Mo returned to the small courtyard once more, meeting with Li Hai Mo, Xiao Meng, and the others. He recounted the behavior of Han Fei's group in detail before relaying Han Fei's message.
Xiao Meng turned to Li Hai Mo, curious about his thoughts.
"Why bother meeting him? Xue Nu knows him better—let her handle it," Li Hai Mo said.
They'd already crossed paths at Little Sage Villa, and besides, they weren't at his beck and call. Right now, Han Fei held the titles of Han's Sikou and Ninth Young Master, not the disciple of Confucian Xun Zi. Neither position warranted Xiao Meng going to see him; if anything, Han Fei should come to them personally.
"I'm not that close to him!" Xue Nu denied it outright. What do you mean I know Han Fei well? I'm closer to Mister Yan Lu, and I turned him down flat. Han Fei's nowhere near that level.
Back at the Sikou residence, Han Fei sat with Wei Zhuang and the others, waiting for someone from Daoism to arrive.
"Aren't you forgetting something?" Zi Nu asked, looking at Han Fei.
Han Fei paused, then asked, "What?"
"Master Xiao Meng is the leader of Daoism's Heaven Sect. Do you really think you're qualified right now to have the head of one of the Hundred Schools come see you? Remember, when your teacher Xun Zi met King Zhao of Qin back then, it was the king himself who extended the invitation—and even welcomed him personally at Hangu Pass," Zi Nu pointed out.
"I know that, which is why I never expected Uncle Master Xiao Meng to come. But they'll send Miss Xue Nu instead," Han Fei replied confidently.
Compared to the worldly-detached Uncle Master Xiao Meng, he figured the naive Xue Nu would be easier to coax information from. What he didn't know was that Xue Nu's mind was fully occupied with craving her master's body—she had no time for him.
The group waited bitterly until dawn, but no one showed up.
"So this is your idea of Xue Nu coming?" Wei Zhuang said coldly. Why play these little tricks? Couldn't you just request a proper meeting? Now we've all wasted the night playing the fool with you. And worst of all, I've been standing by the window all this time, sword in hand, posing—my legs are numb, and the draft is freezing.
"That doesn't make sense. They know I'm looking for them about something important. Even if they don't come themselves, they'd send someone," Han Fei said, still refusing to believe it.
"The fact is, no one came!" Zi Nu struck him down mercilessly.
Yan Ling Ji approached him, spirit fire hairpin in hand, clearly on the verge of exploding. She'd been counting on this to find that person who meant so much to her, and now Han Fei's plan had ruined it. Others might hesitate to lay a hand on him, but not her!
"Don't go too hard on him!" Zi Nu decided not to intervene, turning to head back to her room for some sleep.
Zhang Liang also stood to take his leave and catch up on rest. He'd had an inexplicable faith in Han Fei, but now even he thought scheming against Daoism was overreaching. Their recent moves showed they weren't the reclusive, nature-emulating ascetics the world imagined—they were quite adept at stirring up trouble when they wanted.
"Don't hit the face—he relies on it for a living," Wei Zhuang reminded her, then left with his sword in arms. The implication was clear: Make sure to hit the face; he uses it to deceive people!
"Miss Nong Yu!" Han Fei pleaded, turning to the only one left.
"The sun's really bright today," Nong Yu said as she walked away. Doesn't he know sleep is a woman's best beauty treatment? He made me waste a whole night for nothing.
Han Fei glanced out the window. It's raining right now—where's the sun?
"Relax, they won't hear your screams," Yan Ling Ji said seductively, but her aura was so chilling that even her flames turned cold.
Han Fei didn't let out a single cry, though—his mouth had been sealed shut. Yan Ling Ji's strikes were infused with allure, but for the beaten Han Fei, it was an experience he never wanted to repeat. And the one doing the beating? It was Wu Shuang Gui. Pinned to the ground by him meant face-first friction against the floor. The Reverse Scale Sword Spirit emerged, glanced at them, and promptly left.
"He's holding up that well? Not a sound!" Wei Zhuang peered toward Han Fei's room, surprised. Wu Shuang Gui had gone in—how could it be so quiet? Don't ask how I know he went in; let's just say I was peeking.
Though Zi Nu had returned to her room, she knew Yan Ling Ji wouldn't kill him. Still, the complete lack of noise was odd.
Nong Yu genuinely didn't care. Han Fei's habit of dancing on the edge of death didn't surprise her one bit—Wei Zhuang had held back multiple times, but now he'd finally met his match.
"Don't try to calculate everything. Some things might seem unimportant to you, but they mean the world to others," Yan Ling Ji said coldly, signaling Wu Shuang Gui to stop.
Han Fei had no thoughts left; his whole body ached as he lay sprawled on the floor, too sore to move. No bones were broken, but that made it hurt even more—every muscle had been thoroughly pummeled. As for his face, he didn't dare check, especially after Wei Zhuang's "reminder"—it had gotten special treatment.
"You know, in Bai Yue, there's an animal called the iron-eating beast. It's all black and white, especially its face—black around the eyes and nose, white everywhere else. So cute. I've decided to turn you into one of those adorable iron-eating beasts," Han Fei recalled Yan Ling Ji saying before she struck, all charm and allure. But those two punches were swift—sequential, yet he felt them as one burst of pain.
