After Constantly Courting Death, I Became the White Moonlight - Chapter 27

Meng Jiaqi felt utterly wronged.

According to the elders’ plan, as a fox spirit, she naturally carried a bewitching allure—drifting between truth and lies, seducing and misleading, keeping those stiff sword cultivators completely in the dark from beginning to end.

But now, standing face-to-face with Qin Chuan, she finally realized with a delayed sense of dawning horror:

She’d been played for a fool.

She was the only one earnestly acting out a one-woman show, laughing and scheming all by herself—when in reality, everyone else had long seen through the script.

“Seriously, are you all that bored?! Can’t we just fight fair and square?!”

…Not that she could win even if they did.

She and Qin Chuan cried so hard they practically turned the once-quiet street into a full-blown petting zoo, wailing in sync like they were performing the demonic opera version of Funeral in My Dreams.

But Zheng Weiqi had no patience for such sentimentality. Before their sobbing could even catch its rhythm, she hurried forward and asked anxiously, “Miss Meng, you said the creatures in this city only take essence energy and leave the soul untouched. What do you mean by that?”

“What do I mean?” Meng Jiaqi took the bunny back from Ning Ning, her eyes brimming with tears that looked like two quivering poached eggs. “That’s what I want to ask you! After your essence is drained, sure, you’ll feel a bit weak and tired, maybe spend a few days in bed—no big deal. Where did all this talk of deadly consequences come from?”

Zheng Weiqi nodded, exchanging a quick look with Ning Ning.

“But… the victims in the surrounding towns weren’t just drained of their essence,” He Zhizhou chimed in, scratching his head, confused. “You didn’t know? Many had their souls half-ripped away. They turned into corpse-like husks—aggressive, mindless, unable to communicate. Didn’t this bunny mimic one of them the first time we met?”

At the mention of the word “soul,” both Meng Jiaqi and the rabbit visibly stiffened.

“That was the elders’ idea.”

Qin Chuan curled up in Meng Jiaqi’s arms, his long fuzzy ears flopping with each word. As he spoke, his tiny three-petaled mouth opened slightly, and even his twitching nose joined in. “They told me there was a plague outside. Most infected people ended up like that. As long as I acted a bit scarier—made my eyes look more lifeless—it’d scare you off easily.”

The bunny paused, sounding a little aggrieved. “The elders forbade us from contacting outsiders. We weren’t even allowed into the city—only to collect essence in the outskirts. So we have no idea what really happened in Galan City.”

“Elders?” Zheng Weiqi frowned slightly. After a moment of thought, her tone softened. “It seems… there’s been a lot of misunderstanding between us. We’ll need to sort it all out. Can you two tell us what really happened in Galan City a hundred years ago?”

The surroundings fell into utter silence—no wind, no movement.

That brief pause felt endlessly long, as though all of Galan City had been trapped inside a motionless ink painting. Only the shimmering ripples above their heads reminded them that time still flowed, however slowly.

Meng Jiaqi hugged the rabbit tighter and looked at them cautiously. “You may not know this, but draining someone’s soul isn’t something us demons do… Only twisted demonic cultivators would use soul-refining techniques to strengthen themselves.”

“Demonic cultivators?” Zheng Weiqi’s brows knitted tighter. “I heard the demon race vanished completely after the great war. No trace left behind.”

“Maybe that’s true for the outside world. But we—Galan City—were dragged to the bottom of the lake before the war even started.”

Meng Jiaqi’s lips trembled faintly, her voice thin with fear. “If a demonic cultivator was trapped here with us… wouldn’t they have just avoided the war entirely?”

Everyone’s expressions changed.

Ning Ning was the most shaken.

What was Meng Jiaqi even saying? A demonic cultivator? That wasn’t in the script! Wasn’t this story supposed to be a straightforward monster-fighting, level-grinding kind of plot?

Back in the Ancient Forest, when they encountered that demonized Dragonblood Tree, the story had skipped over it entirely—even though Pei Ji almost died! Not a single line in the original story mentioned that scene.

