Feng Qingyun stiffened at those words. He looked at Long Yin in disbelief, his throat bobbing uncontrollably. Almost instantly, he realized…
Long Yin had remembered everything.
The problem was… when exactly had this man regained his memory?!
Feng Qingyun sat frozen there, his mind frantically replaying every conversation they’d had over the past few days. And then, with growing horror, he realized something: because he had been using Long Yin for amusement, he had likely, maybe, possibly… said quite a few things that were utterly unspeakable.
In his original plan, the more pleased and smug Long Yin looked in the moment, the more thrilling it would be when he later “remembered” everything and realized what had happened. But that premise only worked if Feng Qingyun knew exactly when Long Yin regained his memory. The stimulation was real, but it had landed squarely on him instead.
At this moment, he was still half-kneeling on top of the man, frozen in an awkward in-between position. He didn’t dare move even an inch closer. His waist hovered at the edge where water met air, and a faint breeze brushed past, sending a chill straight through him.
But he had no time to care about that.
Once doubt took root, every questionable detail came rushing back.
For example, Long Yin’s exaggerated, almost theatrical acting during the day, and Bai Ruolin’s expression, which clearly said she wanted to speak but held back.
Feng Qingyun’s face went red and pale in turns. He didn’t know whether he was shocked at how easily he had been deceived by beauty, or at the fact that the dignified Demon Emperor had been willing to humble himself to that extent.
He had been dazzled by Long Yin’s looks, yes, but now that he finally snapped out of it, Bai Ruolin’s unnatural attitude also became completely understandable. She had probably remembered everything, too. And further than that… everyone likely remembered everything already.
He was the only one still in the dark.
At that thought, Feng Qingyun slowly closed his eyes. His grip tightened unconsciously on the man’s shoulder until his knuckles turned faintly white. To Long Yin right now, he probably looked utterly “indisputably guilty.”
Realizing this, he swallowed. His knees, still pressed against what was below him, trembled slightly. He didn’t dare sit down at all, as he finally understood what it meant to be riding a tiger.
Impossible to dismount.
But he didn’t have the courage to expose the truth either. So he carefully wrapped his arms around the man’s shoulders, trying to play weak, leaning forward a little as if to sit on his abdominal muscles first, at least to buy himself a bit of breathing room.
But unfortunately, Long Yin, who had silently watched his awkward attempts the entire time, immediately saw through his intention.
“What’s wrong?” He raised a brow. “Why aren’t you speaking anymore, Senior?”
Feng Qingyun was startled so badly that he almost slipped and sat fully down onto the man’s abs. His scalp went numb, whether from heat or from the deliberately teasing tone, he couldn’t tell.
This man really has the nerve to act young like this at his age!
Feng Qingyun averted his gaze, but Long Yin hooked a finger under his chin and forced him back.
“Are you thinking about your dead spouse again, Senior?”
Long Yin deliberately used his original, clear, youthful voice to his advantage, continuing, “What exactly is wrong with this Lord that you still think about him?”
Feng Qingyun didn’t even dare look at him. His waist remained stiffly suspended, unable to sit or retreat. His voice trembled slightly.
“You’re… fine in every way…”
“If I’m fine in every way,” Long Yin pressed on, as if unwilling to let him go, “then who do you like more, Senior? Me, or your dead spouse?”
Feng Qingyun lowered his eyes. Beneath the starlight, he gave a completely different answer from before.
“…Both.”
“Both?!” Long Yin repeated, dissatisfied. “Didn’t you say you liked me? How did it become ‘both’ now?” He tightened his hold on Feng Qingyun’s waist, seemingly gentle but actually unyielding, forcing him down further.
“Earlier, didn’t you say your dead spouse was older and inferior to me in every way? That he couldn’t compare to my youth and obedience… How did you change your mind so quickly?”
Feng Qingyun was pressed into an unknown position, and his face flushed red beyond control as he finally snapped.
“Long Yin!”
“I’m here.” Long Yin smiled innocently and kissed his flushed lips. “What is it, Little Palace Master?”
“Stop acting!” Feng Qingyun slapped his chest in embarrassment. “You’re thousands of years old, don’t you feel ashamed pretending to be young?!”
Long Yin laughed for a long while after hearing that. Then, at last, he stopped pretending altogether. He grabbed Feng Qingyun’s wrist before he could pull away, his tone turning sharp and merciless.
“Two years apart, and the moment you see this Lord, you strike first?” he asked lightly. “What is it, seeing it’s me instead of that obedient little dog who would lick wherever you told him to, you’re unhappy now?”
