Sang Dai didn’t stop him. After all, they had already kissed several times; sharing a cup didn’t seem like something to fuss over anymore.
She lay on her side on the soft couch, eyes closed, as if she were trying to process what had just happened.
Su Xuan lay down beside her, pulling the sword cultivator into his arms.
Sang Dai wriggled slightly. “The couch is small; there’s not enough room for both of us.”
The fox’s tall body was indeed a tight fit for the narrow couch.
He didn’t care. Hugging the sword cultivator, he gently kissed her forehead. This was their private, tender moment—no distractions, no outside interference. It was just him and his beloved sword cultivator.
“Dai Dai, are you uncomfortable?” he asked.
Sang Dai curled up in his arms and shook her head. “… No.”
“Then are you comfortable?”
“… Why do you keep asking such questions?”
Sang Dai knew Su Xuan was thick-skinned, but she hadn’t realized just how shameless he could be.
Su Xuan smiled and said, “Because I hope that you, like me, enjoy our closeness.”
Demons were straightforward by nature. Whatever they thought in their hearts, they would say out loud without beating around the bush.
“I like you, so I hope you like me just as much—like everything about me.”
Whether it was hugging or kissing, he loved it all. And he wanted Sang Dai to love it too.
Sang Dai hadn’t expected this to be the reason. She buried herself in his embrace, remaining silent.
She wasn’t good with words, and there were some things she found very hard to say aloud.
Su Xuan held her quietly for a while. Once his discomfort subsided a bit, he rested his chin against the top of her head.
“So, can you give me an answer now?”
“… About what?”
Su Xuan asked, “Are you comfortable?”
Sang Dai: “…”
“If you don’t answer, I’ll have to continue.”
Afraid that he might kiss her for a long time again, Sang Dai quickly stammered, “I—I… Yes.”
Su Xuan suppressed a laugh and asked again, “Do you enjoy it when I kiss you?”
“… Yes.”
“And what about when you kissed me?”
Sang Dai fell silent, pretending she hadn’t heard his question.
But Su Xuan wouldn’t let it slide. He insisted on coaxing the little turtle out of her shell, cupping her face and making her meet his gaze.
“What does it feel like when you kiss me?”
Sang Dai hesitated. “Do I have to say it?”
Su Xuan raised an eyebrow. “What else? You think you get to kiss me for free? I want an answer.”
Sang Dai pressed her lips together, her hand unconsciously fidgeting with the fabric of her clothing.
“I…”
“Hmm?”
“… Hmm.”
Su Xuan refused to let her off so easily. “You think you can brush me off with just a ‘hmm’? What I’m asking, Dai Dai, is how does it feel when you kiss me?”
Sang Dai felt as if her face was about to burn off.
“Can I… not say it?”
The little fox smiled, and under the sword cultivator’s expectant gaze, resolutely shook his head.
“No.”
Sang Dai: “…”
Her struggles were futile. She lowered her head, her voice muffled. “… Then let me gather my thoughts.”
The sensations lingered on her lips and in her mind, as if they were still entangled in that moment of lip and tongue.
After a long pause, the little turtle finally began to speak.
“… My heartbeat is very fast.”
“Mm, what else?”
“… I feel weak.”
“I know.”
“… My brain slows down.”
“And then?”
“… Also, I think you smell really nice.”
“…”
Sang Dai looked up with her bright eyes and asked, “Su Xuan, what fragrance are you using? You smell so nice.”
She was genuinely asking this question—at a time like this.
Su Xuan had no idea how her thoughts had wandered to such a trivial matter, but as he looked into her wide, earnest eyes, he suddenly turned away and started laughing.
The corners of his eyes crinkled, and his lips curled into a wide smile, as if he found it hilariously amusing.
Sang Dai: “… What are you laughing at?”
He suddenly turned back, cupping Sang Dai’s cheeks, and planted several firm kisses on her, smacking her lips noisily a dozen times.
“How are you this adorable!”
In the blink of an eye, Sang Dai had been kissed multiple times.
She covered her mouth, her gaze a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. “Why are you kissing me again?”
Su Xuan, grinning, replied, “Because someone is so adorably clueless, I just couldn’t help myself.”
He had never met anyone so straightforward. She was utterly serious, yet somehow exceptionally endearing and funny.