And now, this supposed demonic cultivator who sank into the lake with Galan City…

It was like any time the story involved demons, the plot just glossed over it.

But why?

Her head throbbed. Meanwhile, Meng Jiaqi kept speaking.

“Three hundred years ago, the demon race was at the height of its power. Countless powerful demonic cultivators rose up. Among them, seven were known as Demon Lords—each one stronger and crueler than the last. One of them was called Xuan Ye. He devoured human souls and demon spirits alike, converting them into spiritual energy for his own use.”

Ning Ning felt even more dizzy.

Wasn’t the demon race supposed to be wiped out? Where did this setting come from?!

“Xuan Ye had already reached the Soul Transformation Stage. And the stronger his cultivation grew, the more refined the souls he needed. Back when he was weaker, slaughtering ordinary mortals was enough. But after breaking through, regular souls meant nothing to him—mere drops in the ocean. So he turned his sights to high-level cultivators and… demon beasts.”

“Demon cultivators?” He Zhizhou seemed to connect the dots. “And Galan City… was a sanctuary for demon cultivators.”

Meng Jiaqi nodded. “Exactly. Back then, Xuan Ye approached the young city lord, offering him the title of Demon Lord as a bribe. He wanted the lord’s help in setting up a Soul-Devouring Array, planning to slaughter every citizen on an inauspicious day and refine their blood and resentment into spirit power. If he succeeded, his strength would soar overnight, and no one would be able to match him.”

Zheng Weiqi said, “But since you’re collecting essence for the young lord, he must have refused.”

At that, Meng Jiaqi’s lips curled into the faintest, most exhausted smile. There was admiration in her eyes, along with deep sorrow. “Yes. What you don’t know is… back then, the title of Demon Lord was seen as supreme. Countless humans and demons fought tooth and nail to claim it. But the young city lord… he rejected it. For the sake of Galan City, he said no.”

She paused again, a trace of grief flickering across her face. “When persuasion failed, Xuan Ye decided to take the city by force. His power was overwhelming, while Galan City had always prioritized commerce. Skilled fighters were few and far between. Only the young lord and a few elders had any strength to resist.”

Ning Ning was completely lost.

Wait a minute.
Wasn’t the demon race supposed to be extinct?
Where the heck did this setting come from?!

“Xuan Ye had already stepped into the Soul Transformation stage,” Meng Jiaqi continued. “And the stronger his cultivation, the higher his demands for souls. In the past, it was enough to slaughter mortals endlessly. But once he reached the Soul Transformation realm, the spiritual energy from ordinary souls became no better than a drop in the ocean. That’s when he set his sights on high-tier cultivators—and… demon cultivators.”

“Demon cultivators?” He Zhizhou suddenly caught on. “Galan City just so happened to be a hub for demon cultivators!”

Meng Jiaqi nodded. “Exactly. Back then, Xuan Ye approached the young city lord with an offer—his position as Demon Lord in exchange for help setting up a Soul-Devouring Array. On the day of great misfortune, they’d slaughter the entire population of Galan City and refine the blood into vengeful energy. With that, his cultivation would skyrocket and he’d become nearly invincible.”

Zheng Weiqi narrowed her eyes. “But since you’re collecting essence for the young city lord… then he must’ve rejected the offer.”

Finally, Meng Jiaqi’s lips curled into a faint, almost invisible smile. It was a smile weighed down by fatigue, yet tinged with admiration and sorrow.

“That’s right. What most people don’t know is that, three hundred years ago, when the demon race reigned supreme, the title of Demon Lord was untouchable. Countless cultivators and demon clans fought over it. But our young city lord… he turned it down—for the sake of Galan City.”

She paused briefly. A trace of grief flickered through her eyes.

“But when persuasion failed, Xuan Ye turned to force. He was overwhelmingly powerful. Galan City, being more focused on commerce than combat, had few experts. Only the young lord and a few elders had the strength to resist.”

Looking back on it now, Galan City’s fall had been inevitable.

