Mu Daoying stiffened. For a moment, he almost thought he had misheard.
But Liu Qiao’e’s expression remained cold, her eyes glancing sideways with a leisurely disdain, just like a detached patron of pleasure.
Mu Daoying slowly closed his eyes, his voice gradually turning cold. “Apologies, this humble one must decline.”
These past days, he had convinced himself to accept all this. He could be Liu Qiao’e’s male pet, serving her in dressing and eating, in every movement and rest. None of that mattered.
But serving her in bed was the absolute bottom line he could never convince himself to cross, no matter what.
Liu Qiao’e frowned, watching Mu Daoying stand rigidly in place like a chaste and fierce woman.
A twinge of disgust and impatience rose in her heart. “Open your eyes.”
Mu Daoying kept his eyes closed and said nothing, cold and detached, refusing to look at her. This was his way of protesting.
“Open them!” she snapped sharply.
Mu Daoying’s thick black lashes trembled slightly. He seemed determined not to glance at her even once.
Irritation churned in Liu Qiao’e’s heart. Ever since Shen Chengyin appeared, it had felt like a nameless dark fire was pent up inside her.
She couldn’t help comparing herself to Shen Chengyin.
Shen Chengyin had noble lineage, beautiful features, and an air of refined elegance. She even shared a bond of life-and-death camaraderie with him. In contrast, Liu Qiao’e was gloomy and ugly, craving what she could never have yet insisting on forcing it.
Liu Qiao’e did not regret using every means to humiliate him.
Otherwise, he probably would never have spared her a glance.
With his eyes closed, Mu Daoying could not perceive Liu Qiao’e’s movements well.
She seemed to still for a breath.
Just as he puzzled over it, his lips were suddenly kissed.
Even though it was not the first time, Mu Daoying felt as if struck by lightning. His mind went blank, his scalp numb.
She began stripping his clothes. The young man’s skin was white as snow, his waist and abdomen taut, his sturdy and fluid physique fully exposed.
Liu Qiao’e seemed set on it. She did her utmost to ignite desire all over his body. After all, Mu Daoying was no transcendent immortal.
Mortal flesh and blood—even he could not guarantee his body would not betray his mind. He dared not risk it. He endured and endured as unfamiliar, never-before-experienced pleasure coursed through him like electric shocks.
She kissed him until his whole body tensed, his hairs standing on end.
He finally could not help but open his eyes. His clear gaze brimmed with plea. “Old Mother, don’t.”
But Liu Qiao’e did not stop. She clung to his collar, half her body pressing onto his lap as she lowered her head to kiss him.
The woman’s soft form weighed on his thigh, and it tensed inch by inch, every part in torment.
Liu Qiao’e had kissed him before, but that time it had been more like humiliation and abuse than a kiss. Today was different. Mu Daoying could clearly feel her breath suddenly soften.
It was this very softness that tormented him all the more.
His lips were cool and refreshing like chilled jelly pastry. His breath was clear and moist, like the faint spring breeze skimming over water. Liu Qiao’e forcibly suppressed her inner shame and tension, unable to resist biting him.
It tasted faintly sweet in her mouth.
Mu Daoying’s plea was useless. He could only close his eyes again, minimizing the visual impact, immersing himself fully to combat the rising desire.
Her voice was warm and husky as she murmured by his ear, “Open your eyes.”
Mu Daoying’s throat bobbed slightly, electricity coursing through him. He nearly opened them.
But he did not. He kept them shut, motionless, like a exquisite yet lifeless jade sculpture—silently resisting in this way.
“Mu Daoying, do you hate me?” Liu Qiao’e tucked back a stray lock from his temple and asked softly.
“I do not hate Old Mother.” Mu Daoying finally spoke, his voice calm yet hoarse, as if wrung from sweat.
It was the truth. Though she had humiliated him many times, she had not yet crossed his bottom line.
Not indiscriminately killing the innocent.
That was his bottom line.
Personal torment against him did not count. He truly could not muster deep hatred for it.
Liu Qiao’e’s heart skipped. She endured and endured but still could not hold back. “Then, between me and Shen Chengyin, who do you think is better?”
Mu Daoying frowned in silence.
The question struck him as utterly unreasonable. Shen Chengyin and Liu Qiao’e were incomparable.
“Everyone in this world is unique. Old Mother is Old Mother.” Mu Daoying replied evenly. “There is no need to compare with others, nor can anyone replace her.”
