Nezha loosened his grip, and Shuanglian was finally able to pull her leg back.
No need to look—it was definitely bruised red. In her previous life, Shuanglian had been an honest, well-behaved high school student, buried in her studies, without the courage for romance.
Even in places she wouldn't dare touch too hard during her daily baths, she'd been roughed up until they turned red by this brute, leaving her with nothing to do but swallow her grievances and let tears fall.
Yet the brute before her, Nezha, was utterly clueless, incapable of understanding her grievance.
Shuanglian swallowed her bitterness and reached out to untie the sash at Nezha's waist.
Nezha had a good body—the lines of a youth, youthful and smooth, neither too thin nor overly muscular.
But the strength that body could unleash was truly outrageous. Just now he'd been fierce and urgent, slamming her so hard her head nearly hit the headboard. At the last moment, Nezha had grabbed her waist and pulled her back.
Shuanglian's heart still raced with lingering fear, her fingers trembling as she worked at the sash. Before transmigrating, when had she ever been this close to a man who looked her age?
Nezha's breathing sounded above her head—it would be a lie to say she wasn't nervous. It took considerable effort before she finally got it undone.
The sash fell open, the lower garments slipped apart, revealing the V-line of his hips extending down into the fabric.
Shuanglian didn't dare look, keeping her head low, leaving Nezha with nothing but the sight of her dark hair.
Before transmigrating, the Nezha she remembered from animations and TV dramas was a half-grown boy.
Now she realized—there was nothing boyish about him at all. He was clearly a grown man.
The deity of her childhood had grown up. Shuanglian was still in a daze when Nezha, utterly unashamed, gave a slight thrust of his lean young hips and asked, "Is it pretty?"
He was actually proud of it.
She was terrified from the bottom of her heart. Her hands were soft—she'd spent her life reading and writing, never doing heavy labor, so her palms weren't large. One hand alone struggled; she had to use both.
Not daring to look directly, she gritted her teeth, enduring the heat without a sound.
Nezha turned her face back toward him. "I'm asking you."
"…It's pretty." The Little Clam Spirit's voice was barely a whisper. Nezha heard it anyway.
Pleased by the compliment, the youth's spirits soared, his heat and restlessness hard to suppress as he pressed against her. Shuanglian had no choice but to help him. "Don't move. I… I'm ready."
The moment Shuanglian touched him, his face flushed red, his beautiful eyes half-lidded. In moments like these, Nezha was unexpectedly docile, holding Shuanglian close, burying his head in the crook of her neck, his long hair falling across her chest.
Since ascending to the heavens, Nezha had been the most handsome male deity in the Three Realms—beautiful as a maiden, his body frozen at sixteen or seventeen, most appealing to the opposite sex. Unfortunately, his murderous aura was too fierce; no one dared approach.
Now, having found pleasure, all his ferocity receded, his features shining like a pearl wiped clean of dust, radiant and dazzling. The honest Clam Spirit from the deep sea, seeing such a sight for the first time, swallowed hard and devoted herself wholeheartedly to helping the Third Prince.
Nezha said nothing, falling suddenly quiet. The rich scent of lotus wrapped around Shuanglian in layers.
He nuzzled against the hollow of her neck, his warm, moist breath scattering across her skin.
At first, Nezha managed to stay silent. Then his lips parted slightly, suppressed gasps spilling into her ear.
His voice was naturally clear and bright, but now it seemed soaked with water yet parched for it—his breathing hot and damp, his voice low and husky.
Nezha couldn't understand his own reaction, so he simply held her tighter, both arms wrapping around as if to crush her into his chest. It felt good—so good it sent him to the heavens. His palm covered Shuanglian's hand, and his freed lips and teeth sometimes bit, sometimes spoke.
"Your hands are so small, I love it, so soft, Little Clam Spirit, good Shuanglian… Good sister… you're driving me crazy…"
Nezha's mouth never stopped, full of reckless words, calling her "good sister" and "good little sister." His fuzzy head nuzzled around, half-open lips pressing against her skin, the tip of his tongue curling around a few strands of her hair, which he deliberately nipped. Only when Shuanglian cried out "that hurts" did he let go.
Shuanglian was flustered by Nezha's antics. When she occasionally tightened her grip, a muffled groan escaped Nezha's throat, and he lowered his head to bite at her neck, as if venting frustration. Yet it was like a young beast being affectionate, unable to gauge its own strength, possibly hurting its keeper.
"Shuanglian, Little Clam Spirit, you've drugged me… I love it, relax a little, your hands are so small?" Still unsatisfied, he coaxed and wheedled, "From now on, these hands are only for me, okay? Whatever you want from the heavens, I'll pluck it for you—stars, moons, all of them."
