Feng Qingyun spoke calmly, took the three bottles of Mengpo Soup, and turned to leave, leaving the demonic cultivator standing there in a daze.
The tiger-demon never could have imagined that such a breathtaking beauty already had a Dao companion, and from that tone of voice, it even seemed that the companion was a man. Even more shocking was that he had bought three bottles of Mengpo Soup just to drug that said man!
At that thought, countless stories instantly sprang to his mind, stories of great beauties, weak in cultivation and forced into marriage, despising their fate so deeply that they had no choice but to resort to poison.
And judging from the beauty’s gentle and well-mannered demeanor, he was clearly a righteous cultivator, different from them, the demonic cultivators who cared little for purity or restraint. And everyone knew those of the Righteous Path valued moral conduct and propriety. For such a beauty to have a male Dao companion, surely it must have been against his will, coerced because of his looks.
If so… the tiger-demon couldn’t help but think: if he could save the beauty from his plight, perhaps the beauty would come to look upon him with new affection, right?
That thought alone sent a strange, burning heat surging through his chest. However, he was just about to speak when, without warning, an overwhelming sense of pressure fell upon him, making all the hairs on his body stand on end. Turning sharply, he saw an impossibly handsome man staring fixedly at the beauty.
The moment the tiger-demon met that gaze, the man didn’t even truly look at him; just a glance from the corner of his eye was enough to make his heart seize in terror.
Cold sweat ran down his back. He couldn’t help but wonder, When did this man even appear?!
He was just about to warn the beautiful buyer of danger when he saw the beauty turn his head, directly meeting that perilously handsome man’s gaze. Seeing him look over, the man gave a faint smile.
“Buying so much Mengpo Soup,” he drawled, “who are you planning to drug with it?”
The demonic cultivator’s heart leapt violently. So this is that beauty’s Dao companion! The plan, whatever it was, had been exposed!
So he didn’t hesitate for even a second between fight or flight, as he… ran, of course.
But before he could even move, the beauty, as if long accustomed to such situations, didn’t so much as lift an eyelid. Before that dangerous man’s eyes, he calmly gathered up the three bottles of soup, making no attempt to hide them. Once he had stowed the bottles away, he raised his gaze beneath the veil and looked straight at the man. Even his voice was firm and unapologetic, answering: “To drug you.”
The tiger-demon froze where he stood, dumbstruck, almost unable to believe his own ears.
That was no secret plot. Clearly, it was an open declaration!
But Long Yin only laughed outright. “Still teasing this Lord? I heard it clearly just now, the seller said the Mistress of the Underworld often shares this brew with her companions, didn’t she? Why is it that, between us, only I get to drink? How unfair. Can’t we drink together?”
Feng Qingyun’s expression didn’t waver as he turned to leave. “Drink together? No need,” he retorted. “You drink it.”
Long Yin immediately followed, reaching out to slip an arm lightly around his waist, pulling him into his embrace. His voice dropped, transmitted only for Feng Qingyun to hear, soft and tinged with false grievance: “So it’s true, mu Little Palace Master prefers the young ones. You think this Lord is too old, so you want to use Mengpo Soup to make me a few hundred years younger?”
But Feng Qingyun had long since learned how to handle him. He gave a small snort, answering: “As long as you know you’re an old bull eating tender grass… Don’t act coy after getting what you want.”
“How could it be called like that?” Long Yin chuckled, biting softly at his ear. “It’s not eating tender grass, it’s savoring tender petals.”
Feng Qingyun froze, his face flushing red with both anger and embarrassment. To dare speak so shamelessly in public! He gripped Long Yin’s cheek dangerously, scolding him: “Enough nonsense. Are you drinking it or not?”
Long Yin laughed. “Drink, drink, I’ll drink! How could I dare refuse what my beloved bestows upon me?” Then, after glancing around to make sure no one was watching, he lifted Feng Qingyun’s veil slightly and leaned in to kiss him through the gauzy white silk. “Even if it weren’t Mengpo Soup, even if it were poison, I’d drink it all the same.”
Feng Qingyun said nothing, only looked at him through the veil. Yet his expression, coupled with the faint curve of his lips that he couldn’t quite suppress, showed clearly that he’d been won over.
