“Hey, want me to kill her for you?”
The youth’s voice fell lightly against her ear, gloomy and low, yet still carrying a young man’s bright edge, as if suggesting something entirely casual.
“No matter how mutual their feelings are, once she’s dead, wouldn’t he belong to you and you alone?”
Sang Ying slapped a hand over his face. “Put away those dangerous thoughts of yours.”
The girl had next to no strength from her injuries, so the slap landed light and feather-soft. Wei Li only felt something soft brush his cheek, caught a faint whiff of fragrance, and only came back to his senses once she withdrew her hand.
He rubbed his face, oddly bothered, and looked away. “Why so fierce? I’m just helping you think of solutions here.”
“Is this the Water Moon Mirror Flower?” Sang Ying stared at the several mirrors, asking.
“Mm-hm.”
The Water Moon Mirror Flower was a spiritual treasure that created illusions, activating silently, undetectable by whoever it ensnared.
Someone caught in its illusion could barely tell they were even inside one, because one moment they might be chatting with a friend, and the next, still smiling as they replied, they’d already slipped into the illusion, continuing on with daily life, day after day after day.
The Water Moon Mirror Flower sensed the victim’s deepest desire and presented it in whatever form their heart would find most reasonable to accept.
For instance, if someone’s beloved had already died, the treasure wouldn’t simply resurrect them outright, it would instead offer the victim hope. Let them believe there was some difficult path that could bring their loved one back, even at great cost. Would you do it, no matter what you had to sacrifice?
After they endured all that pain and struggle, pouring in a thousand efforts, their beloved would finally return to their side. And by then, they’d already be sunk so deep into the Water Moon Mirror Flower’s illusion, they could never climb back out.
Sang Ying recalled the details from the book. The Water Moon Mirror Flower wasn’t actually Wei Li’s own treasure, it belonged to his father, the Devil Sovereign, and he’d secretly smuggled it out this time.
In terms of raw strength alone, he was no match for Xie Lingyu and the others, which was why he’d resorted to a scheme like this instead.
But with his current level of skill, he could only manage to unleash a tenth of the treasure’s true power at most. A Water Moon Mirror Flower this weak could only create two layers of illusion at most, nowhere near enough to trap Xie Lingyu, which was why, in this part of the story, Wei Li’s plan ended in utter failure, leaving him gravely wounded besides.
Sang Ying thought it over, then pulled out her glass mirror and started fiddling with it.
“What are you doing?” Wei Li asked, curious, leaning in to look. But Sang Ying had already finished and put it away, steadying herself against the tree as she slowly stood, her small face pale, coughing lightly.
Sang Ying looked at the dull gray mirror surface. “Why can’t I see anything?”
Mentioning it only made Wei Li grit his teeth. “Whose fault is that? Your fine husband’s, of course, stabbing me with that sword. If not for that, I’d be leisurely watching them get led around by the nose right now.”
“This thing, the illusion it creates is whatever you most want to see?” She stood before the mirror, asking softly.
“Of course it is.”
Wei Li leaned against the tree stump, raising an eyebrow. “Why, want to try it yourself? I don’t see why not. If you can’t get out, I can always pull you back out myself.”
As he spoke, he began forming a hand seal, about to conjure another water mirror, only to turn and see the girl already stepping forward, walking straight into the gray mirror. He startled.
“Wait, that’s—!”
“Xie—”
The girl’s crimson wedding gown lay scattered on the ground, her pale small face blooming with vivid red flowers.
Her unfocused eyes stared in one direction, and along with her unwilling, faint cry, a string of blood trailed down to the ground.
The sword tip pierced clean through her throat.
One strike, sealing her voice forever. The girl made no further sound.
The youth’s gaze swept across her face, his cold eyes betraying an undisguised loathing. He pulled the sword back out and lifted it, a drop of blood falling onto her face.
The sharp blade cut through her delicate skin, blossoming into flowers of blood.
Blood churned restlessly. His gaze stayed cold, and rather than calming him, the sight only seemed to stir him into greater agitation.
“Xie Lingyu? What are you doing?”
In the quiet night, a girl’s voice suddenly rang out, like a beam of light cutting straight through the deathly stillness.
He turned. The girl in her wedding gown sat far off at the edge of the bed, one hand lifting the red veil to reveal her small, pointed chin, her eyes bright as the moon, confused as she looked at him.
The red candles flickered gently. Sang Ying surveyed the scene and recognized it, this was the night of her wedding to Xie Lingyu.
So this was the illusion she wanted most to see. The Xie Lingyu before her still looked like the young man he’d been then, much more youthful and unguarded than now, she truly did miss those days.
But what was that patch of red on the ground by the corner behind him? Had a curtain fallen down?
Had that been there three years ago? She couldn’t quite recall, back then she’d been too busy crying to notice.
Sang Ying watched the youth walk toward her, stopping right before her.
A thick scent of blood hit her. She was especially sensitive to that smell and couldn’t help but frown.
By the candlelight, she looked closely at his red robes, stained through, layer upon layer, a deep, dark red.
“Xie Lingyu, are you injured?”
Sang Ying looked up. The dim candlelight illuminated the youth’s face, his pitch-black eyes cold and detached, devoid of any emotion, looking at her as if she were some lifeless thing.
The moment their eyes met, she couldn’t help but shudder, a numbing chill crawling up her spine, and in an instant all her strength drained away.
Her small face was caught between two icy fingers, tilted up.
Sang Ying was forced to look up at him, her gaze scattering in panic, her body beginning to tremble faintly.
