What a kiss it had been.
Luo Jiao had no idea how long it lasted. All she knew was the lingering tenderness, the inch-by-inch entanglement.
The person before her seemed like the first patch of snow beneath the pines—so cold it chilled to the bone. But when Luo Jiao drew closer, it scattered in the wind, falling softly onto her face. Only then did she realize this was no snow at all, but the intoxicating fragrant clouds of early spring.
Soft, weightless, breathtakingly lovely.
And it left Luo Jiao rather dazed.
Where was she? Who was this person…
In that moment of distraction, the figure before her seized the chance to lean down again.
Luo Jiao saw those glaze-colored eyes, half-lidded now, hazy as if drunk—and within them, a beauty like hibiscus in bloom.
Everything was close enough to touch.
…It was Ye Qingzhou.
At this moment, Ye Qingzhou’s fingertip pressed against her earlobe in slow circles, neither light nor heavy, like an oriole skimming the surface of a pond—its clear call rippling outward, stirring the spring scenery into disarray.
A trace of warmth brushed her lips. Her tongue was like warm jade, yet carried, surprisingly, a great deal of aggression.
Luo Jiao was kissed dizzy.
Ye Qingzhou was already at Soul Formation, a mere half-step from Ascension; naturally, she had no need to breathe.
But Luo Jiao was struggling.
Her cheeks burned, and she could barely breathe.
Only one thought circled in her mind: Where am I?
…Oh—she had just broken into the Fengyi Sect’s Illusion Realm. So this place must be inside that illusion.
Then was this Ye Qingzhou the real Ye Qingzhou? And this scene right now was—wh-what exactly??
Thoughts churned in Luo Jiao’s mind. Her brow faintly knitted, and she moved to push Ye Qingzhou away.
But the instant she raised her hand, her wrist was caught.
Ye Qingzhou’s grip was gentle. She gave Luo Jiao’s hand the faintest squeeze, almost let go—then, palm to palm, before Luo Jiao could withdraw, laced their fingers together.
Ye Qingzhou’s hand was cold as first snow. Her fingertips trembled lightly against Luo Jiao’s, fluttering like butterfly wings, stirring a feverish heat in Luo Jiao’s chest until her back was slick with sweat.
Luo Jiao felt she was going to suffocate.
Before, she had fallen into the water, every sense choked by ice. Now, just as she was about to breathe at last, she was being—being held by Ye Qingzhou… by this Ye Qingzhou in front of her…
Th-this—this was utterly scandalous!
Her cheeks flushed crimson—whether from suffocation or fury, even she couldn’t tell.
Only when Ye Qingzhou finally tired of it did she draw back slightly—but as if still unsated, she caught Luo Jiao’s lip gently between her teeth, nibbling a few times, then turned her head to pepper soft pecks along the corners of Luo Jiao’s mouth and cheeks.
Like pecking at a little bird.
Luo Jiao fumed inwardly: You lecherous bird!
At last, half a quarter-hour later, Ye Qingzhou withdrew.
Luo Jiao belatedly gasped for breath, propped herself up on the bedding, and with one shove pushed Ye Qingzhou away. “F-freak!”
The moment she spoke, her own hoarse voice startled her terribly; just from the sound, she felt like some decrepit old man bedridden for years, every word reeking of medicinal herbs and stumbling out crooked.
Even now, after only two words, her throat had begun to sting, the pain sharp enough to draw blood.
…Wait!
Luo Jiao froze for a moment—then suddenly realized that the body she was wearing right now was her original one. Luo Jiao’s own body!
Was it because this was an illusion that she’d regained her original appearance?
No.
An illusion was not a dream. Inside an illusion, a real, physical body still had to sustain you.
Luo Jiao was already lightheaded, and unable to work out an answer, only grew dizzier.
On the other side, the instant she was pushed away, Ye Qingzhou’s eyes widened slightly, and she seemed rather dazed herself.
But when their eyes met, Luo Jiao recalled everything that had just happened.
Shame and indignation—more than confusion—soon won out in her heart.
Gathering her courage, heedless of the raw ache in her throat, Luo Jiao snarled:
“…Get OUT!”
Ye Qingzhou, straightening her robes, froze at the words, then lifted her gaze, stared at Luo Jiao for a moment—and broke into a smile.
Clearly, she hadn’t taken Luo Jiao’s words to heart at all.
