The spring night was serene.
Her voice was clear enough to shatter like shattered ice, each word smashing on the ground, audible and lingering.
“I want to borrow your sword bone.”
Mu Daoying’s hand, stroking hers, paused.
“Borrow?” He admired how his tone remained calmly cold at that moment. “Or ‘take’?”
She did not hesitate: “Of course it’s borrow! The physician said the sword bone is a regenerable bone, rich in spiritual energy. If the host is injured with cracked or broken bones, it can self-repair. Borrow a segment of your sword bone, implant it into him, and once his bones heal, return it to you. What’s wrong with that?”
A late cherry blossom happened to brush past the tops of their hair. The night wind blew, and the petals, unable to bear the weight, dropped a bead of night dew from the stamen.
It slid along his temple, bit by bit into his cheek, neck, and collar.
Mu Daoying shivered lightly, and his heart sank heavier and heavier, turning cold.
He knew Liu Qiao’e spoke the truth. The so-called sword bone was actually a parasitic bone. Back then, with such heavy injuries, it was precisely the regenerative power of the sword bone that gave him a chance to fully recover.
But its emotional significance inevitably made his heart turn to ashes and cold.
He had thought that at this point, his heart would no longer grow cold or ache. Could it really fall even deeper into a colder abyss of hell?
Mu Daoying slightly closed his eyes and clearly heard his own voice echoing in the silent night.
“Old Mother, except for Ying, have you ever acted spoiled to anyone else?” His voice was unexpectedly gentle, a hundred times softer than before.
It felt as if his soul had detached from his body at that moment.
Not lend?
In truth, he had no choice.
If she forced it, he truly had no way to resist.
It was laughable that she even bothered to lay the groundwork, acting coy and coaxing him.
Liu Qiao’e frowned. “What do you mean?”
Mu Daoying said calmly: “Ying is just asking.”
Liu Qiao’e grew wary. “Who are you referring to?”
Mu Daoying said softly and faintly: “Cheng Xun, Tu Qin, He Chuan, Chief Steward Chen, anyone.”
“Never.” Liu Qiao’e cut her off decisively, without hesitation.
“So…” Mu Daoying sighed lightly, his meaning ambiguous, like gentle pity or sarcasm. “It truly wronged you.”
Liu Qiao’e’s expression changed abruptly. “Mu Daoying! Are you mocking me?”
Before her guilty conscience could flare up in anger,
The youth’s clear, cold voice rang out: “I will lend it.”
Liu Qiao’e was suddenly filled with shock and suspicion. “You?”
“I will lend it.” Mu Daoying said quietly, his voice carrying a dead-ash indifference.
“Second Master was injured because of me, after all. I am the culprit and cannot shirk responsibility.”
“Moreover,” he countered, “isn’t this what you wanted?”
–
The matter of borrowing the sword bone was thus settled.
His generous agreement instead made Liu Qiao’e hesitate again.
She stared blankly at his thin, frail back, suddenly feeling heartache and reluctance.
What was her relationship with Mu Daoying now?
Fine, she was not heartless.
She had hated him before, hated him enough to devour his flesh and drink his blood. She hated what he did back then, hated how he deceived and bullied her, hated how he gravely injured Second Master, hated how he knew nothing, remained unstained by the world, yet presumptuously thought he could save her.
Yet she also loved him, missed him, longed for him obsessively.
Her ending was already written; no one could shake her will.
After bullying him for so long, after all their torment, she was tired too.
He had once taken away what she loved; now he was willing to return a love to her.
Fine, after this matter, they would end it. Love or hate, bridges return to bridges, roads to roads, let’s end it.
She would no longer cling to him.
Guilt welled up in her heart, and she couldn’t help but reach for his hand—this time mostly from sincerity.
“Mu Daoying, I…”
But Mu Daoying subtly brushed her hand away.
Liu Qiao’e grasped at empty air, stiffening awkwardly in place, and said sheepishly: “You… rest well. Tomorrow I’ll send someone to care for you. Borrowing the bone isn’t easy; it still needs much preparation upfront, so no rush.”
“Ying understands.”
The next day, Liu Qiao’e indeed sent someone.
Perhaps out of guilt, not daring to face him, she did not appear herself.
Instead, she sent Chen Yuro, whom she valued and trusted most, almost like half her own body, to represent her will and offer condolences.
Mu Daoying was moved from the neglected side hall into a side hall of Floating Flower Hall.
In an instant, the winds in Joyous Union Palace shifted again, leaving everyone shocked and on edge.
