Chapter 78: So You Want to Play Role-Playing with Me, Huh? (Please Subscribe)
Qiu Zhizhen gazed impassively at Cheng Guang before him.
It was as though he had never imagined Cheng Guang would dare to stand in his way.
From under the shadow of his black hood, his eyes lingered on Cheng Guang for a moment, then he suddenly let out a derisive laugh.
“I don’t know what trick you’ve used to regain mastery over your vital energy, but surely you don’t believe I’m afraid of you, do you?” Qiu Zhizhen remarked.
Cheng Guang’s expression remained unchanged. His eyes, brimming with amusement, swept over Qiu Zhizhen. “If you hadn’t deployed that restriction, you could have crushed me with a single hand. But under its effect, though you can muster some vital energy, how much can you truly use?”
“Isn’t that so, Headmaster Qiu?”
As Cheng Guang’s words fell, Qiu Zhizhen’s expression shifted slightly, as if he’d heard something beyond belief. He stared intently at Cheng Guang, searching his face.
Within Cheng Guang’s gaze, he found no trace of fear or hesitation, only unshakable confidence.
It was as if—he had already concluded that the man before him was indeed Qiu Zhizhen.
Meanwhile, throughout the capital, in every projection screen, people had heard Cheng Guang’s words.
Upon hearing them, many turned pale with fright.
Who was Qiu Zhizhen?
The venerable head of the Grand Zhou Martial Academy!
A mighty cultivator who had attained the realm of Martial Emperor, Ninth Grade!
A titan standing atop the Grand Zhou’s hierarchy of power!
For such a figure to be accused of sabotaging the martial examination between Grand Zhou and Grand Wei—such a claim was laughable.
None watching the projected contest believed Cheng Guang’s accusation.
“What is the young lord talking about? How could that black-robed figure be Qiu Zhizhen?”
“Exactly—neither Qiu Zhizhen nor Lin Qingye have appeared. Perhaps something’s happened to them both.”
“That’s impossible, absolutely impossible. Headmaster Qiu is a legendary figure, present since the founding of the academy.”
Voices of disbelief and astonishment surged among the crowd.
No one accepted that the imposing black-robed man before them could be Qiu Zhizhen, for two reasons:
First, the man’s physique was nothing like Qiu Zhizhen’s; Qiu Zhizhen was much more frail, by no means so imposing.
Second, Qiu Zhizhen had always been the embodiment of warmth and benevolence, amiable and approachable—a stark contrast to the cold, severe demeanor of the black-robed figure.
Though these arguments could be easily refuted individually, together they made a formidable case against Cheng Guang’s claim.
Not only in the capital, but also in the grand halls of the palace, courtiers and provincial officials who watched the projection remained unconvinced.
Qiu Zhizhen was a Martial Emperor of the Ninth Grade after all.
All that he could enjoy abroad, he could also enjoy in Grand Zhou.
He was an academy head revered by the multitudes, his status and privileges second to none.
Why would he ever betray Grand Zhou?
What possible benefit could Qiu Zhizhen gain by turning against his homeland?
Hardly any at all.
The officials silently pondered this, dismissing Cheng Guang’s words as nonsense.
The Grand Zhou Emperor, however, reacted differently. He did not feign surprise like his ministers; instead, he let out a soft “Oh?” and fixed his gaze on the black-robed man before Cheng Guang.
As if discovering something, his eyes narrowed, and he watched in silence.
The Grand Wei Empress beside him paid no heed to Qiu Zhizhen, her gaze locked on Cheng Guang alone.
Her lips pressed into a delicate line, her regal violet-black eyes appraising Cheng Guang from head to toe.
It seemed she hadn’t expected him to have the courage to confront the mastermind directly.
If the black-robed man before Cheng Guang truly was Qiu Zhizhen—
Then despite his vital energy being mostly sealed, as a Martial Emperor he would still be beyond Cheng Guang’s reach.
Could Cheng Guang really defeat Qiu Zhizhen?
The Grand Wei Empress was curious, watching in silence.
At that moment, only one hour remained before the restriction would be undone.
...
Qiu Zhizhen fixed Cheng Guang with a deep, steady stare. He did not waste words. Though he could not fathom how Cheng Guang had discerned his identity, it no longer mattered.
Even if Cheng Guang had deduced the truth, he lacked any evidence.
Who would believe an accusation made without proof?
He strode calmly toward Cheng Guang.
