Chapter 33: Female Immortal in the Mist (Part 3): The Longer You Delay, the More It Will Hurt Part 2

Ripples spread out wave after wave, washing over Mu Qian Tan’s body. She sat up straighter, suppressing the urge to kick her flying, her thin lips pressed tight.

Finally reaching her, Shang Shan lifted her flushed face. “Don’t move, okay?”

Mu Qian Tan’s face turned ashen. “Cut the crap. Hurry up.”

“Okay, okay.” Shang Shan quickly closed the last few steps, but tension always led to mishaps. She slipped on something at the bottom of the pool and pitched forward.

Before Mu Qian Tan could react to what happened, her hard forehead smashed right into the wound. The sharp pain shot straight to her brain, making her curse out loud, “Fuck your grandp—… Urgh….”

Her icy cold voice suddenly broke, turning frail in an instant.

Shang Shan knew she had messed up badly with that headbutt. Anxiously propping herself up, driven by the urge to make amends, she pressed her lips to the wound without warning.

The lowered body temperature from the cold spring soak was suddenly enveloped in searing heat. Pain, cold, and heat alternated at the wound. The profanity on Mu Qian Tan’s tongue turned into a low moan, followed by slow, drawn-out breaths.

“Sorry, sorry…” Shang Shan pulled her lips away, apologized, then looked up from below. “Does it hurt?”

Her forehead throbbed. Mu Qian Tan ground her back teeth. “Say less and just do it…”

“Okay, okay.” Shang Shan nodded like a pecking chick, then carefully extended her pink tongue tip, lightly licking over the prominent collarbone due to its owner’s slimness, once and again.

The collar somewhat obstructed, so she pulled the woman’s inner garment open further, exposing more skin.

Bright red blood welled from the wound, stimulating her sight. Upon touching her tongue tip, it further stimulated her taste, making her pupils slowly contract.

To lean in more easily, she placed her hands on either side of the woman. As she retracted her tongue tip, a hazy murmur escaped, “So fragrant…”

Damp strands of hair brushed her cheek, hot breath hitting her neck—sensations strange and peculiar.

Mu Qian Tan narrowed her eyes slightly, unable to control a faint tremble. She raised her hand to the girl’s shoulder, her fingertips flushing with blood from the pressure, but she held back from pushing her away.

Endure… Endure…

She’d beat her up later. For now, she had to endure….

Amitabha… Amen….

Several fluorescent dreamy spirit butterflies fluttered by, specks of light from their wings falling onto the woman’s hair and cheeks like translucent gems. Shang Shan noticed the light specks, her eyes widening, her breathing growing heavier.

The girl’s breath was actually crisp and scorching, not something that should provoke aversion by rights, but Mu Qian Tan hadn’t had skin contact with anyone outside her family in who knew how long. She still couldn’t help but recoil.

Behind her was the stone wall, with nowhere to retreat, so she could only press closer and closer until her back was practically rubbed raw.

In her line of sight was the girl’s head of wavy long hair, along with her young, pale back. Just looking at it made Mu Qian Tan inevitably think about what she was doing right now, causing her qi and blood to surge and making her dizzy in waves.

So she turned her face away. Out of sight, out of mind.

Because of this subtle movement that resembled fleeing, Shang Shan snapped out of her blood-frenzied haze. Her eyeballs slowly shifted to the corner of her eye, landing on the woman’s pale neck right in front of her.

A strand of hair, dampened by the water, stretched across the protruding veins on her neck, making the woman look frail and fragile, as if she would shatter at a touch.

That was the most vulnerable and alluring part of life. As long as she gently bit down, she would control everything—no one could possibly break free.

Shang Shan moved her throat again, suppressing the impulse and clinging to a shred of clarity. She knew she absolutely could not do this. She could not and should not hurt her. This urge was wrong.

She didn’t know how much time passed, but her collarbone was practically sucked hot. Finally unable to endure it, Mu Qian Tan shoved her away and slapped her across the face. “That’s enough, isn’t it!”

The slap rang out exceptionally loudly, nearly shattering the night.

Shang Shan didn’t stand steady and tumbled into the water, crouching down. She didn’t faint, but as if trying to cool herself off, she didn’t get out of the water either.

Mu Qian Tan pulled her disheveled inner robe back into place, covering the wound, then turned and left the spring without mercy. She grabbed her outer robe and weapon and flew out of there.

Entering the wooden hut, her clothes were still dripping wet. She stripped off her inner robe, hung it on a rack to dry, then put on her outer robe and collapsed onto the bed.

Her chest heaved violently. She squeezed her eyes shut, curled her arm, turned slightly to the side, pillowed her head on her wrist, and used her other hand to gently rub her temple.

Ever since she was a child, she had realized she didn’t tolerate physical contact with others very well. She didn’t know what was wrong with her, but after touching someone, she would easily get dizzy, blurry-eyed, and uncomfortable, so she always habitually kept some distance from people.

She had thought that preparing herself mentally beforehand would make it better, but now it seemed not—and it felt even worse than before.

The headache came with bursts of noisy hallucinations in her ears, as if ten thousand people were screaming in a square. Even plugging her ears, the noise stabbed at her eardrums.

She held her breath. In her pitch-black vision flashed the static snow of a TV with no signal, buzzing noisily. A disc was swallowed into the DVD player, the screen jumping to a woman whose lower face was all that showed as she drank beer.

It jumped again: skinny arms riddled with purple needle marks, a dinner plate stuck full of half-smoked cigarette butts, an ashtray cracked down the middle with shards hidden in the carpet pocked with burn holes.