Zheng Weiqi clenched the hilt of her sword tightly, her expression filled with outrage. “That’s outrageous! Didn’t any righteous sects offer to help?”

“At the time, the entire cultivation world was in chaos,” Meng Jiaqi replied, shaking her head. “The major sects were already overwhelmed. And besides… Xuan Ye took less than half an hour to break into the city. Who would’ve had time to respond?”

“To speed up the assault,” she went on, “Xuan Ye used a water dragon technique to attack from all sides. The young city lord and the elders activated formations atop the city gates to resist. But they never expected…”

She bit her lip hard, inhaling deeply.

“…that the young lord’s spiritual power would be exhausted so quickly, and the formation would collapse. With his last bit of strength, he erected the barrier above our heads. The two clashing forces of energy surged through the city, knocking the citizen’s unconscious. Xuan Ye, seriously injured during the fight, was likely trapped under the lake as well. He hasn’t been seen since.”

Her words carried the weight of a story from an ancient past.

Ning Ning listened in silence, then finally spoke in a low voice, “So now that the demon clans are slowly awakening, they’ve chosen to repay the young lord’s kindness… by obeying the elders’ orders to gather essence for him.”

She smiled slightly and turned to Meng Jiaqi. “Miss Meng, when the elders instructed you to collect essence, what method did they have you use?”

Still caught in the shadow of her own memories, Meng Jiaqi trembled slightly at the question. Her pupils contracted in reflex.

“…This.”

She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a deep red cord.

Zheng Weiqi blurted out instinctively, “A Soul-Locking Cord?! That’s something only evil cultivators carry! How did those old fossils even get their hands on it?!”

“Well,” Ning Ning said with a faint smile, eyes dimming ever so slightly, “didn’t you just say there was still a Demon Lord unaccounted for?”

Then her tone cooled, as if she’d stepped out of the story and into a far more dangerous game.

“Miss Meng, your tale has two major inconsistencies.”

Pei Ji glanced at her, then lazily lowered his gaze, lashes casting shadows beneath his eyes.

“First,” Ning Ning said evenly, “if the young city lord had the strength to severely wound Xuan Ye, why did the formation collapse so suddenly? The only explanation is that someone else on the inside made a mistake—or betrayed them. The young lord realized he couldn’t hold it together and made a desperate final strike.”

“Second,” she continued, “as a Demon Lord, Xuan Ye would never attempt such a bold attack alone. He would’ve had his plans, his pawns—he wouldn’t come without backup. If no one was seen helping him from the outside, then the only possibility is—”

Her eyes rose to meet Meng Jiaqi’s. Star-like brilliance flickered in those dark irises, stunning Meng Jiaqi into silence.

“—they were hiding inside Galan City.”

Meng Jiaqi’s scalp went numb. The rabbit in her arms looked dazed, disbelief all over its tiny face.

“Since all this information came from the elders,” Ning Ning said calmly, “then they had more than enough time to twist the truth. It’s not hard to imagine how the real story went.”

“When Xuan Ye failed to lure the young lord to his side,” she said, “he turned to the elders. Miss Meng, you said yourself—back then, the demon race was at its peak. Few would turn down the gifts and shelter offered by a Demon Lord. A life of luxury under their protection would be far easier than working yourself to the bone in some remote city.”

“No matter how it happened… the elders agreed.”

Above them, the barrier shimmered with an eerie cold light, like an enormous white jade stone. It bathed the entire city in a deathly hue.

Meng Jiaqi silently clenched the hem of her dress, a chill creeping into her heart.

But Ning Ning wasn’t finished.

“The young city lord never would’ve imagined,” Ning Ning said slowly, “that he’d give up his future—and even his life—for Galan City, only to be betrayed by the very elders he trusted most. When the defensive formation at the city gates was completed, maybe they attacked him all at once… or maybe they all abandoned the formation together. Either way, he must’ve realized the truth quickly. So he gave up on the array entirely, and used the last of his cultivation to gamble everything in a final showdown with Xuan Ye.”