Everyone in the Four Realms thought Sang Dai was an overly rigid person, only focused on practicing swordsmanship and exorcising evil. Only Su Xuan knew the truth—Sang Dai was a sincere and incredibly cute little sword cultivator.
Su Xuan pulled the little sword cultivator tightly into his embrace, wrapping his fox tail around her waist. “I’ve come to a conclusion: you like me.”
Sang Dai protested, “No, you can’t deduce that from just this.”
Su Xuan countered, “You kissed me and even made your own heart race. I didn’t even move this time. I don’t care—you like me.”
He began to act shamelessly.
Sang Dai struggled to free her head from his grasp and said, “Just based on this? My master says even practicing swordsmanship requires several days to see if you’re suited to a particular technique. How can we tell after only two or three kisses?”
She was being completely serious with her question.
Ying Heng had told her that persistence and patience were needed for anything, and that initial results might not always reflect the truth. Life was long, and few people could master something easily, herself included. That’s why long-term practice was necessary.
But the little fox, predictably, misunderstood her.
His gaze darkened almost instantly. One hand rested on her side, his thumb unconsciously stroking her, sending a wave of tingling sensation through her.
“You’re right. I was being foolish. Immortal Lord Ying Heng is absolutely correct.”
Sang Dai nodded seriously. “Mm, my master is right.”
Which meant what Su Xuan had just said didn’t count.
But Su Xuan immediately followed up with, “It does take more attempts to come to a conclusion.”
Sang Dai: “… Huh? W-wait, Su Xuan—”
Before she could finish her sentence, the little fox pounced, skillfully prying open the sword cultivator’s lips and teeth.
As Su Xuan pressed her down and kissed her, Sang Dai suddenly wanted to punch herself. Why was it that she always fell into traps like this? It was bad enough to be led astray by him, but why did she also manage to drag herself into trouble?
With her eyes closed, her brows furrowed slightly as she endured his passionate kiss, whimpering softly as she kissed him back.
When the little fox finally released her lips to kiss her cheeks instead, Sang Dai hurriedly turned away, grabbing a thin blanket to cover herself completely, wrapping herself tightly.
“I don’t want to kiss anymore…”
Her voice was muffled and barely audible.
They had kissed far longer than she had mentally prepared for.
Su Xuan hugged her—blanket and all—into his arms. “Immortal Lord Ying Heng was absolutely right. One time isn’t enough to draw conclusions. We’ll just have to keep trying. Anyway, there’s still some time before my mating season begins. We’ll figure out your feelings for me through practice, and then I’ll carry my Dai Dai to the cave to spend the mating season together.”
Sang Dai elbowed him. “Shut up! Who said I’d do that with you?”
The little fox clung to her like an octopus. “That’s why I’m working hard—working hard to get you to agree.”
Under the blanket, Sang Dai covered her face, too embarrassed to speak again.
When it came to cunning, she wasn’t even a tenth as sharp as Su Xuan. What she considered a perfectly normal statement always seemed to give Su Xuan an opening, and she would somehow end up persuaded by his twisted reasoning, constantly compromising her boundaries.
The little fox hugged her from behind, his warm chest pressed against her slender back. It felt as though their hearts were beating in sync, pounding like thunder.
Sang Dai pressed her hand against her chest, feeling utterly lost.
Earlier, when Su Xuan had been overwhelmed by emotion, he had slightly pulled down her collar to kiss her, stopping at her collarbone and shoulder. He hadn’t gone any further.
She knew it was improper, and Su Xuan hadn’t restrained her wrists—so why hadn’t she stopped him?
If she had just said she was uncomfortable, Su Xuan would have stopped immediately.
But whenever she looked into those glassy, luminous eyes, or heard his inner voice repeating his affection—
[I like Dai Dai.]
[I like my Dai Dai.]
[Dai Dai, I like you.]
Her heart softened.
The Sang Dai of the past could have ruthlessly stabbed him with her sword. But now, seeing him in his vulnerable, lovesick state made her feel weak. Her blade could no longer aim at him, and her heart couldn’t stay cold toward him.
The little fox held the sword cultivator tightly and closed his eyes to rest. He was in pain, struggling, but he couldn’t bear to let go of her, forcing himself to endure it.
The sword cultivator remained quiet, and the entire main hall fell into silence.
The sky outside had long since turned dark.
