Feng Yun’ai could not fathom where this sudden joy came from. How could someone find such amusement in provoking her anger?
But she… she felt no stifling weight in her heart.
Sang Chencao gave a short, mocking laugh and beckoned Feng Yun’ai into the room. As soon as she turned her back, she pulled down her collar, clearly intending to tear away her disguise.
This was not Sang Chencao’s true complexion. Having spent a long time under the harsh sun of the Sand River, her skin was naturally deeper than that of the people in Cloud City—a tan that was even, radiant, and perfectly clear.
As her collar fell away, the skin revealed by the disguise was surprisingly pale.
Even so, Feng Yun’ai felt a momentary lapse in her composure. She abruptly turned her head to avoid the sight, her voice strained with discomfort. “You’re removing the disguise now? There are people in the Alliance who might recognize you.”
“It matters not. I am merely removing the mask early; I haven’t said I’m making an appearance yet.” Sang Chencao gathered her hair over her shoulder and leaned down to light the lamp on the table. With a reckless disregard for her own safety, she lifted the lamp toward her back, seemingly unconcerned that the flame might catch her clothes or hair.
“You—” Feng Yun’ai gasped.
The sight was harrowing. Feng Yun’ai hurried forward, snatching the lamp from Sang Chencao’s hand.
“Frightened?” Sang Chencao teased. “Afraid I’ll set myself ablaze?”
The fire hadn’t scorched her flesh, nor had it singed her clothes, but the light made Sang Chencao’s skin look as if it were glowing with a moist luster.
Feng Yun’ai didn’t answer. She carefully adjusted the position of the lamp, terrified of burning the other woman.
Fortunately, she didn’t need to hold the flame too close. Once the heat hit the false skin of the disguise, a nearly imperceptible wrinkle began to ripple across the surface.
“It wouldn’t matter even if I did get burned,” Sang Chencao said dismissively. “With my constitution, it would scab over in an instant.”
Feng Yun’ai reached out. The pale, wrinkled layer felt like a wound to her touch, yet when she pressed down, the woman before her didn’t utter a single cry of pain.
Sang Chencao stood there with poise, glancing back over her shoulder with a half-smile. “Since it’s already been heated, why don’t you help me peel it off?”
Feng Yun’ai remained silent. As her fingertips grazed the surface, the undulating texture felt somewhat like a snake shedding its skin.
Yet snakes were cold-blooded creatures, while the woman before her was far too warm—so hot that Feng Yun’ai’s fingertips and palms began to bead with a thin layer of sweat.
“Hurry,” Sang Chencao urged. “Do you hear the bells? There is roughly one hour before the Hero Recruitment Meet begins. I must go early to see which sects have arrived. I can’t have anyone getting in the way of my Plucking the Blossom.”
“You truly intend to compete?” Feng Yun’ai asked suspiciously.
“Unless you want to?” Sang Chencao countered. “But you don’t.”
It was the truth, so Feng Yun’ai did not argue.
Both of them were highly skilled, but compared to the entirety of the martial world, it would be difficult to claim the absolute summit. Every sect had different techniques, and many participants were elders with profound experience. To succeed in Plucking the Blossom, one had to defeat the predecessors and hold their ground against all challengers who followed.
Even a master of the highest caliber might struggle to withstand such a relentless, unending wave of attacks.
Feng Yun’ai’s hand paused over a wrinkle. She frowned. “What are you planning to do? Use poison? Or release your snakes?”
Sang Chencao burst out laughing, her bare shoulders trembling slightly. “In your eyes, am I truly such a despicable and wretched person?”
Feng Yun’ai offered no rebuttal.
“Rest easy. I cannot simply drug everyone in plain sight,” Sang Chencao said, her eyes narrowing. “There are too many well-traveled old foxes here. They would see through it immediately.”
From outside, the faint toll of a bell drifted in. As the start of the Hero Recruitment Meet approached, the bell would strike once every fifteen minutes.
The sound resonated in Feng Yun’ai’s chest. She immediately set the lamp down and drew her sword.
The moment she drew it, the blade carried the momentum of one who could cleave the wind and part the waves. Yet, as it touched Sang Chencao’s back, it became as gentle as a hand plucking a flower—careful, almost as if it were imbued with a profound tenderness.
The tip of the sword moved, and the slightly raised wrinkle split open, never once nicking the flesh beneath.
Feng Yun’ai sheathed her sword and used her fingers to slowly peel the opening wider. She feared that since the disguise had been worn for so long, the false skin might have fused with the real flesh; a sudden pull would surely cause pain.
It truly was like a serpent shedding. As the mask was pulled away, the slightly darker complexion beneath was revealed.
The false skin was surprisingly tough; without the initial cut from the sword, it would have been difficult to tear.
The real skin was a shade darker but possessed a healthy sheen. It was a pity that beneath such beautiful skin lay a heart one could never see through—much like a night in the Sand River: seemingly tranquil, but fraught with hidden perils.
Feng Yun’ai peeled the layer all the way to the bottom. The thin sheet in her hand felt remarkably resilient; no wonder it hadn’t shown a single mark despite the friction of their daily travels.
Sang Chencao clearly found her too slow. She reached behind herself, grabbed the edge of the false skin, and ripped it off with a forceful skritch, sounding like tearing silk.
As the mask was stripped from her back to her chest, the dull, pallid layer fell away to reveal the vibrant, olive-toned skin beneath. It looked full of life.
Sang Chencao pulled her collar back up and turned around. “What? Was Little Xiu afraid of hurting me?”
Faced with that familiar, striking face, Feng Yun’ai pursed her lips and looked away. After a moment, she whispered, “I was afraid of breaking you.”
Sang Chencao laughed and poked Feng Yun’ai’s neck twice. With a teasing gesture, she brushed aside the fabric near Feng Yun’ai’s collarbones. “Shall I help you remove yours as well? Or would you prefer to keep it, just in case things go wrong and you need an easy escape?”
If she were wearing someone else’s face—especially someone from the Dieshan Alliance—how could she possibly clear Feng Rong’s name?
Feng Yun’ai simply pulled her own collar open a bit further, turned her back, and said coldly, “There is no need for an escape. When I entered the Dieshan Alliance, I never planned on leaving in one piece.”
Sang Chencao wrapped her arms around Feng Yun’ai from behind. The gesture looked intimate, but they weren’t actually touching; only her breath brushed against Feng Yun’ai’s ear.
She loosened Feng Yun’ai’s belt slightly, then hooked her fingers into the back of her collar, slowly pulling it down.
Feng Yun’ai froze. Perhaps because the other woman was so close, a layer of sweat broke out on the back of her neck.
