In an instant, Wu Ping’an felt heat explode from the crown of her head. Her vision swayed before her eyes, her entire face burning with unprecedented warmth, her mind filled with only one thought: What was he saying?
He wanted to kiss her?
Said she was beautiful?
Was this… a confession?
In truth, she had sensed that Ji Yuwei treated her with special regard. But in her eyes, this special treatment was only because her voice suited his preferences, and because he knew she was from the Otherworld, interested in the Otherworld she spoke of—that was why she was special.
Yet now, without any warning, he suddenly said he wanted to kiss her, giving her a feeling of emptiness as if treading on clouds and the unreality of wandering in a dream.
Ji Yuwei was clearly an extreme looks-obsessed person. Every time he appeared in the book she read, ugly people died to avoid sullying his eyes. No… he was different from the Ji Yuwei in the novel. So it was possible he was indeed looks-obsessed, but not to an extreme degree.
But…
Wu Ping’an, from childhood to now at twenty-five, had never been in a relationship. Hearing an eighteen-year-old youth of exceptional grace say such words, beneath the fantastical and illusory feeling, she felt mostly panic.
She almost instinctively pushed him away.
The youth was pushed to the ground, his long hair cascading like ink, his robe blooming like a lotus. His eyes, filled with confusion and bewilderment, stared at her, yet his beautiful face showed no expression.
“It’s getting late, we should go back.” Wu Ping’an dared not look at him, her face still burning fiercely. She stepped forward, wanting to help him up.
Ji Yuwei lightly avoided her hand. When she looked at him, his expression had already returned to proper composure, the smile at his lips so calm it betrayed no hint of the ambiguous words he had just spoken. “It is indeed late. Let us return.”
He bent down to pick up the zither that had fallen to the ground, turned first, and did not wait for her to walk side by side as before.
Wu Ping’an walked shoulder-to-shoulder with Dai’er, falling far behind him.
After returning from the bamboo grove, Wu Ping’an did not see Ji Yuwei for a long time afterward.
Because of his words in the bamboo grove, she now felt very uncomfortable living in Ji Manor. After much thought, she discussed leaving the manor with Dai’er.
Dai’er gestured with her hands, agreeing to go with her.
Before leaving, Wu Ping’an intended to have Ji Yuwei remove the remaining living essence from her body. She originally planned to see Ji Yuwei directly, but then heard that the eldest young master had returned.
“Ji Cizhao,” Wu Ping’an murmured.
The eldest young master, Ji Cizhao—the male lead in the book.
Wu Ping’an remembered that Ji Cizhao, the future head of the Ji Clan, was not only cold but also ruthless, showing only a trace of warmth toward Ming Dai. And Ji Yuwei’s relationship with Ji Cizhao was icy.
Upon hearing from a servant that Ji Yuwei was currently in the ancestral hall, she did not want to go, but the servant was already leading the way ahead.
She did not know why she followed the servant. Perhaps it was because she heard that Ji Yuwei had nearly lost his life to a monster beast outside, and Ji Cizhao was punishing him.
When she arrived, she happened to hear the sound of a whip striking human flesh, and her brow couldn’t help but twitch violently.
Through the gap in the open door, she saw the youth who had been so beautiful before she left now curled on the ground, limbs drawn in, as a whip fell mercilessly upon him.
The one wielding the whip had his back to the door crack, so Wu Ping’an could not see clearly, but the servant had already said it was Ji Cizhao.
She never expected the male lead to be such a cruel person. No wonder Ji Yuwei later could not bear to see him prosper.
Finally, when the whip sounds inside ceased and the wielder flicked his sleeve and left, Wu Ping’an pushed open the door crack and hurried toward Ji Yuwei, who lay curled on the ground looking pitiful, lifting the hem of her robe as she ran.
“Ji Yuwei, are you alright?”
Wu Ping’an helped him up, smoothing away the damp, disheveled hair from his forehead, pinching his philtrum and calling softly.
The youth curled into her embrace like an injured crane. When he regained some clarity, he lifted his lashes to gaze at her with dazed eyes: “Why has Ping’an come? Wei is ashamed to let you see such a sight.”
Seeing him still concerned with propriety at a time like this, Wu Ping’an tried to lift him to carry him out, but he tugged at her sleeve. His smile was pale and frail as he said, “No, elder brother ordered me to reflect here. Ping’an should go back first.”
“But he treated you like that.” Wu Ping’an turned to look at him seriously.
Ji Yuwei rested his chin lightly on her shoulder, taking a deep, quiet breath. At her repeated urging, his lips curved into a faint smile: “Elder brother is still elder brother. The eldest brother is like a father; Wei cannot defy him. Ping’an, don’t take me out. It’s only a few days; it will pass soon.”
