Ji Wangshu crouched down, his right hand reaching beneath her calf, passing through between her fair and slender legs, gently encircling her left shin.
His left hand brushed along her back, through the lightweight gauze robe, circling around to the other side and settling on Mu Zhiming’s waist.
Mu Zhiming’s brows were lowered, her eyelashes trembling slightly, her expression unreadable through the black eye veil.
Only the crimson flush at her ears and neck deepened further, blooming under the moonlight like flowers that open at night.
This man—she had only asked him to help her stand, so how, how had he scooped her up?
But she didn’t refuse, merely tilting her head to the side, burying it against his chest, her arms trembling faintly.
“Carry me into the house…”
In the early spring night, a few intermittent cicada chirps leaked from the woods, standing out starkly in the silence.
The raw, elegant voice came from her rosy lips. Ji Wangshu tilted his head, straining hard to make it out, almost wondering if it was some cicada humming.
He straightened up and glanced down, only to see Mu Zhiming turning her head, her frost-like face pressed against his chest, three thousand strands of black hair cascading down, brushing against his lower abdomen together with the black eye veil.
This was a novel experience not just for Mu Zhiming, but for Ji Wangshu as well.
This was the first time he had carried a woman in a princess hold like this.
Back when he was in the Yixiu Sect, his junior sister would occasionally act mischievous, deliberately pretending to fall and asking him to carry her, but every time he saw her relaxed calves and raised ankles, he knew she was deceiving him.
Unlike Mu Zhiming now—her whole body taut and tense, yet irresistibly alluring.
But she herself seemed unaware, merely adjusting her posture slightly, and the lightweight gauze robe flowed like moonlight melting, rippling with the movement of her arms.
Her collar slipped down a few inches, revealing a deeper curve of snow-white skin.
She let out a soft hum or two, as if merely finding a more comfortable position, completely oblivious that such actions were incredibly enticing to Ji Wangshu.
Ji Wangshu dared not look further. He tilted his chin up, his right hand circling her fair leg applying slight force, then gently kicked the wooden door with his foot.
“Creak.“
The wooden door swung open. He carried Mu Zhiming in his arms inside, carefully setting her down on the jade bed.
He let out a breath, casually leaning the wooden sword he’d been using against the bedside, then fixed his gaze on Mu Zhiming.
The lightweight gauze robe was already disheveled beyond recognition, casually draped over her thighs. Though it covered her curved, rounded legs, it only added a layer of hazy allure.
Especially on her knee, there was a faint water stain from an hour ago when she had accidentally splashed herself while watering the flowers.
She looked like a painting of a celestial maiden who had just stepped out of a bath, her body not yet fully dried.
This sight immediately made Ji Wangshu’s breath catch. He pinched his fingers hard several times before snapping back to his senses.
He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands not knowing where to rest—one moment on his thighs, the next on the jade bed.
A beauty was at his side, the two of them alone in the wooden house, so quiet that he could hear both their heartbeats and rapid breathing.
Ji Wangshu was terribly embarrassed. He instinctively touched his nose, then looked up at the ceiling, not daring to let his peripheral vision wander.
“Ahem, actually, I also bought you a choker. Do you want to try it on yourself?”
After a few breaths, he suddenly remembered something, fumbling through his storage pouch at his waist before pulling out the black choker he’d bought for 400 spirit stones.
He hadn’t examined it closely when buying it. He traced his thumb over the material—it was like icy gauze, not as thin and misty as the eye veil, but light and tough to the touch.
“This… how many spirit stones did it cost?”
After half an incense stick’s time, Mu Zhiming recovered her composure, the tingling sensation in her body gradually fading.
She propped herself up by her slender waist, slowly sitting up from the jade bed, her spine straight enough to have a thin sword inserted between it.
Extending her jade-like fingers, she took the black choker from Ji Wangshu’s hand, examined it for a moment—it was indeed excellent quality—then spoke up.
Back before she lost her sight, she would occasionally see senior and junior sisters wearing these in the sect square.
But back then, she only cared about sword practice, not even wearing makeup, let alone these vanity items.
“Ahem, 1,200 spirit stones in total.”
Ji Wangshu instinctively touched his nose.
“This… even if the eye veil and choker are of the finest material… it shouldn’t cost 1,200 spirit stones.”
Ji Wangshu felt even more embarrassed upon hearing this.
By now his head had cleared, and he knew full well that the visit to the Treasure Pavilion in the market town had been a complete commercial scam.
He thought to himself: he couldn’t really be blamed for this—he rarely visited the market town, was surrounded by a crowd of women, and the shopkeeper had spoken in a way that seemed to consider his best interests at every turn. That was how he’d been tricked into spending extra.
