A woman's soft moan echoed faintly from behind the closed wooden door. Inside, the copper lantern burned dimly, casting trembling shadows of two entwined figures beneath a thin blanket. The air was thick—warm, laced with the sweet mix of wine and sweat, lingering between their uneven breaths.
Yaohua leaned back against Mo Long's chest, her damp skin gleaming under the flickering light. Her red qipao lay crumpled on the floor beside Mo Long's tangled black hanfu. Her breathing was still ragged. Behind her, Mo Long's arms wrapped tightly around her slender waist, his chin resting on her smooth shoulder.
"Every time you say no," Mo Long whispered in her ear, his tone low and teasing, "you still end up back in my arms."
Yaohua let out a small huff, her lips curving into a faint, amused smile. "Your words… are deadly," she murmured, though the soft smile tugging at the corner of her lips betrayed her tone.
She turned around, her gaze meeting the deep onyx of Mo Long's eyes that shimmered under the dim glow. Her fingers brushed along his face, tracing the firm line of his jaw and chin. "How could a woman not be drawn to you?" she whispered. "Your looks, your strength… and that warmth in you that hides something dangerous."
Mo Long's only reply was a faint smile as his hand moved through her dark hair, slow and deliberate.
Yaohua's eyes lingered on his, searching deeper—as if trying to uncover the secret storm behind his calm pupils. "The more I look at you," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "the more I feel swept into something I can't explain. Your eyes… hide something vast, like an ocean holding back a tempest. And your face… always carries the will of someone born to conquer."
Mo Long chuckled softly. "I'm just a man who wants to climb to the top," he said lightly, though his gaze remained sharp.
Yaohua fell silent, then lowered her eyes. Her voice softened into a near whisper. "Ambition that burns too bright often leads to ruin," she murmured, as though speaking to herself. Memories of Haikun flashed through her mind—ambition, power, and the loss that followed close behind.
"That won't happen to me," Mo Long said firmly. He leaned down, grazing her ear with his teeth. Yaohua gasped softly, a small laugh escaping her lips.
"I still remember the day of the warrior qualification test," Yaohua said between light laughter. "I saw you from afar—effortlessly passing every obstacle. I knew then… you were different." Her lips curved into a fond smile. "And when you fought your brother, Mo Feng, I became curious. I followed you into that narrow alley in the city. You were fighting there—so calm, so deadly. It was…" she paused, her cheeks warming, "…mesmerizing."
She turned her face slightly, trying to hide the blush rising on her cheeks.
"Since then," she said with a half-bashful, half-laughing tone, "something foolish began to grow inside me… a longing for a strong man who could protect me. I even once had the insane idea—of giving you a charm potion."
"A charm potion?"
Yaohua giggled softly. "It's a potion that makes someone constantly think of its maker. Its effect and duration depend on the target's strength. The stronger the person, the shorter the effect lasts."
Mo Long narrowed his eyes, his tone lightly teasing. "Don't tell me… you already gave it to me?"
"No, of course not!" Yaohua blurted, her eyes widening in panic. She slapped his chest lightly. "I wouldn't dare! But if Haikun hadn't been in my life back then…" she chuckled faintly, "perhaps I would have, when you were unconscious."
Mo Long didn't laugh. His gaze turned sharp, expression suddenly serious.
"A potion that can alter someone's feelings…" he murmured. "Its effect sounds quite similar to Haikun's mind-control technique."
Yaohua's smile instantly faded. She turned sharply toward him, her expression startled. "How do you know about that?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Mo Long didn't answer. He simply held her gaze—steady and penetrating.
Yaohua took a deep breath, lowering her head. Her voice softened into a near-whisper, laced with regret.
"Long ago… I was the one who taught him that technique," she said slowly. "When we still lived at the inn. The owner was cruel—he often beat Haikun. I couldn't bear to see it, so I gave him the potion. It was meant only to calm the man's heart by subtly influencing his mind."
Her eyes grew distant as she stared at the flickering lantern light. "From that day on, Haikun mixed the potion into the innkeeper's drink every night. At first, it was just to survive… but little by little, he began to enjoy it. Foolish me—I realized too late. When he became a Taoist, he must have refined that potion into something greater… something that could control qi warriors and force them to kill the men who came close to me."
She covered her face with both hands. Her voice broke into a faint whisper.
"It all started… with me."
Mo Long said nothing. He simply wrapped his arms around her from behind, holding her close. His eyes, however, grew cold—contemplative—caught somewhere between sympathy, fascination… and calculation.
Lowering his head to the curve of her neck, he brushed his lips along her smooth skin, leaving a trail of small, deliberate kisses across her shoulder.
"How could a qi-healer know of a potion like that?" Mo Long's low voice murmured against her ear—soft, yet edged with suspicion.
"And how is it that you possess both poison qi and a sound-based technique?" he continued. "You may seem like a simple woman to everyone else, Yaohua… but the more I come to know you, the more surprises you hide."
His questions came in waves—each one accompanied by a trail of light kisses that moved from her neck to her shoulder, making Yaohua tense and giggle softly. She laughed breathlessly, trying to push away his increasingly mischievous hands.