And just like that, with that one remark from Long Yin, all his thoughts centered on the three bottles of Mengpo Soup. He no longer cared to wander the streets any further. After all, the city was bustling as a mortal marketplace, so, in three days, when the Ghost Gate opened, it would be even more crowded. Fengdu hardly felt like a ghost city at all.
But it was precisely because of the heavy foot traffic and countless travelers waiting there day after day that the place had developed an exceptionally thriving inn culture.
The inn Feng Qingyun found nearby offered all manner of lodgings, including palace-style suites reminiscent of the Mirror Palace or Demon Palace, much finer than the Tiangong Pavilion where they had first stayed.
But of course, it wasn’t the Mistress of the Underworld’s own palace. No matter how grand those accommodations were, they couldn’t compare to a lord’s manor. Still, the most expensive lodging wasn’t a palace at all, but rather a small courtyard house with a garden, elegant and refined, bearing a faint resemblance to Widow Li’s home from the illusion realm.
Feng Qingyun paused, momentarily taken aback.
Having spent many of his spirit stones earlier to purchase the Underworld pills required to enter the realm, he now found himself rather short on funds. Standing in front of the inn’s counter, he hesitated, debating whether to simplysettle for something modest.
Just then, the tiger-demon from before happened to glance up, only to see the same unforgettable beauty again, now wrapped in his Dao companion’s arms. That scary man was saying nothing, only surveying the row of signs before pointing at one.
The demonic cultivator followed his line of sight and instantly sucked in a sharp breath.
The Huangquan fellow at the counter quickly said, “Excellent eye, honored guests! This is our Heaven-class courtyard, only fifteen top-grade spirit stones per night.”
Long Yin lowered his gaze toward the man in his arms, asking: “Do you like this one?”
The beauty nodded slightly, elegant and unhurried. “Mn.”
The innkeeper’s face lit up with smiles, bowing repeatedly in welcome. With a wave of Long Yin’s hand, fifteen top-grade spirit stones appeared on the counter, but Feng Qingyun lightly patted his arm. Long Yin paused, understood at once, and added five more.
The innkeeper, overjoyed, bowed even lower, only to hear the veiled beauty finally speak: “Today is meant to welcome my husband back and celebrate our joyous reunion. Please send someone to purchase fruits and wine.”
The innkeeper, long used to flattering both the living and the dead, beamed instantly. “Of course, of course!” he answered. “As the saying goes, ‘a little separation makes the heart grow fonder.’ Congratulations to you both!”
But the demonic cultivator could only stand there in a daze, a faint melancholy blooming in his chest. So the beauty truly did love his Dao companion… Then why had he bought the Mengpo Soup?!
However, such things were clearly not meant for outsiders to know. Before he could think further, the pair had already vanished from sight.
Once away from the crowds, Long Yin finally pulled the other man into his arms, lowering his head to breathe in the faint scent of roses. His lips curved as he teased him: “For the sake of making me drink that Mengpo Soup, my Little Palace Master truly spared no expense.” (from your own money, dear. Remember?)
Feng Qingyun allowed himself to be held, glancing at him sideways. “What?” he asked. “Don’t tell me you’re refusing now.”
Seeing that he was swallowing honeyed poison with such calm grace, Long Yin only smiled wider. “If it’s something my Little Rose gives me, I’ll eat whatever it is with pleasure.”
Their laughter followed them into the courtyard that cost fifteen top-grade spirit stones per night. Though it was called a cottage, upon entering, they found it more like the dwelling of a reclusive scholar, with ink, brushes, and paper neatly arranged within. Therefore, it differed quite a bit from Widow Li’s home in the illusory realm.
Long Yin paused for a moment when his gaze fell upon the brush, but quickly looked away. Feng Qingyun, noticing nothing, continued ahead as usual.
Right beside the lattice window stood a bed, and upon it a small table was laid out, filled with all manner of dishes, wine, and fruit. Most prominent among them were the lychees and grapes Long Yin had later requested by name through sound transmission.
Feng Qingyun removed his veil, revealing the face beneath: beautiful as carved jade, bright and cold all at once.
The two sat facing each other. Long Yin had barely settled into his seat when his gaze locked onto Feng Qingyun’s face. But before he could even pick up his chopsticks, Feng Qingyun already poured a cup of Mengpo Soup and, without hesitation, held it out to him.
He looked so impatient that he didn’t even bother to hide it.
