In that matter, Feng Qingyun had no experience at all. Foolishly, he believed Long Yin’s coaxing, and with his heart heavy with grief, he whispered the cruel truth.
But the moment the words left his lips, the dragon’s tail, which had suddenly coiled at his waist, tightened. Scales scraped against his clothing, the same robe Long Yin himself had dressed him in, now shredded inch by inch by those very scales, baring the pale, slender waist beneath.
“…?!”
Feng Qingyun’s eyes flew wide in disbelief, staring into those dragon eyes so close before him.
Long Yin didn’t need to speak a word. From these details alone, Feng Qingyun could already sense his anger.
The cold, rigid scales pressed against the most sensitive part of his waist, and his pupils contracted sharply. After a stunned pause, he realized Long Yin’s intent, and his voice trembled as he cried out in shock: “You! You promised you wouldn’t get angry…!”
“Am I angry?” the dragon asked, staring at him without blinking, lying through its teeth with a calm face.
“You!” Feng Qingyun was just about to curse him as a shameless bastard full of lies, when suddenly his expression froze. Something in that instant made his voice falter and break into a tremor, mumbling: “What… what are you trying to do…?!”
The dragon’s tongue flicked across his neck, savoring the shivering prey in its arms. Long Yin almost laughed, but the sound carried obvious anger as he asked: “Little Palace Master, who claims he doesn’t even fear death… are you afraid of this Lord?”
Feng Qingyun stiffened, then struggled with all his might, only for the dragon to bite down on his neck and pin him firmly within its coils. That enormous body blotted out all light, plunging the room into darkness.
In that dimness, within the coiling mass of dragon flesh, Feng Qingyun was struck dumb by the intent now laid bare. The remaining half-shattered mirrors clearly reflected his look of shock, but the dragon coiled more tightly around its treasure. Shards of glass crunched to powder beneath its scales, yet not a sliver dared to touch the one in its embrace.
After a while, amid the sound of grinding shards came startled cries and half-choked curses. But those curses soon turned to sobs that quickly faltered, breaking into broken pleas.
And just when that voice was about to dissolve entirely into ragged moans, the dragon did something that made Feng Qingyun’s whole body go stiff. In desperation, he exploded with strength, clawing at the scales of its throat as he tried to escape.
In blind panic, Feng Qingyun’s hand had closed around Long Yin’s reverse scale.
Even snakes would fly into fury if their reverse scale were touched, yet he was dealing with a dragon. Though treated with such irreverence, Long Yin showed no anger at all. Instead, he lowered his head and let him. However, that show of indulgence did not cancel out the dragon’s other tyranny and dominance. Holding that reverse scale did not stop him from being spread out completely before the flawless mirrors.
The instant Feng Qingyun saw what the mirror reflected, blood rushed to his face so fast his head spun as shame consumed him wholly. His ears burned red, and he tried to look away, but Long Yin forced his face back, making him stare.
It was a bizarre, decadent tableau: the dragon God wound tight around its offering, a stunning beauty and a terrible inhuman creature forming a jarring, intoxicating contrast. It made one’s skin crawl, yet at the same time, blood burned hot.
Feng Qingyun caught only a glimpse before he squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to look at that reflection of himself. A sob spilled unbidden from his lips, and yet, even at that point, he still clenched his teeth and kept his eyes shut.
Long Yin finally stopped, and the oppressive space fell quiet, as the silence in the mirrored hall grew unbearable. Feng Qingyun’s heart thudded, and a sliver of hope rose in him; maybe Long Yin was also powerless against him, so everything might just end here.
But before relief could take hold, the blood deed in his veins flared without warning, making his face drain of color, and his eyes fly open.
“…?!”
Caught off guard, he was forced to confront his own image in the mirror, his already burning ears flushing a deep, ripe red.
Long Yin’s purpose was achieved. Yet the blood deed did not relent in the slightest.
“You…” Feng Qingyun finally broke, pressing against the dragon’s throat with tears in his voice, choking out through shame and anger: “I… I’ve already seen it… what more do you want?!”
The tone was clumsy, but his trembling outrage only made him more tempting to bully. In answer, the dragon only lowered its head, biting gently at his shoulder.
That small bite carried an illusion of being swallowed whole, rousing the primal fear of great beasts that lay deep in Feng Qingyun’s bones.
