A voice as cold as jade rang through the hall.
“Three.”
“Two.”
“One.”
The Mistress of the Underworld snapped back to her senses, terror flooding her as she cried out, “Wait!”
Feng Qingyun paused mid-motion and lowered his gaze to her.
Her face was deathly pale. She seemed unable to accept that, after tens of thousands of years of cultivation… after reaching the level of a corpse ancestor, standing at the threshold of tribulation transcendence, she still had been reduced to this, threatened by a sword cultivator barely a few hundred years old!
But she had no choice. In that brief instant, she had come to a crystal-clear realization.
She was no match for Feng Qingyun.
There was no need for Long Yin to intervene at all. If Feng Qingyun wished it, he could take her life with ease!
And yet, asking someone who had lived for tens of thousands of years, who had once brushed against ascension itself, to accept that truth so readily was… perhaps asking too much. So the moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Regretted not trying to bargain just a little more. Hesitating, she said, “If… if I hand over Baihu’s heart, then what the two of you said earlier…”
“I’m in a bad mood right now,” Feng Qingyun interrupted coldly. “I don’t want to hear hypotheticals.” With that, he continued evenly, “The Mistress of the Underworld needs only tell me this: will you choose to die together with Baihu’s heart, or will you choose to hand it over?”
“Anything else, I don’t want to hear.”
As his voice fell, the sword edge pressed down further. The withered skin at the side of her neck split open, and black blood, unique to the Huangquan Clan, began to seep out. Her heart trembled violently. Clutching Baihu’s heart, she instinctively looked toward Long Yin…
And there stood the true incarnation of the Heavenly Dao, calmly off to the side, watching as his Dao companion used his very lifeline as leverage to threaten another!
It was as if failing to reclaim the authority of the Heavenly Dao meant nothing to him at all. He even seemed to hope the Mistress of the Underworld would struggle a bit longer, so that the scolding and punishment waiting for him might be delayed a while more.
Seeing she was utterly without support, the Mistress of the Underworld could only tremble as she said, “…I choose the latter.”
The answer was clearly within Feng Qingyun’s expectations, but he did not withdraw his sword. Instead, he extended his free hand toward her. She tightened her grip on Baihu’s heart, trying to salvage a shred of dignity. “…About the matter of ascension that was mentioned earlier…”
“A gentleman’s word is his bond,” Feng Qingyun cut in flatly. “However, whether you will be the first to ascend is not something I can promise. And even if he were to promise it, it wouldn’t count.”
Who he was referring to was self-evident.
And that useless Heavenly Dao standing nearby said nothing at all, practically acquiescing to everything Feng Qingyun did, handing over his right to speak entirely!
Seeing her remain silent, Feng Qingyun pressed the sword down another fraction. “If the Mistress of the Underworld agrees,” he continued, “then we set the contract now. If you do not…”
“I agree! I agree!” she blurted out at once. “As long as there is a chance at ascension! I will hand over Baihu’s heart!”
“But as for ascension…” She clenched her teeth, still unwilling to give up. “I have endured thirty thousand years of hardship here! Even if I have no merit, I at least have suffering to my name! I do not ask to be first, I only ask for the chance…”
“Since it has already been promised, the Mistress of the Underworld may rest assured,” Feng Qingyun answered. Though his sword was still pressed against her neck, he spoke with an oddly formal courtesy. “I am unlike certain people. When I speak, I keep my word.”
That certain someone: “……”
Hearing that, the Mistress of the Underworld bit her lower lip. She stared at Feng Qingyun for three seconds, then suddenly raised her right hand and slammed the radiant Baihu’s heart hard onto the ground.
A sharp, crystalline sound rang out and…
Feng Qingyun did not even blink.
Seeing how unnervingly calm he remained, she took a deep breath and said, “…Sword Master, to possess such depth of sword Qi and scheming at such a young age… I truly admire you.”
As she spoke, she removed the ring from her finger.
