However, to slowly heal wounds that were forcibly buried in the past, Feng Qingyun must, at first, draw blood.

Even he, a sword cultivator who was known for his resilience, couldn’t remain unaffected. After all, it was only by facing pain that one could truly grow.

New shoots grew from severed branches, and flower buds bloomed amidst pain.

But if it had been pain alone from beginning to end, that would have been one thing. Feng Qingyun was sure he could endure all things once he got used to them, but only after being truly, properly cared for did he understand…

Emotions mixed with pain were not love.

Amid the intense feeling of his soul ripping apart, Feng Qingyun’s thoughts became calm. So that was it… His obsession, his fear, had never dissipated.

Deep down, he was still that blood rose who didn’t dare to bloom because he was afraid. He had always been putting on a front of calm and strength, but had never truly grown up. So it was no wonder he couldn’t bloom. If it were possible to evolve under such bone-deep fear, that would be strange indeed.

Even caught in an illusion, Feng Qingyun still had the presence of mind to mock himself. But in reality, the body lying on the bed slowly furrowed his brows under Long Yin’s gaze, with teeth gritting from pain and trembling all over.

Seeing his reaction, Long Yin frowned slightly and reached out to take his wrist, only to be suddenly grabbed by Feng Qingyun, who subconsciously reached out for his right hand, not allowing him to move.

All Long Yin could feel was an icy coldness in his grasp, surrounding an expanse of skin that was chilled to the bone. Suddenly, his heart was seized by a stabbing pain, feeling like it was squeezed hard in somebody else’s hands.

Only the small calluses in that palm, left from years of sword practice, barely brought Long Yin’s mind back.

What on earth was he dreaming about?!

Perhaps seeing Long Yin frown and guessing something, Qing Luo took the initiative to explain: “The fox clan’s art of illusion isn’t like most rumors suggest, where one only dreams of pleasant wishes… The dream actually reflects the truest part of the dreamer’s heart. But it won’t be just about pain. Once this part is endured, it will pass. Your Majesty need not worry too much.”

So everyone is like that! Everyone! No need to act like your wife is dying!

And yet, Long Yin acted as if he hadn’t heard him at all, still holding Feng Qingyun’s wrist. After looking down at him for a long moment, he suddenly said:

“This Lord will also enter his dream.”

Qing Luo froze. Once he understood what the Demon Emperor meant, he immediately said: “With the strength of your divine consciousness, I fear…”

“It’s fine,” Long Yin interrupted him bluntly. “Your fox dream is, at its core, just an illusion technique made to seem real. When it comes to illusions, this Lord knows them better than you.”

To speak so confidently about illusion arts in front of the fox clan… Qing Luo was momentarily choked speechless. But with the Demon Lord speaking like that, and with his level of cultivation, Qing Luo couldn’t keep lecturing him either. In the end, he gathered his nine tails and, according to Long Yin’s wishes, cast the illusion for him as well.

The Demon Lord lay down fully clothed, holding the still-frowning Feng Qingyun loosely in his arms. Just before falling asleep, he said, “This Lord will keep watch over him.”

His words were hardly polite, and in essence, it was simply a blunt way of telling others to get lost. Before Qing Luo could respond, he had already closed his eyes, holding the person in his arms as he sank into the dream.

As the caster of the illusion, the fox Patriarch was shocked to realize that his technique had actually taken effect while Long Yin was still conscious… And more than that, he could clearly feel that a portion of Long Yin’s divine consciousness remained awake, hovering above like a silent guardian.

Just like a dragon silently guarding its treasure, not allowing anyone to approach and keeping an unblinking watch on all intruders.

In all of his thousands of years, Qing Luo had never seen a cultivator capable of such precise control over their divine consciousness. His brows twitched involuntarily, unable to stop thinking: Demon Emperor Long Yin… Just what is your true form and origin?!