Zheng Weiqi gasped. “Then the elders’ real goal in waking the people of Galan City wasn’t to revive the young lord—but…”

She sucked in a cold breath, her voice rising in disbelief.

“It was for Xuan Ye!”

“Tch.” He Zhizhou shook his head. “If the young lord found out they were traitors, then from that moment on, he became their enemy. No way those backstabbers would actually help him wake up. The more I think about it, the more tragic it sounds.”

And he wasn’t wrong.

When he was awake, he’d done everything in his power to protect the demon clans of the city—only to be stabbed in the back by his own people. Now that he was asleep, he still couldn’t escape their exploitation. Outwardly hailed as a revered symbol—but in truth, reduced to a pawn, while the benefits all went to his enemies.

Meanwhile, the demon clans, unaware of the truth, risked being discovered by righteous cultivators just to gather essence. They were being used—nothing more than accessories to a massacre, helping the very ones who betrayed them.

Meng Jiaqi stood frozen, her face pale as paper, unable to utter a single word.

Seeing her like that, Zheng Weiqi’s voice softened for once. “Miss Meng, this is no small matter. Why not take us to the elders so we can confront them face-to-face?”

A flash of blood-red fury burned in Meng Jiaqi’s eyes. She clenched her teeth and gave a firm nod.

…

The Elders’ Hall, Startrace Pavilion, was empty.

According to Meng Jiaqi, the elders had also been affected by the spiritual backlash during the great war, and some might’ve even been attacked by the young lord himself. By now, they were little more than withered old relics, halfway to the grave. That was probably why they hadn’t tried to fight the Xuanxu Sect head-on, instead relying on underhanded schemes and ambushes.

They must’ve caught wind of something—perhaps realized their lies had been exposed—and fled without hesitation.

Startrace Pavilion still retained its ancient architectural style. Ornate wooden windows carved with dragons and phoenixes glowed faint red under the ever-burning lanterns. Gauzy curtains draped low and silent, unmoving.

White incense smoke curled lazily from a bronze burner, rising like a woman’s soft, boneless fingers brushing past windowsills, silk screens, and silver-threaded bed canopies. The scent was light, invisible, and yet permeated every corner of the hall.

After all the rushing around, Ning Ning finally had a moment to sit and breathe. She half-heartedly studied the decor around her while Zheng Weiqi asked, “Do you think they’ve already fled the city and escaped to the surface?”

Meng Jiaqi shook her head. “You may not know this, but it’s easy to enter Galan City from outside the barrier. Leaving, however, takes a tremendous amount of spiritual energy. In their current condition, I doubt they could manage it.”

“Then the most likely place those old geezers would go…” He Zhizhou’s interest was piqued, his sword buzzing faintly at his waist. “Would be that so-called Demon Lord’s lair. Maybe it’s our chance to do some demon-slaying?”

“We still don’t know where Xuan Ye is,” Meng Jiaqi said with a tired sigh. “I’ll inform the awakened demon clans of the truth and ask them to help search for Xuan Ye and the elders’ whereabouts.”

She looked like the life had been drained from her, as if she’d used up all her strength in one day.

“You all should stay in the city and rest for a while,” she added. “Tend to your wounds.”

Zheng Weiqi grinned. “You don’t need to tell me twice.” She leaned on the windowsill, eyes fixed on the rows of shops down the street, and took out her little notebook to jot down new inspiration.

Pei Ji fiddled with the hilt of his sword, his brows faintly furrowed, as if he was barely resisting the urge to say,

“Can we start fighting already?”

…Yes, you two, she meant.

…

And so, the group stayed in Galan City for a time.

The local demon clans had been asleep for a hundred years. Having rarely interacted with the outside world since awakening, they were almost comically pure-hearted—like they’d stepped straight out of a children’s cartoon.

Ning Ning was dragged by a few enthusiastic girls to pick out a new outfit. After a warm bath, she felt physically refreshed—but mentally restless.

Ever since arriving in this world, she’d trusted that everything would unfold according to the book. But first came He Zhizhou, a massive deviation. And now, the plot had completely veered off course, flying wildly toward collapse.