It was the unease of something familiar and constant suddenly shattering—Xie Lingyu had never once treated her like this before. In her memory, he’d been gentle then, quiet, holding her close and murmuring soft comfort.
The person before her now… was this really Xie Lingyu?
In her panic, Sang Ying’s peripheral vision caught the blood pooling endlessly at the corner of the room, and it suddenly struck her, that “curtain” was actually a fallen corpse.
Her mind went utterly blank. Only then did she notice how silent it was around her, so quiet she could hear even her own nervous breathing.
But three years ago, at this exact moment, outside had been filled with joyous music, guests bustling and noisy.
Those people outside… were they all dead?
The fingers gripping her chin suddenly tightened. Sang Ying’s heart lurched, staring into those deep black eyes, cold sweat trickling down her back, her spine going rigid.
Nervously, she wet her dry lips and spoke carefully, cautiously.
“Xie, mm!”
Her voice was swallowed whole.
The next instant, Sang Ying’s eyes flew wide open.
Full moonlight spilled through the window lattice, the crimson gauze curtain drifting gently, brushing against the moonlight.
Beneath the moon, the youth cupped her small face and tilted it up, bending down to kiss her, his pale fingers unconsciously threading through strands of her dark hair.
Cool. Soft.
Carrying that familiar scent of white sandalwood.
The sensation against her lips left Sang Ying stunned. It took her a good while to register it, was Xie Lingyu… kissing her?
Her ears flushed instantly crimson. Was this, was this really what she wanted most, deep in her heart?
But Xie Lingyu already had a girl he loved. Doing this was wrong! He loved Shen Ying, not her. She was only his junior sister.
Sang Ying instinctively reached to push him away, but before her hands even touched him, they froze mid-air.
This was only an illusion…
She suddenly remembered, this was only her illusion, not the real him.
He was only kissing her because this was what she wanted, it was merely an illusion born from her own desire.
Once the illusion ended, everything would be over. She’d make things clear with him afterward, and from then on, they’d simply be senior brother and junior sister once more.
He would never know.
So… even if she did something with the illusion of him here, would it really matter?
Sang Ying slowly closed her eyes, her lashes trembling faintly.
Bit by bit, she lifted her hand, letting it fall ever so lightly onto the youth’s arm, slowly gripping his sleeve.
At first, the youth’s kiss was light, his cool lips pressing gently against hers, thoroughly inexperienced. As if confirming something, he pecked at her face bit by bit, cradling it slowly and softly.
Sang Ying’s heart pounded wildly, her heartbeat a chaotic drumbeat striking against her eardrums again and again.
She couldn’t help but tighten her grip, clutching the fabric between her fingers.
But the youth seemed to suddenly snap awake, pausing briefly before his movements turned fierce, capturing her lips and biting down.
Very fiercely.
Warm, soft lips tangled and rubbed together, and with each lick and suck, the scent of white sandalwood lingered and spread between their mouths, even seeping through a little, letting her taste it spreading across her tongue.
Her lips ached from the force of his kiss. Sang Ying, in pain, couldn’t help but let out a small, muffled whimper.
Xie Lingyu, who normally seemed so aloof and cold, like some untouchable flower on a high cliff, she’d never expected his kiss to be this fierce, as if he wanted to devour her whole.
No, wait.
This was an illusion, so it was only her own imagining of what Xie Lingyu might be like.
Or perhaps the Water Moon Mirror Flower really could sense what lay deepest in her heart, that unbearable night three years ago, she too had once imagined someone who could sweep away every painful noise around her, pulling her out of that joyous, suffocating abyss.
Her lips suddenly stung with pain as the youth bit down.
Sang Ying snapped back to herself. It seemed he’d grown displeased at her drifting mind, kissing her even more fiercely.
Sang Ying had never learned how to properly manage her breathing during a kiss, and with him kissing so fiercely besides, she quickly found herself unable to catch her breath.
She gripped his arm tight, wanting him to stop. “Xie, mm.”
The moment she opened her mouth, it gave the youth an opening, his tongue slipping past her parted lips to explore inside.
Sang Ying’s body trembled. She tried to snap her mouth shut in response, but it was already too late, she was thoroughly overtaken by the scent of white sandalwood, her teeth pried open.
Was… was a kiss really supposed to be like this…?
While Sang Ying was still dazed, the youth’s cool fingers had already slipped through her dark hair, cupping the back of her head, deepening this damp, fervent kiss.
Sang Ying’s consciousness was quickly swallowed by pure sensation, the taste of white sandalwood sweeping meticulously through every corner of her mouth, claiming it bit by bit.
Even her small tongue, shrinking back in hiding, was found and hooked, teased and tangled.
Sang Ying felt her mind spin in a dizzy blur, her damp lashes trembling ceaselessly with each kiss, like a startled butterfly, shuddering again and again.
“Mm…”
It felt like—
Like she was about to be devoured whole.
Fresh, glistening tears clung to her reddened eyes.
Unable to bear it any longer, Sang Ying wanted to pull away, shrinking back, but her slender wrist was suddenly caught and yanked, pulling her straight into the youth’s embrace, the kiss growing even fiercer still.
She was forced to tilt her small face up to bear it, the red veil hanging from her hairpin slipping down onto the bed as well.
“…”
Sang Ying fell into deep self-doubt.
So… was she actually some long-hidden deviant, who’d always secretly wanted Xie Lingyu to treat her this way?
Who could possibly guess who couldn’t hold back from kissing whom?