Why, ever since he was born, apparently out of thin air, had he remained the most feared cultivator in the entire world, holding the first throne under the heavens so firmly?! Though the demonic path had one single Golden Core cultivator, how come the Righteous Path, the ancestral demon clans, and not even the Huangquan clan in the Underworld or the Gods in the sky above could shake him?! How come the demonic path could continue to arrogantly keep its head up just based on one man’s strength?!

But before he could conclude, as if silently urging him to leave, that terrifying divine consciousness suddenly spread open, dismissing him without a word. Qing Luo snapped back to his senses, cleared his throat, and said, “Once in the dream, everything is guided by the dreamer’s consciousness! Be sure not to go against his wishes!”

With that being said, Qing Luo turned and left in a hurry.

………………………….

In Feng Qingyun’s dream, the pain of having his branches severed lasted for an unknown length of time before it slowly began to fade. Then, a sort of warm comfort enveloped his body, as if someone was licking at his wounds, licking at his bones and easing the pain bit by bit, and along with it, licking away part of his memory.

Within the barren stretch of his consciousness, only the words he had obsesively repeated at the moment he entered the dream remained: He had to bloom. No matter what or how painful it was, no matter what price had to be paid, he had to bloom.

But to bloom… How did one even bloom in the first place?!

Urged on by that obsession, Feng Qingyun opened his eyes once again, only to be greeted by an expanse of red, the same color as blood. However, it was not the world that was dyed red, but his eyes themselves.

Completely confused, it took him a moment to realize it was simply the color of a wedding veil.

Where is this place? Feng Qingyun thought, and yet, he didn’t sense anything wrong. His whole being was acting purely on instinct, no longer the carefully cultivated gentleman that was pure as jade, forced to live his life under the oppression of one etiquette or another.

In both his mind and consciousness, everything was twisted and tangled. Under the veil, Feng Qingyun’s brows furrowed slightly, momentarily unable to make sense of the situation.

At the moment, he only remembered that he had to bloom. However, it seemed that blooming… Required something, didn’t it?

It seemed to require… Pollination?

The moment that thought surfaced, the dream changed abruptly.

Feng Qingyun saw himself seated within his bedchamber back in the Xiān Gōng Sect, staring unblinking through the bright red wedding veil. His beloved Senior Brother was standing beside the bed, also dressed in ceremonial robes and looking down at him.

The moment Feng Qingyun looked up, time, which had seemed frozen until a moment before, began to move again. Mu Hanyang’s gaze filled with affection, and his lips called gently: “My dear Miss Yu, today is our wedding day. I’ve waited so long for this moment.” With that, he nearly trembled with excitement as he stepped forward, reaching out to lift the wedding veil.

“Weren’t you going to offer me to the dragon God?” Feng Qingyun interrupted the next moment.

“Where is my dragon?”

Mu Hanyang’s voice stopped abruptly, petrified like a puppet that had lost its strings. Outside the Xiān Gōng Sect, thunder suddenly roared, and Mu Hanyang’s face turned especially unsightly under the flashes of lightning.

Within the dream, Feng Qingyun couldn’t quite tell whether the person before him was the fiancé who had sent him into the dragon’s lair, or the Senior Brother he had longed for, yet never obtained, for so many years.

Perhaps he was both. Perhaps, it no longer mattered.

Perhaps, he didn’t care anymore.

That false, carefully crafted love that was never cherished had long since turned to ashes under the bitter truth. Who Mu Hanyang was to him, what did it even matter anymore? Feng Qingyun averted his eyes in irritation, but just as he was about to rise without waiting for a reply, Mu Hanyang forced himself to act normal, asking with a twisted expression: “Miss Yu, what are you talking about? What dragon? There is no such thing.”

“All along, it was just your imagination.”

It’s fake, and it has been fake since the beginning. There had never been a dragon, and that so-called God of yours was nothing but a delusion you imagined.