Shocks of terror and, strangely enough, shivering pleasure rippled down his spine. But in the end, the dragon did nothing more. Long Yin released the shoulder, now flushed faint red, and rested his head against the junction of Feng Qingyun’s neck, murmuring: “This Lord will do nothing. I only want my Little Palace Master to do what you truly wish to do and nothing more.”
“…What…”
Those words made Feng Qingyun freeze. Then suddenly, he struggled harder than ever, grabbing at the reverse scale again.
“No…!”
He might not have known at first, but now instinct told him: every time he touched that scale, Long Yin faltered. And so, desperate, he used it.
What he didn’t know was that with his meager strength, without his sword or true force, he couldn’t harm it. At most, it added stimulation, backfiring entirely. And sure enough, the dragon’s coils tightened. Feng Qingyun whimpered, bound like prey in a snake’s crushing embrace, unable to move at all.
But to act on his true heart, for Feng Qingyun right now, was harder than being punished before a mirror until he wept.
Yet the blood deed could not be denied.
Trembling with his scalp prickling and clutching the scales at Long Yin’s throat, he could only sob faintly: “Don’t…”
But it was only a matter of time before he gave in.
The dragon’s eyes never left him, its voice almost coaxing as it asked: “Why not? Is it truly so hard to face your heart?”
Feng Qingyun’s face flushed with the strain, his mind slipping, as he could only answer on raw instinct: “No…!”
“What’s wrong with it? You’re not cultivating the Path of Selflessness, so why force yourself to be so selfless?” The dragon’s words poured into his ear like a spell.
So alluring.
So convincing.
The blood deed tormented Feng Qingyun to madness, but still he whispered back, “That’s not right…”
“Not right? Man lives for himself, or heaven and earth destroy him. And besides…” The dragon licked away his tears, voice low, “How do you know the Heavenly Dao has no selfishness of its own?”
…How could the Dao be selfish?!
To coax him into revealing himself, his dragon would spout any nonsense!
Feng Qingyun ground his teeth, refusing to believe. He fought to suppress the pull of his body until his face burned crimson, but the deed could not be resisted.
Not half a second after Long Yin’s last words, Feng Qingyun’s body finally betrayed him, and his defenses collapsed completely. Roses burst into bloom across the mirrored hall, filling the space with overwhelming fragrance.
Bright, urgent buds pressed against the dragon’s cold scales, heedless of Feng Qingyun’s shame and tears, thrilled to cling closer. After all, those scales were hard, broad, and unyielding, yet their rigid texture matched perfectly the secret preferences Feng Qingyun would never dare speak aloud.
…………………….
It was perhaps the first time Feng Qingyun truly understood what it meant for his body to bear hundreds of flower buds as hundreds of shocks surged up his spine all at once, burning away his reason in an instant.
Sticky rose nectar quickly smeared itself across the dragon’s body, coating his scales in a gleaming sheen. From a distance, it looked like Long Yin was clad in some water-soaked armor.
Even the dragon’s horns were soon hung with roses, the sight grotesquely beautiful, like some unholy symbiosis.
But unlike the flat hardness of scales, the horns had edges and angles, their tips even a little sharp. An intense tremor shot through him, and Feng Qingyun’s vision went white. Instinctively, he seized one of his own vines, trying in vain to stop it from sending that weakness straight to the dragon’s lips.
But the blood deed ordered him to do what he most wished to do. Without a command to stop, he could only yield to instinct.
The flower trembled shamefully and pressed forward again.
Feng Qingyun’s waist gave out. He couldn’t even hold onto his vines as he collapsed, damp and trembling, into the dragon’s arms, his tear-brimmed eyes dazed.
The culprit only bent down, kissing away his tears, and whispered with false compassion: “So pitiful.”
Humiliated and furious at being tricked, Feng Qingyun turned his face aside, refusing the kiss. Yet beneath the soft sobs, a reckless thought rose in his heart…
So what if he gave in?! He’d already confessed, and Long Yin already knew. He couldn’t stop him. And in any case, wasn’t he going to die soon? What harm in surrendering just once more? Would Heaven punish him for it?
But in his fragile state, reason crumbling, he didn’t realize his sobs carried his thoughts aloud.
