Not a whisper, not a breath. Everyone had been stunned by that single “Your Highness.”
Only Feng Qingyun’s brow furrowed ever so slightly as he lifted his gaze toward the attendant from the Underworld. The reason was simple: with those few words, his disguise had been completely and utterly shattered. And once his identity was revealed, there was no longer any need to conceal Long Yin’s either.
Could this have been the Mistress of the Underworld’s doing?
While that thought flickered through Feng Qingyun’s mind, the people around them were already shivering from head to toe in disbelief. That so-called “Great Wilderness Demon King,” the one who had been shouting and cursing just moments ago, suddenly realized who the “mute male servant” actually was. His eyes rolled white as he collapsed onto the ground, nearly fainting on the spot.
But of everyone there, the one most shocked was probably the same tiger-demon cultivator who had personally witnessed Feng Qingyun buy that Mengpo Soup the day before. His eyes bulged as if they might fall out of his head, looking at the two of them as if he’d just witnessed the downfall of heaven itself.
So that Mengpo Soup wasn’t just intended as poison… it was for… bedroom play?! The Demon Emperor was into that kind of thing?! And his Highness’s true form was a Blood Rose?!
Most onlookers didn’t know about the Mengpo Soup, but the “treating the Demon Emperor as a mute slave” part, well… they all saw that with their own eyes. And soon enough, a rather unsavoury thought began to spread like wildfire through their minds.
So that’s the kind of thing his Highness is into… No wonder that at his Dao ceremony, Mu Hanyang’s partner was stolen right from under his nose by the Demon Emperor! Perhaps he truly had… some kind of “incapacity,” and, unable to satisfy Feng Qingyun, was discarded in the end!
Feng Qingyun, of course, had no idea that his casual purchase of a few bottles of Mengpo Soup had sparked a scandalous legend. If he hadknown, he might have applauded the sheer creativity of whoever came up with it. But at present, though, his focus was fixed entirely on the Mistress of the Underworld’s intentions. Without her direct order, the attendant would never have dared to publicly announce their identities.
Though it appeared to be an act of flattery, raising their status before the crowd, Feng Qingyun could not shake the feeling that it boded ill.
Still, with Baihu’s heart in her hands, passing through the Ghost Gate was unavoidable. Whatever malice the Mistress of the Underworld might harbor, they’d deal with it once they met her face-to-face.
Having sorted through that in his mind, Feng Qingyun withdrew his gaze and gracefully addressed the attendant with calm courtesy: “The two of us had no intention of disturbing your Mistress, but since she has so kindly extended her invitation, it would be discourteous to refuse. Please, lead the way.”
With that, he drew back his vine from the fallen demon’s Dantian, and that sickening sound echoed through the silence once more, sending shivers down spines all around.
And that useless so-called “demon king” lay limp and motionless, pale as paper.
The blood-stained rosebuds swayed lazily, spitting out what little blood they had drunk, a sight both beautiful and grotesque. Everyone could only stare, scalp prickling, as the veiled “delicate beauty” sauntered back to his “mute” companion.
Now that the truth was out, there was no longer any reason to pretend, so Feng Qingyun casually lifted his veil, drawing a collective gasp from the crowd. His smile curved, soft as silk, as he looked at Long Yin, deliberately lowering his voice into something like a purr while asking:
“Old man1, why aren’t you moving?”
Long Yin: “…”
The Demon Emperor’s true form flared in an instant as demonic Qi swept the air like a storm. Several lesser demons, sensing the overwhelming aura, didn’t even bother queuing anymore. Instead, they turned tail and fled.
Amusement danced at the corners of Feng Qingyun’s lips, impossible to suppress, as Long Yin seized him by the wrist and pulled him into his arms. But he let himself be pulled closer, laughter still lingering on his lips, as he followed Long Yin toward the Ghost Gate.
With their true forms revealed, there was no need to hide their strength either. Guided by the attendant, they crossed vast distances in a few steps, and before long, the towering gates of the Underworld loomed before them.
