Chapter 114: Golden Dragon-Locking Ring (Part 2): The Extraordinarily Sensitive Palm

Not far away, several attendants were peering over, trying to judge if anything was needed here.

If they saw the dragon horns, it would be trouble. Mu Qian Tan pressed her palm down slightly harder, covering those two protrusions, and lifted her gaze. “All of you, withdraw.”

The group bowed and retreated. Shang Shan was still crying, clutching the woman’s skirt hem, her face full of tear tracks. Mu Qian Tan asked suspiciously, “Does it hurt that much?”

She herself had no horns and couldn’t empathize with the sensation. She could only compare it to pulling a tooth, stubbing a toe on a door, getting a splinter in the palm, or the most vulnerable spot hitting a hard object. Thinking about it, it was indeed a bit terrifying.

She lifted her palm and looked. Amid the thick black hair, the little dragon horns weren’t visible. She murmured lowly, “Your hair is way too thick.”

Basically free of worries, without needing to expend mental energy on thinking, plus being young—that was how one could have such a lush, beautiful head of long hair. Sure enough, being heartless and carefree was a good thing.

The hallway outside was empty, without any heating. Just standing there for a moment caused the residual warmth from the bedding on her body to dissipate completely. Mu Qian Tan touched the icy, bone-chilling wall, then slid the hand resting on the girl’s head to the right, twisting her ear and pulling her toward the room. “Come in.”

She dragged the person into the room, kicked the door shut with her foot, and brought her to the bedside before sitting down herself. Shang Shan obediently crouched in front of her legs, rubbing her eyes with both hands.

Mu Qian Tan spread her left hand, her five fingers blooming like an orchid. Spiritual power condensed into a fully open Epiphyllum Ice Lamp, its petals translucent and emitting a faint blue glow. With her right hand, she parted the girl’s thick, dense black hair like kelp strands, revealing two small fleshy buds—one with a pink tip, the other deep red. Below, near the scalp, they were pale white, threaded with thin blue-gold veins like blood vessels.

The deep red one must have been the one that hit the bedpost, accumulated some bruising, which gave it that color. Compared to the healthy one, it was swollen by a full circle—indeed a bit pitiful.

However, they had both grown enough to sprout like this. She hadn’t had a strong sense of her dragonization before, but now it felt very intuitive.

Her fingertip gently touched the tip of the red fleshy bud. The touch was warm, just a thin layer of flesh over bone. The girl shuddered violently and let out a small “mmph,” turning her head to press her face against Mu Qian Tan’s thigh. She had been squatting but lost strength in her legs and sat down, trembling finely.

Mu Qian Tan asked, “Does it hurt?”

“Mm…” It was unclear if it was pain or some other sensation, so she responded first.

Perhaps because of the sensitive location that couldn’t be touched, she couldn’t treat it like the bruises on her own leg with medicine and massage. Mu Qian Tan thought for a moment, then tapped her foot on the ground and bounced her thigh lightly, jostling the girl’s face away. “Go on, still crying. What do you want?”

Shang Shan wiped her face with her sleeve, then lifted her hand to grasp the woman’s right wrist, pulling her hand down to cover the top of her head again, just like at the doorway.

Seeing no further action forthcoming, Mu Qian Tan asked, “Just like this?”

Shang Shan: “Mm.”

Mu Qian Tan was puzzled for a moment before realizing she cultivated ice-based spells, her body colder than a normal person’s, and her palm likewise. Using it as a cold compress might ease the pain. So she placed her palm over the little dragon horn, channeling a layer of spiritual power to lower the hand’s temperature, serving as an ice pack.

She noticed the floor littered with Spring Palace Diagrams that hadn’t been cleaned up yet and kicked a few aside. Coldly, she said, “Looked at so many—did you learn any real techniques?”

That person’s temperature had never lingered on her head for so long before. Shang Shan’s heart pounded. The pain hadn’t actually lessened; her scalp still felt like chunks of flesh were being gouged out with sharp, stabbing pain. But her heart calmed down. She sniffled. “I learned. Need kisses and hugs.”

Amid a pile of explicit erotic books, she cared most about these two things—like fixating on appetizers in front of a table full of delicacies. Mu Qian Tan patted her dragon horn. “You still dare say that. Want to look next time too?”

“Mmph!” Shang Shan hummed, hugged her knees, and shook her head.