Upon hearing those words, Feng Qingyun seemed to be struck in a sore spot. He abruptly lifted his eyes and said coldly: “Whether it’s fake or not isn’t for you to decide!” With that, he flipped the veil off and made to stand, planning to leave the room.

Mu Hanyang was startled, blurting something out without thinking. However, this time, what he called was: “Qingyun, Gods are meant to die for their believers! You and He can only end in vain. Only I’m your…”

But before he could finish, cold light flashed, and blood splattered as a sword pierced through his chest. Lord Mu looked down at the blade that impaled him in one smooth move, disbelief still in his eyes.

As for Feng Qingyun, he held his Linshuang sword in one hand and the blood-red veil in the other. Suddenly, the line between the ruthless Sword Master and the veiled bride in the illusion started to blur. Looking down at the blood-dripping blade and the man who was slowly falling at his feet, Feng Qingyun’s voice became full of undisguised irritation as he asked: “Has anyone ever told you? You’re really annoying.”

“Die, die for reputation, die for the people, that’s what you’re always saying, isn’t it?!” With those words, Feng Qingyun pulled his sword free and looked coldly at the life slowly fading from Mu Hanyang’s body.

“Since you speak with such sincerity,” he continued. “Then why don’t you die for Him?”

Mu Hanyang fell into a pool of blood with his eyes wide open, clearly dying with deep unwillingness. He couldn’t understand… Why would his Junior Brother treat him like that?!

Nor could he understand why his “Miss Yu” would fall in love with a figure born to and belonging to an illusion.

And yet, what he didn’t know was exactly how many times that specific scene had played in Feng Qingyun’s subconscious, again and again, before it could manifest with such clarity. The fox clan’s art of illusion could deceive others, but it couldn’t deceive oneself. In the end, the truth was simple. Everything that happened in the dream was the truest reflection of the dreamer’s heart.

Under the gaze of a corpse who would forever be unable to rest in peace, Feng Qingyun lifted his foot and stepped directly over it, not even glancing at Mu Hanyang.

Outside, thunder and lightning clashed.

Just as Feng Qingyun, with his sword in hand, reached the doorway, his bedchamber doors were pushed open by someone. Startled, he stared ahead, still gripping his sword with blood spattered across his cheek.

That face, once gentle and refined in appearance, now carried a strange and animalistic, almost bewitching aura. As for his door, it was pushed open by several faceless figures, looking strange and abnormal and yet… Inexplicably, Feng Qingyun could see a hint of flattery in their nonexistent expressions. With his sword in one hand and his wedding veil in the other, he looked past those faceless figures, only to see that the jade steps outside his bedchamber in the Xiān Gōng Sect had, at some unknown point, turned into a countryside path.

Within the dream, Feng Qingyun did not feel anything strange, as if everything was exactly as it should have been. Beyond the suffocating, oppressive walls of the righteous sect, there should have always been such a path.

One that let him go far away, never needing to return.

Just as Feng Qingyun withdrew his gaze, those faceless attendants bowed and spoke with excessive courtesy: “Your Highness, the dragon God is already waiting for you above.”

Feng Qingyun carelessly wiped the blood from his sword, and instead of asking where “above” was, he asked: “Waiting for me for what?”

The leading figure spoke with natural bluntness: “Naturally, to enter the bridal chamber.”

The… The bridal chamber?!

Judging simply by the instincts of a spiritual plant, the “bridal chamber” must mean pollination. And once that was done and over with, he would naturally be able to bloom. Feng Qingyun’s greatest obsession since entering the dream had suddenly materialized in front of his eyes, making him snap back to awareness at once.

So he sheathed his sword, pulled the veil back over his head with his left hand, and under the escort of the faceless attendants, stepped into the bridal sedan that was bright red, as if soaked in blood.

“Then set off,” he commanded. “To the bridal chamber!”

Just like in his memories, Feng Qingyun once again climbed inside the bridal sedan, swaying upward along the mountain path. Behind him was the gradually fading Xiān Gōng Sect, with the “beloved” he had personally killed now lying in a pool of blood.