The instant the ring came off, her body collapsed, from a form that still barely resembled a corpse into nothing but a skeleton. Gorgeous robes draped over bare bones, a sight that looked like something torn straight from a nightmare.
The hollow sockets that could scarcely be called eyes fixed on Feng Qingyun. And yet, he still did not blink once. Reaching out, he took the ring and asked, “This is Baihu’s heart?”
Long Yin finally stopped playing the mute and nodded. “It is.”
Feng Qingyun sheathed the Linshuang Sword, then casually stored the ring away in his own storage ring. Long Yin found it entirely natural as well, saying nothing as he continued to stand to the side, acting like an invisible man and a silent backdrop.
The Mistress of the Underworld could not hide her shock. Feng Qingyun, however, acted as if nothing at all had happened. After sheathing his sword, he said calmly, “I was rude earlier. I ask the Mistress of the Underworld to forgive me.”
“…Of course.” She stiffly tugged at the corner of her mouth. “It is I who should thank the Sword Master for showing mercy.”
One moment, she had been imperious and commanding; the next, she had fallen to this state. Even for the Mistress of the Underworld, it was hard to keep face.
Above them, the shattered roof of the Spirit Palace still poured down dim yellow sky-light. Unease crept into her heart, and she couldn’t help worrying whether Feng Qingyun might still kill her after using her.
Fortunately, Feng Qingyun was not Mu Hanyang.
He truly did what he said he would do. However, with his objective achieved, he had no intention of lingering. But before leaving, he added calmly, “When the Heavenly Dao returns to its rightful place, and the world is thrown into turmoil, when immortals descend and wreak havoc, I ask that the Mistress of the Underworld take action.”
His tone was eerily steady, as if he had already prepared himself for the return of the Heavenly Dao. It was utterly unlike the earlier frenzy and anguish, as though he were a completely different person.
Long Yin froze, and a complicated emotion surged in his chest. Earlier, he had sworn again and again that his pain did not matter, that he himself did not matter, righteous and self-sacrificing to the extreme. But now that his wish had been granted, and his lover was truly ignoring him, it was as if a mirror had been held up to Long Yin, exposing every ugly, despicable truth beneath.
He was not selfless. And he could never be indifferent.
But in the end, Long Yin said nothing. He clasped his hands behind his back, gripping his palms tightly, maintaining an outward air of calm while subtly averting his gaze.
Feng Qingyun caught that self-deceptive gesture out of the corner of his eye and found it faintly amusing. His expression, however, remained cold.
The Mistress of the Underworld noticed none of the undercurrents between them. After a brief three-second hesitation, she replied, “…Naturally.” But having been deceived once too often, Feng Qingyun would not take her word alone.
With a sweep of his hand, he summoned a section of emerald-green vine, covered in thick horns. Without blinking, Feng Qingyun slashed it apart.
“!”
Long Yin felt as though the blade had cut straight into his own heart. Unable to hold back, he stepped forward, but before he could speak, Feng Qingyun shot him a cool glance.
“I don’t want to hear you talk right now,” Feng Qingyun said flatly. “You’d better keep your mouth shut.”
Long Yin choked on his words.
Without sparing him another look, Feng Qingyun lowered his head and, holding the Linshuang Sword, silently sliced open the vine. On its cross-section, he carved the oath they had just sworn, then held it out to the Mistress of the Underworld.
“I’ll need a drop of your heart’s blood.”
Without Baihu’s heart, she was already nothing more than a skeleton. By all logic, she should not have had any heart’s blood left, so… she had originally intended to use that as an excuse, but when she looked up and met Feng Qingyun’s cold, impatient gaze, her heart jolted. She no longer dared to play tricks.
Raising her hand, she touched the cut surface of the vine. A mass of dark, oppressive blood mist gathered at her fingertip, then pressed down and sank into the vine, vanishing without a trace.
Feng Qingyun grasped the vine and held it out to Long Yin, ordering, “Fire.”