But Mu Daoying had long stopped caring, and now he cared even less about others’ fickle loyalties and fawning.
“Daoist Mu, this is all Old Mother’s intent.”
Along with heavenly materials, earthly treasures, and wondrous spirit pills, they were sent into the hall like flowing water.
Chen Yuro led over a dozen maids and guards, arriving gracefully and giving him a faint smile.
Mu Daoying sat on the couch drinking medicine, a thick blanket over his knees.
Borrowing the sword bone was no easy task. First, the lender’s own body needed to be conditioned and nurtured to an optimal state.
Mu Daoying set down the medicine bowl at her words and nodded. “Old Mother is thoughtful. Please convey my personal thanks to Chief Steward Chen on my behalf.”
Chen Yuro said: “Naturally.”
She specially beckoned one boy forward.
“This child is named Zhu Qing. Though young, he is a renowned physician in our Joyous Union Palace. Old Mother specially sent him to care for you.”
Mu Daoying’s gaze fell on the young attendant.
He appeared no more than twelve or thirteen, truly dressed in verdant green clothes, with delicate, bright features.
He clutched the medicine box to his chest, his expression shy and timid.
He mumbled a greeting, “Daoist,” as if afraid to speak loudly.
Mu Daoying had no interest in any of this. Only to ease the child’s unease did he nod slightly. “Thank you for your trouble.”
With that, he frowned faintly again, leaning back on the couch, looking listless and weary.
Seeing this, Chen Yuro tactfully did not disturb him further.
After a few perfunctory exchanges to fulfill Liu Qiao’e’s intent, Chen Yuro led the others away.
Zhu Qing and the dozen or so maids and guards stayed in the hall from then on.
Mu Daoying rarely spoke to them. Most of the time, he remained silent.
Drinking medicine, reading books, and meditating made up almost his entire life.
At first, Zhu Qing feared him a little, but upon interaction, he discovered this daoist was actually a kind man, cold on the outside but warm within.
Though he appeared joyless every day, he was not fussy in daily life. A place to lie down and a cup of water sufficed.
Even if someone erred, as long as it was a minor, harmless mistake, it was forgotten.
No, Zhu Qing suspected that even if someone caused a huge disaster, he probably would not reprimand them.
Mu Daoying drank bitter medicine for a full month before his body was nearly conditioned.
A doctor came, felt along his cervical bone downward for a long while, then slowly said, “Ready to prepare.”
An odd thought bubbled in Mu Daoying’s mind: his recent experiences felt like fattening a pig for slaughter.
His expression remained calm. Chen Yuro was quite attentive, asking the doctor to wield the knife lightly.
The doctor nodded. “Old Mother’s beloved pet, I naturally understand.”
Chen Yuro apologized to Mu Daoying: “Old Mother can’t come right now, but she’ll visit later tonight.”
Mu Daoying was weary of such hypocrisy. He lightly drooped his eyelids, closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and said to the doctor: “Proceed.”
The indifference in his eye corner made the doctor glance at him extra.
Extracting the bone could not use drugs.
No anesthetics or painkillers; the agony was beyond what ordinary people could endure.
“Endure it.” The doctor kindly reminded him as he drew an inch-long small knife from the medicine box.
Silver light flashed.
Zhu Qing stood to the side, holding coarse cloth and needle and thread to assist.
He could not bear to look, his fingertips trembling slightly.
…
After an unknown time, Mu Daoying, drenched in sweat, tightened his daoist robe and turned to look at the jade-colored bone segment, still bloody, on the tray.
…Was this the section of sword bone extracted from his body?
He felt a faint novelty in his heart.
A voice, as if from afar, called back his senses.
“Daoist Mu, thank you.” Chen Yuro said sincerely. She, Cheng Xun, and Liu Qiao’e were like family; she shared feelings with Cheng Xun. Mu Daoying’s willing loan of the bone earned her genuine gratitude.
Mu Daoying frowned slightly. Along with his senses returning came sharp pain. Cold sweat poured down in waves, soaking his gauze clothes and robe.
The pain had been so intense that his mind briefly detached.
He moved his lips, wanting to say something, but even this slight motion tugged at deep agony.
Zhu Qing hurriedly helped him lie down.
Seeing his face ashen as gold paper, Chen Yuro knew his condition was poor. “Daoist, rest well. Old Mother will come tonight.”
Mu Daoying slowly closed his eyes.
Did he need Liu Qiao’e to come?
When Chen Yuro left, she took everyone from the hall, leaving only Zhu Qing to attend him personally.