Cheng Guang, facing the advancing Qiu Zhizhen, felt no anxiety—only steeled his spirit.
When Qiu Zhizhen drew close, he suddenly leapt forward, spanning several meters in a bound, launching a flurry of fists and kicks at Cheng Guang.
His blows were infused with dense vital energy and carried the unique presence of a Martial Emperor, drawing what little energy remained from the world around them, casting an oppressive aura over Cheng Guang.
Qiu Zhizhen’s gaze remained calm, fixed on Cheng Guang.
Cheng Guang, as if seeing through the darkness beneath the hood, seemed to discern Qiu Zhizhen’s face—smiling at him, gentle and composed, as if oblivious to the terrible fate that could await Cheng Guang under these strikes.
A faint smile touched Cheng Guang’s lips.
He had been prepared for this.
In his mind, the divine aspect of Lord Qingyuan, Manifest Sage, emerged.
With this vision, Cheng Guang’s spirit was sharpened to clarity.
His muscles, fascia, and bones all began to move with a special coordination.
The key principles of the Northern Dipper Star Combat flooded his mind.
In the next instant, Cheng Guang shifted to the side, his stance rooted like a tree.
The flow of the Northern Dipper Star Combat was as smooth as drifting clouds and flowing water.
“Northern Dipper Star Combat: Third Form!”
The technique had no fixed routines—Cheng Guang simply named it the third form, as it was the third movement he had comprehended.
His fists formed, arms thrusting forth like meteors, and as Qiu Zhizhen passed before him, Cheng Guang struck hard at his flank.
Qiu Zhizhen’s body, for reasons unknown, became massive, towering.
Were it not for the restriction, if one ignored cultivation and looked only at size, it would seem unfair—bullying the small with the great.
But now, it was like trying to shake a mountain—foolish and overreaching.
Yet at this moment, Qiu Zhizhen’s body was airborne, surging toward Cheng Guang with reckless might.
Cheng Guang’s twin fists landed simultaneously on Qiu Zhizhen’s side, causing him to lose his balance and crash heavily to the ground, flattening shrubs and grass along the way, his head slamming into the earth.
Bang!
A muffled sound erupted from Qiu Zhizhen’s body, blood spurted in streams, and his black robe was instantly stained red.
A head of gray-white hair spilled from beneath the hood.
The hood fell away, revealing Qiu Zhizhen’s once-kindly face.
He seemed to laugh in fury, the benevolent smile on his face only deepening.
For a moment, the bloodied, exposed Qiu Zhizhen, fists withdrawn, facing the frowning Cheng Guang—
The air itself seemed to fall silent.
All across the capital, when the projection revealed the black-robed man’s face, people found it hard to breathe.
This Qiu Zhizhen was far removed from the one they remembered—not just physically, but in presence and bearing.
The old Qiu Zhizhen had seemed a frail elder; though his cultivation was profound, he never appeared imposing.
But now, his muscles bulged like iron, his blood surged like fountains in his veins.
It was as if he had entered an invincible state.
Qiu Zhizhen’s eyes, bloodshot, stared at Cheng Guang with unconcealed terror.
He realized Cheng Guang’s strength was monstrous.
Were it not for his own Martial Emperor body, long tempered by vital energy, he would have perished already.
Now, old and weakened, with little energy remaining, he might truly not be Cheng Guang’s match.
The thought caused Qiu Zhizhen’s heart to race.
He no longer hesitated. Bloodied hand raised, he struck at Cheng Guang with overwhelming force.
Simultaneously, from his blood surged countless tiny transparent insects.
Though invisible to the naked eye, their brutal presence was palpable.
“Heh!”
Cheng Guang snorted, raising his hand and pushing forward.
Vital energy streamed from his palm, and behind him, a faint, shimmering star appeared.
In the darkness, the star flickered without beginning or end, as if time itself had no meaning there.
A second star appeared, then a third—seven in all, each emerging one after the other.
Cheng Guang’s arms swept, guiding the seven stars along a mysterious trajectory, rhythmic and deadly, as he launched his attack upon Qiu Zhizhen.
“Northern Dipper Star Combat: The Seven Stars Formation!”
Cheng Guang’s low cry rang out, fists flashing as he appeared at seven different points, each carrying a terrifying presence and a crack of air, crashing into Qiu Zhizhen.
Boom!
Fist met palm.
