AUOF - 34

Sang Li was so embarrassed that her head felt like it might spiral off into the sky.

She wasn’t sure if Ji Hengyu was joking, but given his personality, he likely wouldn’t make such a crude joke. Considering his identity… these words were probably true.

What a life-saving situation! What if she accidentally killed the conversation?

Still, she grew more and more confused about Ji Hengyu’s true nature. The only certainty was that Ji Hengyu was definitely not a dragon!

Could it be… that he was also a demon? Was he playing out some eerie tale with her like in Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio ?

Lost in her thoughts, Sang Li didn’t notice when Ji Hengyu abandoned his struggle with the serpent tail: “The medicine.”

“Ah?” She reflexively responded, then noticed his slightly furrowed brows and immediately snapped back to reality, hurriedly handing over the medicine.

Seeing Ji Hengyu take the medicine, Sang Li suddenly remembered something and quickly tried to stop him: “Wait, I haven’t tested the medicine yet!”

He acted as though he hadn’t heard, downing the entire bowl in one gulp before casually placing the empty bowl back onto the tray.

Sang Li steadied herself.

“Anything else?” Seeing that Sang Li was still standing there, Ji Hengyu glanced at her sideways. His tone wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t exactly warm either.

At this, Sang Li felt a lump in her throat.

A strange sense of frustration followed. Her hands were still sore, her chest had rubbed raw, and even walking caused discomfort between her legs. Based on his demeanor, it seemed Ji Hengyu had forgotten everything entirely.

Well, this was just great—a world where only the fox spirit got hurt.

Sang Li gripped the tray tightly, hesitated for a moment, then slowly turned to leave.

After taking a couple of steps, she stopped and turned back, hesitating before speaking: “My Lord…”

“Hmm?” Perhaps due to exhaustion, Ji Hengyu kept his eyes closed without opening them.

“That secret realm from the other day… have you ever entered it?”

“No.” Ji Hengyu’s reply was straightforward. “Why would I enter a secret realm?”

“Oh.”

So it really had been her illusion.

Of course—it wasn’t like Ji Hengyu would go out of his way to save her.

Feeling relieved by this confirmation, Sang Li relaxed considerably.

But then another question arose.

Did Ji Hengyu… know that she was a fox spirit?

If he didn’t, why had he mixed in that drop of blood that day? He had no reason to do so. If he did know, why hadn’t he said anything?

Could it be that because he was a giant snake, he felt a sense of kinship with her?

Unlikely.

Whether he knew or not, Sang Li didn’t want to break the fragile veneer of their unspoken understanding.

She bit her lip and mustered her courage to say: “My Lord, please rest assured.”

Ji Hengyu flicked his eyelids slightly.

Sang Li spoke earnestly: “I won’t tell anyone about what happened today.”

Referring, of course, to his knotted tail… and other things.

Sang Li squeezed her legs together, struggling to stand straight, her cheeks flushed red.

Without waiting to see Ji Hengyu’s reaction, she limped away, hobbling as she turned her head.

Ji Hengyu narrowed his eyes slightly.

He half-twirled his fingertips, calling her back just as she was about to step off the corridor: “Come back.”

“Huh?”

Sang Li spun around abruptly, her crimson skirt swirling with the motion.

The soft, warm light fell on her rounded shoulders, casting a thin layer of shimmering glow. Her eyes sparkled with tiny specks of light, making her look like a vibrant hibiscus flower—radiant and dazzling, almost too much for him to look at directly.

She was born under the spring sun.

Ji Hengyu stared unwaveringly at her. Suddenly, a wave of dampness welled up in his heart, a trace of bitterness taking root. It could be ignored, but it was hard to bear.

“Help me untangle it.”

“Oh.”

Sang Li obediently returned.

Setting the tray aside, she knelt and began helping Ji Hengyu untangle his tail.

After last night, Sang Li had grown somewhat accustomed to this kind of body.

Honestly, the sensation wasn’t unpleasant. Aside from being cold, it felt smooth like jade, with not a hint of roughness even on the scales.

In the sunlight, those scales shimmered brilliantly, like silver plating.