Whenever her emotions tensed up, those unpleasant memories would surface. Mu Qian Tan breathed heavily, her brows slightly furrowed as she half-buried her face in the pillow. Her hand slid down to clutch her stomach.

Her stomach spasmed in waves. Fortunately, she hadn’t eaten much, so there was nothing to vomit. She gripped the fabric over her stomach tightly and lay stiff on the bed for a good while before the dizziness eased a bit.

The summer bamboo mat bed helped clear her mind, but the Cold Spring soak had been wasted, and now a thin layer of sweat covered her body.

Mu Qian Tan flipped over to lie flat, not opening her eyes, breathing slowly and steadily.

She didn’t know if it was psychological or the treatment’s effect, but the wound on her collarbone really didn’t hurt as much anymore.

She raised her hand and laid it across her eyes.

The only thing tolerable about this was that the Brain-Damaged Dragon was still a girl. If she had been cannon fodder for the Male Protagonist, this book probably would have ended back in that initial alleyway.

Exhaustion brought a wave of sleepiness. Just as Mu Qian Tan was about to fall asleep, she heard Li Biyuan say, “Cough cough cough. Though you might not want to, shouldn’t you go check on the Cold Spring? She won’t drown, will she?”

Mu Qian Tan murmured, “If she dies, she dies.”

She was truly exhausted. Right after muttering that, her consciousness sank hazily into a dream.

A cramped, narrow bathroom. A big red basin sat on the floor, taking up almost all the space, with the remaining corners piled high with soap suds. The Little Girl squatted in the basin, grimacing dramatically. “My hair’s gonna fall out!”

Mu Qian Tan sat on a little stool, grabbing the girl’s hair and using a comb to work through the tangles, but it was even harder than clearing a traffic jam. She frowned tightly and said helplessly, “How long has it been since you bathed?”

The Little Girl shook her head. “I don’t remember.”

Mu Qian Tan glanced at her and continued battling the hair. “Doesn’t your mom wash you?”

The Little Girl pouted. “She doesn’t even wash herself.”

Mu Qian Tan fell silent. She hit a knot that wouldn’t comb out, and her limited patience ran out. She pulled out the comb and tossed it into the basin, her face darkening.

The Little Girl seemed scared by her and went quiet for a moment before poking her hand. “Sister, your hands are so pretty. So slender and white, not like mine.”

Mu Qian Tan looked down as prompted. Sure enough, the girl had hands that didn’t match her age—rough skin, thick calluses on her palms, pitted nails. Clearly from years of rough labor. The Little Girl continued, “Mom says you used to live like a princess. Is that true?”

Getting no answer didn’t dampen the girl’s enthusiasm. She bombarded her with questions. “I heard that rich people bathe in those big bathtubs, super comfy. And they put fruit in there too— if you can’t finish it, it goes bad, so they just get new ones. Is that real? What kinda good life is that?”

“What good life? Dream on.” Mu Qian Tan said lowly, reaching to pick up the comb. Only when she dipped into the water did she realize it had gone cold. Bathing in that would probably make her sick.

She frowned. “Get out.”

The Little Girl asked, “What’s wrong?”

Mu Qian Tan stood up. “I’ll add some more hot water for you.”

The Little Girl hugged her knees and rocked back and forth. “This is fine. I’ve always bathed like this before.”

Mu Qian Tan bent down, gripped the girl’s arm, and pulled her out of the basin. She took the soap, lathered it in her palms, then worked it into the girl’s hair. “Hold this yourself.”

The Little Girl clutched the soap and rubbed it on her head. Mu Qian Tan went to the kitchen, even smaller than the bathroom, picked up the thermos—it was empty—so she planned to boil a new pot.

The tap water ran muddy brown. It took two pots before it cleared up. But when she set the kettle on the oil-stained induction cooker, the light wouldn’t turn on no matter what. After fiddling around, she realized the power was out.

Mu Qian Tan stood stunned for a moment as sourness welled up, making her eyes redden. She held it back with effort. She dumped out the cold water, returned to the bathroom, and said in compromise, “Just wash like this then.”

“Okay.” The Little Girl was unaffected and plopped back into the basin. She even showed off her toy made from a soda can—decorated with magazine clippings stuck on with double-sided tape, rolled cardboard for the mast. A pretty exquisite little sailboat.

She said if she took it to the elementary school gate, she might sell it for money. Kids these days studied so much they were dumb—everything was new to them. She said this as if forgetting she wasn’t much older herself.

Mu Qian Tan spaced out, listening to the girl’s chatter while picking up the comb again to tame the forever-unkempt hair.

The soda can sailboat reflected the faint sunlight from the window, stinging her eyes a little, making it hard to keep them open.

A hissing sound came from the kitchen as hot water boiled, but the power was clearly out, and she hadn’t turned on the stove. Before she could get up to check, she heard the bedroom TV turn on, playing old comedy sketches. Then the front door was knocked on—urgently, as if someone was about to smash it down.

She was caught in a vortex of huge noises, suddenly at a loss.

Suddenly, the Little Girl grabbed her hand. “Sister, cold water baths aren’t bad. Can you not leave?”

Mu Qian Tan turned back to answer her, but when she opened her eyes, only an empty room remained.

Birdsong chirped noisily outside the window. She came back to herself after a moment, sat up, and looked out at the wildflowers and lush grass. White clouds and green fields drifted lazily in peace and tranquility.

After a long while, she let out a soft sigh.