The transparent insects in Qiu Zhizhen’s blood were annihilated by the vital energy, the survivors clinging to Cheng Guang’s skin.
A tremor of energy, and they perished instantly.
Qiu Zhizhen let out a miserable groan, hurled back over thirty meters, blood streaming from the corner of his mouth, his pale face filled with shock.
In mere moments, he had been severely wounded.
The young lord’s martial art was no ordinary skill.
The unfamiliar forms felt strangely familiar.
Recalling the words Cheng Guang had spoken in battle—
Northern Dipper Star Combat!
The unique martial art of the Martial Emperor City!
This young lord had actually mastered it?
Qiu Zhizhen was incredulous, his dread intensifying.
Why?
The reason was simple. The Northern Dipper Star Combat was not the strongest or most difficult martial art, but its power and complexity lay in its adaptability—those with talent could create their own methods, without slavishly following set routines.
Every practitioner’s strength was different.
If one’s comprehension was extraordinary, the power could even surpass the founder of Martial Emperor City.
Now, the young lord had mastered it—and its power was enough to injure him.
Even with most of his vital energy sealed and the world’s energy suppressed, he was not so easily defeated.
And yet, the young lord had bested him not once, but twice in quick succession.
The more Qiu Zhizhen pondered, the grimmer his face became.
Cheng Guang, meanwhile, remained unruffled, as if what he’d just done was trivial.
At the same time, the Grand Zhou Emperor and others watching the projection wore thoughtful expressions.
The emperor and Cheng Zhihai knew Cheng Guang had learned the Northern Dipper Star Combat from Old Man Deng.
Thus, they were not especially surprised by the display—only a little taken aback by Cheng Guang’s extraordinary aptitude, having developed a technique powerful enough to defeat Qiu Zhizhen.
Compared to the emperor and Cheng Zhihai’s composure, many officials could not remain calm.
They had never expected Cheng Guang, once averse to cultivation, to be able to defeat the black-robed man and then Qiu Zhizhen in rapid succession.
Before Cheng Guang, Qiu Zhizhen had little power to resist.
Under everyone’s silent gaze, the projection changed again.
Now, there were only a few moments left before Zhao Jin would break the restriction.
Qiu Zhizhen was finished.
Many people breathed a sigh of relief, now free to admire the young lord’s prowess.
This was, after all, their first time witnessing Cheng Guang in action.
...
On Crane’s Cry Island.
Cheng Guang’s robes fluttered as he moved with the grace of flowing water, launching another attack at Qiu Zhizhen, giving him no chance to recover.
At that moment, Qiu Zhizhen, half-reclining, suddenly laughed.
“I never imagined, young lord, that you’d have such methods, or that you’d already mastered the Northern Dipper Star Combat. It seems I underestimated you.”
“But my master’s treasure does more than just enhance cultivation.”
“Master?”
Cheng Guang frowned, not understanding Qiu Zhizhen’s meaning.
“Who is your master?” he asked.
A foolish question—Qiu Zhizhen was unlikely to answer, but there was no harm in asking.
Qiu Zhizhen smiled, “You’ll soon know my master’s identity. This world of Grand Zhou ought to belong to him in the end.”
He murmured softly.
A rumbling issued from within Qiu Zhizhen’s body, growing ever more intense.
Heh!—
The sound began as a whisper but quickly swelled to thunder, as if the very air vibrated with the exhalation.
A fearsome aura erupted from deep within Qiu Zhizhen, sweeping over the land like a stormy sea.
Even without vital energy to fuel it, the pressure made Cheng Guang’s eyes narrow.
What was this?
He saw Qiu Zhizhen’s body begin to swell.
Countless transparent insects gnawed at his flesh, growing plump and white as they fed.
As they consumed his body, they swelled, then refilled him from within.
Thus, rather than diminishing, Qiu Zhizhen’s body grew even larger.
Cheng Guang stepped back several paces, his robes billowing as he retreated without a glance back.
There was no need to force a kill—if he could delay, he would.
“Don’t think of escaping!” Qiu Zhizhen roared as Cheng Guang withdrew, launching himself forward like a giant.
Grinning, Cheng Guang replied, “I have no intention of fleeing!”
He paused, then charged at Qiu Zhizhen.
Vital energy howled as their bodies collided with overwhelming force.
At the same instant, both struck—a coordinated clash.
Boom!
A massive, insect-laden hand met Cheng Guang’s smaller but equally mighty one.
Once more, Qiu Zhizhen’s bug-ridden body was shattered.
