How could he say such words so calmly?
“Su Xuan!”
Overcome with embarrassment, Sang Dai kicked Su Xuan’s leg.
“Hiss—”
Su Xuan loosened his grip.
Sang Dai quickly scrambled up.
She sat on the inner side of the bed, her flushed face burning hot. The more Su Xuan looked at her, the harder he wanted to laugh.
He lay on his side, propping his head with one hand, clearly showing no intention of letting her leave. If Sang Dai wanted to get out, she’d have to go around him, but at the moment, she didn’t dare.
“Take responsibility for me.”
“…You’re being unreasonable.”
“No, you must take responsibility.”
“…Su Xuan.”
Sang Dai’s face seemed to grow redder by the second, almost as if it were emitting heat.
Su Xuan stared at her for a long time. Unable to bear her flustered state, he finally relented and gave her a way out. “Last night, you were the one who kissed me first. I’ve lost everything now.”
Sang Dai: “…I—I just kissed you lightly.”
“That still requires responsibility. I’m rather traditional—I can only let my future wife kiss me.”
Sang Dai regretted everything.
She clenched her sleeves tightly, silently confronting Su Xuan. Then, she heard his inner thoughts again.
[…Did I speak too harshly? Did I scare Dai Dai? Was I too blunt just now?]
Sang Dai pursed her lips.
[But she’s so timid. If I don’t say these things, she’ll never take the initiative.]
Sang Dai thought he had assessed her quite accurately—she certainly wouldn’t have taken the initiative to say such things to Su Xuan.
[…Could she really be planning to shirk responsibility?]
Seeing the little fox about to explode, Sang Dai couldn’t retreat any further. In a soft voice, she said, “I’m not…”
Su Xuan raised an eyebrow. “Not what?”
Sang Dai clarified, “I’m not refusing to take responsibility.”
“Then what are you going to do?”
“…Su Xuan, can you give me some time?”
She hugged her knees, sitting on the inner side of the bed. Her dark eyes stared at him intently, her black hair cascading smoothly down her back.
The most remarkable thing about Sang Dai was that, no matter what she said or did, no matter how outrageous it might seem, as long as you looked into her eyes, you’d feel a deep sincerity, as if every word she spoke came from the heart.
Su Xuan’s Adam’s apple bobbed slightly, and his gaze darkened.
The two stared at each other in silence before Su Xuan suddenly sat up and pulled the little turtle back into his arms.
“Dai Dai, I told you—you can trust me.”
He understood Sang Dai so well that he could see exactly what she was hesitating about.
She lacked a sense of security.
She had been accustomed to being alone for over a hundred years, with no one to take care of her, no one by her side.
So now, she wasn’t sure if she could adapt to having someone close to her. She was afraid she wouldn’t be good enough to him, afraid he might leave her, afraid she’d end up with nothing in the end. She feared she might truly perish in the Guixu and leave him behind, all alone.
He could see everything clearly.
Because he knew her so well, he felt all the more tender toward her.
“Dai Dai, I’ll give you time. What happened earlier was my fault—I shouldn’t have been so forceful. Don’t be afraid, and don’t be afraid of me.”
Su Xuan held Sang Dai in his arms, putting away his usual playful demeanor. At this moment, he was serious and sincere.
“You can do whatever you want. I’ll help you investigate, accompany you wherever you need to go. I do all of this for you simply because you’re Sang Dai—not for any ulterior motives. I don’t need you to give anything in return. Just living well is the best repayment you could give me. Do you understand?”
Sang Dai was silent for a long time.
Su Xuan leaned close to her ear, sensing the faintly melancholic aura emanating from the sword cultivator.
She wasn’t in a good mood.
In an instant, the tall young man vanished, replaced by a little fox.
Slightly larger than a cub, he bore a golden mark on his forehead symbolizing his identity as a divine beast, and his nine fluffy tails swayed behind him.
He stood up and curled into Sang Dai’s lap, resting his fox head on her hands. His glassy eyes lifted to look at her.