And in front of him… At the end of that road should have been the dragon God’s cave, the final resting place of a dragon soaked in blood, waiting full of wounds for him to offer redemption.

But as often was the case, dreams had no logic.

The group of “people” followed the mountain path for a long time, finally stopping as if they had reached the destination. After the sedan landed silently, Feng Qingyun sat quietly inside for a while. Then, in the midst of silence, someone lifted the curtain and extended a hand toward him.

The veil he wore on his head, once weightless, had somehow become thick and heavy, dyed in a richer shade of red than before. It was as if everything that had happened so far had merely been part of a scripted scene, with crude and perfunctory costumes, with the world slowly becoming real from that moment on. Through the narrow slit beneath his heavy veil, Feng Qingyun could only see the hand that reached toward him. Beyond that, there was nothingness.

But even without seeing that person’s face, he still gripped the offered hand without hesitation, stepping down.

As he lowered his gaze, he saw only two pairs of wedding shoes embroidered with mandarin ducks, one pair his own and one belonging to the person beside him. From some point forward, no one else was present.

The faceless attendants who had come to escort the sedan had disappeared, leaving only his new husband to support him, step by step, as they entered the hall together.

Along the path, all Feng Qingyun could see beneath his feet were vast fields of red spider lilies. In the end, he simply lifted his gaze through the veil, and although he could see nothing, he was utterly certain.

At the end of the road was the Demon Palace.

Feng Qingyun turned his head, wanting to look at the person beside him. Though he didn’t know why, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t see anything.

But even in dreams, even with his mind completely shattered and relying only on the instinct to survive, he still knew exactly who that all-too-familiar person was.

And yet, by the time they stepped through the doors of the Demon Palace’s main hall, the person supporting him was already gone. Without a guide, Feng Qingyun simply stood there in his wedding robes, wearing a heavy veil decorated with phoenix motifs.

The next moment, a dragon’s tail lifted the veil, and the tip of that tail naturally wiped away the blood spattered on his cheek. Feng Qingyun raised his eyes, only to see a towering, massive black dragon looking down at him from above.

His real God, one without a single scar.

Feng Qingyun’s heart gave a sudden jolt as he couldn’t help but raise his hand to touch the dragon’s scales. A pair of inhuman pupils stared straight at him without moving, allowing his almost blasphemous gesture without resistance. In the silent and empty palace, that image created a surreal kind of intimacy.

“Your lover offered you to me,” the dragon lowered its head and gazed into Feng Qingyun’s eyes while saying. “Do you want this Lord to bury that heartless one with you?” His tone was almost seductive in nature, as if the moment Feng Qingyun spoke, everyone he resented would vanish from the world.

But Feng Qingyun shook his head. “I’ve already killed that heartless one,” he answered. “I came here because I seek something. It has nothing to do with him.”

Hearing that Mu Hanyang had been killed, Long Yin paused for once. Upon hearing Feng Qingyun so openly admit he wanted something from him, the dragon nearly broke character, close to smirking in pleased amusement. In the end, he barely managed to maintain the aura of divine solemnity, asking: “Then, what do you need from this Lord?”

“I want to bloom,” Feng Qingyun answered, still unconsciously stroking the dragon’s scales. “I want you to pollinate me.” He seemed not to think there was anything strange about his request, daring to voice his wish in a completely unreserved, almost commanding tone.

Not at all resembling a human sacrifice, nor a believer in front of his beloved dragon God…

…Rather, he resembled a dragon tamer, issuing orders to his demonic pet.

Long Yin froze for a moment before suddenly laughing. Accompanying the sound of his joy that was reverberating throughout the empty Demon Palace, a haze of smoke rose within the hall.

Feng Qingyun frowned slightly within the mist. Then he felt that the scales under his palm had undergone a subtle transformation, turning into a pair of familiar, human hands. That person seized Feng Qingyun’s hand, directly pulling the exquisitely dressed bride into his arms.