The ghost official in charge of registrations was already waiting. Seeing them approach, he immediately bowed low. “This humble official greets His Highness and His Majesty the Demon Emperor! I beg forgiveness for not welcoming you sooner!”
Feng Qingyun acknowledged the greeting, then, perhaps out of courtesy, glanced sideways at the man beside him.
He’s the Demon Emperor, after all, he thought. And since he’s my man, I suppose I should give him a little face in public.
Therefore, clearing his throat, Feng Qingyun nodded to the ghost official, and, somewhat reluctantly, brushed his fingertips over Long Yin’s throat as the silence spell dissolved. But before he could say a word, the shameless man was already tightening his arm around his waist and growling in his ear: “What did the Little Palace Master just call this Lord? Hm?”
“…You misheard.” Feng Qingyun pressed a hand over his face, stifling a laugh.
“Oh? So the great Sword Master has been disdaining this Lord’s age for quite some time, hasn’t he?”
“…I have not!” Feng Qingyun retorted indignantly. “I said I haven’t! We’re about to cross the Ghost Gate. Can you behave for once, Long Yin?! If you keep this up, I will get angry!”
He feigned anger, unaware that once he actually met the Mistress of the Underworld, that very irritation would become quite real.
But for now, though, Long Yin was entirely absorbed in him.
The attendant, wisely pretending not to hear a thing, waited until the two finally quieted down before stepping forward again. “Before crossing the Ghost Gate,” he said, “there’s one final procedure that must be completed. If the two esteemed guests would please follow me.”
Having long heard of the Underworld’s strict orders, Feng Qingyun was not offended, nodding and letting himself be led inside. The attendant relaxed a little. It seemed even the Demon Emperor, in his beloved’s company, could be reasoned with… So he turned to lead them onward.
They passed smoothly through several checkpoints before arriving at a grand hall that looked somewhat like a yamen2. Feng Qingyun stopped at the threshold and lifted his eyes, seeing three characters hung above the gate: Lien Yuan Tai.
Platform of Shared Fate.
A strip of white parchment was pasted diagonally across the plaque, with scarlet words written as if in blood:
“Forget Not the One Beside You.”
Feng Qingyun froze, glancing instinctively toward Long Yin, only to find the same calm lack of surprise mirrored in his eyes that always steadied him.
In fact, Feng Qingyun had heard of that place in his past life.
For those entering the Underworld in physical form, three checkpoints awaited: The Division of Soul, The Hall of Wandering Spirits, and The Crossing Terrace. But for those who entered together as bonded pairs, there was no need to pass through all three. They faced only one gate: The Platform of Shared Fate.
Its purpose was to ensure that one recognized the person beside them, that no one left the Underworld carrying away a soul who was meant to remain, nor smuggled out one of the Yellow Springs’ own.
Only by passing through the platform could two companions be allowed proper entry into the Underworld. After all, as long as one’s identity was verified before the Mistress of the Underworld herself, there could no longer be any excuse, such as: “I was deceived! I mistook a spirit for my companion!”
And later on, anyone who tried to smuggle an inhabitant of the Underworld back to the mortal realm would be personally erased by the Mistress herself.
The attendant halted before the Platform and began to explain the ritual, but Long Yin cut him off with a curt gesture.
“Spare the formalities. Begin.”
The attendant swallowed and nodded, leading them inside.
There, upon the dais, sat a faceless judge. Before them stretched a long wooden table, and near the entrance were two chairs. Across from them sat a round-faced scribe ghost holding a writing brush.
The scribe rose as they entered, bowing low.
“Honored guests, please be seated.”
As they sat, two crimson scrolls appeared upon the table before them, each inscribed in black with their birth dates and fates. The scribe handed them brushes, continuing, “Please confirm your birth dates and years, and correct any errors if there are any.”
This procedure was, in essence, the same as the Division of Soul: the step through which a single traveler must pass to enter the Underworld.
