Mu Hanyang’s expression was so dark it looked like he was about to suffer from Qi deviation, and, for a moment, no one in the courtyard dared to speak. Even Qi Jiang, who had just been slapped to the ground, covered his face and didn’t even dare to breathe loudly.
Mu Hanyang stared unblinkingly at that room, asking without looking back: “Who is that demonic cultivator?! Do either of you recognize him?!”
Qi Jiang trembled as he shook his head, instinctively glancing toward Lian Ziqing from the corner of his eye.
Lian Ziqing’s face turned deathly pale. Even if he had a vague guess, he still didn’t dare to say it aloud, so he only shook his head as well.
Mu Hanyang’s voice seeped out as it came from the depths of hell itself: “Good! I understand.”
With that, he suddenly drew his sword. Though his current cultivation had fallen in rank, his experience and strength were still undiminished. The instant the blade was unsheathed, it was as if the earth shook and the mountains swayed.
Lian Ziqing, terrified, hurriedly cried out in a trembling voice: “Bro… Brother Hanyang…”
As for Qi Jiang, still sprawled on the ground, he didn’t manage to dodge in time and was shaken by the sword’s pressure, coughing up a mouthful of blood on the spot. Yet the Mu Hanyang who once used to fuss over them with endless concern was so consumed with wrath that he completely ignored them now. But what he didn’t know was that, just a single wall away, the moment his palm struck Qi Jiang’s face, demonic Qi had already burst forth violently, as though eager to split him in two.
However, not even a second after it was drawn, a hand pressed lightly against Long Yin’s wrist, an unmistakable gesture of restraint and begging.
Long Yin froze.
For an instant, the jealousy that had been barely subdued threatened to resurface again, as the room fell into an unprecedented stillness. Feng Qingyun, supporting himself by pressing down on Long Yin’s wrist, slowly sat up. And when someone quickly steadied him, he leaned into that embrace and softly asked: “Done losing your mind?”
For some reason, Long Yin’s breath hitched. He lowered his head like a guilty child, his voice chilling but filled with tension as he mumbled: “The barrier has already been lifted. With one strike, I could cut that surnamed Mu into…”
“Shhh…” Feng Qingyun raised a hand to press against his lips, his thick lashes casting shadows under his eyes. “Whether he lives or dies doesn’t matter right now. I only have one question.”
“Did I manage to coax you well?”
Long Yin was stunned. A storm surged in his chest, sweeping away the remnants of rage and yet another heart demon who was close to forming. Finally, unable to bear the guilt pressing on him, he murmured hoarsely: “…It was my lapse just now. I shouldn’t have…”
“There’s no such thing as should or shouldn’t.” Feng Qingyun interrupted firmly, just as stubborn as ever.
“I asked you. Did I coax you?”
Long Yin lowered his head, kissed his lips lightly, and whispered with unmistakable remorse: “…Yes. You did.”
“Not jealous anymore?” Feng Qingyun asked while smiling faintly.
Long Yin couldn’t help but kiss him again before answering: “…Never again.”
“You said it yourself. I’ll remember that.” Feng Qingyun gave him a soft peck, but then his tone turned cold. “Now is not the time to kill Mu Hanyang. That strange pearl that managed to conceal his presence has yet to appear… once the ruins open, he will surely use it in his search for the secret treasure left by Master. Only after we destroy that pearl can we make a move.”
Back when Long Yin had yet to recover his memories, he had once joked that compared to the so-called favored son of heaven, Mu Hanyang, it was Feng Qingyun who seemed like the heavens’ true beloved. And at that moment, that conclusion seemed to ring true once more.
The moment Feng Qingyun’s words fell, the morning sun finally rose fully above the horizon. Outside, Mu Hanyang, driven mad by shame and rage, drew his sword with a roar, but calamity hit faster than he could.
The illusion twisted as if a giant invisible hand had gripped it and wrung it apart. The little village crumbled instantly, its outlines breaking down and reshaping into another scene.
In the house where Zhong Yulan had been staying, a sudden cold light burst forth as a sword flashed upward, streaking straight into the heavens. Moonlight shimmered along its blade, radiant and resplendent, so brilliant it even outshone the sun, casting the entire sky into dimness.
Others might only be able to see that it was no common treasure. But for Mu Hanyang, seeing it made his heart sink, as he instantly realized…
… It was his Master’s life-bound weapon, the Wangyue Sword!
