Night at Jiaoyue Peak came slowly.
Shen Mo stood under the corridor, watching the last sliver of daylight sink into the sea of clouds over West Mountain.
Dusk washed over the tiered palaces, turning the upturned eaves into deep indigo silhouettes.
Seven years. He had walked every corner of this peak countless times; even with his eyes closed, he could count which blue bricks had cracks and which month the old plum trees would bloom.
“Lord, dinner is ready,” a young maid’s voice called from behind him.
He did not turn around. “Keep it warm for now. I am going to the Sutra Depository to check this month’s records.”
“Yes.”
The footsteps faded away. Shen Mo pulled his sleeves together and walked east along the corridor.
When he married into Jiaoyue Peak seven years ago, he was still an ignorant youth.
In this female-dominated world, it was a man’s best destiny to marry, follow his wife, and live a dutiful life.
His wife, Su Wan’er, was the Lord of Jiaoyue Peak and a Nascent Soul cultivator. She held a fair amount of fame within a thousand-mile radius.
She did not treat him particularly well, but she did not treat him poorly either.
On their wedding night, she had told him in the bridal chamber: “I am a cultivator; I do not value romantic sentiment. If you guard this peak for me, I will protect your peace for a lifetime.”
Shen Mo had nodded and agreed.
Back then, he did not understand that a “lifetime of peace” would be spent like this.
In those seven years, the total time she spent on the peak added up to less than three months.
At first, she was in seclusion, year after year. Later, she went out to travel and was gone for two years at a time.
The peak’s affairs, large and small, fell onto his shoulders—the disciples’ lessons, the harvest of the spirit fields, the inventory of the storehouse, and the social obligations between the various peaks.
He learned how to read ledgers, how to distribute elixirs, and how to bow neither humbly nor arrogantly under the mocking gazes of female cultivators before retreating as if nothing were wrong.
Everyone on Jiaoyue Peak called him “Lord.”
The new young disciples whispered among themselves, saying that this Lord was handsome, had a good temperament, and handled matters thoroughly. He was truly a rare, virtuous man.
He had overheard them, but he only smiled.
Virtuous.
In this female-dominated world, those two words were the highest praise a man could receive.
The Sutra Depository was located in the third courtyard, and at this hour, it was empty.
Shen Mo lit a lamp and began registering the newly received texts one by one.
The flame flickered, casting swaying shadows against the bookshelves. As he turned to the third volume, footsteps suddenly echoed from outside.
They were light, but the stride was steady and powerful—a cultivator.
He set down his brush and stood to straighten his robes.
The door was pushed open, and moonlight flooded in, illuminating a slender figure.
“Lord.” The person cupped their hands in greeting. It was a deacon disciple of the peak. “Someone has come from Yunyin Mountain. They say they are here… to deliver a congratulatory gift to you.”
Shen Mo was startled. “To me?”
“Yes.” The disciple kept her eyes down, not daring to look at him. “The one who arrived is the Master of Yunyin Mountain, the Female Sovereign Yun He.”
The wolf-hair brush slipped from his hand, landing in the inkstone and splashing a small dot of ink.
Female Sovereign Yun He.
Su Wan’er’s Honored Teacher.
A Deity Transformation cultivator, the leader of Yunyin Mountain, and a figure of high standing in the entire East Continent.
She had visited Jiaoyue Peak a few times. Each time, Su Wan’er had asked her to “look after” him.
She would come to sit for a while, asking if the peak had any difficulties or lacked anything.
She did not say much, but whenever those eyes looked at him, they always made a chill run down Shen Mo’s spine.
It wasn’t malice.
It was something else.
He couldn’t put it into words. He didn’t dare think about it.
“Please invite the Female Sovereign to the main hall for tea,” Shen Mo said, looking down as he picked up the brush and wiped it clean with a handkerchief. “I will be there shortly.”
“Yes.”
The disciple withdrew.
Shen Mo stood by the lamp for a moment and reached up to touch his face—it was a bit cold. He tucked his hands into his sleeves and slowly walked out of the Sutra Depository.
The main hall was brightly lit.
Female Sovereign Yun He sat in the seat of honor, holding a teacup and sipping slowly.
Today, she wore a set of black Daoist robes, her dark hair tied up high, revealing a cold and sharp face.
In terms of appearance, she was even more striking than Su Wan’er, but there was always an indescribable meaning in her eyes—like a deep pool, like an ancient well, like a place where you would never know what was hidden beneath.
Shen Mo stepped through the door and bowed. “Greetings, Female Sovereign.”
“Rise.”
Her voice was not loud, but it made one unable to even think of disobeying.
Shen Mo straightened up and stood in place, waiting for her to speak.
She set down the teacup, studied him for a moment, and suddenly chuckled. “It has been seven years. How are you still like this?”
Shen Mo did not know how to respond.
She didn’t expect him to answer, merely jerking her chin slightly. “Sit.”
Shen Mo sat in the lower seat, his eyes lowered, waiting for her to get to the point.
“Wan’er asked me to look after you before she went into seclusion, and I have kept it in mind,” she said slowly. “I came today to give you a congratulatory gift.”
A congratulatory gift?
Shen Mo looked up.
She clapped her hands, and two female disciples from Yunyin Mountain entered, carrying a red-lacquered wooden chest.
The chest was not large, tied with a bright red silk ribbon that looked eye-searingly bright under the lamplight.
“You have been married for seven years, and Wan’er has been in seclusion for seven years. Counting it up, the days you have spent in an empty room have not been short.” Yun He’s voice was airy. “This gift is a small token of my heart as her Honored Teacher.”
The two disciples placed the chest in front of Shen Mo, bowed, and retreated.
Shen Mo looked at the chest and did not move.