Her gaze swept over the girl’s red nose tip and moist eyes. Mu Qian Tan curled her left fingers slightly and held the Epiphyllum Ice Lamp in front of the girl. “Hold it.”

The blue light reflected in Shang Shan’s eyes like a patch of eerie cold soul—as if touching it would freeze one. Yet she sensed a faint warmth from the petals that was hard to detect.

She took the epiphyllum flower and stared at it quietly for a moment. The chaotic scenes she had just seen flashed in her mind. The flower gradually enlarged and softened, turning into something else far more appetizing.

Dazed, she swallowed and slowly raised both hands, taking two petals into her mouth. The cold ice melted in the hot mouth into water with a hint of sweetness. She gulped it down, then extended her tongue tip, the pink soft flesh licking the stamen repeatedly, curling away the moisture and making wet licking sounds.

In the center of her vision, the girl was licking the flower, but at the edges were the indecent Spring Palace Diagrams scattered on the floor. The scene coexisted in strange, contradictory harmony. Mu Qian Tan narrowed her eyes, her face inexplicably heating up. Subconsciously, she pressed her legs together slightly, averted her gaze back to the girl’s head, and looked at the few strands of hair peeking through her fingers.

But the water sounds continued. That shocking full-color scene jumped into her mind. Mu Qian Tan quickly suppressed it, angry that her brain was polluted by this filth. She pinched the instigator’s dragon horn and heard the girl cry out in pain before taking off her shoes, lifting the quilt, and lying down. “All day long, you just cause me trouble.”

The scalding soft tongue soon melted the entire epiphyllum flower. Shang Shan licked her lips lingeringly and rested her chin on the bed edge. “Master, why do horns still grow even when I listen to you?”

Mu Qian Tan was blunt. “You’re farting. Did you listen?”

Shang Shan said, “I did. You never told me I couldn’t look at Spring Palace Diagrams.”

It seemed she hadn’t.

Mu Qian Tan patted her dragon horn. “Talking back.”

“Ah!” Tears welled up in Shang Shan’s eyes again, and she wailed, “You’re hitting me. It hurts.”

Her mouth shouted pain, but she didn’t move her head away. She was still shivering, pressing against that right hand and refusing to budge.

Mu Qian Tan pulled over a pillow to prop behind her head and glanced at the bed edge. With a cold snort, “Serves you right.”

It seemed she had patted too hard earlier. The stupid dragon kept crying and shaking nonstop. The sound wasn’t loud but disturbed her enough that she couldn’t sleep. Impatiently closing her eyes, she rubbed her nose bridge. “What else do you want?”

The girl didn’t reply.

If this continued, she wouldn’t sleep tonight.

The hand covering the girl’s head slowly stroked. Mu Qian Tan stared at the ceiling in the darkness.

She had never comforted anyone in her life and was utterly clueless about it. After thinking for a long time, she recalled a short joke from a composition material magazine when she was little. For some reason, among many articles she had read and forgotten—sincere ones, profound ones, skillfully written ones—this single-line joke always lingered in her heart.

“I’ll tell you… a funny one.” The night was too quiet; her words were soft, like sleep-talk with a breathy tone. “After I finish, shut up. No more sounds.”

Shang Shan sniffled, stopped crying, and looked at the woman on the bed with big eyes especially bright after being washed by tears.

She hadn’t thought much of it at first, but under that gaze, Mu Qian Tan’s throat tightened slightly, with a faint rough sensation like twine binding her heart. She avoided that look, unsure how things had developed to this point, but continued, “Listen. One day, a chick and a duck fell in love. They got together and formed a family.”

Shang Shan waited seriously for the follow-up, but that was it. She widened her eyes. “And then?”

Mu Qian Tan withdrew her hand. “Not laughing? Then keep crying.”

“I’m laughing, I laughed.” Shang Shan urgently grabbed that hand back and pulled it to her head. “But actually, I don’t get it. What does it mean?”

Mu Qian Tan said, “Read ‘chicken duck’ fast.”

Shang Shan said, “Chicken duck, chicken duck, family… Oh! I get it!”

Once she understood the punchline, she immediately burst into laughter, doubling over with shaking shoulders. She had been crying nonstop earlier; now she laughed nonstop. In any case, she was noisy.