“Senior Sister, look. My Illusion Art has improved again.” Ye Qingzhou said, eyes brimming with a smile.
“The first time, you couldn’t speak at all—you just let me do whatever I wanted. So boring.”
“The second time, you were completely dazed, and everything you said was nonsense. Like a fool.”
“The third time, you talked so much—all glib and silver-tongued. Utterly dull.”
“The fourth time, you finally acted a bit like my Senior Sister. But you did everything I wanted. That wasn’t you at all.”
“The fifth time, no matter how I teased you, you never got angry. And when I asked about your past, you knew nothing.”
“The sixth time…”
“………”
She rambled on and on, until even Ye Qingzhou herself seemed to grow dizzy from it.
Then she paused, looked toward Luo Jiao, and her eyes lit up again, her smile growing even brighter—utterly unlike the Elder Ye from the Council Hall earlier that day.
“But this time,” Ye Qingzhou said, laughter in her eyes, “your anger, your blame, that look in your eyes… it was just right.”
She murmured again, “It seems my Illusion Art really has improved considerably.”
What illusion! I’m a living, breathing person!
But Luo Jiao’s throat was dry and her head swam. First time, second time? Just right? And why had she switched back to her own face? What was her identity here?
Luo Jiao distinctly remembered charging into the Fengyi Sect’s illusion array!
So this place now—the Fengyi Sect’s illusion array was a bedchamber??
She listened in a muddle, her thoughts hopelessly tangled, unsure where to even begin questioning—much less how to say it.
So Luo Jiao simply said nothing.
“Senior Sister.” Ye Qingzhou called to her again.
Her hair was white as snow, and as she half- sprawled over Luo Jiao, her whole body exuded a lazy, intoxicating charm.
Ye Qingzhou said, “I missed you so much.”
Luo Jiao reflexively turned her face away and muttered under her breath, “Like hell I believe you.”
Ye Qingzhou’s eyes suddenly went wide, and she scrambled upright on the bed, kneeling with her hands on her knees and leaning in close, her expression wounded.
“Why wouldn’t Senior Sister believe me?”
Luo Jiao suddenly went still.
Ye Qingzhou blinked, hesitating. “…How can this be?”
Luo Jiao seized exactly this moment to shove Ye Qingzhou away and flip off the bed—but was caught by the waist and pulled right back.
Even closer to Ye Qingzhou than before.
Only then did Luo Jiao realize her limbs had no strength at all—drugged, or perhaps pressure-point sealed, she couldn’t tell—simply limp and immobile. And now she lay crooked in Ye Qingzhou’s arms, hair disheveled, clothes in disarray—an utter wreck.
She glared furiously. “Ye Qingzhou, do you know what you’re doing?!”
Ye Qingzhou held her, eyes bright. “I do.”
Luo Jiao’s clothes were disheveled, and Ye Qingzhou was no better off—her collar hung slightly open, her sash loose.
“Ah… Senior Sister, I get it! You’re afraid someone will come in?” Ye Qingzhou said airily. “Don’t worry, Senior Sister. This is my Glazed Illusion—there’s no one else here. It’s perfectly safe.”
Ye Qingzhou stroked Luo Jiao’s face, smiling sweetly. “There are many secrets hidden here—” She paused. “But Senior Sister may see them all. I have no secrets from you. And here, Senior Sister never has to hold anything back.”
“As for those ‘others’ you mentioned… don’t worry about anyone coming in.” Here, a hint of coquettish pride crept into Ye Qingzhou’s tone. “This is my proudest illusion. Anyone else who touches it dies.”
“Dies?” Luo Jiao hesitated a moment, then asked in a low voice, “Have you… ever killed anyone?”
Ye Qingzhou panicked. “I haven’t!”
Disheveled as she was, she still hugged herself closer. “I’ve never killed anyone.”
Luo Jiao ignored her.
So Ye Qingzhou rested her chin on Luo Jiao’s shoulder, her upper lip brushing Luo Jiao’s ear as if whispering: “Senior Sister. Trust me.”
Her voice was sweet, yet somehow without a single trace of impropriety.
Just as she’d said before—inside the Glazed Illusion, only the two of them existed. So all the proprieties… could simply be discarded.
But Luo Jiao crossly turned her face away, short of breath, unsure what to say, and gave only a cold “hmph.”
“…So vivid,” Ye Qingzhou murmured against her shoulder, sounding wistful.