Mu Daoying soon fell into a dazed sleep, seemingly having a bizarre nightmare, but he remembered nothing upon waking.
When he woke, dusk had fallen. The latticed doors stood wide open, cold golden slanting sunlight spilling into the hall.
The evening breeze swept over the mirror-smooth brick floor, bringing a watery chill.
His back was sweat-soaked, but his head, face, and arms remained dry. Zhu Qing’s doing, no doubt.
While trapped in the nightmare, he had kept wiping his sweat but dared not turn him for fear of disturbing the wound.
Gratitude rose in Mu Daoying’s heart. In a hoarse voice, he called, “Zhu Qing.”
The verdant figure immediately bounced out, delighted. “Daoist, you’re awake?”
Mu Daoying silently gauged the time and asked: “How long did I sleep?”
Zhu Qing: “Three hours. It’s now You hour!”
You hour. Mu Daoying asked again: “Has anyone come?”
Zhu Qing’s expression changed slightly for some reason.
Mu Daoying asked faintly: “She didn’t come, right?”
Strangely, his heart was truly calm as still water, without ripples or emotional surges.
Was it because he knew her nature well, or had he long stopped hoping?
Or had his disappointment eroded that last thread of affection?
Zhu Qing naturally knew who “she” meant.
He hesitated, reluctant. “Old Mother… Old Mother did come.”
Mu Daoying was quiet: “But something happened with Second Master again, right?”
Zhu Qing froze; he was not yet good at hiding his expressions.
“Old Mother had just arrived briefly when Second Master’s condition seemed poor again. She glanced at Daoist and hurried off.” He recounted softly. “But before leaving, Old Mother said to take good care of Daoist; she’d come back tonight.”
If he were tough enough, he would ask Zhu Qing to relay: no need to come.
He had not hoped for her anyway.
But he merely listened silently and slowly sat up.
Meeting Zhu Qing’s gaze, Mu Daoying shook his head: “You need not pity me.”
He even proactively asked for a bowl of medicine and drank it.
Though Liu Qiao’e treated him like grass, how could he belittle himself?
He had to heal well, then find a way to escape back to the Immortal Alliance.
Though the Immortal Alliance now teemed with ghosts and pretenders, there were still righteous souls upholding integrity.
Return to the Immortal Alliance and stop her.
Mu Daoying drank slowly. Every word, every swallow brought unbearable pain from within.
After sleeping, the reality of the excised sword bone segment seemed to descend anew.
He could feel his spiritual power waning.
Before, even with his foundation shattered, he had sensed spiritual energy flowing abundantly.
Now, his meridians resembled a parched little river, exposing its dry riverbed, with only a few thin trickles barely clinging to life amid the mud.
The pain on his body could still be endured, but the weakness of his spiritual energy was a fate worse than death for any cultivator.
After Zhu Qing served him the medicine, Mu Daoying thanked him and asked to be left alone for a while.
Moonlight descended.
He closed his eyes, trying to sense the essence of the moonlight and absorb the lunar spiritual energy.
But every faint wisp he drew in caused pain like scraping scales off a fish throughout his body.
He pursed his lips, unwilling to give up, and continued.
A familiar voice arrived like the cold light of the moon, chilling to the core.
“Are you alright?”
Mu Daoying’s body trembled lightly.
Even though he had long resolved to clearly separate from her past self and held no more expectations for her, hearing her arrive still stirred his emotions.
He paused for a moment before opening his eyes, his voice striving to sound indifferent.
“It seems the Second Master is already fine.”
Liu Qiao’e frowned. “Why bring him up? He… just had the sword bone implanted and isn’t quite adapted yet. I only went to see him this afternoon.”
Mu Daoying remained indifferent. “Otherwise, why would Old Mother deign to visit me?”
Liu Qiao’e knew she had not acted properly in this matter and was at a loss for words.
“I… I’m worried about you. Do you have to speak to me like this?”
Mu Daoying countered, “If not speaking, should I act as in those past few nights?”
Liu Qiao’e: “…” Her face flushed unusually with embarrassment.
Was he blaming her again for silently using him to vent her lust and humiliate him before?
“I…” She moved closer awkwardly, intending to repeat her old trick and “embrace his arm in friendly talk.”
But Mu Daoying had seen through her ploy. His expression weary and indifferent, he coldly watched her.
If she weren’t so hypocritical, making promises on her own and then breaking them at will, he wouldn’t have been this angry inside.