Without his vital energy, he could not unleash his full strength.
His last resort was effortlessly broken.
Yet his smile only deepened.
For the death of these insects would release a psychic scream, overwhelming the minds of those untrained in soul cultivation—only warriors of the Sixth Grade and above might endure.
But Cheng Guang was only at the Second Grade, Body Tempering. Surely, his soul could not withstand it.
Qiu Zhizhen watched Cheng Guang, a faint smile on his lips.
Even if he died here, dragging Cheng Guang with him would be a victory.
His master’s plan would progress, and his own heart eased.
Yet—
Cheng Guang’s expression grew strange.
“Old fool, what are you laughing at?” he said, seizing Qiu Zhizhen’s head, utterly unfazed by the psychic scream of the dying insects.
The mental assault dissipated before it even touched him, scattered by the divine image in his mind.
Like a gentle breeze, it left him untouched.
Qiu Zhizhen had tried to attack his soul.
If not for his dual cultivation of body and spirit, Cheng Guang might have fallen prey.
Without a change of expression, Cheng Guang hammered his fist down again and again.
Blood and pale fluid spattered, mingling so thoroughly it was impossible to tell if it was Qiu Zhizhen’s or the insects’.
At first, Qiu Zhizhen’s body trembled and struggled—whether in pleading or some other intent was unclear.
Cheng Guang ignored him, raining blow after blow until Qiu Zhizhen fell silent.
Only then did Cheng Guang rise, noticing something on the corpse—a statuette made entirely of insect carvings.
The moment he picked it up, information flooded his mind:
[Ten Thousand Insect Idol: Feed on insects, feed insects with your body. If you can satisfy them, they will reward you richly. If you fail, misery awaits.]
So, the insects were the treasure’s doing.
With Qiu Zhizhen’s death, the insect body dissolved and the once-vibrant bugs died instantly.
At the same time, Cheng Guang noticed a wooden ring on Qiu Zhizhen’s finger.
Within it was a small spatial pocket, filled with the desiccated corpses of humans, their flesh devoured by insects, leaving only shriveled skins.
Cheng Guang’s eyes narrowed.
So Qiu Zhizhen had truly committed unspeakable acts.
Given the function of the idol, had he been raising those insects on human flesh all these years?
No wonder his early life was unremarkable, but he exploded in cultivation in recent decades, even breaking through to Martial Emperor.
A pity—had he not sealed the world’s energy, he might not have been so easily killed.
Cheng Guang sneered, unconcerned, and searched the ring for clues about the mastermind.
Upon finding a token, his eyes lit up.
It appeared to be some kind of official insignia, though aged.
Was it… the Crown Prince’s Token?
He was stunned.
At that moment, a cold voice sounded in his mind:
[Mission complete.]
[Claim reward?]
Cheng Guang held back, not claiming it immediately—this was not the right moment.
He had spent too long on Crane’s Cry Island. It was time to return.
In the ring, he also found the crystal sphere—a powerful, single-use restriction.
Destroying the core would break the restriction.
Raising it high, Cheng Guang smashed it with a resounding crack.
The crystal sphere shattered.
At the same time, above Crane’s Cry Island—
Zhao Jin’s face was pale, sweat pouring from his brow as his eyes flickered with divine light, frantically analyzing and unraveling the restriction.
With only moments left, a tenth of the seal remained—he feared he would fail the emperor’s task.
The emperor was not one to brook excuses; no matter how hard Zhao Jin had tried, failure was still failure.
The thought alone soaked him in sweat, his ceremonial robes drenched.
All he could do was pray for success.
Just then—
Crack!
Fissures appeared in the purple barrier, spreading rapidly.
In an instant—
Boom!
Like dazzling ice crystals, the barrier shattered, scattering into sparks of light.
Zhao Jin was overjoyed—his prayers had been answered?
Before he could speak, figures began appearing around him—the Grand Zhou Emperor, the Grand Wei Empress, the Lamp-Bearers, officials, and nobles of every stripe.
In a matter of moments, half the sky above Crane’s Cry Island was filled.
They scanned the ground below for their loved ones, silent and watchful.
Zhao Jin, still unaware of what had happened within the restriction, announced proudly, “Your Majesty, the seal is broken!”
He was quietly proud. Who else in Grand Zhou could have unraveled such a restriction in less than eight hours?
But his remark drew strange looks from many nobles, leaving him flustered, nearly making a show of himself.