At the same time, the wedding chamber also began to collapse, as countless wooden beams disassembled into the air, only to strangely shift and turn into jade. One round timber, floating in mid-air, happened to cross with another beam, blocking part of the view. And yet the gaps between them weren’t enough to conceal everything.
Through that gap, Mu Hanyang suddenly saw a face, one so familiar he could trace it clearly even in his dreams.
And “she” was staring right back at him, unblinking.
Mu Hanyang’s hand froze mid-motion. His heart gave a violent jolt, followed immediately by an unprecedented rush of thrill and excitement. That sword strike of his, of course, never fell. After all, in front of him was the face he had searched for through countless years, across heaven and earth…
…But in the next instant, he stiffened in place, his entire body turning rigid.
The woman in front of him… her expression, the faint red at the corners of her eyes, the unfocused gaze, the blush on her cheeks that glowed with an ambiguous sheen… Mu Hanyang was no stranger to such things, so he realized what it meant almost instantly. The words Lian Ziqing had stammered out earlier, “they haven’t left, they’re still inside”, echoed in his mind, and the thought struck him with such force it nearly drove him mad.
On the other side of the collapsed house, Feng Qingyun gazed across at that powerless man, one who could do nothing but rage. Yet his own clarity had not fully returned either, as if half of his soul still floated outside his body.
“Can you sense any aura from a spiritual weapon on him?” he asked softly to the person beside him. “I can’t feel a thing.”
Long Yin frowned slightly, displeasure flashing across his face, though he still answered: “…No.” Every fiber of him ached to draw some demonic Qi and cut Mu Hanyang down on the spot. But reason told him the pearl was indeed too great a concern to act rashly. Mu Hanyang’s cultivation had fallen, but his accumulated power had not. With that strange pearl in hand, if Long Yin struck and failed to kill him in one blow, matters would only spiral out of control.
Hearing his answer, Feng Qingyun narrowed his eyes. In the next breath, the two round beams floating in the air fused and expanded into towering jade walls. They closed together before the pair, shielding them completely.
From between the narrowing seams, Mu Hanyang dared not strike, terrified of harming his beloved. All he could do was stand there like a pitiful dog, gnashing his teeth as he tried to glimpse through the gap who that man at “her” side truly was.
The feeling was far too familiar. It was the same helpless rage and humiliation branded into his bones, the same shame of being a beaten mutt, forced to watch helplessly.
But no matter how his fury boiled, what lay before his eyes was nothing but a cruel reenactment of that failed blood deed.
His moonlit, unattainable beloved, just like his Junior Brother before, had never shown him mercy.
“Miss Yu” looked at him across the wreckage for a moment. Then, as if finding nothing worth seeking in him, she turned away, lifted her head naturally, and draped her arm around the man beside her, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips in quiet reassurance.
Mu Hanyang’s hair bristled, anger surging so violently it seemed smoke would pour from his seven apertures. And yet, as the jade walls closed fully, he still had not seen that man’s face, only the tightening grip of a hand around “her” waist, its back hidden beneath the folds of a wedding robe.
Every small detail screamed at him. But like a clown who had wasted the entire night talking to empty walls, he could now stand here, knowing that on the other side, that man was doing something to his “Miss Yu.”
The mere thought of those possible scenes, any one of them, was enough to drive Mu Hanyang into blind jealousy, his mind consumed by an urge to tear that man to pieces, whoever he was.
And then, as the kiss broke, the man lowered his head slightly, revealing on the side of his neck a vivid, ambiguous mark of red.
Mu Hanyang’s last shred of reason was shattered, no longer caring about collateral damage. With a roar, he lifted his sword once more and, ignoring Lian Ziqing’s frightened cries, he slashed down.
He poured every ounce of his strength into the blade. The sword light fell squarely against the towering jade wall, but whatever material it was made of, it held firm. His sword left not the faintest mark.
It was not an illusion!
Shock and fury roared in Mu Hanyang’s mind. Again and again, his own words from earlier replayed in his head, everything he had said while believing it all to be nothing more than an illusion.
But none of it had been an illusion.
While he had been pouring out his supposed devotion, the “wife” he thought his own had likely been pressed beneath another man’s half-loosened wedding robes, whispering broken pleas for mercy. The depravity of a demonic cultivator far surpassed any common man’s imagination, and perhaps, she had even been bewitched with some mind-corrupting spell. Who knew how many times they had already entwined bodies in ways more obscene than he dared envision?!
