Early the next morning, Jiang Huai slowly woke up wrapped in a soft, warm embrace.
The deep sleep from last night had dispelled the fatigue accumulated over several days.
What had once been a dull ache and weakness now miraculously surged with vitality, leaving him feeling clear-headed and full of energy.
“Awake?” A gentle, teasing whisper came from Qin Qingyue’s lips, warm breath brushing past his ear.
Jiang Huai stretched contentedly, his cheek still buried affectionately in that soft, full mound, the broad, fluffy, and cozy Dragon Tail draped over him, making it hard to want to move.
“Yeah, good morning.”
Qin Qingyue chuckled softly, but her delicate hand wandered restlessly, tracing and measuring along Jiang Huai’s well-defined waist and abdomen.
After a moment, she raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Recovered so quickly?”
The Yin-Yang Body constitution was indeed extraordinary. Just yesterday, he had been so drained and weak—how was it possible to be like this after only one night?
From the wooden barrel nearby came a gentle gurgling.
Tang Zhaoxue silently submerged half her face beneath the spiritual liquid, only her complex eyes visible as she quietly observed the tender scene on the couch.
It seemed this Black Dragon truly doted on him.
“I feel much better now,” Jiang Huai replied lazily, all the sluggishness from the past few days swept away, replaced by a long-missed energy.
The past few days had been mentally exhausting; he hadn’t had any spirit, as if all his essence had been drained.
After a night’s rest, he looked far more lively.
“White Dew was right, after all.” Qin Qingyue leaned close to his ear with a radiant smile and whispered softly.
“It seems the White Dragon Clan ancestors really did have a deep connection with the Yin-Yang Body.”
“What did White Dew say?” Jiang Huai asked curiously.
“She came to visit yesterday and instructed that after you wake up, you need to ‘continue’ once more.” Jiang Huai’s heart tightened upon hearing this, his complexion suddenly paling.
“I said you were weak, but she said it wasn’t a big deal—that one night would be enough.”
“And now it really seems so. One night and you’re back to normal.”
More bubbling noises came from the wooden barrel. Tang Zhaoxue almost fully submerged herself, leaving only her eyes above the surface, closely watching.
“Don’t worry, it won’t take as much this time. Just the right amount,” Qin Qingyue added lightly.
“All right then.”
Jiang Huai resignedly got up and instinctively reached for the familiar small stool, preparing to repeat the procedure from the day before.
“What are you doing?” Qin Qingyue asked with a puzzled tone.
“I’m going to stand on it,” Jiang Huai said, pointing toward the wooden barrel.
“And what about me?” Qin Qingyue blinked and countered, a mischievous light gleaming in her eyes.
“What do you mean, what about you?” Jiang Huai didn’t immediately catch on.
Qin Qingyue reached out, pulling him back to her side, her fingers tracing circles on his chest as her voice carried a hint of grievance and obvious longing:
“I’ve waited so long to find you again.”
“What do you think I’m talking about? Aren’t you going to show some affection to your wife?”
Jiang Huai was momentarily speechless, his cheeks warming.
He glanced at the wooden barrel and lowered his voice: “Isn’t this a bit improper? White Dew said we shouldn’t stay in there too long.”
“We can’t exactly do that with Tang Zhaoxue right there…”
Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle…
Qin Qingyue followed his gaze to Tang Zhaoxue in the barrel, who was doing her best to lower her presence. Her thoughts raced:
This person knew the secret of the Yin-Yang Body and had protected Jiang Huai. No matter what, he was going to enter the Nine Heavens Palace.
As for titles and status, that would have to wait.
With a small smile at the corner of her lips, she called out loudly to Tang Zhaoxue:
“Tang Sect Leader, please close your eyes. What you don’t want to see, don’t look, alright?”
Tang Zhaoxue, confused but a guest in their home, could only respond quietly, “Alright.”
Then she tightly shut her eyes.