Compared to usual, Nezha was absurdly well-behaved, because deep down he knew Shuanglian could give him candy, so he'd learned to be good.
But Shuanglian was deceived by the obedience he displayed. She didn't dare teach him too much, afraid he'd learn bad habits, afraid he'd get even more excited. Surely this level of guidance wouldn't turn him bad, would it?
Her mind was too simple, forgetting the consequences of such actions. When Nezha caused trouble, his master indulged him, giving him rewards. Grown up now, his personality was unbridled, with no one to restrain him.
When Nezha bullied her, she only yielded, only endured, even going so far as to give him rewards. Unknowingly, she'd become a villain aiding the tyrant—extending her fingertips to feed him, offering her body to feed the demon.
The demon king temporarily sheathed his fangs, clinging to her stickily. Shuanglian couldn't help but push at him, her tense body relaxing as he buried his head deep into the hollow of her neck, not lifting it for a long time.
Shuanglian foolishly thought it was over, the boulder in her heart finally dropping. "Done."
Nezha's expression was hidden in shadow, invisible to her. All she could hear was his breathing, slowing from rapid to calm.
She thought Nezha had settled down. He leaned against her neck, eyes opening.
Youthful nature, vitality astonishingly abundant—once having tasted the flavor, he knew no satiety.
Nezha said, "One more time."
Having tasted it, he wanted more.
Shuanglian was dumbfounded, palms burning, fingers weak and sore. Her heart pounded violently as she realized something was wrong. Not satisfied?
A sense of unease enveloped Shuanglian. Guanyin Bodhisattva, Buddha Ruyi—had she done something wrong?
Time didn't allow Shuanglian to think deeply. There was no room for refusal.
…Well, since it had already started, doing it once more wouldn't make a difference.
She gave in. Nezha's lips, hidden in the shadows, curled upward.
See. She knew that no matter what she did, she would agree.
Cast away the memories of Chentang Pass—no matter what she did, the whole world would make way for her.
Nezha narrowed her eyes, obediently hiding her mischievous expression. This time could be longer, more intense.
The Little Clam Spirit endured her shame and continued. She thought it would be over soon—just finish and it'd be done.
Her thoughts condensed into spider silk, flowing through her fingertips, sticky and tangled as they slid down.
Nezha suddenly kissed her, fingers pressing against her chin, forcing her mouth to open wider. The kiss was too deep, reaching into the depths of her throat.
Shuanglian breathed clumsily, struggling for air from lack of oxygen, letting out helpless whimpers.
Her mind was hazy. This time lasted longer than the last. When Nezha finally released her, having tasted the sweetness, she couldn't stop.
She said: "I want—"
Before she could finish, Nezha grabbed her hand and began again.
Shuanglian's regret came too late. The Nezha who stirred the sea was suppressed by the Treasure Pagoda, but who could suppress the Nezha she had fed and raised?
She could only keep feeding.
Feed her a piece of flesh, and she'd grow a little bigger. Until one day she'd grow big enough to devour her whole—and by then, begging for mercy would be useless. Nezha would only smile and say: "Didn't you teach me this?"
You didn't push me away, so why can't I?
Anyway, last time was the same—you agreed. So next time, I can ask for a little more, a little more, a little more.
Delicious. I want to eat it bite by bite.
Appetite and desire share the same root; it's human nature. Humans shackle their instincts, but Nezha, made of lotus, knew nothing of man and woman, knew nothing of precepts and rules—she only knew not to go hungry.
The next day, the room was filled with the fragrance of lotus. Shuanglian and Nezha slept past noon.
Muzha and Guanyin were gone. Shuanglian changed into new clothes and, accompanied by Nezha, strolled through Chang'an city.
The West Gate Street of Chang'an was especially lively. A fortune-teller sat upright among the crowd, a sign beside him bearing his name: "Yuan Shouchang."
Shuanglian pushed through the crowd. Wasn't this the Yuan Shouchang who had bet with the Dragon King?
He was said to be divinely insightful, knowing all things. Curious, Shuanglian slapped the money Nezha had given her onto Yuan Shouchang's table and said, "Sir, tell my fortune."
Yuan Shouchang smiled. "A stranger in a strange land—you have a fine marriage ahead."
Shuanglian's mind was entirely occupied by "a stranger in a strange land." Her face paled for an instant. She quickly stood up, hurried into the crowd, and rushed to the next stall.
Nezha walked more slowly. She approached Yuan Shouchang, standing one table's distance away, and gave a slight nod. Her voice was low enough that only the two of them could hear: "Send my regards to the Bodhisattva."
Yuan Shouchang didn't take up that thread. He smiled and said, "Young sir, shall I tell yours?"