His answer skirted the issue because he did not want to discuss Shen Chengyin at a time like this.
For years, he had regarded Shen Chengyin as a close friend, like a little sister.
Discussing her between the sheets was as awkward as discussing parents or family—like Ling Yuanzi or Zhao Yange.
Even knowing he was dodging, Liu Qiao’e still felt a surge of sweetness.
“Mu Daoying, kiss me.” Her voice was low.
Mu Daoying pressed his lips tight, silent, unmoving.
He even turned his head away, evading her kiss.
Liu Qiao’e’s kiss brushed his lip corner and landed amid his black temple locks.
She propped herself up halfway, looking down at the youth on the bed.
His jade crown half-fallen, black hair spilling across the bed. His eye corners were red, presenting a debased, ripe-for-plucking appearance—yet he kept his eyes closed and lips pressed, feigning stoic chastity. His disheveled Daoist robes framed his thin white-jade skin and rigid blue-jade bones.
Liu Qiao’e sneered coldly. “Mu Daoying, you want it too, don’t you? Your eyes are red from holding back. What chaste act are you putting on? Have you forgotten the Yin-Yang Talisman on your chest?”
Mu Daoying said nothing. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest showed he was not a corpse but a living one.
Hatred surged in Liu Qiao’e’s heart. She activated the Yin-Yang Talisman.
Sure enough, Mu Daoying stiffened all over, his face paling from pain.
When the Yin-Yang Talisman acted up, petals of kapok flowers on his chest hooked into his heart’s flesh like countless blades. The agony in his heart was excruciating—even Mu Daoying, accustomed to the Immortal Alliance’s torments, could scarcely endure it.
His long hair soon soaked with sweat, his lip corners nearly spilling pained groans. He nearly fainted.
In his daze, Liu Qiao’e cupped his face, brushing aside his damp hair. “Take off your clothes. Do it yourself.”
Mu Daoying raised his dark, clear, cold eyes. He bit his tongue hard and squeezed out fragmented words. “Old Mother, just kill me.” He had to muster all his willpower to keep his tone from warping into a moan.
Liu Qiao’e, furious, sat astride his waist and abdomen, slapping him several times. “Do you really think I won’t kill you?”
“Or do you think I’m out of options?”
With that, she yanked open the hem of his Daoist robes. Her cool hands slithered downward like little snakes!
Mu Daoying jolted in horror, weakly blocking. “…No.”
Liu Qiao’e’s face was icy, her fingertips nimble as butterflies.
Mu Daoying arched his back taut and finally gasped out. Amid the violent pain in his heart, another indescribable, unprecedented torment was added.
It filled her hand the moment she grasped it, startling Liu Qiao’e inwardly. Who would have thought that beneath Mu Daoying’s clear and aloof exterior, like embracing ice and snow, hid such a ferocious Daoist weapon? And this was before any arousal… She was no longer an innocent maiden. Her wrist grew heavy, her hand sore, yet she could not let go. Her face flushed red, her mind wandering. If gently caressed or harshly whipped, how terrifying—and how soul-melting—would that be?
Even with Mu Daoying’s good temper, this went beyond what he could tolerate. His face changed abruptly, anger flashing as he struggled fiercely.
“Don’t move!” Liu Qiao’e pinned him, threatening in shame and fury. “Do you want to die?!”
When the Yin-Yang Talisman flared, true qi churned wildly inside. Moving recklessly now risked derailing the qi flow, even snapping meridians.
Die? Mu Daoying closed his eyes. Was his current plight any better than death? Better to die clean and pure.
Ignoring Liu Qiao’e’s obstruction, he struggled fiercely again. The motion tugged his reversed true qi, and he spat a mouthful of blood.
Seeing his chastity, Liu Qiao’e panicked. Her grip loosened slightly. Seizing the chance, Mu Daoying endured the pain, propped himself up with effort, and shoved the woman off him.
“With such leisure, Old Mother, there are plenty of young and handsome men outside. Why trouble Ying, a mere ignorant and unromantic fool?” He coughed up several mouthfuls of blood, speaking with labored effort. His words carried faint mockery—most impolite.
Mu Daoying did not know that a person like him, so quiet by nature, could wound deeply with just a few words in extreme anger—or even a single glance—like a knife, slicing lungs and drawing blood.
Liu Qiao’e froze in place, her heart stabbed as if by his blade. “So you think I’m desperate, taking whatever comes?”