Feng Qingyun, though missing the memories of the previous night, felt his heart tremble as he accepted the brush. An indescribable shiver rose from his chest, soft as static and as sharp as memory, spreading through him before he even knew why.
Feng Qingyun blinked, momentarily dazed. Then he turned his head and locked eyes with Long Yin’s teasing gaze.
He instantly guessed what the man must have done while he was in a daze the night before. Fury shot through him like a spark through oil, and, under the table, he kicked Long Yin square in the shin.
“Mercy, Sword Master, mercy!” Long Yin grinned as he pushed his own red parchment across the table. “Look, my birth year is a whole century later than yours! Surely, that means you’re the one bullying your Junior, not the other way around, right?”
Feng Qingyun froze. His gaze fell to the page, and sure enough, written there was the exact day Long Yin had emerged from that little illusory realm, down to the very hour. In his mind echoed that one, absurd sentence:
He was a God born into reality because of me.
But something about it still felt wrong. A vague, nagging sense of having forgotten something vital crept through Feng Qingyun. Frowning, he studied the parchment for a long while before giving up, and, with a snap, he slapped the paper back toward Long Yin.
“If there’s no mistake, then sign it and be done. Don’t waste time.” He said it with all the self-possession of someone pretending not to have just been rattled to the core. Feigning composure, Feng Qingyun dipped the brush and signed his name, his head lowered, posture prim, and… ears burning scarlet.
Long Yin lounged comfortably, watching the tips of those ears turn redder and redder, until he couldn’t help but laugh. When Feng Qingyun finally finished and turned, icy-faced and ready to scold him, Long Yin hurriedly schooled his features and bent to sign his own name.
The scribe ghost took both scrolls and presented them to the faceless judge. No one could say how the judge reviewed them, lacking eyes, lacking even a mouth, yet after a moment, they rose and bowed low to the pair.
And in that instant, two steaming bowls of millet porridge appeared out of thin air before them. Only… each bowl had a pair of chopsticks stuck straight up from the rice, the tips dusted with crimson goji berries that looked disturbingly like drops of blood seeping through the surface.
Feng Qingyun’s eyelid twitched. He opened his mouth to speak, but the scribe was already hurrying down from the dais, bowing deeply.
“Both birth records are verified. Now, please, partake of the Yellow Millet, enter the Dream of Shared Fate, and confirm your identities.”
The “Dream of Yellow Millet” was a phrase from an old tale.
A man once steamed millet for his meal, fell asleep, and dreamed of a lifetime of glory, dukedoms, riches, and power, only to wake and find the porridge still warm, the dream nothing but smoke.
Perhaps this meal was born of that legend. Still, Feng Qingyun frowned slightly.
“Must we… eat at the same time?”
“Not at all,” the ghost scribe explained patiently. “Whichever of you eats first will enter the dream first. The second will follow and become the one whose identity needs to be confirmed. When the first has finished discerning, the dream will reverse and the roles will swap. Once both have completed their recognitions, the Gate of Souls will open.”
Feng Qingyun nodded. That made sense.
If they could recognize each other even in a dream, there would be no excuse later for abandoning or substituting one another.
“Who will begin?” asked the ghost scribe.
Long Yin opened his mouth, but Feng Qingyun cut him off sharply.
“I’ll go first.”
Long Yin paused. Then, seeing the stubborn glint in those phoenix eyes, he chuckled, “By all means, Little Palace Master, after you.”
Feng Qingyun glared at him but said nothing more. He lowered his head, lifted the eerie bowl, and took a bite. To his surprise, the taste wasn’t bad at all: fragrant, soft, and even better than the spiritual rice cultivated with dozens of spirit stones per grain in the cultivation realm.
Seeing that, Long Yin picked up his own bowl and began to eat as well.
The scribe spoke again, its voice even: “The Yellow Millet draws upon the three souls and seven spirits to weave a dream. It will manifest a world that mimics human life.”
