Nezha's face loomed large before Shuanglian's eyes, the fragrance of lotus blossoms crisp and clear, his lashes obediently lowered as his gaze swept over her features in fine, dense detail. Shuanglian was so nervous her fingers twisted and crumpled the bedclothes. His face drew another half inch closer, the bridge of his tall nose brushing past the tip of hers.
Shuanglian had a belly full of questions she wanted to ask, but all of them were blocked by Nezha—not through clever argument this time, but truly and genuinely blocked by his mouth.
When Nezha's lips covered hers, Shuanglian was completely stunned. The touch on her mouth was soft. The Third Prince was sharp-tongued and ruthless of heart, yet his lips remained soft and tender. Even his ears turned red when kissing someone, his fair complexion flushing with a thin layer of pink.
Nezha probably didn't know what he was doing either—just pressing their lips together. A wave of heat rushed up to his heavenly skull, burning the roots of his ears faintly red, the crimson at the corners of his eyes growing even more vivid.
Nezha tentatively licked.
Shuanglian's thoughts exploded in a burst. Nezha closed his eyes and kissed her, taking her lower lip between his, sucking and nibbling, as if he wanted to swallow her whole.
She finally came to her senses and reached out to push him away.
Nezha's lips pressed upward, covering her entire mouth completely, one hand pinning both her wrists. His voice was muffled and indistinct: "Be good. You've eaten so many of my good things—let me have a taste."
Tasting naturally required the tongue. Nezha's tongue pried open her lips and teeth, venturing in to explore. This new territory was like the inside of a Clam Spirit—damp and cool, with a hint of sweetness.
Because this morning she had secretly grabbed a handful of spiritual elixirs from the box and stuffed them into her mouth, chewing and swallowing them all.
Nezha had seen it, hadn't he? Those were originally the food prepared for the Clam Spirit. But though her courage was small, her appetite was not. Every time she ate something, she always did it sneakily.
Lips and teeth intertwined, circling round and round, and the pills ended up in Nezha's stomach.
Shuanglian thought her "theft" had been well concealed. But unexpectedly, Nezha, mid-kiss, suddenly pulled back.
His smile was beautiful: "The Taiyi Pill is sweet—a reward from the Jade Emperor after subduing demons. Priceless, not to be traded for gold."
At these words, the Clam Spirit realized her "thievery" had been caught red-handed. Guilty and flustered, her hands that had been pushing at Nezha instantly withdrew, like a criminal awaiting punishment, visibly panicked and anxious.
When Nezha leaned in to continue kissing, she squeezed her eyes shut, extended a tiny bit of the tip of her tongue, and let him draw it into his mouth, holding and pressing it between his lips, nearly melting it with his attentions.
When he had kissed his fill, Nezha lifted his head, his lips glistening with moisture. Her face was burning hot, his expression unreadable. He released his grip, and Shuanglian's body slid down onto the bed. Her lips were flushed red, and her numb tongue finally retreated back into her mouth.
She curled up in grievance, but she didn't cry this time, because she had to use her numbed tongue to plead inarticulately: "Third Prince, Nezha, Third Prince Nezha, my tongue doesn't taste good, really.""
Nezha tilted his head, his tone pitying: "How pitiful."
Truly pitiful. It was rare for him to feel such compassion. Nezha's fingers stroked her cheek, touching with his fingertips, then switching to the back of his hand.
The back of his hand was slender of bone, wrapped in thin flesh, gently caressing her cheek. She turned and rubbed against it.
Oh, she was shattered. Shattered into tearful pieces.
Shuanglian's brain wasn't the sharpest tool. After such a storm, her mind was a muddle. She thought he genuinely found her pitiful, thought that Nezha's remaining shred of good conscience had taken over the account.
So she pressed her face against the back of his hand, her soft, cool skin clinging to it. Shuanglian couldn't help but nuzzle, attempting to awaken his conscience through weakness: "I'm pitiful, I'm too weak, you could bully me to death."
"Ah, pitiful. Adorable." Nezha turned his hand, pinching Shuanglian's cheeks between his thumb and index finger, squeezing out two little dimples: "Then I'll go easy on you."
He was going to continue.
Shuanglian: "? Third Prince!"
Her face flushed red, lips slightly parted, offering Nezha an opportunity.
Nezha tilted his head to capture her lips. At first, his force was indeed gentler—afraid she'd cry like before, Nezha first gave her short kisses on the lips, and when he pulled away: "Your lips are so soft."
Then he kissed her again. With each kiss, he'd murmur "So cute," "So soft," "So fragrant," coaxing her with gentle words.
But each time, his lips and teeth pressed against hers more fiercely and ruthlessly, occasionally interspersing remarks like "I'll give you an immortal pill later" and "I'll take you to the mortal world to play"…
Nezha was busy—his hands never stopping their pressing, his mouth never idle, his tongue delving deeper. One moment coaxing, the next bullying. The Clam Spirit's insufficient brain was thrown into complete chaos.
Nezha discovered that with a few sweet words and a pat on the head, she stopped crying and fussing, her body even unconsciously burrowing into his embrace.
So why not continue? Coax her into being obedient, and then he could bully her without restraint.