Long Yin immediately, obediently, conjured a strand of demonic flame. The vine burned to ash in an instant.
And just like that, the contract was sealed.
With matters concluded, Feng Qingyun had no intention of staying a moment longer. He waved away the vine’s ashes, sheathed the Linshuang Sword, and left behind a single line.
“Thank you for the disturbance. We’ll take our leave.”
Without even glancing at the Spirit Palace he had split apart, he turned and grabbed Long Yin, pulling him toward the exit.
The Mistress of the Underworld’s heart leapt…
They couldn’t be allowed to leave so easily, ah!
That sword strike earlier had shaken heaven and earth! Even cultivators at the Qi Condensation stage must have felt it ripple through the Underworld!
Now that she had been forced to hand over Baihu’s heart, with her Spirit Palace torn open like that, if they were allowed to leave, it would only be a matter of days before her humiliation spread across the world, just like how Mu Hanyang had once had his Dao companion stolen in broad daylight!
So she immediately rose to her feet, the bones beneath her robes clattering. But before she could speak, Feng Qingyun suddenly stopped, as if remembering something, and turned back to look at her.
“Oh, right. There’s also the matter of the Heavenly Dao’s incarnation…”
The Mistress of the Underworld instantly understood and hurried to assure him, “I will never speak of it! Sword Master, please rest assured!”
Feng Qingyun paused at her words, then nodded once.
In truth, he was not especially worried that the Mistress of the Underworld would immediately go and inform some immortal of the Heavenly Dao’s incarnation.
Though in his previous life her disappearance had seemed connected to the immortals, unless she were truly driven to desperation, her interests were almost entirely opposed to theirs.
Only with the Heavenly Dao returning to its rightful place would she have a genuine chance at ascension. That fact… she understood better than anyone.
And it was precisely for that purpose that she had put on such a display earlier, all to force Long Yin to return to his position. For that, she had not hesitated to use Baihu’s heart, and even the Demon Emperor’s life, as bargaining chips.
Unfortunately, she had miscalculated one step.
That step was Feng Qingyun himself.
But it was hardly her fault. After all, no one could have imagined that the Linshuang Sword Master, long reputed to be gentle as jade, would undergo such earth-shaking change in the span of just a few short months!
As for who exactly had brought about that change, no one knew more clearly than Long Yin.
Which was why he did not dare utter a single sound now. He could only watch as Feng Qingyun withdrew his gaze and said calmly, “So be it. Then we won’t trouble the Mistress of the Underworld any further. Please remain.”
With that, he turned to leave.
Seeing his resolute back, she hurriedly said, “…The Underworld may lack fine fruits, but it does have some unusual sights. Why don’t the two of you stay one night? In a few days, when the Ghost Gate officially opens, you can depart then.”
“I still have domestic matters to deal with,” Feng Qingyun replied coldly. “There’s no need to stay.”
She choked, lifting her eyes to look at the Spirit Palace he had split apart. She knew full well that if she let them leave like this, by tomorrow, word would spread that she had been defeated by the two of them.
At that point, not only would her dignity be completely lost, but it might even affect the balance of power within the Underworld. In her anxiety, she blurted out, “…But old acquaintances from the past are still here. Though they’ve lost their memories… do the two of you truly have no wish to see them once?”
Feng Qingyun halted mid-step. In an instant, he recalled the image from the illusion, the heavenly Fox Patriarch and his shattered jade pendant, dying together.
He froze slightly, then, for some reason, thought that, if one were being honest, over the course of two lifetimes, Long Yin seemed to have had very few friends. The former heavenly Fox Patriarch and his Dao companion could barely be counted as two.
However, there were times when one should never indulge in pity for a man.
Feng Qingyun’s heart was full of the most considerate intentions, yet his expression remained cold as he turned to Long Yin, asking, “Do you want to see them?”
Long Yin had actually already heard his thoughts. Seeing him deliberately put on such a stern face now, the contrast softened his heart completely, though he stubbornly resisted smiling.