Had he been clear-headed, he would never have spoken so. After all, to say in front of anyone that he was going to die, powerless to stop it, was more cutting than a curse.
As expected, Long Yin’s eyes darkened. He stared at Feng Qingyun without blinking, asking: “Who said you would die?”
Feng Qingyun blinked in shock, his heart stumbling as he looked up at him. Long Yin lowered his head again, but this time his voice was firm and steady, carrying with it an unshakable sense of security: “No one will die except Mu Hanyang.”
“I’ll say it here and now: let’s see who dares lay a hand on your life.”
As he spoke, the dragon’s horns grazed against the flower’s heart, making it shudder violently as rose nectar trailed down.
Feng Qingyun spasmed, taking a long while to realize what he’d just heard. His mind reeled. “The immortals…”
“The immortals won’t either.” Long Yin cut him off sharply, holding him tighter and refusing to let him slip away. “For the resurrection of the Heavenly Dao and ascension, this Lord has another way. You needn’t waste your strength on it.”
“You… have a way?” Feng Qingyun asked blankly, thinking it was a lie meant to soothe him, disbelief thick in his voice. “What way could you possibly have…?”
“If this Lord says there’s a way, then there is.” The dragon’s voice dropped low. “Did I not already tell you? Your dragon God is all-knowing and all-powerful.”
“Arrogant, shameless bastard…” Feng Qingyun gasped through clenched teeth, still clutching the dragon’s horn, tears clinging to his lashes. “All-powerful…”
“Whether it’s a boast, you’ll see in time,” Long Yin said with a light sneer. “But for now, I can show you the power I already have.”
Before Feng Qingyun could even react, Long Yin’s tail pinned all the roses clinging to his scales flat against the mirror.
“……?!”
An indescribable coolness mixed with the glass’s smoothness pressed against his flowers. Feng Qingyun’s whole body jolted, eyes widening in horror. With all his imagination, he could never have conceived of such a method.
The roses smeared their nectar across the mirror’s shining surface. Feng Qingyun’s ears burned scarlet, his shame surging to the point of despair.
Perhaps it was Long Yin’s earlier vow, spoken with such conviction, that unsettled him, or perhaps something else entirely, but the grief and resolve to die that had weighed him down suddenly wavered, leaving only mortifying shame and fury.
Half-mad with humiliation, he flung all his vines and blossoms against the mirror, desperate to block the scene that was too unbearable to behold.
But the mirrors of that palace had a will of their own. Though the one crushing his flowers was across the hall, the mirror before his eyes flickered, revealing a clearer, sharper reflection of his shame.
Feng Qingyun froze, struck dumb. Never could he have imagined such a thing, and when he recovered, rage and shame made him spit: “You bastard…!”
“How am I the bastard?” Long Yin asked coolly, grinding the petals into the glass, watching the brilliant flowers smear with nectar. “Wasn’t it you who refused to speak? You who planned to face death alone?!”
The words pierced him, and Feng Qingyun choked, his anger faltering into panic.
“Sword Master Feng Qinyun, with his heart tied to Heaven, was forced to sacrifice for the good of the world. And so he left this Lord… left me to be your widower.” Long Yin’s breath brushed his ear, voice a low murmur. “Left me guarding an egg that might never hatch, condemned to be your widower, after a span shorter than a mortal’s marriage.”
“Is that what you desire, Little Rose?”
…Widower.
The word alone made Feng Qingyun tremble.
Long Yin truly believed, utterly believed, that if he sacrificed himself, he would mourn him for a lifetime.
Shame and guilt tore through Feng Qingyun, yet mingled within was a dangerous flicker of joy. He quickly understood the truth.
He was far less selfless than he thought.
That unwavering choice, his fierce devotion, was something he had never tasted in either life. And it was something he could not let go of either. He said he wouldn’t tell Long Yin. He said he would let him fly free. But in truth, one vow from Long Yin was enough to make him secretly rejoice.
…How could he take pleasure in such selfish love?
Overcome with shame, Feng Qingyun shut his eyes, clinging to Long Yin’s neck and refusing to look.
“Why the guilt again?” Long Yin murmured as though reading his very soul, voice low and coaxing. “Everyone can ascend. Everyone can live. All it takes is your word. I’ll make it so, whatever you desire, this Lord will grant.”