Mu Hanyang, burning with shame and rage, raised his sword again and struck a second time. But by then, the jade walls had sealed shut. The force of his strike dissolved into nothing the instant it touched their surface, leaving not the faintest scar once more.
But the closing of the jade walls marked another truth.
The ruins had fully awakened.
The illusion was gone. The village had vanished, even the ground itself dissolving without a trace. In its place rose a jade city, suspended in mid-air, with its form unfolding in layers, enclosing the two figures within walls of shimmering jade, hidden from all sight.
The entire jade city hung eerily in midair, needing no support, and between its jade towers, there were no bridges or steps to connect them.
Mu Hanyang and Lian Ziqing stood on the narrow platform before one such tower, while Qi Jiang, already struck down by Mu Hanyang’s sword and sprawled on the ground, had vanished, having fallen to the roof of another jade building below.
The moment the Wangyue Sword was drawn, it shot straight into the sky. The ruins themselves twisted with it, the courtyard that had once lain flat now turning upright, so that countless cultivators could see the divine weapon raised high above their heads.
Streams of divine consciousness and tracking talismans immediately shot toward the sword in dazzling arcs of light. Yet with a single flash, the sword shook them all off, veering away and soaring toward the highest point above.
Many present had roamed other ruins before, but none had ever witnessed such a sight. Someone even reached out toward the jade tower nearest at hand, and to their shock, their fingers met solid stone.
For a moment, the discoverer was dumbstruck. But as more people looked around, they found the layout of the city and the construction of its towers utterly foreign, nothing like any city that belonged to their mortal world.
The realization hit like thunder. They were indeed inside the Qilin’s ruin!
The Qilin commanded the laws of time and space. Therefore, that jade city must either be a small world left behind by some ancient sovereign, or else have ties to the Immortal Realm itself. Either way, it was a heaven-defying opportunity!
The crowd erupted into frenzy. Without hesitation, cultivators began racing through the city, chasing after the divine sword. Yet no matter how fast they flew, the sword was swifter still. Within a few breaths, it had vanished into the sky.
And before Mu Hanyang, now lay two divergent paths.
Restore his strength, or avenge the theft of his bride. Which would he choose?
If he only gritted his teeth and searched for her once more, he might confirm with his own eyes the beloved who had haunted his dreams, and cut down the demonic adulterer in one stroke.
It was no longer an illusion, no fleeting dream. A single glance would tell him if “she” was truly the one he had sought for so many years.
But… if he saw with his own eyes that it truly was his Miss Yu, could he bring himself to sever that man’s throat?
Would he really dare clash with that adulterer and cast aside his Master’s relics, risking everything only to drag “her” back?
If he delayed even a few breaths, the Wangyue Sword could fall into the hands of his younger brother or that deceitful Demon Lord instead.
And his hope of regaining his cultivation would be lost forever.
Soon enough, a thought surfaced in Mu Hanyang’s heart. He did not have only Miss Yu. Qingyun still waited for him afar.
So, was it worth squandering his chance at restoration here?
Most men, robbed of their bride, would throw all reason to the wind, consumed with wrath. Yet even in such extreme fury, Mu Hanyang did not abandon the cold reason he so prized.
After a brief, brutal struggle, when forced to choose between his beloved and himself, he chose himself.
“Miss Yu,” Mu Hanyang murmured, fingers digging into his palm until blood welled from his skin, “I will come back for you.”
Lian Ziqing ventured timidly: “Brother Hanyang…”
Mu Hanyang snapped his gaze away, commanding, “Give me your spiritual pearl. We’re leaving.”
At his words, Feng Qingyun’s heart lurched violently, pressing Long Yin down and restraining him from moving. They had waited in hiding the whole time for a glimpse of that pearl.
But to think that such a formidable spiritual weapon, able to conceal one’s aura completely, was in Lian Ziqing’s hands?!
Then why, since yesterday, had they still been able to sense Lian Ziqing’s presence the whole time?
There was no time to unravel the mystery. At his side, demonic Qi started gathering around Long Yin as he prepared to strike, and Feng Qingyun also unsheathed his Linshuang Sword. Yet even with the two of them braced and ready, the aura outside still vanished in an instant, so swiftly they could not even track it.