This was not a fun experience.

Now she was seriously reconsidering.

Should she really keep trusting the original novel?
And what about the system?

She got out of the bath and, unable to concentrate due to her spiraling thoughts, gave up thinking entirely and decided to go for a walk.

Everyone was staying in the guest wing of the City Lord’s estate, separated by only a wall or two. Just as she opened her door—

Whoosh.

A sudden gust of sword wind swept past her.

It was Pei Ji, practicing his swordsmanship.

He’d changed into a fresh outfit—still black, as dark as the night. His hair and robes were both pitch black, but the arc of his blade shone like falling snow. When the sword light hit his sharply defined profile, it illuminated his pale skin in cold, silvery white.

There was no wind. No sound.
Only the glow of the city’s protective barrier drifting down like misty moonlight—like shards of shattered blossoms in a silver tide, all of it sliced apart by the clean, ruthless arc of his sword.

Ning Ning seriously wondered.

Maybe Pei Ji always wore black because it helped hide all the blood on him.

He heard her door creak open and paused mid-strike, lowering his eyes as he turned to face her.

Ning Ning rarely interacted with Pei Ji alone.

There was always a thin, transparent layer between them—polite but distant.

She’d always kept her distance on purpose, dutifully maintaining her “villainous supporting female lead” identity by avoiding the male lead. But now that the system had tricked her so many times—

Well, if the original novel was this broken from the start…
Did it even matter anymore?

She opened her mouth to speak, but Pei Ji actually beat her to it.

“Senior Sister.”

Ning Ning smiled, the corners of her lips lifting into soft dimples.

“It’s so late, and you’re still training?”

Pei Ji nodded. “Mm.”

After he said that, he didn’t know how to continue.

When he was young, he had been locked up in the cellar by his mother all day, almost completely cut off from the outside world. Later, he entered the Xuanxu Sect, but because of his demonic bloodline, he was ostracized. Barely anyone was even willing to come near him—let alone talk about something like making friends.

For Pei Ji, slaying high-level beasts while on the brink of death was honestly easier than making small talk.

An irritable gloom welled up in his chest.

He was frustrated—with himself.

“Little Ji, don’t give up!”

Cheng Ying’s voice suddenly shrieked in his mind, “Here, here, let me help you! Say this: ‘Senior Sister, let’s have a sword match!’”

This sword was single since birth too.

And judging by its skills, it’d likely remain single forever.

“Didn’t you go with Senior Sister Zheng to heal your injuries?”

Ning Ning took a curious step toward him, catching sight of the blood on his cheek and neck. Her brows furrowed slightly. “Strange. Why is it that every time I see you, you’re covered in wounds?”

—In the novel she read, Pei Ji was the male lead, always smooth sailing with barely a scratch. Yet lately, every time she saw him, he was bloodied like a human pincushion. It was honestly a little tragic.

“It’s just a scratch. Doesn’t matter.”

He replied without hesitation.

Inside his mind, Cheng Ying let out a heavy sigh. “Wrong, wrong, wrong! You’re supposed to look pitiful to earn her sympathy. So stubborn… Might as well stay single forever!”

The sword spirit got more and more into it, cackling wildly: “Listen to me—clutch your chest, drop to your knees, squeeze out a few tears, and say in a trembling voice, ‘Senior Sister… it hurts.’ Hehehe! Ning Ning would get teary-eyed with guilt, pick you up into her arms and carry you to bed. Then you can pull a few moves, do some of that mm-mm ah-ah, and—hehehe!”

Pei Ji: “……”

“You never put medicine on your wounds, do you?”

Ning Ning stood by the door, peeking into the room. The candlelight painted her fair face with a delicate rosy hue. A soft smile curved her lips, dimples blooming like spring water brimming with peach blossoms.

Then she turned her head and pointed to her right cheek. “You’re bleeding here. I’ve got some healing salve in my room. Want to use it?”