Seeing her unrestrained, intense reaction without holding back, a sense of pride rose in Mu Qian Tan’s chest. Sure enough, a joke that had lingered in her mind for so long was powerful. Another one popped into her head, and she continued, “Here’s another. Two cows eating grass together. The green cow asks the black cow what it tastes like. Black cow says, strawberry flavor. Green cow tastes it and angrily calls it a liar. Black cow says, idiot, I told you grass has no taste.”

Shang Shan took a moment to process it before laughing even louder, slapping her chest and nearly toppling over. Mu Qian Tan had never been the humorous type and knew how old these jokes were, but seeing her like this, a helpless, sighing smile tugged at her lips. “Only a fool like you would really laugh at such corny old jokes.”

Shang Shan clutched her stomach, laughing until her lungs hurt. For the sake of her life, she quickly stopped and wheedled for more. Mu Qian Tan simply said, “No more.”

Shang Shan whined, “Tell them again, please?”

Mu Qian Tan said, “No one laughs twice at the same joke.”

Shang Shan said, “If it’s you telling it, I will.”

Mu Qian Tan said, “Can’t you recall it yourself?”

Shang Shan said, “I want to hear you tell it. Your voice is nice.”

She seemed truly enchanted. It wasn’t long anyway, so Mu Qian Tan told them again. Shang Shan laughed hysterically again and wanted more. She listened three, four, five, six times without tiring.

Ordinary people laughed heartily the first time but grew bored by the second or third from knowing the ending. But each time for her was like the first—practically earth-shattering, without diminishing.

Mu Qian Tan suspected she was faking it. “Just two jokes—you should have them memorized by now. Really?”

Wiping tears from her eyes, Shang Shan clung to the bed edge. “Tell them one last time, and I won’t laugh.”

So Mu Qian Tan told them one last time.

Shang Shan pursed her lips in advance, cheeks puffed, gaze determined, but in the end, she broke, grinning. “Hee hee.”

Mu Qian Tan inexplicably laughed too and scolded, “Idiot.”

Party animals like her were essential—able to pick up any topic, give reactions without tiring or losing patience, chat with anyone. Unlike herself, forever unable to blend into groups. No matter how much she prepared, she’d stumble over words, overwhelmed by inexplicable pressure, never at ease.

Enthusiasm was a talent she lacked.

It wasn’t early; the night outside had deepened. Mu Qian Tan looked out the window and discovered it was snowing tonight too. She pinched her nose bridge. “Go to sleep already.”

Unsure why the woman who had been laughing moments ago suddenly turned cold again, Shang Shan nudged the hand on her head. “Master?”

“Sleep. Stay up any longer and you might drop dead.” Mu Qian Tan pulled the quilt up to her chest, wanting to withdraw her hand, but it was pressed back on her head with whines. Feeling around blindly, the swelling hadn’t gone down, so she let the stupid dragon have it, just warning, “From now on, no more weird changes. Disturb my sleep, and you’ll die unpardonably.”

Shang Shan said, “Cat Official obeys.”

Mu Qian Tan patted her once. After all the fuss late into the night, sleepiness hit, and she soon drifted off drowsily.

Once her breathing evened out, Shang Shan dared look up at the bed. Under the thin moonlight, the woman frowned slightly. Having a nightmare?

Recalling her rare nightmare experiences—all unnervingly uncomfortable and frightening—Shang Shan grew serious, pondering how to help make the woman more comfortable.

She remembered those two things from the Spring Palace Diagrams for soothing after the fact. She lowered her body, tilted her head up. That hand, still releasing spiritual power to stay cool even in sleep, slid down from her forehead to cover her lips. She straightened up and pressed her lips to that palm.

That hand was extra sensitive. Just a light touch made it flinch back, fingers twitching, still quivering faintly. Shang Shan heard the woman’s extremely faint hum, like honey flowing into her ears, sending shivers through her.

Her heart raced out of control. She almost wanted to bite down—her mouth even opened—but barely held back. Yet her stomach rumbled.

So hungry.

Her sense of smell suddenly sharpened. She caught the faint fragrance from the woman’s body mixed with the thin sheen of hot sweat from her skin, igniting an almost maddening hunger. Stepping over the Spring Palace Diagrams on the floor, she realized belatedly that sometimes she got hungry, craving not just food, but something else.

Something more entwining.

She seemed to know how to satiate that constant hunger now. But definitely not the time.

There would be chances later. Time was on her side; she believed that.

“Thank you…” Shang Shan pulled that hand down for the final soothing step, hugging it to her chest and murmuring devoutly, “Thank you, Master.”