Chapter 12: The Vampire’s Prey (12)
Yu Jiao followed the blood servant, feeling as though she had been walking for a century. The corridor was incredibly dim and long, like the throat of a great beast, leading to an unknown depth.
From her memories, Yu Jiao knew that at the end of the corridor was Xie Yanchuan’s study. It housed many confidential documents, and he never allowed anyone to set foot inside. Today, however, he had made an exception and invited her in.
Yu Jiao wasn’t sure if this was the System’s interference or his own deliberate test. After all, he had always been a suspicious person with an extremely strong desire for control.
Another century passed, and they finally arrived at the study. The blood servant respectfully pushed open the heavy, archaic door and made a gesture for her to enter.
Candlelight squeezed through the crack in the door, dancing joyfully as if celebrating someone’s arrival.
A glint flashed in Yu Jiao’s eyes. Wei Changlin’s words seemed to echo in her mind once more.
—Aren’t you curious about how they cultivate high-purity vampires?
—Aren’t you curious about why you, an illegitimate daughter, were suddenly brought back to the Xie family?
—Do you really think that sanctimonious father of yours cares whether you live or die?
In this bizarre game world, only by grasping more secrets and gaining more initiative could she control her own life and death.
As for the protection promised by men? That was the most unreliable thing in the world.
Her mind made up, Yu Jiao stepped into the room and was instantly swallowed by the thick darkness. The heavy door was gently closed behind her, making a nearly inaudible sound, like a sigh of satisfaction.
The room was cast in a dim, yellow glow, with only a single, cold white lamp lit on the long, solid wood desk. Xie Yanchuan sat at the desk, his face expressionless. Hearing the sound of her entry, he didn’t even look up, just nonchalantly turned a page in his book.
They really are twins. They look exactly the same when they’re angry.
Yu Jiao let out a soft laugh, as light and fleeting as a flickering candle flame. Xie Yanchuan lifted his eyelids, shot her a cool glance, and then lowered his head back to his book, saying nothing.
His handsome face was devoid of emotion, like a holy statue free of all desire. The wavering candlelight cast upon his face added a touch of sinister, forbidden charm.
He didn’t speak, and neither did she. She let her gaze wander around the room idly. Suddenly, her expression turned peculiar.
There, standing incongruously in the corner of the severe, orderly study, was a clothing mannequin. Draped over it was a black, full-skirted gown. It was exquisitely made, and under the candlelight, it shimmered with a fine, subtle light.
In this context, Xie Yanchuan’s silence suddenly seemed deeply meaningful.
Yu Jiao’s lips curved. Step by step, she walked towards the gown, her fingertips brushing over the embroidery and rhinestones—just as he had wished.
A long moment of rustling fabric followed, like a swarm of phototactic insects, crawling slowly from the dark corner where Yu Jiao stood, getting closer and closer to Xie Yanchuan, who sat in the light.
The tips of his ears twitched. He hadn’t looked up from the beginning, but from the subtle sounds, he could trace her every move.
—She slowly unbuttoned her shirt; the garment slid bonelessly to the floor. She bent down to take off her trousers; she walked barefoot around the gown. She put on the gown, bit by bit, adjusting it meticulously…
Her fingers seemed to possess a magical quality, like a mischievous child casually stirring the surface of the water. The spreading ripples lapped, one after another, against the tips of his ears.
The room seemed to grow dimmer, the hue of the candlelight more decadent.
After a long while.
A timid, girlish voice spoke up. “Um…”
As if flicking a switch they both knew was there, Xie Yanchuan finally looked up.
She had already changed into the gown. The skirt cascaded in layers, cinching her waist so tightly it looked as if one could span it with a single hand. She was like a graceful black iris in full bloom. The contrast between the black dress and her snowy skin was striking. She held a hand to her chest, her rich, beautiful face a mixture of shyness and unease, an irresistible invitation to be plucked.
Xie Yanchuan’s gaze was like a cluster of ice, inspecting her inch by inch, like a discerning connoisseur, unhurried and superior.
