His movements actually didn’t hurt at all.
Mu Zhiming whispered in her heart, the smile at the corners of her lips growing even more pronounced.
That gasp just now was only to see his anxious expression.
Just like in today’s Sect Grand Competition, where she deliberately let the opponent’s Sword Qi land on her robe, dyeing her water-blue garments red.
Yes, the dozen or so newly added Sword Marks on her body now were all effects she had deliberately created.
If not for this, how would Ji Wangshu have taken the initiative to rush into her room, anxiously applying Healing Ointment for her like he was doing now?
She could also close her eyes and savor this familiar sensation of touch.
Ever since that evening by the Flower Garden, when she had closed her eyes and Ji Wangshu had quietly tied the Black Eye Veil behind her from behind, she had loved this feeling.
This feeling of closed eyes, pitch-black vision, no Sword in hand, no sense of security—as if she were adrift on an endless sea, yet without an oar in her hands.
The tides in the sea swayed gently with the moonlight and breeze, waves occasionally crashing against her on the boat—just like this moment, as she stretched out her legs, exposing her waist and abdomen, her skin tingling with faint sensations.
Ji Wangshu’s hands were somewhat rough, and occasionally his calluses would graze her soft skin, bringing a sensation she herself found hard to describe.
Like flowing water gliding over her body, yet not quite that light; like lightning-type Spiritual Energy surging through her veins, yet not quite that painful; like rose petals brushing past during a bath, yet not quite that soft.
This sensation was also a first for her, and she didn’t know who to confide in.
Because she was Mu Zhiming of the Immortal Sect—that Ice Sword Immortal, Mu Zhiming.
So all she could do was, ever since her legs went weak that day, let Ji Wangshu touch her body every so often, as if by accident.
When that familiar touch graced her body, she would instinctively close her eyes to intensify the sensation.
But she was, after all, Mu Zhiming—the Ice Sword Immortal, Mu Zhiming.
She enjoyed this feeling, yet she couldn’t take the initiative to tell Ji Wangshu. It was at moments like this that she realized her ever-present icy countenance had not only protected her, but also bound her.
This restraint prevented her from voicing her true thoughts, leaving her only to quietly use her Feather Fan as a stand-in for his large hand in the dead of night.
At the same time, Mu Zhiming also noticed that Ji Wangshu was always keeping his distance from her, as if by accident.
As if he were afraid something might be exposed, deliberately pulling away from her.
She didn’t know where this deep-seated worry of Ji Wangshu’s came from.
In the mortal world, he was her childhood friend; within the Immortal Sect, he was her person; in the Cultivation World, she was the Ice Sword Immortal Mu Zhiming, and her Sword would only ever strike at demons and fiends.
She couldn’t figure it out, only feeling that the fickleness of the human heart was dozens of times harder to grasp than sword techniques.
Because she couldn’t figure it out, and because she loved the feeling of Ji Wangshu touching her body, she had no choice but to do as she did today—deliberately letting herself get hurt.
That way, he would have no reason to run away.
With that thought, Mu Zhiming’s mind relaxed, her body naturally stretched out, and she unconsciously arched upward, just as Ji Wangshu’s fingertip pressed down.
“Mmm~”
In the darkness, a heavy sensation touched her waist, seemingly seeping into her body.
Mu Zhiming’s vermilion lips parted slightly, and a muffled low moan escaped her thin lips, carrying a hint of playfulness in her voice—a playfulness that didn’t seem like her at all.
“Does it hurt that much?!”
Ji Wangshu beside the Jade Bed said instinctively, his tone urgent.
By the dim light of the oil lamp flickering on the desk by the window, Ji Wangshu raised his eyes to look at her.
He saw Mu Zhiming pressing a pillow over her face, her expression unreadable. Through the gaps, he vaguely caught sight of fine beads of sweat trickling down where her Three Thousand Green Threads lay scattered on the bedsheet beside her jaw.
Seems I was too rough—I even made her sweat from the pain. Ji Wangshu thought to himself.
“Then I’ll go lighter, okay?” Ji Wangshu said softly.
Immediately, his movements grew gentler, the Healing Ointment on his fingers lessened, and the motions of his index and ring fingertips shifted slightly.
From the pressing of before, he changed to a rotating, circular motion, gently kneading.
For some reason, seeing his own actions, Ji Wangshu paused slightly after a moment of applying, then let out a soft chuckle.
Isn’t this the exact same motion Mu Zhiming used when applying medicine on him that day?
Like a feather brushing across the body.
“Mmm~”
Mu Zhiming covered her lips with the pillow, trying hard not to let any strange sounds escape, her fair, slender jade legs unconsciously pressing together.
This sensation… was even stranger than before.
Earlier, when Ji Wangshu had been pressing various parts of her body with his warm fingertips, she could still resist somewhat.
But now, with a feather-light sensation, he circled around one spot, warm and soothing; his long fingernails occasionally grazing her skin, cool and icy.
A sensation of ice and fire intertwined spread across her waist and abdomen, and even burying her face in the pillow couldn’t stifle the soft moans from her lips.
So Mu Zhiming revealed her pearly white teeth, gently biting her lower lip, her cheeks flushed crimson, her earlobes burning hot.