Cheng Ying completely lost it. The once mighty divine sword had now descended into utter madness.

“Yes, yes, yes! Say yes, you fool! If you reject her, I’ll chant the Diamond Sutra and Great Compassion Mantra in your head every night and do a dramatic reading of 365 Days With My Cold and Aloof Sword Master every morning!”

Pei Ji was nearly driven mad by its noise. He was just about to frown when he caught sight of the gentle smile on the girl’s face in the candlelight.

And somehow, the irritation vanished without a trace.

He couldn’t tell what he was feeling at that moment. After a pause, lips slightly pursed, he spoke in a very soft voice:

“…Thank you, Senior Sister.”

The guest rooms were all similarly arranged. When Pei Ji stepped into Ning Ning’s room, he caught a faint scent of leaves in the air.

They had both bathed, so they carried the same subtle fragrance from Jialan City on their bodies. It was a curious sensation—like their scents linked together, quietly erasing the distance between them.

The stuffy feeling in Pei Ji’s chest slowly faded. He kept his head down, avoiding looking around.

He knew better than to openly gawk inside a girl’s room.

“Sit still in the chair. Don’t move.”

Ning Ning pressed a handkerchief lightly to his cheek, dabbing away the fresh blood from the reopened wound.

Her movements were cautious, almost delicate. Even with such a light touch, Pei Ji could still feel the warmth of her fingertips through the thin cloth.

His face was expressionless, but he had long since been holding his breath.

…She said he could use medicine, but never mentioned that she would apply it.

“You were so fierce when you tricked Meng Jiaqi earlier.”

Ning Ning chuckled softly. “If I were her, I’d be scared too.”

Cheng Ying hissed, “Told you to be gentler!”

Pei Ji gave a self-deprecating smile. The shadows in his eyes deepened. “Senior Sister, I wasn’t tricking her.”

His personality had always been a mess—never one that drew others in.

Cheng Ying: It’s over.

It’s all over! This brat seriously has no idea how to talk to girls! Every sentence leads to a dead end! Just say “mm-mm ah-ah” and be done with it!

In despair, it nervously glanced at Ning Ning—

But to its surprise, she wasn’t mad at all. Instead, she let out a soft laugh, her apricot-shaped eyes curling like crescent moons. “Is that so? That’s good, then.”

Cheng Ying fell silent.

As Ning Ning spoke, she dipped her fingers into the ointment and looked up at the cut on his face.

Pei Ji rarely got this close to anyone. When her soft fingertips touched his skin, it reminded him of the warm breeze of summer.

Her hands were gentle and smooth, the ointment cool and refreshing. As she rubbed it in, it stung just slightly, like a faint current sparking through his veins.

…So strange.

Pei Ji swallowed and turned his gaze away.

Then he heard Ning Ning say, “Everyone’s personality is different. If you really were like one of those mass-produced righteous heroes—noble, flawless, perfectly just—you wouldn’t feel real at all. I like you better this way. You’re human, with flesh and blood… kinda cute.”

She meant every word.

The original novel’s Pei Ji was like a walking plot device—an emotionless machine for punishing evil and defeating bosses. He had zero personality, like some brooding iceberg overlord.

But this Pei Ji? A little pitiful, a little tsundere, a little prickly—so much more endearing than the other one.

Cheng Ying went silent for a rare moment.

When it finally spoke again, its voice was tinged with a teary, motherly tone—like a woman marrying off her daughter. “Pei Xiaoji.”

Pei Ji answered faintly in his heart, “Mm?”

“If I were you, I’d fall in love with her right this second. Who could possibly not like Ning Ning?”

Cheng Ying sounded utterly heartbroken. “You know; I really hate how much you’re like a rock.”

Pei Ji ignored it.

He didn’t have many wounds on his face. Once Ning Ning finished applying the ointment, she looked quite satisfied and was just about to nag him a little, when voices drifted in from outside.

Peering through the window, she saw Zheng Weiqi walking at the front, with He Zhizhou, Meng Jiaqi, and Qin Chuan chatting behind her.