The dignified Heavenly Dao, who had spent the entire time playing the invisible man and wishing he could bury himself underground, finally spoke: “I leave it to the Second Palace Master’s decision.”
In truth, he did want to see them. Not because he harbored any deep affection for that old fox and his broken jade pendant, but because of a small, selfish hope.
If he could see them, maybe he could drag things out a little longer. And if he dragged it out long enough… perhaps Feng Qingyun’s anger would dissipate on its own…
And yet, he had not expected Feng Qingyun to nod at once. “Then we’ll stay for now,” he said. “Tomorrow, we’ll trouble the Mistress of the Underworld to make arrangements.”
Long Yin: “……”
The Mistress of the Underworld finally let out a breath of relief. As long as she could repair the palace before they left, she wouldn’t lose face entirely. “It’s only my duty. Sword Master, there’s no need for courtesy.”
In the end, their residence was arranged in a place near the Reincarnation Platform. Originally, Feng Qingyun had assumed she would assign them one of the tomb-cave dwellings they had seen on the way in. Under normal circumstances, he truly did not want to live inside a grave. But at the moment, the anger he was holding back was close to boiling over. With a cold face, he simply dragged Long Yin along behind the trembling ghost attendant, not sparing a thought for where they were being taken.
Along the way, Long Yin watched his expression, cold as frost and snow. He tried to speak several times, only to be shut down by an icy glance each time.
So in the end, he fell silent once more and obediently followed behind.
Fortunately, when they arrived, they discovered that the place arranged for them was a courtyard located within the bounds of the Reincarnation Platform. From the outside, it even seemed carefully chosen to resemble their residence back in Fengdu, except Fengdu was eternally night, while here it was perpetually dusk.
As they crossed the boundary between the center of the Underworld and the Reincarnation Platform, light snow began to fall from the sky. By the time they reached the courtyard, the snow had grown heavy, with thick drifts piling up to knee height. Bathed in dusk-light, the scene held an unexpected charm.
And it was then that the Mistress of the Underworld’s so-called “unusual taste” revealed itself.
Outside the warm, quiet courtyard ran a river of the Underworld, upon which lotus flowers bloomed year-round, never withering. Snow drifted across the surface of the river, mingling with the open blossoms.
Feng Qingyun stopped short.
For no clear reason, his thoughts turned to the lotus hairpin he had only ever seen in the illusion.
In the end, he had never truly seen that hairpin.
Loss, once missed, was like a shattered mirror; no matter how hard one tried to piece it back together, what was gone was gone. In the past, Feng Qingyun had felt only regret. Even so, he had still been willing to look forward together with Long Yin.
But now, standing amid the falling snow, he couldn’t help wondering…
If one looked forward… what future was there to see?
If he were to lose his memories unknowingly, then ten thousand years later, when the Heavenly Dao might form again, would it still be Long Yin?
The more he thought, the heavier the cold fury in his chest became.
So heavy that even the ghost attendant noticed his dreadful mood. Terrified, the ghost hurriedly bowed, muttered an excuse, and slipped away.
In the blink of an eye, only the two of them remained before the courtyard. Goose-feather snow fell from the sky, landing on Feng Qingyun’s shoulders. He lowered his gaze in silence, neither entering the house nor looking at the person beside him. A few flakes even settled on his lashes, trembling faintly with each breath.
He looked like a beauty reflected in ice.
Long Yin’s throat tightened at the sight. Unable to help himself, he stepped closer and lowered his head, forcing conversation. “That corpse demon earlier, she bullied the weak and feared the strong, groveling after intimidation. Truly laughable.” As he spoke, he reached for Feng Qingyun’s slightly cool right hand, clasping it in his palm as if to warm it, attentive to the point of ingratiation.
Feng Qingyun paused. He did not pull his hand back, only lifted his eyes and cast Long Yin a cool glance, one sharp enough to raise goosebumps, before letting out a cold laugh.