Feng Qingyun and Long Yin burst out of the jade tower at once, but they were too late. The place where the two had stood was already empty.
“They ran,” Long Yin muttered, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the surroundings.
At last, they had witnessed the spiritual pearl’s full effect. But instead of relief, a chill settled over them. Feng Qingyun pressed his lips together, his mind circling back to a single question.
What kind of weapon was that?!
In all his lifetimes, summing nearly a thousand years in total, he had never heard of any pearl capable of eluding the senses of a Golden Core stage cultivator. And it was not just him. Even the dragon God or the Demon Emperor, across both his lifetimes, would likely never have seen such a sinister thing.
Moreover, that pearl did not even seem to belong to Mu Hanyang at all, looking more like something held in Lian Ziqing’s hands.
Yet in this lifetime, he was nothing more than a beginner cultivator. In his past life, he hadn’t even been able to withstand the fox Patriarch’s illusions. How could he possibly be carrying such a heaven-defying object now?
But those questions had no answers for the time being.
Feng Qingyun frowned, turning his gaze to the newly awakened ruins, and soon realizing he had never seen a city built in that way before. Where the old village had been, there now stood a jade city like something out of a celestial realm. Its layout rose upward from the ground, arranged entirely in vertical tiers, resembling a vast, twisted structure standing on end.
And as he stood among the jade towers, his eyes caught a reflection glimmering in the stone, making him freeze in place. Though the illusion of the village had shattered with the awakening of the ruins, his own appearance remained unchanged.
He still looked exactly like “Miss Yu” from the illusion.
For a moment, Feng Qingyun was puzzled before understanding. The most important will within the ruins, that of his Master, Zhong Yulan, had not vanished with the breaking of the illusion. Relieved, he exhaled softly, thinking that his appearance was of little importance anyway. No matter how others might see him, as long as Long Yin recognized him, nothing else mattered.
Besides, he had a vague sense that merely chasing after the Wangyue Sword would not be enough, since they could never catch it that way. If there truly was a chance to meet his Master’s lingering soul, that opportunity must lie within this jade city itself.
Feng Qingyun raised his eyes once more, scanning the floating city. Through the countless narrow gaps between towers, he studied the patterns of their arrangement, hoping to discern some hidden order. But unlike the palaces of the immortal sects, grand but clearly designed for habitation, the city in front of him was built vertically, its towers unlinked by any steps or bridges. Mortals, or those of weak cultivation, would find themselves stranded, unable to move at all.
Therefore, the city had not been constructed with mortals in mind from the very beginning.
Faced with such a strange design, Feng Qingyun’s brows furrowed slightly. After roughly committing the city’s layout to memory, he said: “Let’s go up and take a look.”
At his words, Long Yin leapt ahead, leading the way.
The two ascended through the air, walking across invisible steps of spiritual power, passing tower after tower. Yet the city stretched upward without end, and, as Feng Qingyun had guessed, there was no true peak to be found, and naturally no sign of the Wangyue Sword.
At last, they could only set aside pursuit and turn inward, searching within the towers for clues.
Here and there, cultivators who had been exploring the other towers, seeking treasures or gathering information, caught sight of them and scattered like frightened birds. But Feng Qingyun ignored them. From what he observed, though the towers differed in form, with distinct furnishings and functions, all of them shared one thing in common: their style was utterly alien. Neither the Demon World nor the Underworld itself had anything remotely like them.
Yet aside from that, he found nothing useful.
Realizing that aimlessly searching would yield nothing, the two finally chose one of the taller towers and came to a stop. Feng Qingyun reached out to touch the jade wall, finding it solid and unyielding. After a moment of thought, he drew his sword. When the blade showed no unusual reaction, he raised it and struck the wall.
After Mu Hanyang’s failed attempt, he had already steeled himself for disappointment. But to his astonishment, the blade slid through the jade as smoothly as slicing through tofu.
The ease of it startled him. He stopped at once and turned to glance at Long Yin.
Long Yin also raised his hand, demonic Qi already at his fingertips. And yet, his blow left not the faintest mark. “Your sword…” he said, “it must truly be tied to the power of the Qilin. When your Master gave it to you, did she say nothing of it?”
“No.” Feng Qingyun frowned down at the weapon in his hands. “But judging from this, it seems she never had the chance to.”
