The Clam Spirit was truly foolish—clothes in disarray, a dark patch of color on the chest undergarment, the lotus flower vivid red. The skirt was carelessly gathered at the waist, head tilted to one side, lips slightly parted, still sleeping.
Nezha kissed the lips he held between his own, rare gentleness in his movements, no force applied. Having taken his fill, he knelt on the bed, fingers sinking into the bend of the Clam Spirit's legs.
Feeling ticklish, the legs kicked out, but failed to push Nezha away—instead kicking off the covering quilt.
Nezha found it even more convenient. Drunk and bleary-eyed, the alcohol clouding his consciousness, his wicked nature remained unchanged, growing ever more intense.
He leaned down close to the Clam Spirit, a sheen of moisture from their kisses lingering on his thin lips. Where could Nezha possibly be thirsty? He just needed an excuse to do what he wanted to do.
He called out softly: "Shuanglian, little clam spirit, are you asleep?"
The Clam Spirit kept eyelids shut, breathing even.
Nezha moved gently, making no sound, slowly lowering his head to press a lip print through the fabric.
Bothersome. His heart raced, fingers deftly working the fabric aside. He knew this set of clothes better than the little clam spirit did—he had put every piece on with his own hands. Nezha figured that since he'd dressed the spirit, doing a good deed, of course he should also undress.
The great and benevolent Third Prince had done a tremendous good deed, and now came to the little clam spirit to collect his reward. He buried his head down, seeking to quench his parched thirst.
Nezha kissed, then kissed again, extending the tip of his tongue. The Clam Spirit was generous enough, obediently giving.
He couldn't help but grow heavier-handed, and the little clam spirit whimpered, groggily opening eyes.
Shuanglian was half-awake, half-dreaming.
Gazing at the bed canopy overhead, reaching up to grasp at it. The head was muddled, memories stopping at the Heavenly Peace Assembly.
At the assembly… the Queen Mother of the West had held their hand, asking what Nezha was like as a person. Shuanglian had stammered, managing only a single word: "Good." The purple-robed celestial maiden had hidden a smile behind her lips, teasing that "the little prince has grown up, learning to care for others."
There was none of that! Nezha was a wicked seed! He kissed until lips ached, like he hadn't eaten in a hundred years, biting and gnawing every time.
The Queen Mother had also said to keep an eye on Nezha, to make sure he didn't cause trouble. But Shuanglian was just a little clam spirit—how could they possibly watch over him? After that, Shuanglian couldn't remember clearly, only recalling the Celestial Peach the Queen Mother had personally picked.
The Celestial Peach was quite large, its fuzzy skin tickling as it brushed against them.
After peeling away the skin, fragrant peach juice lingered between lips and teeth—clear and sweet, making one unable to resist taking another bite.
Once the peach flesh went down, Shuanglian's whole body felt light and airy. Could it be they were about to ascend to immortality? Ascension wasn't an easy thing, yet it made the whole body feel wonderfully free, and yet also unbearable.
So unbearable… Shuanglian couldn't help but shed tears, a watery sheen blurring their vision, unable to see clearly. As an aquatic demon, their tears came more readily than others by nature.
About to ascend to immortality—surely that was a happy thing. A pleasure beyond control, feet seeming to tread on Auspicious Clouds, floating unsteadily, as if about to fall at any moment.
No, too high, afraid. Shuanglian's heels kicked against the bed mat, the words "Nezha" stuck in their throat. They wanted to cry out "Nezha, save me," but worried he'd laugh. That villain would most likely not only refuse to save them, but would push them from behind, lifting them up to the heavens, then shove them back down again.
But Nezha was the only wicked person Shuanglian knew. His good, his bad—either way, he could catch an innocent in his palm, dangling fingertips to tease.
The Clam Spirit could only open its shell, using it to clamp down on those fingertips. Who would have thought that Third Prince Nezha would take the opportunity to pry the shell open, bullying without restraint.
Even as they thought this, the clouds rose higher and higher.
The higher they went, the more afraid they became. Nerves taut, panting with tension, grabbing hold of Nezha's hand.
But Nezha didn't help at all—in fact, he really did push, and Shuanglian fell from the Immortal Realm, plummeting into the mortal world like spring water.
The poor little clam spirit was so frightened their whole body tensed up, small sobs escaping their throat, fingers pulling the bed curtain taut.
Trembling, vision gradually clearing.