The gentler his words, the more Wu Ping’an disliked the yet-unmet Ji Cizhao.
No wonder, she thought. How could anyone be so cruel without reason? So Ji Cizhao wasn’t a good person either.
She felt exasperated with herself for desperately searching for moments of sweetness between him and the female lead while reading the novel.
Disliking Ji Cizhao was one thing; what mattered now was taking the injured Ji Yuwei away.
But no matter how Wu Ping’an tried to persuade him, he refused to leave. Finally, she asked what he wanted to eat.
Ji Yuwei was taken aback for a moment, then leaned his head against her and smiled: “Whatever Ping’an makes, Wei will eat.”
Wu Ping’an set him down: “Then wait here for me. When no one is around tonight, I’ll sneak back to bring it to you.”
“Alright.” Ji Yuwei lowered his lashes and nodded gently.
Wu Ping’an settled him properly, then turned and left the ancestral hall, her mind preoccupied with the punishment he had endured, forgetting her original purpose for coming.
She had intended to tell Ji Yuwei she was leaving.
After Wu Ping’an left, the ancestral hall returned to silence.
The youth sat upright in the dark hall. The color of his lips was not pale but like smudged rouge; the bloodstains on his white porcelain-like skin resembled cracked, vivid glaze. At first glance, he resembled a ghost stripped of its dignity.
A trembling man crawled in from outside on his knees. If Wu Ping’an had turned back, she would have recognized the luxurious brocade robe he wore as the one she had glimpsed through the door crack earlier, mistaking him for Ji Cizhao.
“Please punish me, young master.”
The man shook like a sieve, raising trembling hands to present the whip used for the flogging.
Ji Yuwei stood up and took the whip from him. He lifted his wrist, examining the lash mark on his snow-white skin, then expressionlessly dropped the whip.
As the whip hit the ground, a shadow hidden in the rafters descended, swooping down at a speed barely visible to the naked eye.
The bones in the neck of the man kneeling before him made a cracking sound. Splattered blood bloomed like hibiscus flowers on a canvas, one cluster after another.
Ji Yuwei watched expressionlessly as the raised monster beast devoured the man, feeling no sense of cruelty. He murmured coldly, “Worthless trash.”
He had only ordered the whip to strike the robe and the ground. Who knew this trash would land a blow on his hand? Thinking of Wu Ping’an, who still intended to leave, he felt unbearable disgust. Merely killing was not enough to vent his anger.
Even at this point, she still wanted to leave.
Ji Yuwei slumped back onto the cushion, his long hair disheveled, his blood-stained robe trailing on the ground. His gaze coldly followed the servant being dragged away, his slender, bone-defined fingers clenched so tightly they turned white.
He even resented Wu Ping’an because of the whip wound on his arm.
If she hadn’t been so determined to leave, he would never have thought of this move—leaving a bloody mark on her beautiful body. But soon, his thoughts drifted to the skirt Wu Ping’an was wearing today.
Earlier, when she had foolishly tried to carry him away, her movements were too forceful, causing the collar of her clothes to part and reveal her fair, soft skin.
If he left a crimson whip mark there…
Just the thought made his chest grow hot, his vision blur with mist, and his breath grow so unsteady that he had to tremble as he pressed a hand to his chest.
He tried to calm the strange agitation, but instead, his trembling only grew more intense, even bordering on excitement.
To ease this sudden surge of excitement, Ji Yuwei collapsed to the ground, slipping his cold hand into the bloodstained, tattered collar he had deliberately worn for authenticity. Then, it seemed he touched it.
A strange, comforting sensation.
He couldn’t help but narrow his eyes and exhale softly, his mind naturally conjuring images of crimson whip marks on Wu Ping’an’s body. The suppressed chaos gradually gave way to soothing tremors that made his body convulse.
Ha…
He couldn’t catch his breath.
Gasping, he lifted his refined, beautiful face, his slowly reddening skin as if washed by moonlight. Biting his red lips, a sob escaped his throat, tears flowing urgently in the midst of extreme pleasure.
After a long while, he slowly opened his damp, reddened eyelids, his dark pupils veiled in a thin haze of confusion. The compassionate Guanyin red mole between his brows, unsatisfied with what it sought, flushed into a vivid, blood-red hue.
In his extreme excitement, he thought wildly: if he couldn’t keep Wu Ping’an this time by other means, he would first imprison her in the courtyard, then leave indelible red marks all over her body.
Author’s Note:
Agree to let Ping’an turn the Mountain Ghost into McDonald’s and give him a good, satisfying whipping? [Heart]