“Thus, as you enter, you may feel your soul split and stretch, a kind of confusion, as if several consciousnesses inhabit one body. That is normal. Do not resist or attempt to break the dream by force, lest the ritual of Shared Fate fail.”
Feng Qingyun’s chopsticks halted midair.
At the phrase “several souls in one body,” a cold premonition prickled through his chest, and the food in his mouth suddenly lost all flavor. He could feel the smug gaze beside him, but it was too late to turn back now. In the end, he could only shoot Long Yin a murderous glare, then bent his head and finished the bowl in silence.
The Yellow Millet took effect faster than he expected.
He had barely set down his chopsticks when the world seemed to ripple, a tremor here, a twist there, and everything around him melted like wax. In the next instant, the hall dissolved entirely, reforming into a place he recognized all too well… one that made his scalp tingle.
The Mirror Palace.
And not just any version of it, but that Mirror Palace.
Dozens of mirrors surrounded him, each reflecting his stunned expression in uncanny detail.
Long Yin’s cursed mirror palace!
And in the eight mirrors directly before him stood eight figures, or perhaps it was better to say, one figure divided into eight,since one of them was even in full dragon form. And all eight looked back at him, smirking, amused, and patient, as if they already knew he would come.
The scene was absurd to the point of horror.
Feng Qingyun’s scalp prickled as he very nearly bolted. But after several long moments, he forced himself to close his eyes, take a breath, and step forward. He stopped before one of the mirrors, hesitating. His hand trembled slightly before he reached out to touch the glass.
The reflection of Long Yin smiled, its voice low and teasing: “So quick to decide which one I am, Little Palace Master?”
But Feng Qingyun hadn’t decided at all. If anything, he was guessing. But something about the cadence of the voice struck him. There was a subtle, yet unmistakable difference, and his hand froze midair.
The reflection’s smile deepened.
“Come then, tell me. Which am I?”
Feng Qingyun stared, unblinking, then drew a steady breath.
“…You’re not the real one. You’re his heart demon.”
“Correct. Smart little thing,” the heart demon praised, grinning with a flash of youthful delight. “Then guess again, which of his seven heart demons am I?”
Feng Qingyun blinked in confusion as the heart demon leaned in, its voice pleasant and cruelly amused: “Seven emotions, seven heart demons. Guess wrong once, and you’ll never get out. So choose carefully, Little Rose.”
Feng Qingyun’s face paled. The implication hit him like a blade: he had to distinguish not only which one was the true Long Yin, but also identify which emotion, which of the seven feelings, each heart demon represented. Only then could he leave the dream.
His expression darkened.
Why did his test suddenly become so much harder?!
If that dreamscape truly came from Long Yin’s three souls and seven emotions, then those reflections were all genuine! How was he supposed to tell them apart with absolute accuracy?!
Did the Mistress of the Underworld have a personal grudge against him or what?!
Faced with such impossible odds, Feng Qingyun could only gape in disbelief.
The heart demon chuckled softly. Reaching out from within the mirror, he extended a hand, elegant and patient, asking: “Need a hint, Little Rose?”
Feng Qingyun stared at the offered hand, hesitant.
“Don’t be afraid,” the heart demon coaxed, voice suddenly gentle. “Of all seven emotions, I’m the least inclined to harm you.”
Something in that tone made Feng Qingyun’s heart skip. He looked up, and for an instant, caught a glimmer of something almost tender in that mirror’s smile.
After a long pause, he gritted his teeth. Dead horse or living one, might as well try.
So he reached out and clasped the hand. A brilliant light exploded from the mirror, and Feng Qingyun flinched, his eyes squeezed shut.
But when he opened them again…
Drums were pounding. Firecrackers popped. The air thrummed with giddy celebration. But it didn’t sound like a wedding. It sounded more like…
“Your Highness! Your Highness, it’s hatching!”
Feng Qingyun blinked in shock. Before he could even process the words, someone shoved something into his hands, something round, warm, and familiar.
An egg.
He stared as, under the cheers of countless faceless attendants, the shell cracked.