His voice was temptation itself, like a dark God luring his only believer.
And Feng Qingyun, shaken, believed him.
His dragon God was omnipotent.
“Yes, omnipotent,” Long Yin whispered, as if seeing straight through him. “Say it, and I will do anything for you.”
Feng Qingyun’s heart trembled. Against his better judgment, he gave in: “I want…”
“What do you want?”
“I want to ascend… together with you.”
Long Yin fell silent for a moment, then said quietly: “That was always as it should be. Why should you even need to ask?”
Then he added, “And besides that, what else do you want?”
The hall grew quiet again.
Feng Qingyun touched the dragon’s horn, pulling its head lower, ears red, lips trembling with words he couldn’t bring himself to say.
Long Yin didn’t press, only lowered his head further, softly coaxing: “Hm? What else?”
Feng Qingyun wrapped his arms around the dragon’s scaled neck, and whispered with a voice fragrant as roses: “I also want you… to kiss me.”
Long Yin’s breath caught.
The next instant, he shifted back into human form. Feng Qingyun gasped, caught off guard, but he stubbornly kept his eyes open, staring unflinchingly at the man above him.
And then, that man cradled the back of his neck and kissed him.
The kiss was searing, overwhelming, consuming, and once again, that sensation of being chosen without hesitation, without doubt, flooded through him.
In that moment, Feng Qingyun thought he might melt entirely.
All his fears and insecurities dissolved into the heat of the kiss. He couldn’t help but hook his arms around Long Yin’s neck, tilting his head back, struggling to return it with all he had.
They broke apart just briefly, long enough for Feng Qingyun to catch his breath. But after a pause, he suddenly shivered and whispered, “Actually… you were wrong.”
Long Yin hadn’t caught the words. He leaned back in for another kiss before asking softly, “Wrong about what?”
Feng Qingyun hesitated, then murmured so faintly it was almost inaudible: “Some of what you said before… wasn’t quite right.”
It wasn’t just Long Yin’s abs or dragon horns he liked. As long as it was him, no matter where, no matter what form… he liked it all.
But shame kept him from voicing the truth to the end.
For some reason, Long Yin froze, breath catching. He stared at him intently for a long moment, and then, without warning, asked: “Do you like it when I lick your flowers?”
Feng Qingyun: “?!”
He gaped, stunned, for a moment, genuinely suspecting the man could read minds. Otherwise, how else could he have guessed such a secret thought?!
His ears, which had just begun to cool, burned red again. His eyes widened in shock, yet a spark of brightness shone through as he looked at Long Yin.
That look was unbearably beautiful, and no one could withstand it.
Long Yin almost couldn’t resist teasing him further, but at the last second, he held back. Instead, he brushed his nose against Feng Qingyun’s and laughed softly: “Shall I? Hm?”
Feng Qingyun’s ears flamed hotter, as if set ablaze. He clenched his teeth, trying to hold out, but the blood deed gnawed at his veins. At last, he could only whisper, trembling: “…Yes.”
…………………………..
The next morning, just as Long Yin had said, Ming Jingtai arrived early, cradled in the arms of his heart demon as they waited outside.
Since his health was poor, Feng Qingyun couldn’t bear to let him stand too long, so he hastily dressed. After barely sparing Long Yin a glance, he waved them inside.
Upon entering, Ming Jingtai coughed twice before saying in a hoarse voice: “Your Highness, I have news of the matter His Majesty asked me to divine.”
Long Yin arched a brow. “Well?”
“The Qinglong’s heart truly lies in the human realm, specifically, in the southwest.”
“Southwest…” Feng Qingyun frowned at the words.
“What is it?” Long Yin asked, puzzled.
“The southwest is the mortal kingdom of Jinlin. That land forbids cultivators to enter, and no spells or arts are allowed. To seek the Qinglong’s heart there… will be no simple task.”
He fell into thought, weighing strategies, only to sense the silence pressing around him. When he raised his eyes, he found all three of them staring: even the frail Ming Jingtai, who could scarcely breathe, looked at him with confusion.
Feng Qingyun: “…?”
He was about to ask what was wrong when it struck him. True, Jinlin banned cultivators… But countless other mortal realms had rules against them, too, and most of the time, those bans were little more than words for the righteous sects. As for demonic and beast cultivators, most ignored such rules entirely, coming and going as they pleased, with mortals powerless to stop them.