Long Yin faltered, but Feng Qingyun merely gave him a sidelong glance, waiting to see if he would ask further. Yet, strangely enough, his man seemed to have taken some odd vow of silence, not daring to say anything at all.
Feng Qingyun gave him one last look but said nothing either. Instead, he carved out a shard of jade and channeled spiritual power into it. But the jade remained unresponsive.
“What is this even made of?” he murmured in puzzlement.
Long Yin accepted the fragment, only to shake his head as well, without an answer. If even a dragon god who had lived tens of thousands of years did not recognize it, then no one else could hope to. The city must have an extraordinary origin.
Feng Qingyun lifted his gaze toward the hovering towes above, an unsettling feeling gnawing at him, though he could not yet name it.
But it still seemed to him like an empty city, strangely hollow and faintly terrifying.
However, “empty” did not mean devoid of people. Quite the opposite, in fact, as countless cultivators had already been drawn over, some by news, others by sheer coincidence. He and Long Yin had already glimpsed many while passing through other towers.
No, what was absent were the usual traces of life one would expect.
For instance, the tower they now stood in was like an empty shell, and no matter how he looked at it, Feng Qingyun could not even guess its intended purpose.
And if he could not understand its use, then there was nothing else to do but to delve deeper. Withdrawing his gaze, he tugged Long Yin inside with him.
The moment they stepped into the tower, they found themselves facing several tables set near the entrance, giving it the appearance of a teahouse, or perhaps an inn. But those tables stood floating four or five feet above the floor, with no chairs in sight, making it unlikely to be a dining hall.
And from the moment he entered, Feng Qingyun felt an uncanny sense of wrongness saturating the place.
He studied the construction as he walked, frowning in thought. Then, as his gaze drifted upward, he suddenly realized…
The walls weren’t filled with decorative patterns as he first thought.
They were words.
And thinking back carefully, he realized that nearly every tower they’d passed bore similar patterns. At the time, Feng Qingyun had assumed they were merely decorative carvings in the jade. But now, he understood they were very likely words, written in a language no one in his world had ever seen before.
Feng Qingyun’s heart gave a sudden jolt. Almost at once, he recalled what Su Yunzhou had once said.
According to the old teachings, the heavens held Three Thousand Worlds, collectively known as the Saha Realm. They believed that besides this world, there were countless others just like it…
Could it be that this city had been brought here from another world?!
Frowning, Feng Qingyun walked up to a jade wall etched with “patterns.” Running his hand along the strange script, he asked casually: “Do these markings… make any sense to you?”
Yet no reply came for a long while. Curious, he turned, only to find himself colliding directly with that man’s unblinking gaze.
Long Yin froze, then quickly looked away, striding over with forced calm. He bent his head to look at the carvings, speaking with studied ease: “They’re most likely words from another world.”
It was exactly the conclusion Feng Qingyun himself had drawn, delivered with flawless composure. Yet from that very perfection, Feng Qingyun caught the faintest trace of something amiss. His eyes narrowed slightly as he asked: “What’s wrong with you?”
Long Yin hesitated, then feigned ignorance. “What’s wrong with me?”
Feng Qingyun said nothing, only staring at him in silence.
The two locked eyes for a long time. At last, Long Yin looked away.
In that instant, Feng Qingyun understood, as the thread of oddness finally clicked into place: the man who normally wielded a tongue sharp enough to split lotus seeds in half suddenly seemed stingy with his words. Even his self-reference had shifted, from the domineering “this Lord” to the humble “I”… As though afraid that saying too much would only betray him, as though treading lightly… like a cast-off husband, terrified of being abandoned.
Every detail, weighed carefully, reeked of guilt and wordless unease.
Feng Qingyun instantly grasped the truth, and his heart softened, though a laugh also threatened at the corners of his mouth. From the moment he had risen from bed, he had long since set aside what had happened earlier. After all, Long Yin had openly admitted that he was no longer acting crazy, so Feng Qingyun had naturally let the matter drop.
And to be frank, he had never thought Long Yin’s actions were unforgivable. A little excessive, yes, but hardly enough to earn his anger, much less any sort of lasting resentment. As for Long Yin’s jealousy? Feng Qingyun carried a touch of guilt in his heart as well, knowing fully well what thorn Long Yin could never let go of. Truth be told, even Feng Qingyun himself had often thought: if, from the very start, the one who had found his seedling had not been Mu Hanyang but Long Yin… how much better things might have been?