The first step for any cultivator is to know oneself, to memorize every acupoint and meridian on one’s body.
But today, she felt like she was getting to know her body for the first time.
So… my body is even more sensitive than I thought… Mu Zhiming mused inwardly.
Her thoughts were in chaos at this moment, as if she were adrift in the ocean, carried by the waves, letting Ji Wangshu take her wherever he pleased.
She also thought back to last night, to the second Drama Script Ji Wangshu had bought for her.
In it, the female lead, a Righteous Heavenly Pride, was so majestic when she cut down enemies with her Sword Flight—yet inside a cave, she was bound by the Demonic Male Lead with red ropes around her wrists, an Eye Veil over her eyes, a collar around her neck, at his complete mercy.
When she’d read it yesterday, she’d only thought the female lead was wanton by nature, too deeply indulged in the Yin-Yang Path, forgetting the very foundation of cultivation.
That was the only way she could have said those… those vulgar words she’d never even heard of before.
Now that the tables were turned on her, she suddenly understood a little.
Right now, Ji Wangshu was only applying medicine with his fingertip, and her body was already reacting like this…
If it ever truly came to… that kind of moment, she feared she’d be even more intoxicated than what the script described…
At that thought, Mu Zhiming bit down harder on her lower lip, and her ten lotus-like toes, still wrapped in Ice Silk Socks at the foot of the bed, curled up tightly, creasing the bedsheet.
Her left hand gripped the bedsheet, and her right hand unconsciously stretched toward the edge of the bed.
Thud!
The sound of a heavy object hitting the floor rang out, and the room immediately dimmed, leaving only a few strands of Moonlight.
“Are you okay?!”
Ji Wangshu stopped his movements, his expression flustered as he looked at Mu Zhiming.
The faint Moonlight could only illuminate the fair skin of the person before him, but not the face hidden beneath the pillow.
All he heard was Mu Zhiming speaking hurriedly: “I-I’m fine!”
Ji Wangshu felt like he detected some indescribable emotion in her voice, but the room was dim and he had no mind to dwell on it.
Huff!
He used his Spiritual Energy to cast an Illumination Spell, lighting up the room, and looked at Mu Zhiming again.
He saw her entire body glistening with a faint, fragrant sweat, dampening her silken hair and her robe alike. Her skin was white tinged with pink, like a lotus just emerging from the water.
Beneath the pillow, her jade teeth gently bit her lower lip, leaving a shallow mark and a faint trace of Blood; her cheeks flushed, her breathing rapid, carrying a hint of indescribable charm.
Ji Wangshu was momentarily stunned.
He had seen Mu Zhiming like this once before.
That day by the Moonlight garden, when her legs suddenly went weak and Ji Wangshu carried her in his arms to the Jade Bed.
Moonlight flowed quietly through the room, the Illumination Spell flickering on and off, as if revealing the thoughts of the one who cast it. Neither of them spoke, everything so still and peaceful.
“Chirp chirp~”
It wasn’t until a few cicada cries drifted over from beyond the Courtyard that Ji Wangshu snapped back to his senses.
He instinctively touched his nose, his expression flustered, picked up the oil lamp that had fallen on the floor, and let out two light coughs.
“Are… are you alright?”
Mu Zhiming on the Jade Bed, seeing him go still, thought something had happened to him, and so pulled the pillow up slightly, peeking at him through the gaps between her fingers.
A moment later, she realized what she was doing and laughed at herself—what could she even see clearly with her blurred vision?
A moment later, she swept her Spiritual Sense and sensed that Ji Wangshu’s Spiritual Energy was calm, nothing seemingly wrong, and only then did she breathe a sigh of relief.
“I’m fine. There are still a few spots I haven’t applied yet—let me finish those for you.”
Ji Wangshu dipped his fingertip in the medicine and began applying it once more.
One incense stick’s time later.
“Done. I’ll head out now. Get some rest—you still have a match tomorrow.”
Ji Wangshu scratched his head, wanting to say something profound, but finding no words, he settled for the usual words of comfort, like an elder from his past life.
“Mmm…“
On the Jade Bed, Mu Zhiming still hid her face behind the pillow, making it hard for Ji Wangshu to see her clearly, soft low sounds escaping her thin lips.
Seeing her still like this, Ji Wangshu, for some reason, thought back to the day when he himself had been treated.
He, too, had buried his face in a pillow that day, waves of tingling numbness surging through his body the whole time, leaving his cheeks flushed and his hands and feet at a loss.
Mu Zhiming right now looked exactly like him that day.
But the moment this thought entered his mind, Ji Wangshu laughed at himself.
How could that be? Woodhead couldn’t be like him—ticklish and easily moved.
He was definitely overthinking it.
Probably the Sword Wounds just hurt too much, and the girl couldn’t bear to cry out loud.
With that, he quietly closed the door and stepped outside.
“Phew…”
After he left, Mu Zhiming finally sat up, tidying her appearance and her disheveled Three Thousand Green Threads.
She looked at the bedding on the Jade Bed—at both the foot and the head of the bed, there were scattered creases, crooked and misshapen. She lifted the sheets with both hands, about to give them a shake to restore them.
Then Mu Zhiming froze in place, her cheeks flushing crimson once more.
There, in the middle of the bedsheet, faint Moonlight now fell.