As for the rest?
They entered in disguise, amusing themselves by playing the pig to eat the tiger, waiting for the dramatic reveal. The Demon Lord, though, was hardly the type to bother with such trifles. With his temperament, he would simply storm the palace, seize the emperor, and force his way through.
And judging by Long Yin’s expression, that was exactly what he had in mind.
Feng Qingyun: “…”
He almost forgot, spending so long beside him, that his dragon had once wronged him in ways too cruel to count!
Still, they now had a lead, and actual methods could be discussed later. Therefore, Feng Qingyun cleared his throat, pulling himself back to the matter at hand. “Since Qinglong’s heart is in Jinlin… what about Baihu’s?”
This time, Ming Jingtai’s answer was even more precise: “Baihu’s heart… I fear it lies in the hands of the Mistress of the Underworld.”
The Mistress of the Underworld… the Yellow Springs Realm again.
Feng Qingyun’s brows furrowed as his unease seemed confirmed. Again and again, the path circled back to the Underworld.
By now, anyone could sense something was terribly wrong with that place. Yet Long Yin only nodded, untroubled, and said matter-of-factly: “Then first the Qinglong in the mortal realm, and afterward the Baihu in the Underworld.”
However, Feng Qingyun immediately countered: “Why not go to the Underworld first?”
Long Yin paused, surprised at his reaction, then smoothly explained: “The Mistress of the Underworld is one of the nine Golden Core cultivators, so she won’t flee or die anytime soon. Mortals, however, are short-lived and fragile. Should an accident cause the Qinglong’s heart to change hands, it will be troublesome indeed.”
His reasoning was sound. Feng Qingyun said nothing, only turning to Ming Jingtai, asking: “Can you divine how long the current bearer of the Qinglong’s heart has left to live?”
Before the words even fell, Long Yin’s gaze bore down on him. But Ming Jingtai, creator of the City of Mirrors, even without cultivation, remained unshaken. “Barring unforeseen change, the heart will remain in the royal line for at least another three years.”
Long Yin: “…”
He opened his mouth, scrambling for some excuse. “Even so, it could still change hands within the royal family…”
But Feng Qingyun abruptly narrowed his eyes at him. “Why are you so unwilling to go to the Underworld? …Long Yin, are you hiding something from me?”
In all the realms, almost no one dared call the Demon Emperor by name.
Ming Jingtai instantly lowered his head, coughing weakly and pretending not to hear.
The roles had reversed: the one interrogated last night now became the interrogator.
Long Yin: “…”
He had bragged so boldly the night before, saying anything to coax his lover, basking in the sight of him weeping against his scales.
But indulgence comes with its price, and now, retribution had arrived.
Feng Qingyun was too clever. Deceived by Long Yin so many times, he had grown wary, and the dragon’s evasions about the Underworld only sharpened his suspicions.
Sensing the tension, Ming Jingtai nudged his heart demon. Without a word, the latter scooped him up and hurried them both from the hall, leaving the two alone.
As the doors closed, Feng Qingyun’s words grew sharper. “Why won’t you let me go to the Underworld?”
Long Yin cleared his throat, ready to spin another tale…
But Feng Qingyun cut him off, voice laced with menace: “Don’t tell me… your ex is hiding there?!”
Long Yin froze. “…Absolutely not!”
At last, he understood how it felt for Feng Qingyun, every time he’d mocked him with the word “ex-husband”.
“Then what is it?” Feng Qingyun stepped closer, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Last night I confessed everything. But you…”
He stopped abruptly. Something had broken. Something that had bound their bloodlines together suddenly snapped apart.
It was the blood deed.
And yet, its disappearance did not mean it was gone.
It meant backlash was imminent.
Feng Qingyun’s expression shifted as Long Yin’s grew taut.
Old memories flashed through his mind. Feng Qingyun narrowed his eyes, hand sliding from Long Yin’s chest to his collar, yanking hard. “You know what they say: confess, and you’ll be treated with leniency; resist, and face severity.”
He smirked, tilting his head up to whisper in his ear: “If Your Majesty doesn’t understand that proverb… I have another one for you.”
“There’s never too late for a gentleman to get his revenge.”
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