The clam shell was slick with water, sliding down as it flapped its shell, spinning in the water. Nezha poked at the shell, and the Clam Spirit flipped over, struggling several times before righting herself, her tendrils wrapping around Nezha's finger: "Third Prince, stop teasing me."
Nezha flicked the clam shell, sending it spinning in the water and splashing droplets. He laughed: "Silly clam."
He scooped up the silly clam and carefully wiped the shell clean with a soft cloth. Nezha gave Sun Wukong a slight nod as a farewell.
Nezha rode the wind with the clam shell, and Sun Wukong called out from behind: "If you come across anything good, don't forget old Sun!"
In a few breaths, Nezha arrived at the foot of the imperial city. The fabrics of the mortal world couldn't compare to those of the Heavenly Court. Nezha flipped through them, not quite satisfied, but the Clam Spirit seemed to like them.
Carrying the dress, she entered the changing alcove. Shuanglian saw that as she went in, she tossed a gold ingot to the shopkeeper.
Shuanglian didn't understand—could a piece of clothing really be that expensive?
The shopkeeper drew the hanging curtain closed, and her footsteps faded away. The bustling voices of women in the clothing shop also dissipated.
Nezha set the clothes down in a pile. In the blink of an eye, Shuanglian stood barefoot on the ground, draped in an oversized underrobe, both hands clutching the hem, standing nervously, eyes darting toward the dress in her hand.
In the hand that had spent years slaying demons and vanquishing monsters, Nezha held a pink-blue dress, its hem adorned with pearls and painted butterflies, crumpled into a ball in those fair, slender fingers.
His fingers were beautiful, and the dress was beautiful too. Shuanglian's attention drifted from his fingers to the dress, focused entirely on the garment.
Nezha saw this, noted it in his heart, and gripped the dress a little tighter.
Shuanglian didn't see his expression, reaching out to tug at the hem, fingers stroking the pearls, wanting to take it.
Nezha released his grip and let her take it.
Shuanglian turned the hem over and over, examining it—a fashionable high-waisted ruqun. She looked at the dress, then at Nezha, her eyes saying "I need to change now."
And then? Nezha watched.
The dress blocked Shuanglian's body as she pulled up a corner to hide her face, not daring to look at Nezha's handsome features: "Third Prince, go out. I'll come out after I change."
Nezha toyed with his long hair, not lifting his eyelids: "No."
Shuanglian angrily yanked down the dress covering her face, revealing a face flushed red with indignation. When she had shape-shifted, Nezha had seen everything anyway, but she couldn't find a good reason to kick him out of the changing room.
Not daring to chase him out, she could only turn her back to change.
The moment Shuanglian turned around, a bronze mirror taller than herself stood before her.
Shuanglian: "!"
The bronze mirror was regularly polished, reflecting a clear image—even individual strands of hair were visible.
Then—wouldn't both front and back be visible!
She was as red as a steamed shrimp, her toes curling. Beneath her feet were several pieces of clothing that Nezha had casually tossed on the ground. The shopkeeper had seen them earlier but said nothing, leaving cheerfully.
Turning to face Nezha—Shuanglian couldn't do it. But turning to face the mirror, that little ancestor, the Third Prince, suddenly lifted his eyelids, his crimson eyes fixed directly on her through the mirror.
His slender fingers held up an item, also crimson, offered to her from across the mirror.
Shuanglian focused her gaze—the lotus flowers and leaves embroidered on the undergarment were clearly visible.
In that instant, she was so embarrassed she nearly fainted.
In the cramped space, alone together, Nezha remained perfectly at ease. The lofty Third Prince, impeccably dressed, eyes calm and unruffled, his right hand still extended toward her, insisting she take the undergarment.
Shuanglian couldn't help but bite her tongue lightly, watching Nezha through the mirror. The mirror surface was slightly yellowed, and from a distance, his image wasn't quite clear. Having attained sainthood in mortal flesh, he was a celestial immortal himself, yet his fingers held a lewd little undergarment.
The changing room was dim and hazy, the immortal's features slightly blurred. He dangled the garment, the red strings swaying with the motion.
Shuanglian's heart tightened in response, feeling like a little demon desecrating an immortal?
At that moment, Shuanglian glanced down at her feet and realized—the dress Nezha had casually tossed down for her to stand on was embroidered with lotuses.
The embroiderer was skilled; two red lotuses bloomed in water, elegant and refined, hibiscus rising from the depths.