“She truly fears power and refuses virtue,” he answered. “Soft won’t do, so she has to be beaten into submission.” Reaching this point, his voice dipped as he continued, “And you?”
Long Yin: “……”
Perhaps his nerves had been stretched too tight for too long. After three seconds of silence, Long Yin blurted out, “Actually… this one can eat both soft and hard. It just depends on what the Second Palace Master is willing to offer.”
His death-defying courage was genuinely admirable.
It made Feng Qingyun turn his head and look at him. “Oh?”
Long Yin was just about to say more when a hand suddenly clamped around his throat, yanking him none too gently into the room.
Feng Qingyun was slightly shorter than him. Even with all the momentum, he still had to tilt Long Yin’s head up to drag him inside. Paired with a face that remained beautiful even when cold, lacking any real aggression, the scene carried a strange, dangerous allure.
But no matter how fearless Long Yin was, he didn’t dare flirt at that moment.
Feng Qingyun slammed the door shut behind them. With a solid thud, the wind and snow were cut off outside, and the small room instantly felt narrow and stiflingly warm.
He stared at Long Yin without blinking, and Long Yin swallowed unconsciously.
Then he saw Feng Qingyun raise a hand and remove the rose hairpin from his hair.
It was an utterly ordinary motion. Yet in that small room, with snow falling outside, the simple act stirred up endless ambiguity, tightening the throat and dragging memories to the surface.
Black hair spilled loose. The beauty, freed of crown and pin, walked up to Long Yin, lowered his gaze, and, like a lover idly teasing, hooked a finger into his belt.
But his calm voice carried boundless danger.
“The tasteless outsiders have already been dealt with,” Feng Qingyun said evenly. “Now it’s time to settle our domestic matters.”
Long Yin couldn’t help swallowing again, trying, futilely, to maintain some dignity. There was no need for the blood deed at all. Feng Qingyun only had to curl a finger, and Long Yin lost all reason, following him straight into the bedroom.
Outside, the snow fell even heavily.
When the bed curtains dropped, the snow beyond the layered gauze looked even whiter, making the warm, soft body in his arms all the more intoxicating.
Feng Qingyun said nothing as he sat astride Long Yin’s lap, nearly pressing himself fully into his embrace.
It was an incredibly clingy posture.
Long Yin instinctively raised a hand to grip his waist, wanting to pull him in completely. But when he met Feng Qingyun’s eyes at close range, he froze.
Those pupils, after rage had burned through them, were utterly calm, dark to the point of brilliance, breathtaking against the snowy light. That gaze tightened Long Yin’s chest instead. Unable to help himself, he leaned forward, wanting to steal a kiss.
Since leaving the illusion, that was nearly their first kiss.
Yet just as his lips brushed that familiar softness, before he could deepen it, his hair was suddenly yanked back hard.
“Hiss!” Long Yin immediately sucked in a sharp breath, half real, half exaggerated. “Is the Little Palace Master trying to murder his own husband?”
Feng Qingyun held his hair, staring at him coldly at close range. “Did I say you could kiss me?”
Long Yin’s arms circled his waist, fingers rubbing as he murmured, “…Does kissing one’s own Dao companion violate the Heavenly Dao?”
Feng Qingyun released his hair, only to seize his throat instead, feeling the Adam’s apple press into his palm. “Am I your Dao companion?” he asked.
“…Aren’t you?” Long Yin sounded as if he’d suffered a grievous injustice. “I begged across two lifetimes for that title. Is the Little Palace Master taking it back before it’s even warmed in my hands?”
That single sentence struck straight into Feng Qingyun’s heart. Even with his anger blazing, he couldn’t help choking for a moment.
Seeing that, Long Yin hugged his waist and leaned in, about to press his advantage, only for Feng Qingyun to snap back to himself almost immediately, tightening his grip.
“For now, I am,” he said heavily. “In the future… that may not be the case.”