“I never told you to lick anything!” Feng Qingyun retorted, face burning, trying to sit up, but he was pinned firmly in place. “Don’t talk nonsense…”
His struggle made Long Yin narrow his eyes. He tightened his grip on Feng Qingyun’s waist, subtly but firmly.
Feng Qingyun froze instantly.
Long Yin leaned in and kissed the corner of his eye, smiling faintly.
“Could it be… the Little Palace Master was so thoroughly charmed by that foolish little dog that it went to your head?”
Feng Qingyun flinched slightly. “I didn’t…”
“You didn’t?” Long Yin pressed on. “Then what about those things you said earlier, Little Palace Master?”
Feng Qingyun was trapped by his own past words. He could only force himself to deny it stubbornly.
“…That was just a joke.”
“A joke?” Long Yin raised a brow. “Didn’t you also say your dead spouse was skilled in bed, but became useless when it truly mattered?” His hand traced slowly along Feng Qingyun’s waistline, and he felt the man’s muscles tense instantly beneath his touch.
“Then tell me,” Long Yin murmured, “when it comes to ‘losing nerve at the crucial moment’… who exactly is it now?”
Feng Qingyun’s face burned red. He knew very well that today, he probably couldn’t escape this ordeal. So he simply closed his eyes, hooked his arms around the man’s neck, and softened his stance as if giving in, leaning into his embrace.
He even played the emotional card, coaxing, “Isn’t it said that one feels more nervous the closer one is to home, too afraid to ask who has come…” His voice softened to the bone, almost coquettish. “You finally remembered everything, yet you deliberately hid it from me. Everyone else already knew… I was the last one left in the dark. Of course, I would be the nervous one…”
His tone was gentle enough to melt the marrow in Long Yin’s bones. Paired with that pleading, spoiled movement, even a saint would probably find it hard to resist.
What’s more, as he spoke, he lowered his gaze slightly. His dense eyelashes drooped, casting a soft shadow over his eyes. A posture of softening and faint grievance… if the amnesiac Long Yin were here, he would probably have been completely coaxed into guilt, immediately pulling him into his arms and apologizing, unwilling to pursue anything from before.
But heaven is ten li high, while the devil is one li close.
Unfortunately for him, his ‘little husband” might have been easy to fool, but His Majesty was not.
“Yes, after finally returning, what this Lord sees is that the Little Palace Master only thinks of his lover. Is there even room for me, this old acquaintance?” Long Yin asked, fingers brushing against his lips, then taking advantage of his guilt to pry his lips open and press against his tongue. “After years apart, seeing your so-called ‘dead spouse’, do you have nothing to say to me?”
Under the starlight, Feng Qingyun looked up at him. After a long pause, he actually reached out and lightly swept his tongue over Long Yin’s fingers. Feeling the sudden tightening of the muscles beneath him, he softly said through the fingers in his mouth:
“…Welcome back.”
At that moment, his feigned weakness looked exactly like a favored concubine seeking favor from an emperor. Long Yin’s eyes darkened instantly. He grabbed his chin and pulled their faces closer, kissing him as he said lowly: “So my Little Rose’s welcome… is only verbal?”
Feng Qingyun’s eyelashes trembled. He tried to lean in for a kiss, but Long Yin seized the opportunity, pressing him firmly in place and not allowing him to move freely.
“What about that young man? So inexperienced, so rough…” Long Yin kissed along his collarbone inch by inch. “He really spoiled my Little Rose. So starved that you had to ride on top of him yourself.”
Every word made Feng Qingyun’s heart tremble as he stubbornly retorted, “It was clearly you who kept holding me down and not letting me go… don’t slander me…”
“This Lord is slandering you?” Long Yin pressed his forehead against his, his hand trailing from his chest down along his body. “The Little Palace Master is still wearing my keepsake around your neck. Yet here you are, rolling into bed with another man so soon after my death. Where exactly did I slander you?”
His voice was almost right against Feng Qingyun’s ear, each word burning hot, making him tremble uncontrollably.
Long Yin continued unhurriedly, even smiling as he dug up old grievances:
“Watching that fool be played by you, did it feel good, Little Rose?”
At that title, Feng Qingyun’s throat tightened. After a long pause, he whispered, “I didn’t…”
But the guilt in that denial was even heavier than before.
Long Yin narrowed his eyes, then suddenly said, “Come here.”
It was almost a command. Yet beneath it was absolute certainty, like he already knew the other would obey. Feng Qingyun’s heart trembled. After a brief stare, he truly moved forward obediently, as though he were a guilty lover being called to account.