Upon discovering she was stepping on lotuses, it felt like stepping on smooth pebbles in water—not uncomfortable, but making the soles of her feet itch, as if someone were tickling her.
Didn't Nezha find it offensive? She stole a glance through the mirror—Nezha's hand moved half an inch closer.
"Do you want it or not?" His voice was slightly hoarse. She couldn't tell if it was her imagination.
The fitting room was too cramped. Taking the undergarment, she inevitably brushed against Nezha's fingers.
The red string slid into her palm. Nezha curled his fingers, his pinky hooking the tail of the string.
But the Clam Spirit was too foolish—feeling resistance, she simply added more force and yanked the hooked string free.
Nezha: "…"
Shuanglian draped the undergarment over the wooden rack and lowered her head to untie her underrobe. Nezha stood behind her, and her fingers refused to cooperate, unable to undo the knots.
The instigator behind her had no sense of propriety, his eyes still fixed on her. Shuanglian's face burned red as she turned back to look at Nezha.
The Clam Spirit's pupils always held a watery sheen—Nezha couldn't tell if it was intentional or natural. She looked at him with such pitiful eyes that it made Nezha's heart itch.
He graciously decided to help, but the moment his hand reached out, the Clam Spirit flinched as if frightened, immediately pulling back and lowering her head to work on the buttons.
Nezha could only withdraw his hand, watching her agonizingly undo one button, then two, then three.
The Clam Spirit's skin was exposed, her left hand shyly grabbing the dress hem to barely cover the bare areas, while her other hand slowly worked on the remaining buttons.
Her posture was awkward, like she was undressing and dressing at the same time. When she undid the last button, Shuanglian's hand failed to hold the clothes together, and the skirt slipped down, exposing half of her body in an instant.
Bright and glaring.
The Clam Spirit was quick-handed, immediately grabbing the clothes to cover herself. She froze in place, straining her ears to listen for any movement from Nezha.
Did he see?
He didn't, right? Shuanglian heard no sound—the Third Prince was perfectly quiet. He probably wasn't paying attention to a little clam spirit.
With that, Shuanglian reassured herself. She decided to stop half-hiding and half-covering, planning to get it over with quickly.
Shuanglian set her dress aside, quickly slipped off her undergarment, and her skin met the cold air, raising goosebumps all over.
When she reached for the dress on the wooden rack, her hand grasped nothing.
The clothes were gone!
Panic-stricken, she searched around and turned to see the pearl-embroidered hem of her skirt hanging not far away. Looking up, she saw a hand holding it up brazenly.
Shuanglian was nearly in tears from being bullied. She looked at the person in the bronze mirror: "Third Prince Nezha, give me my clothes…"
The little clam spirit covered her chest with both arms, but it was futile. Covering one place, another was in danger.
Covering somewhere else—how could she manage?
"Third Prince, stop looking." Shuanglian could feel his gaze sweeping over every inch of her body, overcome with shame.
Nezha: "Why? I didn't cover my own eyes."
Ah. He was looking with his eyes. Saying "don't" with his mouth, but not covering his eyes—and he even dared to turn it around and blame her for being looked at.
He watched the clam spirit, his gaze following the curves downward. A clam spirit's body was different from his own—what he saw yesterday was right.
Soft to the eye, and beautiful to behold. If he pinched her, would she cry? Would she beg for mercy…
Nezha lowered his eyelids, paused for a breath, then let go, letting the dress fall to the ground. Following his instincts, he stepped toward her.
Through the bronze mirror, Shuanglian clearly saw his movements. The space of the changing room seemed even narrower now—narrow enough to hold only two people, not a single one more.
Stammering, she said: "Third Prince, I need to put on my clothes."
Nezha: "I know. I know how to dress. I'll help."
Shuanglian: "I can…"
"You can't." Nezha's eyes reflected in the bronze mirror. She hadn't even heard clearly what he said—he just wanted to help.
What he wanted, he would not be denied.
Such was the nature of the Spirit Pearl; at most, he had not stripped his flesh and cut his bones.
Shuanglian hated how clear the mirror was—so bright and transparent that she could see Nezha's gaze with perfect clarity.
The bronze mirror was pure, but Nezha's gaze was not.
A detached, desireless immortal would never show such a look. What was he going to do?
Third Prince Nezha had lived a thousand years, yet his body was that of a youth—never close to women, still a virgin.
A young male god of sixteen or seventeen, showing such a look—what could he do?