He’d worked himself to the bone—could he not claim a little credit?
Yet the emperor paid him no heed, not even a glance.
Zhao Jin was used to this—a eunuch’s lot was much like a sycophant’s: if you flattered well, you were fed; otherwise, you went hungry. And if the idol didn’t want your attention, you had no place at all.
After centuries of service, Zhao Jin understood well the hardships of his position.
Still, he bore some pride in it.
Following the emperor’s gaze, Zhao Jin looked down at Crane’s Cry Island.
He soon spotted a figure—was it the young lord?
He noticed that Cheng Guang looked disheveled, as if fresh from battle.
Scanning further, he saw a corpse in black robes, the face bloodied beyond recognition but faintly familiar—was that Qiu Zhizhen?
Qiu Zhizhen, a member of the black-robed group?
Zhao Jin’s face turned odd at the thought.
He hadn’t watched the projection, so he didn’t know what had transpired.
Upon realizing Qiu Zhizhen’s involvement, he was stunned.
At this moment, the emperor spoke.
“Let’s go see.”
He led the ministers down, the Grand Wei Empress veering off to find her own academy disciples.
The emperor approached Cheng Guang.
Cheng Guang recalled the last time he’d met the emperor—it was by a lakeside, playing a game of go. It had been enjoyable, though he’d been only a stand-in then; now, he was a stand-in upgraded to maximum.
He was confident the emperor would not recognize him as an impostor, so he remained relaxed.
He greeted the emperor with due respect, calling out obediently, “Uncle.”
The emperor’s cold, dignified visage did not change; he regarded Cheng Guang as a stranger.
But Cheng Guang knew the emperor was only surprised by the change in “himself”—his identity was not in question.
After greeting the emperor, Cheng Guang turned to greet Cheng Zhihai.
But Cheng Zhihai could not contain himself—stepping forward, the usually stern and impartial man’s tiger eyes trembled, tears shining within.
His nose tingled with emotion.
He had truly feared for his son’s life.
Overcome, he wanted to embrace Cheng Guang, but hesitated—his son was grown, taller than he, and so many were watching.
Cheng Zhihai wavered, his smile wet with tears. “You rascal, why didn’t you use your skills earlier and save your father this worry?”
Cheng Guang laughed, hugging his father, who stiffened in surprise, his face flushing with embarrassment and emotion.
Ever since Guang’er’s injury, Cheng Zhihai had been either busy with Lamp-Bearer affairs or scouring the land for rare medicines.
He’d never been so close with his son.
For a moment, Cheng Zhihai felt his child had truly grown, and was moved to tears.
The stern, unyielding Cheng Zhihai, scourge of the elite, became a sensitive, sentimental father before his son—prone to tears, more Lin Daiyu than the real Lin Daiyu.
Perhaps he ought to be called Lin Zhihai henceforth.
Cheng Guang entertained the thought. Truth be told, it had a pleasant ring.
As father and son talked, the other officials drifted away to find their own children.
Cheng Zhihai wanted to take Cheng Guang home, but the latter, recalling the treasures taken from Qiu Zhizhen, handed over the Ten Thousand Insect Idol and the wooden ring.
“Father, these belonged to Qiu Zhizhen. I don’t know if there’s anything valuable inside, but you can have a look.”
One glance and Cheng Zhihai’s face changed.
Before he could speak, Cheng Guang asked, “Father, does Mother know what happened?”
Cheng Zhihai’s face fell. Of course Yue Mei knew.
His expression pleaded for Cheng Guang to speak well of him at home—otherwise, Yue Mei would surely scold him to death, and he’d have no retort.
The pain of a henpecked husband.
Cheng Guang could only give his father a helpless look.
With a sigh, Cheng Zhihai took Cheng Guang to the emperor, handed over the treasures, then escorted his son home.
At the gates of the Duke’s Mansion, Cheng Zhihai dared not enter.
He knew his wife had fainted from worry over Guang’er; if he went in now, she would scold him, and that would ruin her health.
So, for his wife’s sake, he decided to hide outside for a while.
“Guang’er, go comfort your mother for me. Put in a good word, will you?” Cheng Zhihai said, patting his son’s shoulder before heading back to the palace.
The things found on Qiu Zhizhen were troubling.
Exotic treasures were not uncommon, but this one, which devoured humans to enhance cultivation, was particularly sinister—such “demonic treasures” were always to be destroyed by law.