Long Yin traced his lips with his fingers, his tone turning dangerous. “Tell me yourself. How many times did you kiss that fool behind this Lord’s back?”
Feng Qingyun naturally couldn’t count. And he understood exactly what Long Yin meant, so he simply lowered his head and kissed him again in a pleading manner.
Their lips and breath intertwined. Long Yin held him close, smiling as he enjoyed every trace of his guilt. After the kiss, he tilted Feng Qingyun’s chin up, saying, “It seems… the Little Palace Master still owes me four hawthorns. How do you plan to repay them?”
…………..
The moonlight seemed to solidify and fall into the world.
Feng Qingyun knelt half-submerged in the spiritual spring pool, a hawthorn berry in his mouth. His long black hair spread across the surface, covering the reflection of the moon. Only his pale shoulders and the faint curve of his waist remained visible beneath the rippling water.
Tears welled in his eyes as he looked up at the man in front of him, aggrieved yet unable to protest.
The bright red hawthorn rested between his lips, but he was not allowed to swallow it, nor even fully hold it properly in his mouth. He could only press it lightly with the tip of his tongue, keeping it on display between his lips, as if deliberately shown off.
And what was exposed was not only the hawthorn.
It was also Feng Qingyun’s already crumbling shame.
The vivid red fruit and his pale, beautiful face intertwined, making him look like some enchanting spirit bearing fruit from a flower. Long Yin sat before him, one hand supporting his body, the other gently lifting his hair behind his ear.
“Poor Little Rose…” he smiled.
Feng Qingyun glared at him with the hawthorn in his mouth. But as the sugary coating faded, the sourness spread.
It was unbearably sour.
His mouth filled with saliva, and it overflowed uncontrollably from his lips.
“Mm…”
He instinctively tried to swallow, but a hand brushed teasingly against his throat.
“No swallowing.”
His throat froze mid-motion, saliva spilling down his chin and neck. Feng Qingyun closed his eyes in humiliation, free of any ordinary desire. All that was left was a deeper, more suffocating shame.
Even the most basic act of eating had been stripped away from him.
For a spiritual plant as the blood rose, whose instincts blurred hunger and desire, it felt like someone had grabbed his flower bud and refused to let it bloom.
His eyes turned red almost instantly.
Eventually, Long Yin lifted him into his arms, stroking his waist. “Sit down,” he said.
Feng Qingyun froze.
“Be good,” Long Yin kissed away the moisture at the corner of his eye. “You can do it.”
After a trembling pause, Feng Qingyun finally gave in. He held onto the man’s shoulders and slowly sank down into the water, trembling violently, his body shaking uncontrollably. Tears, saliva, and everything else blurred together as he was completely overwhelmed.
Long Yin held him, gently patting his back and praising softly, “Good Little Rose.”
But Feng Qingyun could no longer hear anything.
His mind had gone blank.
After a long moment, Long Yin’s voice drifted into his ear again: “You once said this Lord was too old, too mild, not as exciting as younger ones…”
“By that logic… You don’t actually like being cared for properly. You prefer reckless fools, don’t you?”
“Mmmm!”
Feng Qingyun suddenly snapped back to awareness with tears still in his eyes, quickly biting down on the hawthorn and shaking his head.
But the man acted as though he didn’t hear his plea for mercy at all. Instead, he cupped Feng Qingyun’s trembling, flushed cheek, his gaze darkening.
“Besides that,” he said slowly, “I’ve also remembered something else. The Little Palace Master had Beichen call this Lord ‘Brother’… what exactly were you planning there, hmm?”
Now he wasn’t even distinguishing between his amnesiac self and his true self anymore.
Faced with such flexible boundaries, Feng Qingyun’s face instantly turned red, frozen on top of him, not daring to move. Long Yin raised a hand and slowly wiped away the saliva at the corner of his lips, his tone light, but if listened to carefully, it was bottomless.
“So the Little Palace Master enjoys taking advantage of this Lord that much?”
Before Feng Qingyun could even shake his head, the man leaned in, pressed his hand to the back of his head, and bit off the hawthorn that was almost worn down to nothing in his mouth.
After being tormented by the sourness for so long, his mouth finally felt relief, but his tongue had gone numb from the acidity, and for a moment, he couldn’t even speak properly.
Long Yin very “considerately” waited for him to recover. During that time, he casually chewed the hawthorn Feng Qingyun had been holding in his mouth for so long and swallowed it. Under the moonlight and within the warm pool water, the slow movement of his throat carried an indescribable allure.