“Open it and see,” Yun He said.
Shen Mo reached out. When his fingertips touched the red silk, he paused for an inexplicable second.
The silk was untied, and the chest was opened.
Inside was a palm-sized Bronze Censer. The body of the censer was carved with figures of a man and woman entwined; the lines were intricate and their poses seductive.
A small piece of unburnt incense lay inside, dark red in color like dried blood.
Shen Mo was stunned.
In the next instant, a faint, lingering fragrance drifted into his nose.
The scent was extremely subtle, but it was like a living thing, boring its way inside with his every breath.
His head buzzed, and something deep within his body slowly began to awaken.
Aphrodisiac Incense.
This was Aphrodisiac Incense.
Shen Mo jerked his head up and met Female Sovereign Yun He’s eyes. At some point, she had already stood up and was looking down at him from above, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips.
“You recognize it?” she asked.
Shen Mo’s throat tightened; he couldn’t speak.
She reached out, and with a light flick of her finger, the incense caught fire.
The blue smoke curled, spreading silently.
Shen Mo’s body began to soften.
He wanted to flee, but his legs felt as if they had taken root; he couldn’t move a single step. The fragrance grew stronger, seeping into his very bones, burning him with a sense of panic and heat.
“Seven years,” Yun He’s voice sounded in his ear, terrifyingly close. “You guard this peak for her, guard those disciples, and guard an empty cave dwelling. Has she ever asked you once if you can sleep at night?”
A hand lifted his chin.
Shen Mo was forced to look at her face.
The lamplight danced in her eyes like an unquenchable wildfire.
“Don’t you want to taste true pleasure?”
Her fingertips landed on his belt.
Shen Mo’s entire body trembled. He suddenly reached out and grabbed her wrist. That hand shook violently, but he refused to let go.
“Female Sovereign… you mustn’t.” His voice was hoarse, as if squeezed from the depths of his throat. “I am… I am your beloved disciple’s husband…”
Yun He looked down at the hand gripping her wrist, a flash of amusement in her eyes. She did not pull away but instead leaned in slightly, bringing her lips close to his ear.
“Wan’er’s husband?” She chuckled softly, her breath brushing against his burning earlobe. “Then do you know that your ‘good wife’ has made zero progress in her cultivation in recent years, while the peak’s resources have been exhausted in vain?”
Shen Mo’s fingers stiffened.
“Jiaoyue Peak’s ranking among the Sixteen Peaks has already dropped by three places.” Yun He’s voice was unhurried, as if she were speaking of a trivial matter. “If this continues, I’m afraid she won’t be able to keep her position as Peak Lord.”
Shen Mo’s breathing grew ragged. He wanted to say something, but his throat felt blocked.
Yun He raised her other hand, her fingertips lightly stroking his cheek and sliding slowly down his jawline.
“You don’t want Wan’er to lose her position, do you?”
The voice was as light as a feather, landing on his heart, yet it felt as heavy as a mountain.
The knuckles of the hand gripping her wrist gradually turned white.
He did not let go.
But he did not push her away again, either.
Yun He gave a low laugh, and with a light twist of her wrist, she slipped from his palm. That piece of incense was still burning, the blue smoke slowly swallowing his consciousness.
Her fingertips landed on his belt.
With a light tug, the belt loosened and his inner robes fell open. The night breeze poured in, the chill making Shen Mo shiver. But that chill was instantly swallowed by the heat within his body, burning the corners of his eyes and drying his throat.
“Female Sovereign…”
His voice was hoarse beyond recognition.
“Shh.” Yun He pressed him back into the chair and leaned down. “Don’t be afraid.”
She kissed his neck.
Shen Mo’s hands clenched and relaxed, relaxed and clenched. He wanted to push her away, but the incense had drained all his strength, leaving even his fingers trembling. Her lips trailed down his neck, landing on his collarbone, then his chest—
Suddenly, a very faint sound came from outside the door.
It sounded like someone catching their breath.
Shen Mo’s consciousness was dragged back for a moment by that sound. He struggled to turn his head toward the door.
In the moonlight stood a person.
It was Chao’er.
Su Wan’er’s disciple, the girl Shen Mo had raised himself.
No one knew when she had arrived, but she stood outside, watching everything through the crack in the door. Her hand was pressed against the hilt of the sword at her waist, her knuckles white, her entire body shaking.
She saw it.
She saw her Master’s Husband with his clothes in disarray, pressed into a chair. She saw the high-and-mighty Female Sovereign leaning over him, kissing his neck.
She should have pushed the door open.
She was Su Wan’er’s disciple, a member of Jiaoyue Peak. She should have come in to stop this, to protect her Master’s Husband and preserve her Honored Teacher’s dignity.
But she didn’t.
She just stood there, motionless.
The moonlight illuminated her face. Shen Mo saw her eyes move from shock to anger, and finally—a sliver of secret excitement emerged.
That excitement lasted only a moment, but Shen Mo caught it.
The blood in his body went cold.
Yun He sensed something, lifted her head, and followed his gaze toward the door.
The figure outside flickered and vanished into the darkness.
Yun He gave a low laugh and looked back at Shen Mo with a meaningful look.
“This disciple of yours,” she whispered, “is quite interesting.”
Shen Mo closed his eyes.
The night breeze blew in, carrying the fragrance of the old plum tree in the courtyard. The Aphrodisiac Incense was still burning, blurring his consciousness until he couldn’t tell what day it was.
He only remembered that the moonlight outside the door was very white.
As white as the night seven years ago when he had married into this peak.
The moon that night had been just as white. He had worn his bright red wedding robes and sat alone in the bridal chamber, waiting for an entire night—waiting until dawn, waiting until the candles burned out, waiting until the moon sank below the mountains.
And no one came.