Unable to resist, Sang Li secretly stroked it several times.

Ji Hengyu’s long lashes fluttered slightly. For a Taishi snake, the tail was an especially sensitive area, its sensory perception five times greater than in human form. As her fingertips brushed against it, a tingling, prickling sensation coursed through him, causing his back to tense involuntarily.

Ji Hengyu chose to ignore the rising tide of arousal in his heart, but his body couldn’t lie.

It was honest, responding unmistakably to Sang Li’s repeated teasing touches.

Regret immediately followed, but Ji Hengyu’s expression remained impassive. “Are you done yet?”

“Almost, almost! My Lord, your tail needs to stop moving.”

No sooner had Sang Li finished speaking than the tip of the tail lightly flicked her wrist.

Drawing from previous experience, she naturally grabbed it and pinched it firmly to make it behave. When she heard Ji Hengyu’s muffled groan of discomfort, Sang Li realized she had overstepped.

When Ji Hengyu transformed into a giant snake, his tail always wriggled toward her, which was why…

Sang Li’s face flushed hotly: “Sorry, my Lord…” Even her apology sounded guilty.

Ji Hengyu remained silent.

Out of the corner of her eye, she stole several glances at him, coughed lightly, and once again changed the subject: “They all say that you’re a dragon, my Lord.”

“Hmm?” Ji Hengyu lifted his eyelids slightly, then responded indifferently, “What do you think?”

Curiosity killed the cat.

But unable to resist asking, she answered honestly: “You and dragons… are quite different.”

Ji Hengyu’s gaze shifted toward her.

It was faint, devoid of emotion. Suddenly, Sang Li recalled Shao Yao’s earlier warning—that Ji Hengyu didn’t like discussing his origins—and immediately sensed trouble. She steeled herself to change the subject again.

But just then, he spoke: “My ancestors once resided in a sea cave.”

She looked at him blankly.

“At that time, heaven and earth were yet unformed, and the entire world was an endless expanse of chaotic waters. Deep within those waters lay our ancestral nest.” Ji Hengyu’s voice was detached. “Later, when Wan Fa opened the heavens and discovered my father’s tribe, he happened to slay a low-ranking demon named ‘Kui’ and casually bestowed its name upon us as our clan title.”

“So… what about you?”

“As you can see,” Ji Hengyu faced the bright sun, his eyes lightly closed, his tone languid. “Wan Fa found us amusing—born in the deep sea, able to survive for millions of years on nothing but seabed mud. He peeled off a piece of his own heart scale and gifted it to us as dragon scales. Then, using a drop of his heart’s blood, he awakened us. From that moment on, we possessed divine blood, transformed into Kui dragons, and fought alongside Wan Fa.”

But were they truly dragons?

No.

Compared to the true Zhulong dragons, they were nothing more than “scaled” mudworms. Despite waging wars across the six realms and sacrificing countless lives to protect all living beings, the proud gods still looked down on the Kui clan, deeming the creatures of the sea caves unworthy of bearing a divine name or standing alongside the gods recognized by the Heavenly Dao.

After Wan Fa returned to dust and their father’s tribe lost their support, the gods united to drive them to the Gui Xu Sea, decreeing that they would never rise above the surface again.

Later, when demons began to emerge, the divine realm remembered the existence of the Kui clan once more.

Ji Hengyu’s father god had never blamed the divine realm. In their view, the drop of blood from Wan Fa had granted them consciousness, led them out of the sea caves, and instilled in them the responsibility to safeguard all life—a duty carved into their very bones.

—They willingly embraced death.

But did such self-sacrifice earn gratitude?

No.

The divine realm considered their sacrifices a given.

To ensure the Eternal Demon-Sealing Stone remained intact, they even graciously left behind Ji Hengyu’s mother and her unborn child.

From childhood to adulthood, the words Ji Hengyu heard most often were—

“Disgusting snakes and insects,” “Filthy, despicable mud-eating scum.”

The Gui Xu Sea rarely saw bright days.

Perhaps because the Demon-Sealing Stone had absorbed enough Fuxi blood, recent days in Gui Xu had been unusually sunny.