His calm, emotionless appraisal made Yu Jiao’s brow twitch. She turned and swept her waterfall of hair in front of her, then slowly twisted to reveal her smooth, bare back. Her glistening eyes sparkled. “I can’t seem to zip it up myself—”
The young woman’s back was exposed in the faint light, as if brushed with a layer of honey, luminous and perfectly proportioned. The rise and fall of bone and flesh were magnified by the light and shadow, creating a secret, sensual valley.
“—Can you help me?”
She tilted her head slightly, her request a soft whisper.
She was like a docile lamb, surrendering itself to be slaughtered, or a delicacy on a platter, inviting one to taste.
The fingers Xie Yanchuan had resting on the book page curled as if in a spasm.
“…”
Yu Jiao lowered her head slightly, waiting quietly. After a moment, the sound of light, unhurried footsteps approached.
Click, clack.
The hard-soled leather shoes tapped against the wooden floor, not too heavily, not too lightly. The candlelight trembled.
A clear, cold fragrance wrapped around Yu Jiao—Xie Yanchuan had stopped behind her.
Without turning around, Yu Jiao could feel his gaze fall upon her, as light as a handful of spring snow on a mountainside. Though the room was warm, she felt a sudden chill, and her exposed back couldn’t help but tense up.
Because the zipper wasn’t done, the gown hung loosely on her beautiful body, like a half-unwrapped present.
Xie Yanchuan raised his hand and found the small zipper pull. The knuckles of his gloved fingers inevitably brushed against her bare skin. He pulled it up, bit by bit, like plucking a single string on a zither, drawing out a deep, resonant note.
The soft, tight sound of the zipper cut through the viscous atmosphere of the room, churning it into a murky, swirling pool.
Just then, Xie Yanchuan asked coolly, “Did you prepare a birthday present for me?”
Separated only by a thin layer of silk, the point where their bodies touched felt like sweet, sticky cheese in an oven.
Yu Jiao tilted her head back slightly to meet his eyes.
“Of course,” she said.
Her eyes were pure, the corners tilting up with a worldly-unwise cunning. “I already gave it to you last night.”
Xie Yanchuan’s breath hitched. He understood her meaning almost instantly.
—The sensual white lace lingerie, left on the impeccably neat, dark bedspread.
The quietly burning candle suddenly sputtered, spitting out a few sparks.
Xie Yanchuan’s ice-crystal eyes gradually deepened. He slowly finished zipping up the gown, drawing the curtain on their tacit, ambiguous drama.
Yu Jiao turned around. Now properly dressed, she was even more stunning. The two of them stood facing each other, impeccably attired.
The gown was an off-the-shoulder, low-cut style, but Yu Jiao’s long hair was scattered across her chest, covering a large expanse of skin. Xie Yanchuan reached out, wanting to brush her hair behind her, but Yu Jiao reflexively caught his hand, her long lashes perfectly hiding the panic in her eyes.
—I can’t let him discover the symbol on my chest.
Through the gloves, their body heat mingled sluggishly.
Xie Yanchuan raised an eyebrow.
Yu Jiao held his hand. With her other hand, she brushed the hair away from the side of her neck, revealing a love bite. Then, she guided his gloved fingertips to rest upon the crimson mark.
Yu Jiao tilted her head up, her gaze sorrowful. “I don’t want anyone to see this.”
“…”
The slightly rough fabric of the glove brushed against the back of her neck. Xie Yanchuan’s hand hovered around her throat, his palm feeling the faint, fluttering pulse beneath. His thumb slowly caressed the mark.
Xie Yanchuan lowered his eyes. “Did he do this?”
Yu Jiao’s eyelashes trembled. “Mhm.”
—Slinging mud gets easier the second time. My apologies, Xie Zhenye.
Xie Yanchuan stared at her neck with an unreadable expression, as if his gaze could wash away the stain. Just then, a knock came at the door. 011’s steady voice sounded, like an urgent alarm.
“First Young Master, Xue Zhu is here.”
“I know.”
Before he was forced to leave, Xie Yanchuan paused. Then, he slowly and deliberately pulled off his white gloves. His long, jade-like fingers tipped her chin up. His eyes were lowered, his expression cold, like a deity in a temple looking down upon his followers—merciful, yet emotionless.
But at this moment, they were so close, their breaths mingling. Even if he were a god, his eyes could only hold one person.
He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and kissed her on the lips.