Even if he wanted to draw a clear line in his heart, that anger and disappointment made him, for the first time ever, feel an unprecedented urge to harshly teach her a lesson.
Liu Qiao’e hugged his arm, but Mu Daoying shook it off lightly, leaving her grasping at air.
Her heart skipped a beat. Just as she was about to coax him, her shoulder was firmly pressed down by him.
She looked up and suddenly felt the world spin. Mu Daoying smoothly pinned her down onto her own bed and leaned over her.
“You—” Liu Qiao’e was truly startled and tried to sit up in a panic.
Mu Daoying lightly stroked her chest, undid the ties of her undergarment, buried his head, and bit down. “Isn’t this the purpose of your visit?” Just like those previous nights.
She cried out in pain, her face flushing as if blood would drip from it. “Are you crazy?”
That spot was white and soft like a piece of tofu, unable to be fully cupped in one hand. He paused, his fingertip brushing the circle of fresh red bite mark oozing blood. Still unsatisfied, he took it between his lips and ground it lightly with his teeth.
His other hand had already stroked up her thigh, lifting it high, and buried deeply into her.
Liu Qiao’e was both ashamed and angry, her face red with fury. “You’re talking nonsense! Old Mother doesn’t want this at all!”
What did she take him for? A lustful demon?! Even if she were that desperate, she wouldn’t do this while he was still injured!
He—he had just had his sword bone extracted, wounded as he was!
With that movement, blood from his body flowed down, staining her skirt hem red.
Liu Qiao’e’s scalp went numb. She stared in shock, horrified.
But Mu Daoying seemed oblivious, repeatedly stroking her, burying into her, biting down. His blood-soaked Daoist robe clung tightly to his undulating, powerful shoulders and back.
His jet-black hair tips swept through the pool of blood.
The fingertips gripping her thigh forcefully were also stained with blood, leaving bloody fingerprints between her legs.
Liu Qiao’e was genuinely a bit scared.
She could clearly feel how excited he was.
When a highly sensual person like Mu Daoying got angry, it was as if he became another person—still calm and restrained, yet suppressing a inhumanly obsessive intensity.
Afraid of hurting him further, she didn’t dare resist.
Little did she know that for such a strong-willed person like her to grit her teeth and endure his actions made it all too easy to arouse a man’s excitement.
He gazed into her eyes, unable to suppress the subtle sadistic desire at the bottom of his heart any longer. Knowing she wouldn’t like it, he still stroked her face.
Smearing his own blood all over her brows and eyes.
Full of anger toward her, his movements showed no restraint, utterly reckless.
At first, he could still maintain control, neither too fast nor too slow, leisurely grinding against her, forcing her.
But later, even he lost his rhythm. He pursed his lips, simply tossing and turning to torment and attack her relentlessly.
Liu Qiao’e went limp all over, tears streaming down unchecked. In the end, she could only remember the veins bulging on his forehead, his heaving waist and abdomen, and the dark, cold, snake-like gaze.
Only when the sky began to lighten did he finally withdraw and leave.
Her consciousness was somewhat blurred, her body still trembling unconsciously. She felt as if she had become part of his body—her eyes only able to perceive his features, her lips only his member, sensing only his heat, his hardness, his throbbing.
When had she ever been treated like this? She felt like a fully ripened fruit that had been mashed to pulp.
Or like a fish.
He scooped her out of the water, stroked her sleek scales.
She struggled and thrashed in his palm. Then she was thrown into the frying pan, flipped over and over until thoroughly cooked from inside out, head to toe.
It took a good while before her consciousness slowly returned.
Moments later, she felt a pair of slightly cool large hands supporting her fragile neck.
Liu Qiao’e’s heart jolted in alarm. She struggled to raise her hand to seize his pulse gate—if he wanted to kill her now, she had no way to resist.
But Mu Daoying did not. He helped her sit up, held her in his arms, and silently dressed her piece by piece.
Just as he had served her countless times before.
Her unfocused gaze gradually sharpened, falling on his porcelain-pale face. It wavered slightly, then slipped away as if sliding off.
This time, he wasn’t as embarrassed or dejected as those previous nights.
He seemed to have calmly accepted everything, expressionless as he withdrew his fingertip and poured out the nectar.
“It’s getting late.” Mu Daoying wiped his fingertip and supported her shoulder, saying in an unquestionable tone, “Old Mother hasn’t returned all night. Go check on the Second Master.”
With that, he swept her out the door.
Leaving Liu Qiao’e, completely out of sorts, staring blankly at the tightly shut door and windows before her.