Ji Hengyu basked in the brilliance of the sunlight, but his heart remained damp and shadowed.

Suddenly, he heard her say—

“But A-Li thinks, my lord, your tail is beautiful.”

His eyes snapped open.

Every word Sang Li spoke came from the bottom of her heart. “You are a one-of-a-kind lord in this world.”

She didn’t know if Ji Hengyu would think she was deliberately flattering him with kind words to make him happy.

But these were her sincere feelings.

She was terrified of snakes and insects, let alone one so enormous. Yet his scales were clean, shimmering silver-white, and though his serpent head was frightening, he had horns—and those horns could bloom flowers, showering petals to make her smile.

Gradually, Sang Li no longer found him so terrifying. On the contrary, she even thought… he was somewhat cute.

Of course, she didn’t dare openly call Ji Hengyu cute, so she settled for calling him beautiful.

Ji Hengyu remained silent.

Fortunately, the knotted tail gradually loosened under her assistance. He leaned back against the soft couch, his upper body relaxed while his lower half transitioned into a snake tail. The silvery-white tail unfurled beneath his robe, winding its way across the courtyard. The tip curled near her feet, brushing lightly against her ankle through the fabric of her skirt without restraint.

It was icy cold.

Sang Li’s ears reddened as she took small steps backward.

“If there’s nothing else, this servant will take my leave…”

As she turned to go, Ji Hengyu called her back once more: “Wait.”

Sang Li’s figure slumped slightly.

Ji Hengyu retrieved an exquisite jade porcelain bottle from his sleeve and tossed it to her. “I noticed your gait seems uncomfortable. You’re likely injured. This is Hui Zhuan Dan , capable of healing various wounds. Apply it once, and it will heal.”

The bottle was small enough to fit in one hand.

Sang Li hesitated, unsure whether to take it or not.

She hadn’t expected Ji Hengyu to notice her odd walk, leaving her momentarily flustered. At the same time, she felt relieved—his words confirmed that he had indeed forgotten the events of those two days. Forgetting was good; it spared her the awkwardness of knowing how to face him.

“Thank you, Senior Lord.”

Sang Li bowed deeply, accepted the medicine, and took her leave.

Ji Hengyu watched her retreating figure until it completely disappeared from sight, reluctant to withdraw his gaze.

Once she was gone, the courtyard instantly felt empty and desolate.

Ji Wu, unable to bear being confined in the consciousness domain, broke free despite his punishment and scolded Ji Hengyu harshly: [Even your clumsy, ugly disciple is more sensible than you! You should have kept her here! You should have told her! This way, you could use the little fox spirit to fend off the marriage contract and have someone help you resolve the love guinea worm curse—a perfect two birds with one stone!]

[Look at what the little fox said to you! She said you were beautiful, said you were special!!!]

He dragged out the “special” part as long as possible, his tone exaggerated to the extreme.

Ji Hengyu remained unmoved, leisurely unfolding his fan and waving it lazily with his eyes closed. Suddenly, he felt an itch in his finger joints. Opening his eyes, he saw a spiritual butterfly resting on his fingertip.

The butterfly was entirely pale blue, its wings shimmering with radiant colors as they fluttered.

Ji Hengyu quietly admired it, finding it quite extraordinary. His Shuo Guang Hall faced the Demon-Sealing Stone, where life struggled to grow. All the flowers and plants in the courtyard were mere illusions.

This was the first time a butterfly had ever come to visit.

However, approaching him wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

With karmic afflictions plaguing him, any living being that drew near would suffer the consequences.

For the butterfly, this act was akin to courting death.

Ignoring Ji Wu entirely, Ji Hengyu carefully released it into the air. The beautiful, delicate butterfly circled around his fan, unwilling to leave for a long time.

Ji Hengyu smiled faintly, his expression gentle: “If it were in the past, keeping you here in Shuo Guang Hall wouldn’t be an issue. But alas…”

Alas, he could barely save himself, let alone care for a fragile, easily broken butterfly.

Casually summoning a light breeze, Ji Hengyu guided the butterfly to fly farther away.

The dazzling pale-blue silhouette vanished in the blink of an eye.

And with it, his smile faded as well.