“It’s hatching! It’s a princess!”
“Congratulations, Your Highness! A beautiful little princess!”
What… in the nine hells…?!
Feng Qingyun looked around and realized he was in the Demon Palace’s sleeping chambers. Surrounding him were faceless servants in familiar robes, their movements recognizable as belonging to the four great demon generals under Long Yin’s command.
And the one beaming the widest was likely Yue Jinshu.
Before he could say anything, the egg in his arms burst open, and a puff of mist unfurled into a tiny, soft bundle that wriggled and cooed, then promptly headbutted him in the chest.
Feng Qingyun froze, staring down at the baby creature.
It reached up, caught the dragon scale on his chest, and started playing with it, until, with a snap, the scale flicked back and smacked them in the face.
“……”
Feng Qingyun jolted, horrified, and quickly lifted the child to comfort it. But before he could say a word, the little bundle scrunched up their face and began to bawl loud, wet, and unrestrained sobs, tears soaking through their robes.
“What’s wrong with the princess?!” one of the attendants exclaimed. “Is she hungry?!”
That illusion, though clearly a dream, was more vivid than any he’d seen. Feng Qingyun had fought through countless illusions in his life, but never one involving child-rearing, so he panicked, fumbling for what to do.
He tried infusing a trickle of demonic Qi, murmuring softly, “Hush now, sweetheart. Don’t cry.”
But the little white puff refused to eat, twisting and fussing in his arms.
“Ah! Your Highness,” said one of the servants, flustered, “she can’t be fed demon energy now! It’ll upset her stomach!”
“Then what can she eat?”
“She’ll need milk, surely… Merfolk infants drink milk, don’t they?”
“Since she’s your daughter, Your Highness, it seems you’ll have to… feed her yourself.”
Feng Qingyun held the soft, imagined daughter that Long Yin had conjured up, not yet realizing what the attendant’s words meant until a strange, damp warmth spread across his chest.
He froze.
When he finally came to, his face flushed red, then white, then red again. The meaning of that dream hit him all at once, and all the confusion drained away, leaving only furious embarrassment. Feng Qingyun snapped his head up and shouted toward the chamber doors:
“…Long Yin! Get in here right now!”
The attendants jumped, one stammering, “Your Highness, you already ordered His Majesty to stand outside and reflect on his actions! He may not…”
But before he could finish, footsteps approached from behind, and everyone turned at once.
“Your Majesty!” “Greetings to His Majesty!”
Long Yin strode in, smiling from ear to ear and looking nothing like someone who had just been sent to reflect.
And Feng Qingyun had never seen him smile like that.
Long Yin’s smiles were usually sharp: mocking, smug, tinged with mischief. But this one was different as it radiated pure, simple joy.
So this… was what made him happiest?
Not ascension. Not control over all things…
But this?!
Feng Qingyun faltered, caught off guard by the thought. Before he could gather himself, Long Yin had already sat beside him, effortlessly scooping the little soft mer-child into his arms.
The bundle stopped crying the instant it touched him. If not for the fact that the dream followed Long Yin’s will, Feng Qingyun would have suspected that the shameless father had simply pinched the baby unconscious.
Then, with one arm around his “daughter,” Long Yin pulled Feng Qingyun close with the other, lowered his head to his neck, and inhaled deeply.
His voice was thick with teasing laughter.
“Why does the Little Palace Master smell of roses, even down to the milk on his skin?”
Feng Qingyun stiffened as though struck by lightning. His momentary softness vanished without a trace as fury surged up again, and he grabbed Long Yin by the collar, trying to throw him off.
“There’s nothing! Stop talking nonsense! You’re not the real one, you’re the heart demon of Joy, you damned bastard, stop grinning like an idiot and get out!”
The man took the scolding with a contented smile, as if being cursed made him happier. He leaned in, pressed a quick kiss to Feng Qingyun’s cheek, and before a slap could land, both he and the soft child vanished in an instant.
The dream dissolved with them, leaving nothing behind.