Long Yin fell silent, the bold words he’d spoken earlier now slapping him squarely in the face. Before he could recover and scramble for a way to save himself, Feng Qingyun looked down at him from above, then, unhurriedly and one by one, released his true form.
Under the reflection of the snow outside, the blooming roses seemed even more vivid.
Normally, Feng Qingyun’s true form only displayed that blood-like red after feeding. But now, whether from anger or some other emotion, the color was so rich it looked as though it might condense into droplets of blood and fall.
Petals bloomed layer by layer. Thorned vines curled up with intimate familiarity around Long Yin’s neck, then slid downward, wrapping around his arms and binding them firmly behind his back, looping several extra times as if to make sure he could not move at all.
Long Yin’s breath caught. He watched as Feng Qingyun lowered his gaze and finished all of that unhurriedly, as though he were carefully wrapping a piece of treasured porcelain.
An indescribable heat surged straight to his head, making him ache to press the beauty in front of him right then and there. Yet with the blood deed flaring, Long Yin could do nothing at all, only wait until Feng Qingyun was satisfied, astride him, fingers lifting his chin as he issued the first command of the night in a cool voice.
“Let your horns out.”
Long Yin’s pupils shrank violently. For a split second, before any stimulation at all, his dragon pupils nearly surfaced, but Feng Qingyun remained unmoved. Instead, the vines tightened dangerously as he ordered, “Don’t make me say it a second time.”
The blood deed struck harder. Long Yin clenched his teeth, utterly unable to resist, and was forced to release his dragon horns. The instant they emerged, thorned vines climbed up them. His expression changed sharply as he sucked in a cold breath.
Feng Qingyun paid it no mind. Instead, he wrapped an arm around Long Yin’s neck and pressed kisses to the base of his horns, deliberately brushing them with his lips as he murmured, “Look at your horns. You have two anyway… what use is keeping them both?”
“Once you return to your rightful place, all things in the world will be nothing but illusion. This body of yours will be no more than an empty shell.”
He licked along the horn with intimate slowness, then lowered his eyes to meet the dragon pupils that had surfaced under instinct. Feng Qingyun smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes.
“If you’re going to leave me,” he said softly, “why not cut one horn off and leave it behind for me… hmm?” As he spoke, his hand slid from Long Yin’s abdomen downward, as though what he intended to keep was far more than just a single horn.
The boundless sense of danger, tangled with unbearable stimulation, completely shattered what little restraint Long Yin had left.
Feng Qingyun’s fragrant neck was inches away, his pale collarbones nearly brushing Long Yin’s cheek. Veins stood out as he endured to the limit; even beneath layers of fabric, the tension in his arms was unmistakable, and all his suppressed ferocity surged to the surface.
“Qingyun…”
But Feng Qingyun ignored him entirely.
Instead, his grip tightened in punishment. Long Yin’s brow jumped, and the fire in his throat flared to its peak. He barely had time to open his mouth when a vine whipped up like a rope, binding him, as a rosebud was stuffed between his lips.
Only a moment ago, Feng Qingyun had been kissing his horn with intimacy. The next instant, his words turned icy cold.
“Shut up. I don’t want to hear you speak right now.” With that, he shot Long Yin a glare, as though he truly despised him, and then rose from his embrace without a shred of attachment.
In that instant, Long Yin felt as though he had been suspended in midair, neither up nor down, agony stretching to the extreme.
Feng Qingyun seemed amused by the feral, cornered look in his eyes, but the smile vanished quickly. He ignored Long Yin altogether and lowered his gaze to undo his own belt.
“!”
Long Yin’s eyes flew open as he watched helplessly, as the dignified, tightly fastened robes peeled away like flower petals right before him. That familiar, powerful snow-white body was laid bare without reservation. Heavy snow pressed down outside the window, yet it paled in comparison to the scene before him.