“Touch me.”
Sang Dai: “…”
Su Xuan, haughty as ever, added, “Didn’t you say you wanted to pet me before? You even asked if I could turn into a little fox just for you to touch. Well, I agree now.”
Sang Dai remembered.
Back when she had been petting the snow qilin, a certain jealous little fox had sulked. To placate him, she had casually said those words. She hadn’t expected him to take it seriously, let alone follow through on it today.
She looked at the fox in her lap, much larger than a cub, and felt all her earlier gloom vanish. Smiling, she hugged him tightly and started petting him without reservation.
Su Xuan was fastidious, and his silver fur was incredibly soft and smooth, even more luxurious to the touch than the finest silk. He also carried a faint scent of grass and wood, which became more pronounced as his body temperature rose.
The little fox wrapped all nine of his tails around the sword cultivator’s body. Fluffy tails draped across her waist and arms, filling the air with a comforting warmth.
Soft, fluffy fur could heal all sadness.
Sang Dai’s hands roamed over the little fox, starting from his head and moving down. The fox closed his eyes, emitting a faint, contented purring sound.
“Does it feel good?” Sang Dai asked.
The little fox, basking in her touch, replied lazily, “It’s alright. Keep going.”
“Alright, I’ll keep going.”
Encouraged by his response, Sang Dai grew more enthusiastic. She sat cross-legged, placing the little fox on her lap, then began playing with his ears, squeezing his paws, and stroking his tails.
Su Xuan licked the back of her hand, the ticklish sensation making Sang Dai want to laugh even more.
And she did laugh—brightly and genuinely, no longer weighed down by her earlier sadness. The little fox caught the smile in her eyes and felt a fleeting happiness of his own. He rested his head on the sword cultivator’s hand, closing his eyes and letting her pet him as much as she liked.
Out of all the people in the world, he only wanted to make his little sword cultivator happy.
No matter what Sang Dai was thinking or how she felt, Su Xuan could always cheer her up when she was unhappy.
The little fox stayed quietly curled in her lap, the soothing sound of his purring serving as the greatest encouragement for the sword cultivator. Sang Dai, filled with mischief, suddenly had the idea to tie two of his tails into a knot.
However, the little fox shot her a calm, warning glance, and she quickly released them, putting the fluffy tails back where they belonged.
The little fox, as if to repay the kindness of the sword cultivator’s caresses, kissed each of her ten fingers thoroughly.
About half an hour later, the sword cultivator gently touched the tip of the little fox’s ears.
“Su Xuan, you can change back now. I’m already very happy.”
Sang Dai had noticed by now that the little fox was intentionally trying to cheer her up.
He didn’t deny it and transformed back into his human form.
Su Xuan sat up, adjusting his slightly disheveled clothing. He was only wearing an inner robe, and its loose neckline had been pulled open by Sang Dai earlier, revealing a large expanse of skin.
Sang Dai turned her head away in embarrassment. Su Xuan chuckled softly. “It’s not like you haven’t seen it before, Miss Sang.”
Sang Dai: “…Just put on your clothes.”
Su Xuan draped an outer robe over himself and glanced at the sword cultivator still sitting on the bed.
“I’m going to freshen up. Want to join me?”
Sang Dai shook her head. “You go ahead. I’ll go later.”
“Alright.”
Su Xuan took out a clean set of clothes and headed to the washroom. In the outer hall, Sang Dai was left alone.
She buried her face into a silk pillow, but even the pillow carried Su Xuan’s scent.
Sang Dai stayed by herself for a long time, appearing calm and quiet, but her thoughts were a jumbled mess.
And without exception, all her thoughts revolved around Su Xuan.
Ever since he had carried her back from the battlefield a few months ago, her life had been filled with him. They now spoke more in a single day than they had in the past hundred years combined, and their relationship had grown closer and closer.
Her heart, too, had grown increasingly unsettled.
Su Xuan treated her so well, but she couldn’t yet return his feelings equally. This imbalance made her feel a deep sense of guilt toward him.
