Chapter Seventy-Three: Falling Into the Trap

Since Qier transferred to the school, the number of students in the classroom had noticeably increased. The corner where Wang Luo and his group sat was now packed every day, with not a single empty seat; almost every gaze in the room was fixed upon that small corner, drawn to that graceful figure.

As for Wang Luo, on Qier’s third day at school, he sold his seat for fifteen points, which not only allowed him to distance himself from Qier but also earned him a tidy profit. To Wang Luo’s surprise, he hadn’t expected Kailuo to sell his own seat as well, and once again end up sitting right behind him. But after thinking about it, Wang Luo understood; Kailuo was never fond of crowds, and with a throng of people gathering there every day, it made sense for him to change seats.

The chime of the magic clock echoed through the classroom. Those crowding around Qier reluctantly dispersed, still calling out for Mir as they left. Yet who among them knew that the object of their infatuation was not even the gender they believed?

Watching these lovesick fools, Wang Luo couldn’t help but curl his lip in disdain. He wondered what their expressions would be if they knew that not only was Qier’s name a lie, but even the gender was false…

“The new class schedule has been posted. The first two hours before noon will still be devoted to magical and combat theory. The next two hours will be spent watching magic recordings—”

“Magic recordings? Really?”

“What kind of magic recordings?”

“What kind do you want to see, hmm?”

Before Mr. Gedda had finished speaking at the lectern, the students below were already whispering in small groups. Though respect for teachers was upheld on the Tianxuan Continent, these students were still young and energetic, and sitting still to listen to Gedda’s expressionless lectures was torment worse than death for them.

“Magic recordings?” Wang Luo murmured. Fragments of knowledge about magic recordings surfaced in his mind.

Magic recordings, to put it plainly, were films—scenes captured by memory crystals. In the past, there was no such thing as a magic recording, as memory crystals were mostly used to record methods for mastering magic or combat techniques and other training materials.

It was Qilu—him again—who invented the magic recording. He used memory crystals to record all kinds of spectacular scenes, then charged admission for people to watch them. That alone brought Qilu immense wealth, not to mention his countless other inventions.

Long ago, watching magic recordings was a significant expense for ordinary people, but most could still afford it. Over time, though, as memory crystals were mined and used up, they became increasingly scarce, and viewing magic recordings turned into a luxury few could enjoy.

Suddenly, Wang Luo frowned and glanced toward the source of a gaze. He met a pure, smiling face, but the more Wang Luo looked, the more repulsed he felt, despite the impulse—somewhere in his body, even in his soul—to push that person down.

That alluring figure flickered through his mind again, striking seductive poses, paired with that face of unblemished innocence—enough to steal souls, enough to stir even the heart of a saint.

Wang Luo was no saint, and his heart was indeed stirred. That enchanting silhouette appeared in his mind with increasing frequency, teasing his desires. He had clearly noticed his own accelerated development lately, his hormones overflowing.

“Yes… Wang Luo… Luo’er… I want you…”

“Luo’er, Luo’er, I love you, I love you, faster…”

“Luo’er, ah, Luo’er…”

Once more, spring dreams invaded him. The soft moans echoed in his mind, the tantalizing scenes flickered in and out of sight, a small tent slowly rising as his breathing quickened, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

“Damn it, get out of my head!”

He roared inwardly at the beguiling vision, feeling as though he were losing his sanity—not only had he been plagued by these dreams night after night, but Qier’s image kept flashing through his mind, provoking those indecent scenes from his sleep.

A dagger flashed into view. Without hesitation, Wang Luo stabbed it hard into his own thigh. The pain jolted him awake; the figure in his mind paused and slowly dissipated.

“…This afternoon’s combat practice is mandatory for everyone, and there are evening arrangements as well—” On the podium, Teacher Gedda’s monotonous lecture paused abruptly. He glanced at Wang Luo, then continued, his sharp gaze flickering over Qier, whose face had gone slightly pale.

Biting his lip, Qier nodded at Gedda, then cast a furtive glance at the seemingly unharmed Wang Luo. His lips moved imperceptibly, his hands making subtle, intricate gestures—an undetectable energy rippling outward.

“Wang Luo, are you all right?” Noticing Wang Luo’s slight trembling, Kailuo frowned and quietly asked, concern evident in his eyes.

“Wang Luo?”

Seeing that Wang Luo didn’t respond, Kailuo called again in confusion, his eyes inadvertently dropping to Wang Luo’s lower body—just in time to see Wang Luo stabbing his own thigh with the dagger, where several wounds were already visible, though mostly concealed by the loose mage robes.

Stunned for a moment, Kailuo immediately realized what was happening. His heart clenched with pain. Without thinking, he stood up and reached for the venomous dagger, silently vowing to smash it to pieces.

“Luo’er, Luo’er, Luo’er…”

“Mm-mm-mm…”

“Ah, ah…”

Qier’s voice echoed relentlessly in his mind, her seductive form filling his vision. The onslaught was so fierce that Wang Luo’s defenses crumbled. With his last shred of clarity, he resorted to pain to rouse himself.

“Qier, faster, deeper, I’m almost there…”

Through the haze, Wang Luo heard himself shouting in pleasure, saw those inviting red lips enveloping his softness. His whole body burned; he felt himself drowning.

“Wang Luo? Is that Kailuo calling me?”

In the midst of his delirium, Wang Luo seemed to hear Kailuo’s voice; that remaining sliver of reason grew a little clearer. But when a slightly cool hand—a real hand—brushed, through the thin mage robes, against the angry little serpent, Wang Luo’s body jolted violently, and that last bit of lucidity was instantly swallowed up…

A beast-like roar suddenly shattered the silence of the classroom. In the next instant, everyone saw only a blur before hearing a piercing, melodious scream.

“Wang Luo, what are you doing? Let go of Mir!”

Wang Luo was clinging to Mir, kissing her fiercely. Mir struggled helplessly in his grasp like a frightened chick. For a moment, everyone was stunned—then at last, someone reacted, bellowing in anger, joined by a chorus of indignant voices.