Feng Qingyun brushed aside a loose strand of hair by his temple, not sparing Long Yin even a glance, like a widower who had lost all memory, no longer remembering that he had ever had a husband at all. He looked down at the hairpin he had just removed and left by the bed.
Turning sideways, he picked it up. The movement revealed the familiar dimples at his lower back in full view, yet before Long Yin could take them in, Feng Qingyun returned to sit back down in his lap, hairpin in hand. This time, he didn’t hold back at all. Or rather, he deliberately added force.
Long Yin nearly lost his breath from the impact.
Feng Qingyun didn’t care in the slightest. He lowered his gaze to examine the hairpin. At its end, the rose was exquisitely carved, its color lighter than the buds of his own true form.
Leaning against Long Yin’s chest as though using him as nothing more than a human seat, Feng Qingyun searched through the many rosebuds of his main vine, selecting carefully until he chose one that had just bloomed, untouched, yet plump enough.
Satisfied, he cradled the bud and drew it before himself…
Then, holding the hairpin, he slowly pressed the jade rose at its tip against his own flower core.
“Mngh…”
The icy hardness of the jade made Feng Qingyun bite down on his lower lip instantly, his thighs tightening around Long Yin’s legs. Soft flesh pressed flush against his sides. Long Yin’s pupils contracted violently, and his dragon eyes flared purple, the sign of a heart demon taking root.
Yet Feng Qingyun paid him no heed.
Resting against his shoulder, he deliberately brought the rose between their faces, using the hairpin Long Yin had given him to grind and tease with slow, precise movements, coaxing nectar forth.
The nectar soaked the end of the pin, dampened his fingers, and flowed down the back of his hand in glistening trails. An overwhelming thirst surged up inside Long Yin, as though he hadn’t tasted water in ten thousand years.
The spring was right there, within reach. Yet he couldn’t even hope for a single drop.
So this was what true suffering was.
Not the moon hanging high and unattainable, but the moon once held in your arms, now only reflected in water, like a flower in a mirror, shattering at the slightest touch.
After who knew how long, the great beauty, his eyes reddened at the corners, finally ran out of strength and collapsed into the hollow of Long Yin’s neck. He bit lightly at the constantly bobbing throat, as though using it to muffle his own voice, treating Long Yin like a lifeless object.
Yet in the end, a few suppressed, muffled sounds still escaped, carrying an unspeakable fragrance that spilled beside Long Yin’s ear, perhaps meant for someone to hear.
Long Yin was beyond endurance. His teeth nearly reverted to dragon fangs, razor-sharp and deadly, pressing against that trembling flower core. Yet for fear of truly hurting Feng Qingyun, he did not dare bite down.
Even so, the already weakened Feng Qingyun shuddered violently, clutching him tight. Only after a long while did he come back from the spasms.
“What sudden madness is this…” Feng Qingyun muttered, sounding both embarrassed and irritated by the stimulation from his teeth. He lifted his eyes to glare at the ferocious dragon pupils inches away. “Isn’t this what you like, being my nameless, statusless, so-called husband?”
“Then I’ll grant you that wish.”
With that, Feng Qingyun casually tossed the wet, glistening flowerbud aside. His honey-slick hand patted Long Yin’s cheek lightly, leaving behind a sticky, fragrant trail.
“Do I look good?” he asked. “There’s more that looks even better.”
“Isn’t this what you like to watch?” he taunted, his tone almost exhilarated. “Then watch properly. Consider it practice. After all…” his voice dipped, “…from now on, this is all you’ll be able to do.
“Watch me from the heavens, just like now.”
T.N: I wonder if the Mistress of the Underworld and Qiān Lóu Míng (Long Yin’s general) follow the same cultivation path. Both of them are referred to as “corpse ancestors”, and now, without Baihu’s aid, the Mistress of the Underworld also looks like a skeleton. I think the only difference is their original body/shape. While the Mistress was a human empress, I think Qiān Lóu Míng was a bird demon of some sort, since he’s a “crow” ancestor. Just a connection I never made until now.
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