Qin Qingyue nodded in satisfaction, leaning close to Jiang Huai. Her breath, fragrant as orchids, whispered seductively into his ear:
“Saving someone and pleasing your wife can happen at the same time.”
“I haven’t for a long time…”
Before she finished, she waved her delicate hand. A soft yet solid Spiritual Power Light Screen instantly formed, like a semi-transparent glass platform, hovering steadily above the wooden barrel.
Then, she grasped Jiang Huai’s hand and gracefully floated up, landing on the light screen.
The light screen, condensed from her spiritual power, was soft yet elastic—like an invisible, plush couch.
“We’ll just stay up here,” Qin Qingyue said with a bright smile.
“After all, she’s got her eyes closed and can’t see anything.”
“But…” Jiang Huai still felt uneasy.
“No buts,” Qin Qingyue interrupted, deliberately raising her voice.
“Tang Sect Leader, you don’t mind, right?”
Tang Zhaoxue, soaking below, felt her heart tighten but had to force a reply through clenched teeth: “No.”
No sooner had she spoken than the figures above the light screen had already intertwined.
Qin Qingyue deliberately posed with a helpless vulnerability, her supple waist sinking, her ample, firm hips lifted high, forming a breathtaking curve.
Her head tilted back just so, as if inviting Jiang Huai to grasp her Dragon Horn.
She knew very well her husband loved holding onto her Dragon Horn tightly.
Jiang Huai wrapped his arms around her waist, his movements filled with the urgency and passion of a long-awaited reunion.
Though his eyes were closed, the sounds—restrained gasps, softness, and allure—were unmistakable.
Every detail penetrated Tang Zhaoxue’s ears, challenging her nerves.
Her breath grew quick and shallow; her heartbeat pounded like a drum.
In the end, strong curiosity and an indescribable flutter overpowered her reason.
She silently tilted her head and opened her eyes just a fraction through the mist and the translucent light screen above.
The light screen stretched over the wooden barrel, nearly transparent.
She saw their figures—strong and vigorous.
She saw their blood surge.
She saw the intoxication and obsession on Qin Qingyue’s face.
And she saw things she herself could never achieve in this lifetime.
“Jiang Huai, I miss you so much.”
“Never leave me again.”
Jiang Huai gripped the Dragon Horn tightly.
Tang Zhaoxue stared upward, her gaze held captive as if magnetically locked in place, unable to look away.
The longer she watched, the warmer her delicate face became, as if something faintly fell.
It turned out the light screen could support a person but could not block… everything.
She unconsciously parted her soft lips, a subtle urge rising to catch what was falling—but she failed.
What fell in scattered droplets were all Qin Qingyue’s.
A sharp wave of sadness seized her instantly.
She was saddened by her status as a Da Zongzhu, yet at this moment could only watch helplessly as the man she cherished entwined with another woman.
Even deeper was her sorrow for her own bodily deficiencies—no matter what, she could not bring Jiang Huai the same pleasure Qin Qingyue did, nor could she truly possess him.
The greatest pain for a person is to yearn and not obtain—to be so close yet utterly unreachable.
Ultimately, Tang Zhaoxue despairingly realized that if she wanted Jiang Huai’s care, it would inevitably be mixed with Qin Qingyue’s presence.
She closed her eyes once more, as if resigned, as if giving up the struggle.
Yet that beautifully touched face still lifted high, carrying a fragile and stubborn sacrificial grace.
Above the light screen, Qin Qingyue, lost in passion, turned her head back and kissed Jiang Huai deeply.
Below the light screen, Tang Zhaoxue tightly shut her eyes, her slightly parted, rosy lips silently receiving the storm she had nothing to do with but was nonetheless swept into.
“Do you love me?” Jiang Huai suddenly asked.
“I love you,” Qin Qingyue answered honestly.
‘I love you too,’ Tang Zhaoxue whispered in her heart.