Long Yin chuckled at the sight, raised a brow, and took the cup.
“Little Palace Master is far too eager,” he said. “Even when coaxing someone to drink, shouldn’t there be a few sweet words first?”
Feng Qingyun replied bluntly, “What do you want to hear?”
Taking advantage of the opening, Long Yin pressed, half-mocking, half-serious: “Call me ‘husband.’ Let me hear it.”
Feng Qingyun’s lips twitched. He glanced at him once, then decisively opened his mouth: “Husband.”
Long Yin’s grin brightened instantly. Seeing that, Feng Qingyun grew wary, afraid he might demand something even more shameless next, so he immediately grabbed the cup from his hand and pressed it to his lips.
“Enough nonsense. Drink already.”
Long Yin paused for a beat, then obediently tilted his head back and drank the entire cup of Mengpo Soup right from Feng Qingyun’s hand.
Feng Qingyun froze, breath held, tossing the cup aside at once. His eyes sparkled as he stared unblinkingly at Long Yin, waiting, almost eagerly, for a reaction.
But after several long breaths, the man across from him looked perfectly fine. He even leisurely peeled a lychee and held it to Feng Qingyun’s lips.
Feng Qingyun blinked, bit into the lychee, and stared at him in disbelief.
“How pitiful,” Long Yin said while brushing a finger across his lips, smiling. ‘Our Little Palace Master, renowned through the ages, fooled by something so sweet and harmless.”
Feng Qingyun narrowed his eyes. “…You don’t feel anything?”
“Nothing at all,” Long Yin said with perfect conviction. “You were tricked by that old hag, clearly.”
Feng Qingyun frowned slightly, unwilling to believe it. He squinted at Long Yin for a long moment, and seeing no sign of anything amiss, stood up and grabbed the second bottle of Mengpo Soup.
Long Yin already knew what he was about to do as he turned to the side with a grin, and, sure enough, Feng Qingyun landed straight into his arms.
Sitting squarely in his lap, Feng Qingyun looked down at him, bottle in hand.
“Why did we come here?” he started the interrogation.
“To wait for the Ghost Gate to open on the fifteenth,” Long Yin answered smoothly, “so we can enter the Yellow Springs and get Baihu’s heart from the Mistress of the Underworld. After that, we’ll go to the mortal kingdom of Jinlin for Qinglong’s heart.”
His reply was perfectly logical, with no sign of memory loss at all.
Feng Qingyun’s breath caught as his mind filled with confusion. He glanced at the bottle in his hand, then at Long Yin again.
The other man’s expression, so calm, so teasing, only made his lips twitch. He even had the gall to lean closer, pressing a kiss to Feng Qingyun’s mouth as he murmured, “I told you, your potion doesn’t work. Why won’t you believe me?”
Feng Qingyun’s tone wavered with stubbornness. “…Then the dosage must be too weak.”
Before Long Yin could respond, Feng Qingyun uncorked the second bottle and tried to pour it straight into his mouth.
Long Yin only laughed, opening his mouth willingly. Half the bottle went down, while the rest spilled over. Feng Qingyun’s slender white fingers were slick with the sweet liquid, glimmering under the lamplight, seductive and shining.
Long Yin, holding the warm body in his arms, bent down and licked the drops from Feng Qingyun’s fingers. With that impossibly handsome face and lazy eyes, the sight made Feng Qingyun’s heart skip wildly, thudding out of rhythm.
And in that instant, Long Yin, whose face alone could tempt saints to sin, wrapped an arm around his waist and leaned in for a kiss. And yet, Feng Qingyun snapped out of it at the last second. Turning his head away, he pressed a hand over Long Yin’s lips in alarm, afraid the man would feed the potion back into his mouth.
“Don’t… don’t you dare kiss me! Sit still and wait for the brew to work!”
Long Yin chuckled but, surprisingly, did as told. He simply gazed at Feng Qingyun through the gaps between his fingers. After a moment, still, nothing had changed. His eyes stayed bright and lively, as he even kissed Feng Qingyun’s hand, asking in amazement: “Do you believe me now, Little Rose?”
Feng Qingyun’s eyes widened in disbelief, and a trace of doubt finally flickered in his heart. Then, inevitably, his gaze drifted toward the last remaining bottle of Mengpo Soup on the table, his intent as plain as day.