But there were no “ifs” in the world, with cause and effect governing all things. The reversal of fate, this one rebirth, had already cost Long Yin his life.
And once was definitely enough.
So, if Long Yin grew jealous, then let him be jealous. Feng Qingyun did not find it unreasonable, nor an excuse for picking quarrels. On the contrary, knowing how deep this scar ran, he thought, well, he was his dragon. So such moments were an opportunity to coax and soothe him.
Even if Long Yin had gone a little mad in the process, even if he’d been rougher than usual in bed… so long as no one else had overheard any of it, what did it matter?
But what Feng Qingyun had not expected was that, while he himself had brushed it off, Long Yin had been stewing in remorse ever since. His silence now was like a man who, after stabbing his enemy in a fit of rage, turned the blade on himself. And in both lives combined, Feng Qingyun had never imagined there would come a day when Long Yin could be described with the words “quiet and withdrawn.” It was almost funny, and yet beneath the humor was a strange, aching sweetness.
Because from beginning to end, no one had ever treated him so cautiously. No one had ever been so fearful of his emotions.
Yes. Fearful.
Turning the word over in his heart, Feng Qingyun tasted an indescribable kindness, so rich he could not help but smile. In the end, he reached out, hooked a finger under his man’s chin, and gazed straight into his eyes, deliberately silent.
Long Yin’s pupils shrank. Only then did Feng Qingyun lean in, imitating his tone as he asked: “Weren’t you so fierce, back on the bed earlier? Why so quiet now?”
At his words, Long Yin stiffened. After a long pause, he bowed his head, murmuring low against Feng Qingyun’s hand: “…Forgive me. I lost control of myself.”
It was a posture that bordered on submission. And because they were so close, the heaviness in his voice, weighted with remorse, pressed directly into Feng Qingyun’s chest like a sudden hand. He nearly faltered, forcing down the rush to comfort him with sheer willpower. Outwardly, he betrayed nothing, only seized his advantage as he tugged sharply on Long Yin’s ear. “Do you think sorry is enough?”
His tone alone betrayed that he was not truly angry, and between ordinary lovers, such words would have eased the air. But Long Yin, instead of relaxing, only grew more solemn. Bowing his head still lower, he said gravely: “Then tell me, how would the Second Palace Master have me atone? Whatever you command, I will obey.”
Feng Qingyun blinked, thinking he had never seen Long Yin like that before. And yet, it did not feel wrong. On the contrary, compared to the steadiness Long Yin had always projected, this felt closer to his true self.
After a thoughtful pause, Feng Qingyun suddenly smiled, asking: “Do you have dragon horns?”
Long Yin froze. “…Yes. You’ve seen them before, in my true form.”
“That was only within an illusion,” Feng Qingyun countered, straight-faced. “And I only saw them, but never touched them. Since you have them, show me now. Let me feel them.”
Long Yin’s expression changed at once. Feng Qingyun’s brow twitched as he asked: “What? Are your horns a taboo somehow?”
Long Yin said nothing.
Feng Qingyun had only been teasing him, but his silence stirred a sudden itch in him. Glancing around to confirm they were alone, he pressed: “Quickly. Bring them out, and I’ll let the earlier matter go.”
Still, Long Yin said nothing. He only gave him a deep look, as a ripple of demonic Qi stirred around his body.
Only much later would Feng Qingyun realize that look had meant: You asked for this. Don’t regret it.
But in that moment, he understood nothing.
When the demonic Qi settled, two horns appeared atop Long Yin’s head. Black shot through with gold, shaped somewhat like a stag’s, but far more splendid and imposing. Feng Qingyun froze. He had meant only to touch them, but at the sigh, his resolve shifted. Reaching out, he seized one of the horns and yanked.
Long Yin bowed his head obediently to the motion, only to feel Feng Qingyun’s other hand press his shoulder for leverage, and then…
The sharp bite of teeth closed on his right horn.
Long Yin hissed, shoulders jerking stiff.
Feng Qingyun blinked innocently, pretending to release him. But just as Long Yin thought it was over, a teasing tongue slipped out, tracing delicately across the fresh tooth marks.
The muscle beneath his hand went rigid. For a heartbeat, it was as though Long Yin’s heart had stopped, making Feng Qingyun’s lips curve. Releasing the gleaming horn, he leaned in close to whisper in his ear:
“It’s hard, Your Majesty.”
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