“I almost believed it was real.”
Luo Jiao: “What…”
But before the question left her mouth, she heard Ye Qingzhou continue, “Senior Sister. I met someone who looks very much like you.”
Luo Jiao froze at that.
“So I hate her,” Ye Qingzhou continued.
Whether it was Luo Jiao’s imagination or not, the air around them suddenly turned much colder.
As if the enormous bed itself were seeping frost.
And then, all at once, Ye Qingzhou smiled again.
She closed her eyes and nuzzled Luo Jiao’s neck with her cheek.
“Senior Sister. I’m going to kill her…”
“To offer at your shrine.”
Luo Jiao didn’t know whether she’d been woken by fright or by cold.
She only knew that when she came to, she was drenched in cold sweat, her clothes clinging to her, soaked through.
Before her stood an old woman holding a lantern, with Luo Jiao’s bundle in her other hand.
“Oh, you’re awake?”
The old woman was past sixty, white-haired and stooped, dressed in simple rough-spun cloth. She set the lantern on the ground and touched Luo Jiao’s forehead. “Oh my, you’re a bit warm.”
Luo Jiao was at a complete loss—she had no idea who this old woman was, or where on earth she was.
She watched the old woman draw a handkerchief from her sleeve and dab at the cold sweat on her neck. “Are you all right, little lass?”
Luo Jiao sat there blankly, eyes unfocused.
“Little lass?”
The old woman clapped her sharply on the shoulder.
That finally summoned Luo Jiao’s soul back. “What?”
“Are you all right?” the old woman asked.
Luo Jiao answered woodenly, “Who are you?”
The old woman sighed. “I’m Granny Jin of the Scripture Pavilion.” She went on slowly, “Elder Tang told me a girl called ‘Little Jiao’ would be coming today to be my little helper. But I waited and waited and never saw hide nor hair of you, so I brought a lantern out to look… And what do I find? You, lying asleep by the rocks in this biting early-spring chill, sleeping sweetly no less.”
“Ah…” Luo Jiao blinked, as if it hadn’t registered. “I… fell asleep?”
Granny Jin found it amusing and pointed at her own mouth. “When I found you, you were even drooling.”
Embarrassed, Luo Jiao scratched her head. “Sorry, Granny Jin.”
“No harm done.” Granny Jin waved it off.
Remembering the strange sight she’d just witnessed, Luo Jiao began, “Granny Jin, just now I think I…”
But the old woman cut her off. “The night is deep and the dew is heavy. Why don’t we head to the Scripture Pavilion first, and have a proper chat once we’re inside?”
“Oh—right.” Luo Jiao nodded belatedly, smacking her forehead and glancing at the sky.
The night was cool as water, the moonlight hazy. Who knew what hour it was.
She sighed.
Only one thought circled: Was what just happened a dream? An illusion? Or…
But when she tried to recall more details, Luo Jiao found her mind blank. All she remembered was a person, nibbling and biting at her, saying all sorts of strange things.
That person… was it really Ye Qingzhou?
Luo Jiao was dazed and could make sense of nothing.
She touched her forehead, her cheek, her wrist—all of it starkly different from what she’d felt in the ‘dream.’
And she distinctly remembered that in the ‘dream,’ her wrist had borne no wound—this little cut that mad Elder Ye had pricked into her with a fruit shell!
Wait!
In the ‘dream,’ she had worn her original body—not Xu Liangdi’s!
…What in the world was going on?
The Scripture Pavilion stood beside the Fengyi Sect—likely the place closest to the sect’s illusion Barrier.
It was seven stories in all. From outside, it looked like nothing more than a small door, but inside was a hidden world of its own. Redwood bookshelves rose in splendor, their scrolls sorted and arranged by category, tidy and clean, the air thick with the scent of books.
Once inside, Granny Jin first fetched Luo Jiao a change of clothes—a water-blue set of common robes, simple in cut but fine in material, silky to the touch and soft. “You can wear your own clothes day to day, or you can wear this.”
“Okay. Thank you, Granny.” Luo Jiao said.
Granny Jin led her upstairs. “By the way—what was it you wanted to tell me earlier?”
At that, Luo Jiao paused slightly, then quietly lowered her eyes.
When she’d first woken from the dream, she’d had so much she wanted to say—wanted someone to confide in, someone to listen. But now, somehow, she didn’t know where to begin.