Long Yin laughed softly. “Do you plan to drown your husband in it?” he joked, but Feng Qingyun didn’t answer. Instead, he picked up the final bottle.
“I told you, it’s useless,” Long Yin murmured into his ear. “If you don’t believe me… why not try it yourself?”
He had hidden his intentions well, but at last, the knife beneath the smile was revealed.
Feng Qingyun didn’t sense the danger laced in those words. He only thought he’d been tricked, that Long Yin was teasing him again. Holding the bottle, he looked suspiciously at the completely unharmed Long Yin.
Finally, Feng Qingyun uncorked it, leaned back against Long Yin’s chest, and lifted the bottle to his own lips, intending only a small sip. But the next moment, Long Yin pinched his waist without warning.
“…?!”
Startled, Feng Qingyun gulped down a mouthful instead of a sip. Realizing Long Yin’s intent, he turned sharply, wanting to spit it out. However, Long Yin seized the bottle from his hand, caught his chin, and kissed him, pressing his lips and tongue against Feng Qingyun’s mouth, sealing the liquid inside.
“Mm!”
Pinned against him, Feng Qingyun clutched his robes and was forced to swallow the soup. The liquid trailed down his lips and chin, glistening as he coughed twice and turned his face away, glaring wide-eyed.
“You!”
Long Yin’s lips curled, his voice low and coaxing.
“Tell me, Little Palace Master, does the brew you bought work?”
At his words, Feng Qingyun froze. A strange stillness spread through him as his mind began to blur, thoughts dissolving like mist. Something unseen was tugging at his memories, pulling them away one by one.
Long Yin smiled brighter, kneading the waist in his grasp. With Feng Qingyun unable to move, he took every liberty he pleased.
Feng Qingyun could only glare, with fury and humiliation mixing in his eyes, yet even that wet, shining look only made him more tempting, as if wordlessly daring the man to push further.
Long Yin was indeed tempted, and he was also the only one bold enough to act on it. Therefore, he raised the nearly empty bottle, drained the rest into his mouth, then caught Feng Qingyun’s chin and passed it to him in a kiss.
“Mmph!”
Feng Qingyun’s lashes fluttered. There was nowhere to escape, so the bitter-sweet liquid slid down his throat once more. The fluid ran down his lips and chin, leaving his face flushed and damp, as he looked for all the world like someone who had been drugged by a shameless scoundrel and left defenseless.
“Harm begets harm, Little Palace Master,” Long Yin murmured, fingers tracing lazy circles at his waist.
Feng Qingyun glared, eyes burning with fury, but Long Yin only smiled, taking his hand and playing with his fingers.
“If, in a while, you forget everything and fail to recognize your husband,” he continued, “then if this Lord kisses you again, I won’t be slapped for it, will I?”
Feng Qingyun’s last thread of reason trembled. He gritted his teeth and, with all the strength he could muster, raised a hand and slapped him.
But the strike was weak, so weak that Long Yin didn’t even bother dodging. He leaned into it instead, letting the blow fall softly across his cheek in a crisp, delicate sound. His grin only deepened as Feng Qingyun’s vision blurred. The world began to dim and memories slipped away, leaving only a heavy, dizzy fog.
Sleep pressed down on him. He swayed, finally collapsing against Long Yin’s shoulder, murmuring between clenched teeth, “If you dare take advantage of me… You just wait and see…”
Long Yin chuckled shamelessly. “I’ve never claimed to be a virtuous man,” he answered. A’nd if I did take advantage… the Little Palace Master loves me so much, what could you possibly do to me?”
Feng Qingyun, half-conscious, snapped, “…Who loves you?!”
“Fine, fine, all my wishful thinking.” Long Yin’s laughter brushed his ear.
“I’ll just wait and see how my Little Rose plans to punish me once you wake.”
Feng Qingyun fumed wordlessly, but his gaze was already unfocused.
Why… why had he been angry again?
“For no reason at all,” Long Yin answered softly, as though reading his thoughts. He pressed a hand gently over Feng Qingyun’s eyes, voice low and tender.
“Sleep. When you wake, your memory will be gone.”
Those words seemed to hold a spell. Feng Qingyun hesitated for a heartbeat, then slowly closed his eyes under his touch.