Cui Shao glanced at the tightly closed doors of the main hall.
Covering her mouth, she chuckled quietly. She had heard some noises earlier and wasn’t entirely clueless. Her masters had been inside alone for so long—it wasn’t hard to guess what might have happened.
It seemed her lord wouldn’t have to endure his mating season this year.
It was time to start preparing for the union ceremony.
—
The sea was deep and dark, the wind sweeping across its surface, stirring the waters into ripples, and faint cries echoed intermittently, wave after wave.
The sand on the shore was soft, and the night had grown late. The dense clouds in the pitch-black sky were slowly swallowing the full moon.
Shi Yao stood at the edge of the shore, clutching a hand warmer.
Behind her came a faint coughing sound. It lasted only a moment before being stifled, as if the person didn’t want her to notice.
But Shi Yao heard it anyway.
She turned around and saw the red-clad young man. His face was pale, devoid of any color, and he wavered as he walked.
“Miss,” Bi Fang called to her softly, “you look a little pale.”
Shi Yao pressed her lips together and said nothing.
Bi Fang stepped forward and gently took her wrist, channeling spiritual energy into her.
Though still severely injured himself and with little energy to spare, he was always generous when it came to Shi Yao.
“You haven’t had Sang Dai’s blood for a long time. Your body is weakening,” Bi Fang said. “When I recover, I will fetch a bowl of her blood for you.”
Shi Yao abruptly pulled her hand away, turning to look into the distance. “There’s no need. Blood is useless now. It’s just a way to delay the inevitable. What we need is the spiritual root. Without it, I will still die.”
Bi Fang lowered his head respectfully. “Understood.”
“And him?”
“He’s gone to Linglong Town. It seems he has some business there.”
Shi Yao sneered coldly. “What business could he possibly have? When he’s not guarding Ying Heng, he’s out killing people. If he’s not here, it’s only because he’s out killing again.”
“Indeed, Miss is perceptive.”
The thick clouds in the night sky continued to gather. Shi Yao tilted her head back to gaze at the heavens, and Bi Fang followed her gaze.
The fierce wind howled, the waves surged violently, and the sea breeze whipped their garments, causing them to billow together.
“Miss, the wind is picking up. Shall we head back?”
Shi Yao lowered her head, covering her mouth as a fit of coughing overtook her. When she pulled her hand away, it was stained with blood.
She wiped her hand clean and spoke without looking up. “Wait a bit. The celestial dog is about to devour the moon.”
The full moon was gradually being swallowed by the dense clouds.
The waves grew even more tumultuous, as if something beneath the sea was roaring in fury. The faint cries carried by the wind became clearer.
Suddenly, a massive wave, a hundred feet high, erupted from the sea. The salty, bitter wind rushed past, mingled with sharp wails that sounded like the cries of countless ghosts.
A figure appeared beside her.
Shi Yao did not turn around, her gaze fixed on the distant sea.
The person at her side chuckled lightly before speaking. “Ying Heng’s divine soul is returning. He will wake up soon.”
Shi Yao’s voice was calm. “I don’t see what there is to be happy about. If Ying Heng wakes, killing Sang Dai will only become exponentially more difficult. Why did you bother saving him? He deserved to die. You’ve already extracted his spiritual root. Keeping him alive in this state, neither man nor ghost, serves no purpose.”
The young man chuckled. “Of course, I kept him alive for a reason. Miss Shi, you’d better think about what to do with your own body instead. Fate has long since been altered. From the moment Sang Dai didn’t die, you and I ceased to be the ones orchestrating the game and became mere pieces on the board. Clinging to that life book granted by Him will only hasten your death.”
Shi Yao sneered coldly. “Then don’t trouble yourself with my affairs.”
She turned to leave. “Bi Fang, we’re going.”
Bi Fang followed her closely as they departed.
The smile on the black-clad young man’s lips deepened.
When the full moon was completely swallowed, the once surging and tumultuous sea suddenly seemed frozen in time. Beneath the pitch-black waters, a faint green light began to emerge.
The glow grew brighter and brighter, increasingly dazzling, until it encompassed the entire sea.
The air was filled with the rich and potent scent of wood-attribute spiritual energy.
The young man’s eyes curved into a smile, and he chuckled softly.
“The divine soul has gathered. Ying Heng, it’s time to wake up.”