He Zhizhou spotted her and immediately grinned, “You two still up for a candlelit chat? Come on out! Senior Sister Zheng’s storage pouch has a bunch of cool stuff inside!”

Ning Ning smiled. “Got it~!”

She stood to go, then glanced at Pei Ji, who hadn’t moved at all, and paused.

Her black hair glowed under the eternal lamp’s golden hue. The firelight painted her face and dark eyes with soft warmth. She turned to him, curling her finger toward him with a playful smile. Her voice was light, like a teasing cat:

“Come on.”

He sat in the dim, flickering room. Outside, the shadows of trees cast heavy silhouettes on the walls.

But Ning Ning stood beneath the light, as if she embodied every hazy yet radiant color in the world. She smiled at him, hand still beckoning.

His throat felt drier than ever. Pei Ji blinked, visibly at a loss, then answered softly:

“Okay.”

“This one here is called Fragrant Bloom Lip Balm!”
Zheng Weiqi’s voice brimmed with excitement as she showcased her latest find. “Totally different from traditional lip products—non-toxic, edible, absolutely essential for home use or travel. Buy now and you’re basically earning free profit!”

She spoke with such eloquence and enthusiasm that the two demon cultivators nearby were left wide-eyed and dazzled.

“And look at this! Secret Silver Hairpin!” she declared, whipping out another item. “There’s a poison-tipped needle hidden inside. Wear it, and you’re the ultimate femme fatale—deadly beauty on the outside, dagger in the shadows on the inside. Well? Tempted yet?”

She was on a roll, barely taking a breath between pitches—
—when a deep, calm voice cut through the air:

“What’s this?”

Zheng Weiqi turned around with her trademark salesgirl smile—
Only for it to freeze mid-expression.

Qin Chuan stood there, flipping through the pile of random goods she had just haphazardly tossed at him earlier. And right now, in his hands, was a book with a goose-yellow cover.

The title, bold and unmistakable:

“365 Days with Sword Sovereign Zhen Xiao.”

And not only had he opened it—he had already started reading aloud.
In a tone that could only be described as a childish but overly serious audiobook narrator, he recited:

“Zhen Xiao thrust upward with all his might. The long dragon plunged in three inches. Power surged and withdrew with rhythmic ease—pushing forward, retreating back, curving left, slicing right. It was like a storm unleashed, shaking jade blossoms as if wind and rain were battering them to pieces.”

Ning Ning: ?!?!!

Senior Sister!! What kind of book is this?!

Zheng Weiqi’s scalp was going numb, her soul practically levitating out of her skull. She lunged forward, trying to snatch the book from his hands.

But alas—Qin Chuan was tall. With a casual lift of his arm, he held the book far above her reach.

“Senior Weiqi, what does this mean?”

He frowned slightly at the awkward wording, clearly unfamiliar with some of the more suggestive characters. With growing curiosity, he turned to another page and read aloud:

“Zhen Xiao gritted his teeth and pressed her tighter, as if to fuse her into his bones. His famed self-restraint crumbled before this woman. Eyes red, voice low, he murmured— ‘Admitting your mistake yet? Hm? How will you repay me for what you owe here, hm?’”

Ning Ning was on the verge of short-circuiting from the sheer volume of “hm”s.

This wasn’t a romantic male lead—
This was a malfunctioning electric blender going hm hm hm on repeat!

“We’re doomed,”

Meng Jiaqi muttered stiffly, voice lowered. “Before the slumber, Qin Chuan was just a seven- or eight-year-old child. I didn’t expect him to grow up looking like this… but mentally, he’s still a kid! Please, I’m begging you guys—don’t corrupt him!”

So this was like a reverse Detective Conan—
The body aged, but the brain stayed a child’s.

No wonder he always seemed… off.

Zheng Weiqi, bless her merchant soul, still tried to salvage the situation with a forced smile.

“Th-This… is a swordplay manual! We’re sword cultivators, right? That ‘long dragon’—that’s the name of Sword Sovereign Zhen Xiao’s weapon!”