Long Yin cradled the sleeping beauty in his arms, peeling a few lychees and grapes, and arranging a small bowl of Feng Qingyun’s favorite dishes. Everything was ready, so he only had to wait for his beloved, his mind wiped clean, to awaken.
But Feng Qingyun’s resistance was stronger than expected. Time passed, and he still slept soundly. Long Yin lifted his chin gently, but those eyes remained shut, soft as porcelain, and utterly still.
In that moment, a strange, fierce sense of possession bloomed in Long Yin’s chest, and his pupils thinned to slits.
Mine, he thought. No one will ever take him from me.
And with that thought, he could no longer restrain himself as he lowered his head and kissed him. It was like kissing a doll, obedient and pliant, lips parting quietly beneath his own.
Desire pooled deep in Long Yin’s eyes, darkening them into a shade of violet. But just as he deepened the kiss, tongue tracing against Feng Qingyun’s, the person in his arms began to stir.
Long Yin froze mid-motion, but didn’t pull away.
Feng Qingyun, like a beauty awakened by a kiss in a dream, blinked his eyes open, lashes trembling as he stared blankly at the man before him.
With his current memories and state of mind, it took him a while to even realize what was happening and… who the man was.
In fact, it wasn’t until that man’s tongue brushed against his again that a sharp, electric sensation rippled through his body, making him freeze. Then, a flush bloomed from the tips of his ears downward. In an instant, shame and fury ignited together, and he shoved the man away hard.
Feng Qingyun stared at him, bewildered, disbelief flashing in his eyes. But Long Yin only smiled, picking up a peeled lychee and holding it out to his lips.
The familiar scent, coupled with his body’s instinctive reaction, made Feng Qingyun open his mouth without thinking and take the fruit.
As for Long Yin, he wiped the juice from his lips, his movements infuriatingly gentle.
When the sweetness slid down his throat, Feng Qingyun suddenly became aware of where he was sitting and whose hand rested so casually around his waist.
“Long Yin?!”
Feng Qingyun’s memories had vanished all the way to the moment the heavens collapsed in his previous life, right after he’d written the divorce letter intended for Mu Hanyang. Now, as if his tail had been stepped on, he leapt out of Long Yin’s arms.
Long Yin raised a brow and reached out, intending to pull him back in, but Feng Qingyun, caught between mortification and alarm, would never allow that, striking first.
Blades of wind cut the air as they exchanged several blows inside the small room.
Feng Qingyun looked ready to actually hack him to pieces, while Long Yin, busy shielding the table of food and wine, found himself momentarily on the defensive.
Even without his memories, Feng Qingyun hadn’t lost an ounce of his skill, but lacking awareness of what had happened before still left him open.
After only a few rounds, just as he was about to break free, a surge of demonic Qi crept up his leg from nowhere.
“…?!”
The unfamiliar, shockingly intimate sensation shattered his concentration. His hand trembled, his footing slipped, and he fell straight back into Long Yin’s arms.
The realization came a heartbeat later.
“You shameless! You!”
Before he could finish, Long Yin laughed softly and caught him again. And only then did Feng Qingyun realize where exactly they were sitting and what was spread out before them.
Delicate dishes, fruit, wine…
Everything he had once dreamed of, but never dared to truly hope for.
Feng Qingyun froze.
After all, just a moment ago, he’d been in the Xiān Gōng Sect, writing letters to divorce the man who’d tormented him for centuries… And the next, he opened his eyes to find himself sitting in the embrace of that very man’s greatest rival, being kissed breathless.
Anyone would be too stunned to speak.
Long Yin seemed to read his thoughts at a glance. With a teasing smile, he picked up a cup of wine and offered it to him.
“Little Palace Master, will you do me the honor?”
Feng Qingyun stared at him over the rim of the cup, eyes wide with suspicion.
“…You really are the Demon Lord, Long Yin?”
“Mm,” Long Yin said easily, lips curling. “And your one and only husband.”
Feng Qingyun: “…?!”
His eyes went wide with disbelief, yet he wasn’t a fool. The flashes of memory, the small, unconscious reactions of his body, all whispered that what Long Yin said might… be true.
“…Impossible. I was just… in the Xiān Gōng Sect. Where is this?” Feng Qingyun’s voice wavered, his soul feeling half detached from his body.
“What’s going on?”