"Aren't you Central Plains folk fond of saying men shed blood, not tears? Let me share a secret: hit here, and anyone will cry," Yan Ling Ji had said, landing a punch on his nose. Mouth sealed, Han Fei's tears flowed unbidden—it was a persistent, burning agony.
"In Bai Yue, they say dimples are love marks left from your past life for this one. You don't have any—guess you didn't love anyone back then," she'd continued, targeting his cheeks. They swelled visibly, forming dimples.
"The left one's a bit higher—ruins the balance. Need to even out the right a little," she added.
"Master says you're the smartest in Han, and you claim ninety-nine parts of the Seven Kingdoms' world for yourself. You know, in Bai Yue, people like that need to show their prominent horns."
So Han Fei's forehead took two resounding flicks, truly making his head and horns prominent.
"Oops, my hand slipped—the placement's off. Better make them bigger to straighten it out."
Yan Ling Ji had delivered each line in a sweet, dripping tone, her movements full of seduction, but the force was spot-on brutal. And so, a fresh pig head was born. Yan Ling Ji's control was masterful: aside from the two purple-black panda eyes, everything else was uniformly pink and swollen. She'd even crafted actual dimples and two protruding little horns on his forehead. Only then did she hand him over to Wu Shuang Gui for a full-body "massage."
When Wei Zhuang and the other two saw Han Fei's appearance, they were stunned at first, double-checking it was him—mostly from his clothes, since even his speech was slurred with a thick tongue. Then it hit them as hilariously absurd: two horns on top, purple panda eyes, little dimples, all on tender pink skin. It was comically festive.
Wei Zhuang thought, My persona is the cool, stoic heartthrob—I can't laugh. I don't laugh under normal circumstances... unless I really can't hold it in. So he entered, then exited, bursting into laughter outside. He came back in with a straight face, only to leave again in fits. After three or four rounds, he finally stood by the window, sword in arms, silent and stoic once more. He avoided looking at Han Fei to prevent another outburst.
"I'm more curious how she managed to punch out dimples," Zi Nu said. She'd expected to feel sorry for him, but seeing his look, she burst out laughing—couldn't hold it.
"Head and horns prominent!" Wei Zhuang uttered the four words. Han Fei shuddered at them, making his muscles ache even more.
"I'm even more curious about the meaning behind those purple-black eye circles. And how did she get that tender pink skin?" Nong Yu sat in front of Han Fei, examining him closely.
Hong Lian arrived. Spotting Wei Zhuang by the window first, she pretended to ask, "Wei Zhuang, have you seen this princess's ninth brother?" But her eyes never left Wei Zhuang, completely overlooking where Han Fei was.
Wei Zhuang, sword in arms, coolly pointed at Han Fei. Suave and handsome, that's me, he thought.
Hong Lian followed his finger but didn't see her ninth brother. Instead, there was this pig head—who was that? A new Liu Sha member? Looked so comically cheerful.
"Are you a new Liu Sha member?" Hong Lian scampered over, sitting beside Nong Yu and even poking at his tender dimples with her finger.
"Don' touch my dog pot," Han Fei dodged her finger, but the movement aggravated his muscles, sending waves of pain.
"What did you say?" Hong Lian hadn't caught it. She took a closer look at his clothes and asked cautiously, "Why are you wearing my ninth brother's clothes?"
"He's the Ninth Young Master," Nong Yu answered for him, also stopping Hong Lian's prodding.
Hong Lian's eyes widened in disbelief—this was her ninth brother? But how had he gotten that tender pink hue? It was rosier than a baby's.
"Ninth Brother, how'd you get this tender pink color?" Hong Lian asked.
Han Fei thought, I don't have a sister like you. I've been beaten to a pulp, and you're asking about the color of the swelling? And what was with Zi Nu and Nong Yu's looks—they seemed genuinely interested too. Despite the soft pink appearance, to Han Fei, it felt scorching hot, like it could burst at a touch.
"You want some too?" Yan Ling Ji entered, twirling her spirit fire hairpin.
Hong Lian, Nong Yu, and Zi Nu nodded subconsciously—then shook their heads furiously. It looked amusing, but it had to hurt like hell.
"Brother Wei Zhuang, where's the Ninth Young Master?" Zhang Liang arrived next, spotting Han Fei but hesitant to confirm. Just one day apart, and he's like this? His gaze shifted to Yan Ling Ji. That lady sure knows how to play.
From Nong Yu, Hong Lian learned it was Yan Ling Ji's handiwork. A natural enemy vibe surged in her—she wanted to charge over and demand why she'd gone so hard on her brother. But Yan Ling Ji's intrigued glance stopped her cold.
Yan Ling Ji eyed her provocatively, wondering what a matching pair of iron-eating beast siblings would look like.
Hong Lian clammed up instantly. She hadn't forgotten the feeling of being pinned and rubbed into the ground, and with her ninth brother's live exhibit right there, she wanted no part of it. Sorry, Ninth Brother—I'm out.
_
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