Mu Daoying paused in silence, realizing his words had been improper. “Ying meant no such thing. I only beg Old Mother not to force the impossible.”
Liu Qiao’e stood there, face ashen, heart bleeding in pain.
Did he truly think she took anyone who came?! It was only because it was him—Mu Daoying.
This was her first true outpouring of affection, full of tender twists—all because the man before her was Mu Daoying.
In that extremely distant girlhood, admiring beauty and youth.
She often fantasized about Mu Daoying. At first, she simply sat on a hillside gazing at the moon, imagining him holding her hand as they strolled through seas of flowers across mountains and plains.
His brows and eyes gentle, he leaned down to kiss her, taking her lips. She tilted up her face as fine, fragmented kisses fell like spring rain across it. He softly called her name: “Qiao’e, E-niang.”
The moon came out bright and shiny, bright and shiny. Brother walked across the sky, across the sky. Brother, oh, Brother.
Later, she grew bolder. She imagined talking with the village’s young lads when he suddenly approached.
Why did he walk so hurriedly, his jade pendants clinking? Why did his refined face suddenly look so grim?
He came over and hugged her fiercely, kissing her domineeringly and roughly.
“Ah!” She was shocked, fearful, pushing back. “Don’t do this. No—”
But her resistance was so feeble. He kissed her deeply and forcefully, and her resistance drowned, intoxicated, in the mingling of lips and teeth.
She had fantasized about him a hundred, a thousand, a million times—yet it ended in such humiliation.
Mu Daoying finished those words with all his strength, cold sweat drenching his temples. Though he had forced himself up, his limbs were still limp. The reversed true qi swelled and surged inside, battering his paper-thin meridians.
Physiological desire gnawed like a hundred ants, itchy and painful.
He pressed his lips tight, fighting the urge to embrace the woman before him, focusing instead on regulating his reversed true qi.
The glimpse of vulnerability on Liu Qiao’e vanished in an instant. Soon, she steadied her mind, reverting to her usual tough and irritable self.
Seeing his lips move, she leaned close. At first, she heard only weak, broken words: “…The pure is the source of the turbid, motion is the basis of stillness; if one constantly maintains purity and stillness, heaven and earth all return…”
After reciting a few lines, Mu Daoying’s mind calmed somewhat. His voice grew steadier and deeper, his words smoother.
Liu Qiao’e had just composed herself when fury blazed anew!
He… how dare he leave her there like this, right at this moment! Chanting the Serenity Scripture?
She would rather he mock or hate her as before than ignore her like air, lost in his own world.
She bit her lower lip, indignant. Thinking of his fierce reaction earlier, she swallowed her shame and reached again for his hem.
Mu Daoying raised his long eyes, abdomen tensing. He paused briefly. “One who can constantly dispel desire…”
But only briefly. He lowered his gaze again, reciting calmly and steadily, “…the mind will naturally still.”
Where his Daoist robes draped, it remained dormant and desireless.
Liu Qiao’e raised her head. Mu Daoying’s expression had gradually calmed. His eyebrows and eyes held a delicate beauty that blurred the lines of gender, like a deity carved from white jade in a shrine—neither male nor female, bearing no distinction of sex, and thus naturally devoid of desire.
She froze for a moment, then continued unwillingly. But no matter how hard she tried every trick in her arsenal, Mu Daoying remained utterly unmoved. His expression stayed serene as he treated her like a buzzing mosquito or mere air.
Liu Qiao’e stared blankly, then dejectedly withdrew her hand.
Even someone as bold as her had no way to force a man who felt no desire for her whatsoever.
How infuriating—she had taken the initiative to this extent, yet a man could still reject her?
Liu Qiao’e suffered a heavy blow. All thoughts turned to ash as her entire demeanor visibly paled. She gave up trying to press him further and turned away like a wandering soul, dazed and lost, before leaving the inner chamber.
Only after she left did Mu Daoying finally breathe a sigh of relief, as if a heavy burden had been lifted. A long-suppressed pant escaped his lips.
Of course, he was a physiologically normal young man. It was impossible for him to feel no desire at all. It was merely that after years of cultivation, he could suppress his body’s reactions through sheer willpower.
His skin still seemed to retain that electrifying touch. Mu Daoying dared not dwell on it. He forcibly gathered his spirits, allowing his Dao heart to sink into a serene sea of consciousness devoid of all desire.