…Just like that?!
One moment, Feng Qingyun was brimming with rage; the next, he blinked in confusion, overcome by a strange sense of unreality. Before he could think further, the familiar dizziness washed over him like a tide. He closed his eyes, waiting calmly to return to the Mirror Palace.
But when he opened them again… It wasn’t the hall of mirrors before him. Instead, the first thing he saw was the face he loathed beyond words: Mu Hanyang, gazing at him with false tenderness.
Feng Qingyun froze, disgust twisting his gut. He was just about to rise when something felt wrong. He looked down, and his expression instantly changed.
His upper body was bare, as a scarlet wedding robe slipped down to his waist, exposing the pale line of his abdomen.
And around his waist was a pair of all-too-familiar hands.
The person behind him, seemingly displeased by his distraction, leaned in and bit hard into his shoulder.
Feng Qingyun let out a strangled sound, realization crashing down on him like a blow. Trembling, he lifted his gaze and saw, beyond Mu Hanyang’s shoulder, the familiar fence, the familiar night sky.
And then, that nauseatingly voice ringing in his ears: “Miss Yu, I’ve fallen in love with my Junior Brother!”
Feng Qingyun’s face turned crimson, then pale.
He finally understood.
He was back to that night inside his Master’s ruins. But this time, the barrier Long Yin had placed wasn’t a sound barrier, but an isolation one. From Mu Hanyang’s side, nothing could be seen or heard. But from inside the house, Feng Qingyun could hear and see everything outside.
To him, it was no different from being defiled in plain sight!
Even knowing it was only an illusion, the sheer humiliation still burned through him. Feng Qingyun squeezed his eyes shut, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. But the man behind him wasn’t finished. He seized Feng Qingyun’s chin, forcing him to face forward, to feel and endure the exposure and the shame.
And outside, Mu Hanyang was still prattling on softly: “Qingyun once told me he’d love me all his life.”
“But, Miss Yu, Qingyun’s ‘lifetime’ was so very short.”
Feng Qingyun’s lashes trembled, and his ears burned as red as blood. His pale neck, forced upward, was as fragile and lovely as a swan’s, steeped in helpless, breaking beauty.
Through the haze of humiliation, he clenched his hands, fingers whitening as he gripped the wrists that held his waist.
Think. Focus.
He ground his teeth, trying to ignore the heat behind him and force his mind to work. Perhaps, just as the Joy heart demon had said, the first illusion had been chosen by him, and ended easily because it was the only one that refused to torment him.
But the rest… followed their own order, each born of something deeper.
Then what was this one based on?
Feng Qingyun bit his lip, eyes reddening as his thoughts whirled.
Lovelessness cuts through the seven emotions… The seven emotions…
Suddenly, understanding struck. The strongest emotion he’d felt at the end of the last illusion was anger. His heart leapt. Feng Qingyun turned sharply, fingers twisting the wrist behind him, shouting:
“You’re…”
But the man behind him had no intention of letting him finish.
A hand clamped over his mouth, pressing him forward against the invisible, mirror-like barrier.
“!?”
Feng Qingyun could see everything outside through that one-way surface, his bare skin flattened against the cold, gleaming surface. The pressure against his chest and shoulders made his reflection tremble, but behind him, the other’s voice rasped low by his ear, laced with suppressed rage:
“Bloom. Now.”
Feng Qingyun’s pupils constricted, and realization hit him like a knife. His body went weak, and he slumped forward, cursing Long Yin furiously in his mind.
You beast in human skin…!
But before he could finish the thought, a third voice echoed through the room.
“Cursing him won’t help, Little Rose. He told you to bloom, so bloom. Otherwise, it’ll end very badly.”
The sound chilled him to the bone. Tears streaked his face as he lifted his gaze and met a pair of deep violet eyes.
“Of course,” the heart demon smiled sweetly, “or you can always call for me instead.”
Two heart demons?!
Feng Qingyun was stunned. Even with ten lifetimes, he couldn’t have imagined that two heart demons could appear in the same illusion.