The massive black dragon instantly turned into a man, and Feng Qingyun’s eyes widened slightly, as if he was momentarily unable to react. The person in front of him was also wearing bright wedding robes, and his deeply handsome face happened to strike directly at the core of Feng Qingyun’s heart, leaving him briefly dazed.

“You say you want this Lord to pollinate you, so this Lord must pollinate you?” The handsome dragon God pressed their noses together and said. “Has no one ever taught you… When asking God for something, you can’t have this attitude.”

Feng Qingyun barely managed to collect himself, asking in a low voice: “…What do you want from me?”

“This Lord wants you to…” That shameless and infuriating man once again started his daily quest of taking advantage of Feng Qingyun’s confusion, brushing against the tip of his nose, and whispering intimately: “Beg your dear dragon God to pollinate you.”

Faced with such an overbearing deity, had it been the awake Feng Qingyun, he would have definitely told him to get lost on the spot, probably while clenching his sword.

However, it was a dream. And inside a dream, everything that happened stemmed from the heart…

…And there was also something else. The desire to bloom that was etched in his bones now overpowered everything else. Feng Qingyun lowered his gaze. His lashes started trembling like crow feathers while he finally said: “…I beg my dear dragon God to pollinate me.”

The dragon God, who had finally gotten his way, couldn’t help but curl his lips into a smile. Inside the dream, his beloved showed no resistance to him, allowing Long Yin to coax him however he pleased. Happy beyond words, he asked: “Do you want it here?”

The dreamer paused for a moment, seemingly still lost in thought. But in the next second, the vast and empty main hall of the Demon Palace abruptly shifted, transforming into a bedchamber adorned with red silk and gauze. It was brilliant and lavish at a glance, but also solemn and festive in every detail.

Long Yin froze, suddenly realizing something that made his heart tremble. Feng Qingyun, though belonging to the demon race, was, at his core, someone sensitive who deeply valued ritual. Even in a dream, for such an act to naturally happen, there must be three letters and six rites¹, red ceremonial robes, and a veil that the “groom” needed to lift. Only then would he be willing.

And yet such a Feng Qingyun, someone who treasured ceremony so much, on the wedding night when he should have been happiest in his first lifetime, had sat quietly alone on the cold wedding bed, waiting for that person the entire night.

As soon as the thought crossed his mind, Long Yin felt as though his heart had been pierced by a sword. However, this time around, their roles were reversed. Before he could even begin to drown in heartache, Feng Qingyun had already pulled him down to sit on the bright red bed.

The dragon God, who had spoken so boldly just a moment ago, finally forgot how to move. Feng Qingyun couldn’t help but frown slightly, his tone direct and confident as he urged, “Weren’t you going to pollinate me?! I’ve already begged, what more do you want?!”

Those eyes so close at hand were earnest and focused, and his tone was tinged with urgent expectation, as if he truly didn’t know what was about to happen and took everything as a dream, fearlessly revealing his truest self.

Like a rose that was finally willing to bloom to its heart’s content, breathtaking beyond words.

Long Yin returned to his senses, curled his lips into a smile, and kissed him without warning.

“Nn…”

The vivid wedding robes were loosened, revealing the pure white undergarments beneath. The red fabric, however, wasn’t fully removed, still hanging loosely at the crook of Feng Qingyun’s elbow, half-on, half-off. The Demon Lord’s movements were extremely careful, and if Feng Qingyun still had his full consciousness, he would have been shocked at how different his man’s actions were from before…

…But now, all he felt was that his “groom” was slow and troublesome! Sitting on the bed, Feng Qingyun soon grew impatient, reaching out to tug at the other’s wedding robes.

Long Yin wasn’t annoyed by it. In fact, he deliberately paused his movements.