"You really don't know when to stop, do you…"
Turning around, she nestled back into his chest. Her gaze wandered to the ceiling before she began to speak—her voice soft, yet heavy with buried pain.
"My father was a member of the Gu Clan—the Clan of Dark Poison. And my mother… was from the Demon Echo Clan."
"Their love was never accepted," Yaohua continued. "My father was the Gu Clan's main heir. He was supposed to marry a woman of pure poison blood. But he fell in love with my mother—a woman whose voice could enchant souls. They fled to Long Ya, far from the heart of the Heavenly Demon Cult."
Her tone trembled as she went on. "My mother died giving birth to me. My father was convinced his family poisoned her… and the day I joined the Demon Corps, he left to take revenge."
She drew a long breath, her eyes empty. "Of course… he never came back."
Silence filled the room. Mo Long said nothing, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded lines along her arm.
The quiet stretched—almost too long—until Yaohua gave a small, awkward smile. She turned to face him. "Enough about the past," she said quickly, trying to lighten the air.
She tapped his chest lightly with a playful grin. "Now it's my turn to ask. How are you that strong? Even without your sword, you defeated me so easily."
Her tone softened, but her curiosity was clear. "When I saw you fighting your brother, and again when we crossed blades… your movements were so precise. Your qi flowed perfectly—deadly, yet never excessive—as if you could read every step your opponent was about to make."
Mo Long didn't answer right away. A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
Yaohua huffed, then brushed a soft kiss under his chin before her fingers slid teasingly along his neck. "Tell me, boy," she said, her voice playful but sharp, "how could I—a Peak Realm warrior with years of battle experience—get humiliated by you, a half-recovered young Expert?"
Mo Long met her gaze quietly. Then, without a word, he took her hands. He guided her right palm to his forehead, and her left to the space below his navel.
"Feel it," he said softly.
Yaohua frowned. "Feel what?"
"The flow of my qi." His tone was calm, almost indifferent.
She closed her eyes, letting her consciousness follow the stream of energy from her palms. Then, suddenly—her body stiffened. Her eyes flew open wide, pupils dilating, breath catching in her throat.
"This… what…?" she stammered. "How can you have three dantians?"
Mo Long merely shrugged, his tone lazy, almost mocking. "Who knows?"
Yaohua couldn't contain her rising astonishment.
"I've only ever heard of one person like this," she said excitedly. "A name that once echoed across all of Jianghu—the genius known as the Orthodox Hero, Guang Lian. But even he only had two dantians!"
Her eyes shone as she stared at Mo Long. "With three dantians… you could surpass anyone! Even him!"
Mo Long chuckled softly, one corner of his lips lifting. "Oh, really?" he said lazily. "Then tell me… who do you think is more handsome—me, or him?"
Yaohua blinked, caught between amusement and confusion. "You…" she started, but then stopped mid-sentence. Her brow furrowed slowly. "Wait. I never told you I'd met Guang Lian."
Mo Long's smile stayed calm, but his eyes flickered with caution. "During the Wudang assault, you met him," he replied smoothly. "You told me yourself about that battle."
"Yes, I did," Yaohua said slowly, "but I never mentioned his name."
A heavy silence fell between them. Yaohua's gaze sharpened as she studied his face intently—probing, searching, peeling away the calm mask he wore.
Inside, Mo Long cursed coldly to himself. 'Damn. I spoke too much.'
Before her suspicion could deepen, he moved. His lips closed over hers, silencing her with sudden force.
Yaohua stiffened in shock—but only for a moment. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and all the questions spinning in her mind dissolved into the heat of that kiss.
It was deep, consuming, intoxicating. Their breaths mingled in the dim air, bodies molding together in a rhythm that made time seem to stop. Yaohua's fingers clutched his shoulders tightly, while Mo Long's hands traced the lines of her back, every touch pulling another breathless sound from her lips.
Yet amid the burning closeness, Mo Long's eyes suddenly snapped open. The softness in them vanished—replaced by sharp, predatory focus.
He broke the kiss, his body going rigid.
"Someone's coming," he whispered quickly.
Yaohua barely had time to react before Mo Long leapt from the bed. His movements were swift, soundless. He threw on his black hanfu haphazardly—just enough to cover his lower body—then reached for the sword propped beside the mattress.
Shhhk!
The blade slid halfway from its sheath, releasing a faint hum as a ripple of Shadow Qi surged through the air, making the lantern flame shudder violently.
CRACK!!!
The door exploded into splinters! Shards of wood flew across the room as the deafening crash tore through the night.
Two swords clashed in midair—clang!—a burst of sparks illuminated the room, followed by a blast of qi that sent the bed curtains billowing like storm clouds.
Yaohua gasped, clutching the blanket to her chest. "Mo Long!"
Mo Long pushed his opponent back, stepping lightly on the wooden floor. His eyes locked onto the intruder now standing in the doorway—a burly man with a wild, black beard and eyes glowing crimson. His expression was vacant, his body emanating a dark, corrupted qi that thickened the air with malevolence.
From outside, a desperate shout broke through the chaos—Hu Wei's voice, strained and panicked:
"YOUNG MASTER!!"