Still, there were always those who kept them, and the Lamp-Bearers could not police every corner. Small fry might escape notice, but for the revered head of the Martial Academy to possess such a thing, right under Cheng Zhihai’s nose—
Was it Qiu Zhizhen’s cunning, or was the Lamp-Bearer Division negligent? Cheng Zhihai could not say.
Complicated feelings swirled as he hurried to the palace.
...
After his father left, Cheng Guang hesitated before the gate, awash with the anxiety of returning home.
He took a deep breath, entered, and made his way to Wu Yuemei’s quarters.
There, he found Aunt Xue emerging from the room, her face clouded with sorrow, not yet having noticed his return.
“Aunt Xue,” he called softly.
She started, then beamed with joy, hurrying to him, her eyes red with emotion.
“Young lord, you’re back,” she murmured, seizing his hand and leading him inside, calling out, “Madam, madam! The young lord has returned!”
From inside came the sound of hurried movements.
The door opened, and Cheng Guang saw Wu Yuemei, her complexion wan, worry etched deep, her once bright eyes now ringed with shadow.
For someone always so concerned with her appearance, she had clearly neglected herself.
But now, she had no heart for such things.
She propped herself up on the bed, eyes reddening again as she beckoned him over.
“Guang’er, come here.”
Cheng Guang, his eyes soft, obeyed.
She pinched his cheek, torn between tears and laughter.
“You really never let me rest easy,” she sighed, all her words distilled into this simple phrase.
She tapped him on the forehead.
Cheng Guang smiled. “Mother, I’m fine, see?”
“But you—have you been eating? You seem…”
Wu Yuemei’s heart clenched. “Is it… have I grown ugly?”
Cheng Guang shook his head, solemn. “No, you’re just a little thinner—like a fairy from the heavens, not of this world.”
She blushed, scolding him gently.
“If you don’t eat, you’ll really become a fairy,” he teased, hoping to coax her appetite.
Days of worry had left her sleepless and unable to eat, losing hair to anxiety.
Now, seeing him safe, she finally relaxed enough to feel hungry.
“Aunt Xue, please bring Mother something to eat,” he said.
Aunt Xue nodded and hurried away.
Wu Yuemei held Cheng Guang’s hand, asking about his experiences on Crane’s Cry Island.
When she learned how he’d felled black-robed men with a punch or a kick, she was delighted.
“My Guang’er is so strong!”
Cheng Guang coughed modestly, “Well, there’s always room to improve, Mother. But you must stay humble.”
With the skills honed from comforting his former girlfriend, he soothed his mother’s worries with ease.
In the end, he couldn’t resist teasing his father.
“Father came back earlier, but he ran off, afraid you’d scold him. Mother, please don’t be too harsh when he returns. I’m just a little tired and barely scratched, nothing serious.”
Wu Yuemei’s face stiffened, her hands clenching in the bedding.
Leaving her room, Cheng Guang sighed. “Father, I spoke up for you, but beyond this, you’re on your own.”
He walked slowly back to his own courtyard.
There, in the moonlight, stood a delicate figure, her body frail despite her cultivation. In the silvery glow, she looked almost like a fairy from a painting—beautiful and ethereal.
“Who knows how the young lord is faring?” she murmured to herself. “They say the danger’s passed, but is he unhurt?”
“It’s right that he should comfort his mother first—after all, Qingluan is just a maid, not a proper wife. Of course she can’t see him first.”
She plucked at a flower, still troubled.
“If the young lord had come to see me first, I’d be happy—but I’d still insist he see his mother before me. But he didn’t come.”
“Men—if things come too easily, they don’t cherish them.”
“No, I shouldn’t think that. I wasn’t so easy to win.”
She patted her fair cheeks, still flushed with worry.
Cheng Guang listened to her melancholy monologue, then decided to let her be.
This was Qingluan’s moment to vent.
He crept up behind her and wrapped her in his arms.
She startled, but the familiar warmth soon reassured her.
“Heh heh, little lady, awake so late—is it to tempt me into mischief?”
Her face reddened, as if caught writing love notes in class.
She lowered her head, trying to hide.
“It’s… all up to you.”
Cheng Guang’s eyes lit up—this little minx was playing along.
Very well.
He swept her into his arms and carried her inside.
As the door shut behind them, he felt he’d forgotten something.
—From “A Certain Forgotten Fox”
...
(End of Chapter)