“You’ve only lost your memory for a while,” Long Yin lied smoothly. “We made a bet; whoever lost would drink Mengpo Soup. You lost the third round, so you took the last cup.”
Feng Qingyun narrowed his eyes. “…And the first two rounds?”
“I lost them,” Long Yin said with a perfectly straight face. “The third time, the Little Palace Master took pity on me and let me win.”
…Took pity on him?!
Feng Qingyun’s expression twisted.
Hard to imagine such words applying to Long Yin of all people.
“But since you didn’t finish the third cup,” Long Yin went on, still weaving his lie, “I can’t be sure how much you’ve forgotten. So tell me, Little Palace Master, how far back does your memory go?”
Feng Qingyun pressed his lips together. “…I just finished writing a letter.”
He didn’t specify to whom, and yet, Long Yin immediately nodded, expression full of false realization.
“Then you must have received the hairpin I sent you right after, hm?”
At that, Feng Qingyun faltered. The sequence of events matched perfectly. If he hadn’t told Long Yin himself, how could he possibly know?!
But of course, Feng Qingyun didn’t realize, memory or no, Long Yin would always know.
Because the Dragon God knew everything.
And now, confronted by Long Yin’s feigned innocence, Feng Qingyun recalled the peach-blossom hairpin and the note beneath it. Rage flared in his mind instantly, making him ask: “You dare mention that?!”
Long Yin immediately backtracked. “My fault, my fault. I didn’t know what your true form was at the time. I carved the wrong flower.”
Feng Qingyun opened his mouth to retort that he wasn’t angry about that, but because that infuriating man had mocked him for not blooming!
But before he could speak, Long Yin reached up, removed a pin from his hair, and placed it gently into his hand.
A rose-shaped hairpin.
“I’ve already apologized for that matter in this lifetime,” Long Yin said with a soft smile, kissing his cheek. “So please, no more anger, my Little Rose?”
At that name, Feng Qingyun froze as if struck by lightning. His face turned pale, then flushed red.
How does he know that?!
He had never bloomed before. Even if someone had seen his true form, most would’ve mistaken him for a vine-type spirit.
Panicked, Feng Qingyun turned his senses inward and at once saw countless scarlet roses blooming brilliantly within him.
He went completely rigid.
The flowers were open.
Each bloom was vivid and glistening with life, evidence of being tenderly nurtured, day after day.
Feng Qingyun’s mind blanked. However, by the time he came back to himself, he felt something pulsing faintly within his storage ring.
Startled, he looked down, only for Long Yin to reach over, brushing a finger across it. In an instant, a glowing white egg appeared in Feng Qingyun’s hand.
He stared at it, utterly dumbfounded.
And then another thought struck him like thunder…
How could this man unlock my ring so easily?!
As if reading his thoughts, Long Yin chuckled and pressed the egg into his palm, answering: “Because that ring was mine to begin with.”
His ring?!
Feng Qingyun stiffly lowered his head, staring at the egg now rubbing affectionately against his hand.
What… what is this egg?!
“And it happens to be your own child,” Long Yin added smoothly. “Little Palace Master doesn’t even recognize little Beichen anymore? You drink one cup of Mengpo Soup, and now you’re going to abandon me and our son both?”
With that, he tightened his hold around Feng Qingyun’s waist, putting on a pitiful face.
“There’s a phrase for that, isn’t there? Ah yes… ‘use and discard.’”
Feng Qingyun: “……”
His expression went blank for a moment, then flickered violently between disbelief and outrage.
“…Impossible!” He stared at the egg in horror. “My true form… how could I possibly lay an egg?!”
The egg froze at his words, as if suddenly realizing it wasn’t his biological child, then drooped pitifully.
Feng Qingyun flinched, ready to throw it to the ground. But when the egg gave a soft, wounded little wiggle against his hand, he hesitated.
It was too cute to throw away.
Yet as he touched it, something felt wrong.
Though it shouldn’t have been his, the egg carried his spiritual energy, his very essence. And not only that… interwoven within it was Long Yin’s aura, too. After all, it had spent plenty of time trailing after its shameless “father,” picking up traces of him along the way.
So every sign pointed to one truth: the egg was theirs.
Theirs, together.
Feng Qingyun sat there frozen, staring at it in shock.
So it really was his child?!
…but how had it been born?!
And…
From where exactly?!
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