"Go easy," he said, yet he kissed deeper, biting and gnawing, nearly swallowing half her tongue. Nezha's arms weren't idle either—he wrapped them around her waist and pulled the Clam Spirit onto his lap.
Shuanglian's hands could only rest on the youth's shoulders, his chest, and even his abdominal muscles, in a rather helpless and uncertain manner.
Shuanglian sat as if on pins and needles, tilting her head back, exposing her slender neck. Nezha's lips moved downward, kissing the skin of Shuanglian's neck.
"Do you have a name?"
Nezha's fuzzy hair bun tickled Shuanglian as she tilted her head up: "I do… Shuanglian."
So that was her name. The kiss ended, and Nezha tilted his head to look at her. She had been bullied thoroughly—eyes red, hands hastily pulling together her disheveled robes.
His palm was scorching hot as it slipped into her collar. The Clam Spirit immediately tensed up, tears trembling in her eyes, threatening to fall but not quite falling.
Poor Shuanglian, fallen into his hands.
Wasn't it so? The Clam Spirit was a soft, squishy lump in his hands, kneaded and toyed with. How pitiful, Shuanglian, how pitiful?
Nezha recalled the reason he had brought it home in the first place—the little pink clam lying in his palm, like the cricket cages he'd seen in Chentang Pass, where tiny insects flapped their wings but could never escape a child's grasp.
And what of that child?
"…"
He withdrew his hand, sitting on the edge of the jade couch with lowered eyes. The flush on his face had faded completely, leaving his skin cold and pale. The jade couch beneath him was carved with lotus patterns, and the golden ring on his ankle bore lotus motifs as well. Like the Buddha, whose killing intent ran deep, the lotus purified the heart.
And what of that child?
Nezha would close his fingers, crushing the insect's translucent wings. He would raise his hand, letting the fragments dissolve into the air, then close his fist around what remained in his palm.
Nezha glanced at Shuanglian. She hid at the inner edge of the couch, eyes red, lips intact, with red marks pressed into her cheeks.
Touch her here, and she'd shrink away. Touch her there, and she'd cry.
The little Clam Spirit didn't understand any of it, doing her best to smooth out the wrinkled undergarment she wore. Though the garment didn't fit and carried the scent of lotus, it was the only one she had. Shuanglian tugged at the hem, trying to cover more of her thighs.
A shadow suddenly fell over her. The Clam Spirit looked up, confused.
Nezha: "I'm taking you to the mortal realm."
Shuanglian's eyes lit up. She transformed back into a pink little clam and settled into his open palm. Nezha tucked her into his pocket and flew down from the Heavenly Court.
Five Elements Mountain stood in the mortal realm, its terrain rugged. At its base was pinned a furry head, leaves caught among the monkey fur.
Nezha brought Shuanglian over and poured a cup of wine for the pinned figure: "How is it?"
Sun Wukong was deeply annoyed: "When I'm hungry, they feed me iron pellets; when I'm thirsty, they give me molten copper. How does that compare to the Heavenly Court? Want to try being crushed under here?"
Nezha placed Shuanglian into a puddle of rainwater collected in a giant leaf, where she swam about. He poured more wine: "No thanks. The Heavenly Court is more fun."
Sun Wukong tilted his head back, finally managing a sip of wine, its fragrance lingering on his lips and teeth. Ever since the Great Sage Equal to Heaven had been forced to accept the order of gods and Buddhas, his heart had been a tangled mess. He looked at Nezha beside him—he'd heard that the Third Prince had close ties with the Tathagata Buddha, the Jade Emperor, and others, and had once rebelled against his own father Li Jing. Yet now he had submitted to the Heavenly Court, becoming a war god, constrained by both Buddhist and Taoist powers.
Such complicated relationships were beyond a monkey's understanding. Sun Wukong smacked his lips, savoring the taste of the wine, and shamelessly asked Nezha for another sip.
Enjoying the drink, Sun Wukong squinted his monkey eyes at the Clam Spirit in the rainwater: "Her cultivation has grown quite a bit. How many good treasures did you waste on her?"
"Not as many as you wasted on the Havoc in Heaven."
Before he finished speaking, a bird with no sense of self-preservation flew toward the Clam Spirit. Sun Wukong formed a hand seal to drive it away, but he couldn't mobilize his demonic power.
He looked up. An invisible force in the air pierced straight through the bird's body. It died instantly, falling silently to the ground.
Seeing this, Sun Wukong chuckled: "Little Third Prince, you raised her from a Clam Spirit into human form, take her everywhere you go. Could it be that you…" Sun Wukong trailed off, his eyes darting toward Nezha.
Nezha sat with knees bent, his robes immaculate—upper garment and lower skirt, with a lotus-patterned cloud-shawl and lotus-leaf overskirt. The red mark between his brows was striking, the Universe Ring around his neck, his skirts spread out like a lotus throne beneath a Buddha's child, his expression like a Bodhisattva with lowered brows, gazing at the Clam Spirit.
The lotus's merciful visage—only killing, never saving, seeing no living beings.
Sun Wukong found it dull and fell silent.
In the blazing sunlight, Nezha rose, bent down, and opened his palm to Shuanglian: "Alright, I'm going to the mortal realm. I'll buy you some clothes."
The Clam Spirit dawdled, crawling into his palm, her little tendrils brushing against Nezha's skin.