Feng Qingyun, to his own surprise, only now realized he had a certain weakness: he remembered pain but not caution. Even though his legs were still slightly trembling, he couldn’t help but glance at him a couple more times.
But that glance was immediately caught.
Long Yin looked at him with a half-smile, asking, “What are you looking at, Little Palace Master?”
Feng Qingyun averted his gaze, pretending not to hear him, choosing silence instead, but this little trick was completely transparent in Long Yin’s eyes.
“After resting for so long, you should be recovered by now, shouldn’t you?” Long Yin said, lifting his chin and forcing him to look up. His voice deepened. “After taking so much advantage of me earlier, shouldn’t you call it back now?”
Feng Qingyun pretended not to understand, whispering, “…Senior.”
“Not that,” Long Yin said patiently.
Feng Qingyun swallowed again, his speech still unsteady from the sourness. “Bro… brother…”
But even after conceding so much, Long Yin still didn’t let him off.
“That’s not what I want to hear either.”
Realizing he couldn’t escape this time, Feng Qingyun closed his eyes and muttered under his breath:
“…You pervert.”
In truth, if he really hated it, he could have stood up and left.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he allowed himself to remain held in the man’s arms, lightly scolding him without resistance, far from rejection and more like willing indulgence.
Long Yin couldn’t help but curve his lips. With such obvious indulgence from his beloved, if he still held back, it would truly be disrespectful.
“So what if I am?” he admitted openly. “After all, my Little Rose just happens to like someone like me.”
Feng Qingyun’s eyelashes trembled, and after a glance at him, he surprisingly didn’t deny it.
That only made Long Yin’s smile deepen. He leaned closer, pressing their foreheads together softly.
“Besides… you were raised by my own hand. What’s wrong with calling me that?”
At those words, Feng Qingyun’s heart suddenly skipped a beat. His gaze flickered as he looked up. The unspoken possibilities, those alternate pasts that never happened, were twisted by Long Yin into something entirely different.
Not the innocent, tender childhood he once imagined…
But something far more intimate and…
Far too indecent.
Feng Qingyun stopped thinking. In the end, under the moonlight, he quietly called out.
“…Father.”
The voice was still soft, feather-light, but it landed squarely in Long Yin’s heart. The next moment, water erupted. With a startled cry, Feng Qingyun was pressed beneath the surface of the pool.
“Be gentle…” he pleaded, biting his lip.
But the man only laughed, biting his ear as he held him from behind.
“Do you know what I’m thinking?”
The sensation of kneeling in the warm pool was too strange, too overwhelming. Feng Qingyun closed his eyes, gripping the man’s wrist at his waist without answering.
“If I had personally raised you,” Long Yin murmured, pressing a hand against his lower abdomen, his gaze dark as night, “from the moment you took form, your eyes would have only ever seen me.”
Feng Qingyun trembled.
The thought he had only vaguely entertained in his mind was now fully exposed by Long Yin.
If everything had begun differently…
Then, from the very beginning, he would have walked straight into the net woven for him. No need for dirty blood deeds, no need to rely on the Heavenly Dao’s coercion.
Long Yin alone would have been enough to make him willingly fall in love.
After all, many spiritual plant demons rely on those who cultivate them. Blood roses were a special case, as most of their “caretakers” are eventually devoured before maturity.
And that was exactly why they often couldn’t distinguish hunger from love.
But Long Yin was different. A being like the Heavenly Dao could never be so easily consumed. He could endure all of the blood rose’s instinctive “affection” without suffering any harm.
And he could quietly turn it into something else entirely.
From the moment Feng Qingyun took form, he would be taught, subtly, relentlessly, that hunger was love. A naive flower, with no understanding of the outside world, would naturally accept everything it was taught.
And come to believe, without question, that Long Yin was his destined Dao companion.
He would never realize anything was wrong with their relationship, clearly so different from the morality of the outside world, and almost distorted.
Because he would never see anything else.
He would be raised and spoiled in love, nourished in devotion, until he truly, completely loved that one person. And that process, in Feng Qingyun’s estimation, would not even take a hundred years.
The thought made him shiver, but before he could escape it, the Heavenly Dao who could hear his thoughts leaned in again.
“No need for a hundred years,” Long Yin said softly.
“Not even a single one.”
“The first spring after you take form, your flowering season will arrive.”
His words were so certain that Feng Qingyun’s body reacted instinctively, a faint, trembling impulse rising within him. Long Yin kissed away his tears and guided his hand to his lower abdomen, continuing, “And after your flowering ends… You won’t even need a year.”
“By that autumn…”
“My Little Rose will already be holding the fruit in his belly, calling me husband.”
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