He knew them instantly.
However, the hand over his mouth kept him from speaking. Both of them were among the seven emotions’ most dangerous forms… Terror swelled in his chest. Feng Qingyun’s muffled breath trembled against the palm that was silencing him, making a pitiful, broken sound.
His mind spun, half from shame, half from helpless dread.
He couldn’t take much more. Tears welled as he turned toward the violet-eyed demon with a silent plea, but the other only smiled, repeating softly, “Want me to help? I can. Just say it, one little word, and I’ll do anything you want.”
A paradox.
He needed to ask for help, but without help, he couldn’t speak.
The stalemate stretched on.
At last, Feng Qingyun squeezed his eyes shut, trembling, and released a single, slender vine. Fragile, tender, still budding, and not yet in bloom.
A feeble gesture of surrender.
But it worked.
The Long Yin behind him paused, loosening his grip, reaching instead for that delicate vine. The moment his mouth was free, Feng Qingyun turned desperately toward the violet-eyed demon.
“Help…”
But the demon only smiled knowingly. He caught Feng Qingyun’s outstretched hand, their fingers interlacing, and pressed one finger gently to his lips.
“Shh. Quiet now. Don’t let the real one hear. He might come join the fun.”
What?!
Feng Qingyun’s eyes flew wide. He opened his mouth again, only to find himself silenced once more.
The violet-eyed heart demon had cast a silence spell on him!
Feng Qingyun froze, humiliation and rage colliding until he could hardly breathe. He stared at the other with an expression of betrayed disbelief, but the heart demon only laughed, pinching his chin and brushing his nose playfully.
“Still so easy to fool, hm? Little Rose.”
Feng Qingyun trembled with fury, glaring through tear-streaked lashes, defiant even in silence. He must have cursed Long Yin’s entire ancestral line in his mind, but no sound came out. He was left looking like a mute, beautiful doll cornered with nowhere to run.
The roles had turned completely upside down.
The violet-eyed demon’s smile deepened as he pinched Feng Qingyun’s chin and murmured, “Now that I think about it, didn’t you call me something earlier?”
Feng Qingyun froze, and a chill ran through him.
“Ah, yes,” the heart demon whispered, brushing a still-budding flower between his fingers and crushing it lightly. “You called me old man, didn’t you?”
“…!”
Feng Qingyun’s heart jolted violently.
The heart demon arched a brow, voice soft but dangerous.
“Do I seem old to you?”
Tears welled again as Feng Qingyun shook his head frantically.
“There, there. Don’t cry.” The violet-eyed demon smiled, wiping the tears from his face with surprising gentleness. Then, lightly, it continued: “But as for the one behind you… I can’t promise he won’t be angry.”
Feng Qingyun blinked, then realization hit. The one behind him indeed represented Anger. A chill shot through his spine. He turned just in time to meet a pair of blazing red eyes. The furious heart demon glared down at him, expression cold enough to freeze blood.
Feng Qingyun’s body went rigid, and all around him, the world seemed to collapse.
And in the next instant, the red-eyed demon did something so shocking that his mind went blank. He caught Feng Qingyun’s fragile vine and, together with the violet-eyed demon, twisted the tender buds at its tip together.
“…!”
- Here, Feng Qingyun addresses Long Yin by 老人家 – pinyin: lǎorénjiɑ, which means “venerable old person”. Very polite, very infuriating as well. What’s cute is that the word, 老人家, is made of 老人, which indeed means “old person”, but with 家 added, which means “home/family”. So it’s more like “my family’s venerable old man”, and not just some random old geezer from the streets. ↩︎
- A yamen (ya-men; traditional Chinese: 衙門; simplified Chinese: 衙门; pinyin: yámén; Wade–Giles: ya2-men2; Manchu: ᠶᠠᠮᡠᠨyamun) was the administrative office or residence of a local bureaucrat or mandarin in imperial China, Korea, and Vietnam. ↩︎
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