Shuanglian covered the red mark on her face with one hand, the bedding piled up on the couch. Her undergarment hung loose and rumpled, the hem bunched up around her thighs. Her two legs dangled over the edge of the couch like white lotus roots, the soft flesh of her calves pressed with red marks from the edge of the bed.
Nezha glanced at her a few more times before putting away the various weapons. He casually tossed the mountain-heavy Demon-Subduing Pestle to the floor before the couch, unfastened the lotus-leaf skirt at his waist, leaving only his crimson lantern trousers with golden rings cinched at the ankles. Barefoot, he walked to the couch.
Shuanglian stole a glance at the Demon-Subduing Pestle—it was terrifyingly thick and massive, having absorbed the blood of countless demons and monsters.
She then looked at the walls covered with weapons and magic treasures of every kind. Nezha was a disciple of Taiyi Zhenren, and the immortal doted on him. He had also won favor in the Heavenly Court from birth, born into the highest standing—magic treasures were never lacking. Hung on the walls, they gave off a sinister, chilling air.
Nezha had just wielded the heavy Demon-Subduing Pestle, Demon-Slaying Sword, Demon-Slaying Saber, and several other close-combat weapons. A thin sheen of sweat had broken out on his exposed fair skin, and the air around him was thick with the scent of lotus blossoms and malevolent aura.
Shuanglian didn't dare look at him for long. She lowered her eyes, secretly tucking her legs back into the bedding, forgetting even how to speak properly, only managing vague "Mm" and "Oh" responses.
The Clam Spirit was as timid and spineless as ever, indulging Nezha's temper.
But as the saying goes—the more you give, the more they take. Her retreat would not make the Third Prince hold back; it would only make him escalate, pressing further and further.
After all, it was in a Celestial Dragon Person's nature to believe that without rejection, there was permission.
Poor Shuanglian didn't realize that every gap she yielded would be filled by Nezha.
She was proving with her own body that his appetite was being fed bigger and bigger.
So when Shuanglian's legs had just pulled back, a hand suddenly clamped around the bend of her knee. His hand was not small, the veins on the back standing out clearly. He easily cupped the bend of her knee in his palm, pressing down with the heel of his hand, his fingers wrapping around part of her calf.
The flesh of her calf was incredibly soft—the tender, yielding meat cradled by his fingers as Nezha increased the pressure of his fingertips, pressing, kneading, and toying with it.
Shuanglian timidly looked up. Nezha was kneeling on one knee before her, one hand resting on his own knee, the other stroking and playing with her calf, his force alternating between light and heavy.
Her curled toes clenched as she tried to pull her leg back: "Third Prince Nezha, this isn't fun…"
As she pulled back slightly, the force of Nezha's fingers immediately increased. He seemed to hold her casually, but the strength was absurdly great.
Unable to break free, Shuanglian gave up struggling and looked at him with pitiful eyes.
Unfortunately, Nezha had no habit of stopping while ahead. He lazily toyed with her leg and asked, "Everywhere on your body is soft and cool, just like the clam before you shape-shifted."
"Clam Spirits belong to water, so of course we're like this," she explained weakly.
"Like this everywhere?" Nezha lifted his eyes. In their current positions—him kneeling on one knee on the ground, Shuanglian on the couch—Nezha was below.
But being looked up at like that made Shuanglian's heart race. She pressed her legs together, but his other hand forcefully pressed down between her thighs, pinning her to the couch.
Nezha climbed over her without releasing her knee. With his movement, the Clam Spirit's leg was lifted and folded along with his motion.
A rush of cold air and lotus fragrance flooded in. Shuanglian was so embarrassed she bit her lower lip with her teeth, not knowing whether Nezha had seen anything. The most she could do was avoid making too much noise, not letting the little demon king discover something even more interesting.
That was a grave mistake.
Her dodging, her blushing, her stammering—her lack of resistance to Nezha—it all stimulated him.
The more Shuanglian retreated, the closer he pressed. Their positions reversed; he was on top, kneeling between Shuanglian's legs, one of her legs held in his hand as she lay half-reclined in the bedding.
Nezha glanced downward: "Just like a clam—are you made of water? Why are you so quick to cry?"
His remaining hand, as usual, went to search for the clam's shell, prying open the crack, slipping inside to see if the feel was still the same as before.
He deliberately lowered his palm, making a move as if to test it. The Clam Spirit, looking at his stunningly beautiful face, trembled with fear under the terrible pressure and released her life-locking water.
Nezha withdrew his hand, having fooled her with a feint, and laughed loudly: "Even after becoming human, you're still this timid."
Then, his fingertip touched the crack of the shell, and he said: "Little Clam Spirit, your shell has gone soft."
Those words left Shuanglian speechless. Nezha had lived for thousands of years—did he truly not know, or was he pretending not to? How… how could he say something so wicked…
Shuanglian was like a steamed bun, flushed red and gone soft all over from the hot steam. She didn't have the courage to curse at him, so she could only silently wish in her heart that Nezha would be discovered by the Buddha after his mischief and pressed under Five Elements Mountain.
But when that gorgeous, willful face leaned close, Shuanglian forgot her curse entirely.
She stared blankly at Nezha. After a few breaths, he suddenly turned serious. The young deity's face was cold, his features striking and impactful, his bare upper body showing clearly defined muscles.
Shuanglian didn't understand. She released her teeth from her lower lip and asked, "Third Prince?"
Her lower lip still bore teeth marks, her lips pressed together in a pale red. Nezha looked at her like the clam meat inside a shell—he knew the shell was soft, but the clam meat was even softer.
He withdrew his hand, and his damp fingertips—still glistening with water—clasped Shuanglian's chin.
Nezha's warm breath brushed against her cheek. He leaned in close, the tip of his nose touching hers, almost cheek to cheek. His long, curled eyelashes blinked, and the malevolent aura and mischief receded like the tide, leaving a look that softened one's heart.
Nezha asked, mimicking what others would say: "May I kiss you?"
It wasn't over. Nezha's face leaned in close, his palm clamping down on Shuanglian's shoulder. Her mind went blank, and she instinctively turned her head away, causing Nezha's lips to miss their mark and land on her jaw instead.
Nezha had kissed crookedly. Unhappy, he opened his mouth and bit straight in, his teeth scraping against the skin of Shuanglian's jaw, bringing a faint sting of pain.
Shuanglian panicked too, pushing him away with both hands, her face burning pink: "Won't you ask me first?"
Nezha: "I've seen others ask like that. Just trying it out."
Just asking. Nezha had no concept of rejection. When he was seven and smashed the East Sea Yaksha to death with the Universe Ring in his hand, did he need the yaksha's consent? By the same logic, did a kiss require asking?
After speaking, he leaned forward again. The Clam Spirit had already retreated to the corner, with nowhere left to go. Nezha trapped her between his arms, watching her with leisurely composure, his eyes saying, "Run then, keep going."
Shuanglian's lashes trembled, looking somewhat pitiful, and she called out: "Third Prince Nezha."
Nezha's palm touched her cheek. She had expected a slap, but instead she retreated again—he advanced further across the line, she stepped back.
One step, two steps… Nezha's pupils held innocence and delight. In his eyes, the little Clam Spirit could keep retreating, and the boundary he crossed could go even deeper.