The trouble was, although Feng Qingyun had technically been married once before, he truly had no experience undressing someone else. After fumbling for a while, he only managed to undo the sash of Long Yin’s wedding robe. Seeing that he was about to get frustrated and knowing very well that it came with an actual chance of Feng Qingyun drawing his sword on the bed, the Demon Lord finally chuckled. With a flick, he tore off his outer robe and, before Feng Qingyun could react, wrapped an arm around his waist and pinned him directly to the bed.

“?!”

Feng Qingyun stared at the man above him in surprise. His mind, driven all this time by instinct, was suddenly seized by a burst of nervousness.

Something felt… Not quite right…

Through the fog in his mind, some sort of buried awareness surfaced dimly, making him ask himself: Is this really a dream?! How could it feel so real?!

The illusion began to tremble on the brink of collapse under the dreamer’s doubt. But just as it reached the edge, Long Yin pinched his chin and said in a low voice: “Where’s your mind going? Weren’t you the one who asked this Lord to pollinate you?”

…Right. He was going to get pollinated. He was going to bloom!

Feng Qingyun’s dazed eyes gradually refocused, and Long Yin lowered himself, suddenly capturing his lips. And just like that, the consciousness that had nearly awakened was completely subdued by the instinct to bloom.

“Before pollinating, what needs to be done~?” As they tangled together, the dragon, an existence that had lived who-knows-how-many thousands of years, actually pretended to be ignorant at the moment. “This Lord doesn’t know,” he continued. “Will the Little Palace Master teach me?”

Unsurprisingly, though, Feng Qingyun understood even less. But as his senses blurred under the other’s kisses, he moved by instinct, raising his hand to touch the man’s body. Through the thin inner robe, he pressed against a patch of heated muscle.

So warm…

Feng Qingyun continued clinging to the other person, uncoordinated and without any skill, not knowing what to do next. Only when his touches made the other’s breathing grow heavier, did Long Yin, the man who had just claimed to know nothing, grab Feng Qingyun’s hand and guide it beneath his collar.

The burning heat beneath made Feng Qingyun reflexively want to pull away, but his hand was firmly held in place.

Touching through the fabric was nothing like touching bare skin.

The little rose who hadn’t “bloomed” in six hundred years was quickly stirred into confusion. Just as he was being coaxed along, his waist softening as he reached to undo the other’s inner robe, his “groom” grabbed his hand and, somehow, led it to touch something.

The sensation startled Feng Qingyun, and the fog of passion instantly dissipated, making his eyes widen in shock. Like he’d been frightened and burned, he stared in disbelief at the man on top of him, asking: “Why do you have… Two!”

Even in a dream that explicit, Feng Qingyun still couldn’t finish his sentence. His ears flushed red, and he tried to yank his hand back like he’d touched fire.

But the shameless dragon God pinned his wrist firmly in place, pressing kisses along his face before finally stopping at his trembling eyelids.

As he kissed his eyes, and with desire as deep as the raging sea in his voice, he teased in a low murmur: “My Little Palace Master has so many flower buds. If this Lord only had one, how could I possibly pollinate you properly?”

…………………….

T.N: 😳 I knew it! I love snakes so much, so I knew it! This has been canon in my head since I first learned he was a dragon! Don’t mind me, I’m busy screaming!

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1. The “Three Letters and Six Rites” (三书六礼, sān shū liù lǐ) are key parts of old Chinese weddings, showing how detailed these events were. The Three Letters are: The Betrothal Letter 聘书 (pìn shū), The Gift Letter 礼书 (lǐ shū), and The Wedding Letter 迎亲书 (yíng qīn shū), while the Six Rites include: The Proposal 纳采 (nà cǎi), the Birthdate Matching 问名 (wèn míng), choosing of the Auspicious Dates 纳吉 (nà jí), Formal Proposal With Betrothal Gifts 纳征 (Nàzhèng), Setting the Wedding Date 请期 (Qǐngqǐ), and Welcoming the Bride 亲迎 (Qǐnyíng). ↩︎

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