So it was a dream after all…
Thoughts scattered, Shuanglian's skin tickled from the scraping, casting down watery eyes to see only Nezha's fuzzy head, focused intently on what he was doing.
Nezha's twin buns had completely come undone, long hair spilling across the bed, brushing against skin with a ticklish sensation.
No, no peaches!
Fully awake now. The body stiffened for a moment, toes curling.
Shuanglian didn't know if Nezha had noticed. The instant he lifted his head, Shuanglian quickly shut their eyes, pretending not to be awake.
But his movements stopped. Nezha's high-bridged nose was damp. He raised his head—Shuanglian couldn't see him, and felt a nameless fear, fingers clenching the bedding.
They were the one who'd just been bullied… yet now they trembled with dread. Having caught sight of the Third Prince's shameful secret, would the Third Prince kill them?
Nezha drew closer bit by bit, his breath spraying across Shuanglian's cheek, carrying the little clam spirit's own scent.
After a few breaths, their heartbeat was nearly leaping out of their throat.
But in the end, Nezha only told them in a hoarse, moist voice: "Little clam spirit, how strange. You're sweet everywhere?"
His index finger tapped against Shuanglian's lips: "Here too. Little clam spirit, why are you different from me?"
The Clam Spirit's lashes trembled, foolishly pretending to sleep. Nezha, catching them off guard, planted a loud smack of a kiss on their lips, and their body immediately went rigid, like a fish out of water.
Nezha laughed, a clear, ringing sound.
"Let me have a taste, how about it?" He deliberately lowered his voice, the youthful tone sounding by their ear. Ambiguous kisses on their earlobe, Shuanglian's heart racing faster than it could bear, struggling to leap from their chest.
Too much!
Eyes squeezed tightly shut. Nezha's long hair fell into the hollow of their neck as he sniffed around, the tip of his nose brushing against their jaw.
Nezha tilted his head, his brows and eyes shrouded in shadow, the distance between their lips and teeth close.
Shuanglian thought it was going to happen again. Why else would he be so close, the faint threads of lotus fragrance creeping into her hair strands?
One hand stroked her neck, mouth opening, making a preparatory motion. In the place she couldn't see, he was probably smiling, lips curving slightly upward, sharp little fangs faintly visible.
The Clam Spirit continued to feign sleep, chest rising and falling, breathing in disarray. With eyes closed, she could see nothing—only her hearing and sense of touch remained, waiting for him to continue speaking.
Nezha's eyes and expression were completely covered by shadow, his fingertip gently rubbing the pulse beneath the skin at the back of her neck.
He opened his mouth, not a single sound escaping, and bit directly into the Clam Spirit's neck.
Shuanglian cried out "Ah!" and hastily opened her eyes.
"Does it hurt?" Nezha mumbled, his mouth not letting go, teeth pressing firmly against her skin.
Biting—it was how young beasts confirmed intimacy. During the days and nights of cultivation on Mount Qianyuan, he had seen wild beast cubs gnawing at each other, not knowing their own strength, often injuring their companions.
Nezha wanted to try it. Like when he was young and someone blocked his path—he would just kill them to see what happened.
Her neck looked soft. He'd take a bite to try.
There were no consequences anyway.
Nezha gradually increased the pressure of his teeth, holding that small piece of skin between his jaws, tongue sweeping over it, as if he truly meant to devour her.
So weak. One bite could finish her.
The little Clam Spirit trembled in fear, no longer daring to feign sleep. Without the strength to push him away, she could only expose her neck, offering her fragile lifeline to the Third Prince's mouth.
She begged in a small voice: "Third Prince Nezha, let go…"
She didn't know when he would bite down, or when the next bite would come—whether it was a joke or he would truly tear her apart and eat her.
After all, Nezha was the vanguard who had fought his way out of the Western Qi battlefield—he knew best how to kill and hunt.
The Third Prince was already satisfied, gently brushing his lips against the teeth marks, licking the wound immediately after biting. "What a coward."
Nezha only acted this way with those he was close to, but a god of slaughter raised by humans was like a wolf that suddenly takes its owner's fingertip between its teeth during play.
A beast's pupils narrowed to thin lines—the precursor of excitement.
He showed that expression, yet in his heart he still innocently felt that he was merely expressing affection.
He could use a completely unconvincing lie to coax her, to trick her into believing she wouldn't be eaten.
—Really?
Lies.