Before she could sort out her thoughts, the door to the washroom opened.
After tidying up, Su Xuan came out, only to see that same little turtle retreating into her shell.
He walked over quickly, scooped up the sword cultivator by the waist, and carried her off.
“Su Xuan?”
Su Xuan said, “If I leave you there, who knows how long you’ll dawdle? I’m starving.”
He carried her into the washroom, retrieved clean clothes from his storage pouch, and set them down. “Freshen up. I’ll wait for you outside.”
Before Sang Dai could react, the series of actions was already complete, and Su Xuan was gone, leaving only her in the washroom.
Along with the clothes and toiletries he had neatly prepared for her.
The little fox waited outside for a while, and a quarter of an hour later, out came a beautifully groomed sword cultivator.
She was dressed in new clothes he had tailored, a cloud-water blue cross-collar robe with an outer layer of light, embroidered gauze that swayed gently as she walked.
Su Xuan’s eyes lit up as he took in the sight. Pleased, he guided Sang Dai to sit down and undid her hastily tied bun.
Sang Dai glanced at the copper mirror. The clear-eyed sword cultivator sat quietly in front of it, while the black-robed youth behind her—his features striking and vibrant—was doing something unexpectedly gentle.
His fingers combed through her jet-black hair, a stark contrast to the cool whiteness of his hands.
With practiced ease, he styled her hair into an intricate bun.
Sang Dai asked softly, “How do you even know how to style hair?”
Su Xuan replied casually, “I learned it.”
Sang Dai: “Why would you learn something like this?”
“Because someone is too clumsy. Naturally, I had to learn it myself.”
Someone: “…”
It seemed Su Xuan had learned quite a lot. Not only could he cook, but he also knew how to sew. Even the fabric for her robes was woven by him, and now he could even style hair.
In contrast, she had never learned those things. For over a century, her days had been consumed by sword practice and training expeditions.
Watching the fox in the mirror as he carefully adorned her hair with pearl hairpins, Sang Dai grew curious and asked, “Su Xuan, what else have you learned?”
Su Xuan’s hand paused.
He looked at her, their gazes meeting in the mirror.
Sang Dai saw his Adam’s apple bob as his expression subtly shifted.
She turned her head in confusion, meeting his eyes directly.
“Su Xuan?”
Su Xuan responded lazily, “I’ve learned a few other things.”
[The Nine-Tailed Fox Clan must learn how to manage their mating season. Dai Dai is a human cultivator and can’t handle a demon’s mating season. Thankfully, my mother taught me when I was young. I’ll need to prepare Dai Dai well beforehand so I don’t hurt her when the time comes.]
Sang Dai: “…”
So… he learned that?
[The mating season is coming soon this year. I’ll talk to Dai Dai about it in advance—she’ll definitely feel sorry for me. When the time comes, I’ll act a little spoiled and pitiful, and we’ll settle the marriage contract first. Then we can spend the mating season together, all proper and legitimate.]
Sang Dai: “…”
He’s starting again.
[How annoying, Dai Dai’s blushing again… So beautiful. I want to kiss her again.]
Sang Dai: “…”
Her face turned beet red, including her ears. She immediately turned her head away and smacked his shoulder. “Su Xuan, can you shut up?!”
Su Xuan: “?”
He hadn’t said a word!
Sang Dai snatched the pearl hairpin from his hand, haphazardly stuck it into her half-styled bun, and stood up to leave.
“I’m going out first. I’m hungry.”
Like a startled rabbit, she disappeared in the blink of an eye.
Su Xuan stared at the now-empty doorway.
This wasn’t his imagination—it had already happened many times.
They’d be interacting just fine one moment, and then suddenly her demeanor would shift. She was terrible at hiding her emotions, always looking like she was angry, but in truth, it seemed more like embarrassment—her face would always turn completely red.
Embarrassment?
Why would she be embarrassed?
The fox’s eyes narrowed slightly, and his mental gears started turning again.
His little sword cultivator seemed to be hiding something from him.
Something very important.