Danger. Danger.
Sword Sovereign Zhen Xiao, run.

If he ever found out that his beloved sword had been dubbed “long dragon” in this kind of novel… Senior Sister, you’re done for!

“Right, right!”

He Zhizhou immediately jumped in, spewing nonsense like a pro: “Those two were training in the rain! Swinging swords until every flower petal had been sliced off. That ‘forward-thrust, backward-draw’—that’s a sword technique from the Xuanxu Sect. It’s called—it’s called…”

Ning Ning seamlessly chimed in:

“It’s called the ‘Wind-and-Rain Sword Style.’”

Qin Chuan nodded seriously.

And turned another page.

“Zhen Xiao, breath ragged, suddenly pulled out several thick dark tendrils from behind—each as thick as a child’s arm. They wrapped around her, locking her in place.

The tendrils pierced into flesh. The long dragon thrust in and out again and again. Pain and pleasure blurred, her body trembling as sweet moans echoed, flower nectar overflowing.”

Silence.
The kind that could flatten mountains.

Ning Ning stared blankly ahead and silently lit a stick of incense—for the departed dignity of Sword Sovereign Zhen Xiao.

Help.
Why are there props involved now?!
And that phrase—“flower nectar overflowing”?

At this point, “talented author” didn’t even begin to cover it.
This writer was possessed.

Zheng Weiqi clenched her jaw and fought to maintain composure, speaking in her gentlest tone:

“Ah, this part… is when Zhen Xiao gets possessed by an octopus’s spirit. The tentacles sprout from his back and he, uh, binds the female lead, and then does… stuff…”

Dammit.
She couldn’t go on.

“And then he uses both his tentacles and sword to stab into her belly!”

He Zhizhou jumped in loudly, voice full of conviction. “The pain she feels is the pain of her heart being pierced—
The pleasure comes from dying by the hand of the man she loves! And those ‘soft cries’ near the end? Just a hallucination. Her dying fantasy!”

Qin Chuan’s eyes lit up in realization.

“Oh! So that’s what it meant!”

It was hard to even imagine what kind of abomination Sword Sovereign Zhen Xiao had become in his mind now—

A towering man with child-arm-thick tentacles, wielding a sword named “Long Dragon,” whose favorite hobby was stabbing the woman he loved.

Horrifying.
Absolutely horrifying.

Thankfully, since Qin Chuan’s mind was still childlike, his curiosity waned quickly. He tossed the yellow-covered book aside and started digging through the rest of the items in his arms.

Ning Ning secretly breathed a sigh of relief—
Until she heard a quiet voice beside her.

“Senior Sister,” Pei Ji murmured, “Why have I never heard of this Wind-and-Rain Sword Style?”

Ning Ning froze.
Ah.

Right.

Pei Ji had grown up under a cold and abusive mother, rarely interacting with others. The only “training” he received was daily beatings and scolding. Even after joining the Xuanxu Sect, no one ever thought to teach him these things…

Male lead, what happened to you?

Where’s your aloofness? Your deadly charm? Your cold-blooded pride?

Why do you suddenly sound like a confused elementary schooler—
No, more like a cracked eggshell of a male lead?!

Off to the side, He Zhizhou stared at Pei Ji like he was a peace-seeking alien who had landed in a xianxia world by accident.

Ning Ning’s ears were practically steaming as she forced a straight face.

“Really? Must be because you joined the sect a little late. It’s not a major technique anyway—doesn’t matter whether you know it or not.”

Pei Ji rarely initiated conversation, so getting a response seemed to boost his confidence. A barely noticeable smile flickered at the corner of his lips.

“Then I’ll ask Master to teach me later,” he said seriously. “Once I’ve mastered it… I hope I’ll have the chance to spar with Senior Sister.”

Zheng Weiqi’s face had officially transcended mortal expressions.
She flushed crimson, opened her mouth—and said nothing.

Ning Ning squeezed out a smile, barely hanging on:

“S-Sure… If fate allows… we’ll spar again.”