Mu Zhiming saw he remained silent for a long while, furrowed her brows slightly, flared her nostrils, extended her jade finger, condensed spiritual power at her fingertip, and gently tapped his waist.
Suddenly, Ji Wangshu felt a strange sensation spreading from his side, which moments later became an electric shock, surging from his waist straight to the top of his head.
“Ouch, what are you doing~”
He blurted out instinctively, stray thoughts dissipating as he turned to look at the woman beside him.
The woman who was usually as cold as frost now wore the black eye veil, her brows and eyes unreadable. One couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but the corners of her lips curved into a faint smile.
Three thousand strands of black hair draped over her exposed fair shoulders, the lightweight gauze robe hanging loose over her thighs, her two smooth, silky legs casually arranged on the jade bed, forming a mermaid shape.
Moonlight spilled in through the window, casting light upon two slender calves, as fair as polished jade discs.
Then she spoke softly, her raw voice carrying a hint of teasing that would make any outsider unable to believe it was the Ice Sword Immortal Mu Zhiming speaking:
“Got scammed?”
“Mm…”
Ji Wangshu scratched his head, speaking sheepishly, then explained the whole story to her from beginning to end.
Mu Zhiming said nothing after listening, then extended her jade finger, covering his cheek, tracing it carefully, as if using her fingertip to see his features.
Ji Wangshu hesitated for a moment, feeling this gesture was far too intimate—the princess carry earlier had already crossed the line, and now this…
But in the end, he didn’t dodge. Whether unwilling or spellbound, he let her icy, jade-like finger slowly glide across his cheek.
“Not bad… it suits you.” Mu Zhiming said awkwardly.
“Those 1,200 spirit stones… I’ll return them to Junior Sister Chen Miao tomorrow.”
Ji Wangshu breathed a sigh of relief upon hearing this, though a moment later, his heart leapt back into his throat.
“Tell me… which shop it was…”
“Tomorrow… I’ll go find them…”
As Mu Zhiming spoke these words, the spiritual energy around her unconsciously radiated outward, freezing the very air within the small house.
Ji Wangshu saw that she still wore a faint smile on her lips, yet was saying such spine-chilling things, and he was immediately terrified.
What was going on? Why did it feel like the yandere aura around Mu Zhiming was getting stronger and stronger? This didn’t seem like her character at all!
He didn’t dare respond, only managing an awkward laugh, his right hand rubbing the back of his head as he babbled in reply:
“Haha, forgot. Look at my memory.”
“It’s getting late. You should get some rest.”
With that, he hurriedly trotted out of the wooden house and closed the door behind him.
Mu Zhiming saw him like that, let out a soft chuckle, her brows lifting slightly.
The moonlight fell upon the black veil, casting a thin layer of glow. One couldn’t tell whether it was the moonlight that was gentle, or the woman’s brows and eyes.
……
The next morning, inside the sect hall.
Mu Zhiming had been called over early by her master, Liu Fuyao, who said she had important matters to discuss with the sect grand competition approaching.
Today, she still stood with her sword on her back, cold as ice. Except now, both her pale gray pupils and her fair neck bore an added layer of covering.
She raised her hand, slowly tracing the black choker, her brows and eyes hidden behind the eye veil, making her expression unreadable, yet a faint smile hung at the corners of her lips, as if she were thinking of someone.
“Sister Mu is in such a good mood today?”
At the top of the hall, a woman in a white dress beside her asked, but without waiting for Mu Zhiming to reply, she continued:
“While I’m at it, let me ask you about someone—a male cultivator, with sword-like brows and starry eyes, wearing the sect’s male disciple robe…”
“Oh, right, he also has a faint, strange floral fragrance about him.”
Hearing this, Mu Zhiming turned her head, the smile at her lips fading, her hand behind her back tightening around the flying sword.
Seeing she didn’t respond, the woman in white continued to herself:
“Ah, I wasn’t in the sect some days ago—went down the mountain for training. I had no idea the sect had gained such a new male disciple.”
“Sister Mu, you’re in the sect every day, so you must know this person…”
“Senior Sister Su.” Mu Zhiming parted her rosy lips, her voice icy. “What business do you have with him?”
Su Qingyue beside her brightened. Judging by the tone, it seemed Sister Mu did know this person.
She raised her brows, eager to ask about Ji Wangshu, but the next moment, she found herself stunned into silence.
Because on Mu Zhiming’s face, the smile from moments ago was gone, replaced by her usual frosty expression, faint spiritual energy radiating from her body, like she was ready to strike at any moment.
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