Ji Wangshu saw Mu Zhiming’s Plum Blossom Hairpin fall from her hair up ahead, nearly tumbling into the Cloud Sea.
He sighed, reached out with his right hand, and caught it, holding it firmly in his palm, then spoke:
“Told you your hair wasn’t tied properly this morning, right? I’ll help you fix it once we get back.”
Mu Zhiming’s smile deepened at the corners of her lips, but her voice remained deliberately reserved: “Okay…”
The Red Sunset in the Cloud Sea gradually shifted to a pale moon blue, and light snow began to fall from the sky, landing on both their shoulders.
Ji Wangshu watched as Mu Zhiming’s hair hung loose before him, her Immortal Sect robe slightly open, revealing smooth collarbones and rounded shoulders. The fine snow settled gently upon them, making that expanse of pale skin look even more delicate and damp.
He pulled a small cloak out of his Storage Pouch with an exasperated air, leaned forward, and gently draped it over the beauty’s shoulders, shielding her from the wind and snow.
Mu Zhiming could feel the breathing of the person behind her, almost whispering against her earlobe, sending a tingling sensation through her entire body. The blush on her face deepened, and her jade-like fingers unconsciously clenched against her calf.
The two traveled through the Cloud Sea, racing toward the moonlight, with wind and snow falling behind them. The white clouds, soft and fluffy, spread out like cotton candy, forming a path that guided them forward.
Tonight’s moon was a breathtaking New Moon. Beneath such moonlight, amidst such scenery, both fell silent, an ambiguous atmosphere lingering between them.
“We’re here.”
After the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, Mu Zhiming landed her Sword, speaking first to break the silence, then walked into the Courtyard.
She sat down on the Stone Stool beneath the Plum Blossom Tree as if it were the most natural thing, and under the moonlight, ignoring the wind and snow, she pulled out a Storybook and continued “reading” it.
Seeing her like this, Ji Wangshu sighed.
This girl—didn’t she see it was snowing? Why insist on reading in the courtyard, not worried about catching a chill?
Well, to be fair, the two of them were Cultivators, so worrying about catching a chill seemed a bit overthinking it.
Though he thought this, he still went inside to retrieve an Oil Paper Umbrella, cast a Spell, and anchored it between the two Stone Stools before sitting down.
The Oil Paper Umbrella covered them overhead, keeping wind and snow out from that moment on. They had their own little world, a private haven belonging to just the two of them.
He took out the Plum Blossom Hairpin from his pocket and gently gathered her dark silken hair, first sweeping the ends together, then patiently coiling it. His hands worked steadily, but his thoughts drifted far beyond the nine heavens.
Ji Wangshu recalled what he had seen while wandering through the Market Town earlier, narrowing his eyes slightly as he pondered.
Back in the Market Town, he had noticed some shops selling High Heels and bras.
Earlier at the Treasure Pavilion, there were Eye Veils, Collars, and Whips. Those items alone had already made him feel something was off.
At the time, he’d assumed they were products of a Female-Dominant World where female Cultivators were the majority and loved beautiful things.
But today, he’d even seen loan services at the Gambling Den in the Market Town!
Although he’d never transmigrated into other Cultivation worlds before, based on the web novels from his previous life, he’d never heard of any world having such distinctly modern items.
So many coincidences piling up could only mean one thing.
This Female-Dominant Cultivation World might not have just him as a Transmigrator!
With that thought, his heart sank. His hands moved more heavily, and as the Hairpin passed through her dark hair, it accidentally pricked his finger.
A faint trace of blood welled up on his fingertip, but he didn’t notice at all, continuing to fix her hair. However, the scent of blood drifted into Mu Zhiming’s nose up ahead.
At that moment, Mu Zhiming had slipped off her shoes, her white Ice Silk jade feet resting on the bluestone slabs. Her head lowered, she quietly read the Braille Storybook resting on her knees.
The more she read, the hotter her ears became. Her entire body was like someone who had just bathed in a hot spring, giving off faint wisps of steam amidst the falling snow, rising from her fair neck, delicate shoulders, and butterfly-like waist.
Th-this book is far too improper!
Mu Zhiming’s pinkish-white jade feet twisted restlessly, sometimes stretching all ten toes wide, sometimes curling up tightly—just like her mood at this moment.
She wanted to read and didn’t want to read at the same time, afraid this book would corrupt her, yet desperately eager to see what happened next in the story.
When she reached the halfway point, she suddenly felt something was off.
She was already halfway through, and the female lead had already lost her Guardian Palace Mark, so why did it seem like many of the earlier setup details hadn’t been expanded yet?
Could it be that this book wasn’t a single volume?
The thought had barely risen in her mind when she quickly flipped to the last page. Forget spoilers—she just wanted to verify her suspicion.
Her slender jade fingers quickly traced over the raised dots, and before long, she reached the ending. Her expression darkened immediately.
So this first volume really was just the beginning of a story!
The female lead in the book was about to discover that the male lead she yearned for, the one she’d already consummated a marriage with, was actually the Saint Son of Demon Sect.
And the first volume stopped right at that climax, followed by the words “Second volume now available! Welcome to your local Treasure Pavilion to purchase.”
Though Mu Zhiming rarely spoke, her mind was extremely sharp. She now knew exactly what the Treasure Pavilion Clerk had meant by “Free Trial”—it was a trap!
First, lure people in with free chapters, then cut off right at the climax, making readers willingly pay Spirit Stones for the second volume.
She sighed, her jade fingers lightly tracing the raised dots on the page as she pondered.
She did want to read it, but it cost Spirit Stones, and the Spirit Stones were supposed to go toward buying medicine for Ji Wangshu…
If she didn’t read it, though, her heart itched. The book not only had a novel story, but also techniques for women to pursue men: like how she’d deliberately let her Hairpin fall earlier to create an excuse for Ji Wangshu to touch her—she’d learned that from the book too…
Not to mention all the… intimate matters between Dao Companions…
At that thought, another wave of crimson rose to her icy, frost-like face.
Mu Zhiming’s nostrils flared slightly. She’d only meant to calm her mood, but instead of just smelling the freshness after snow, she also caught a faint scent of blood.
In an instant, she whipped her head around, her Black Eye Veil fixed on Ji Wangshu, only to see that after he’d finished tying up her hair, he was still lost in thought, completely unaware of the blood on his index finger.
Her Black Eye Veil stared at Ji Wangshu’s face for a while, but he never snapped back to reality, as if his mind were elsewhere.
Mu Zhiming didn’t interrupt him. Instead, she gently lifted the bleeding index finger and brought it to her lips.
She exhaled softly, a warm breath washing over the wound, then extended her pink tongue and gave it the lightest of touches.
This move was something she’d just read in the book, which said that when a woman did this, it made a man’s heart race and brought the two closer together.
Ji Wangshu suddenly felt a strange sensation at his index finger, and a faint feminine fragrance drifted to his nose.
Only then did he snap his thoughts back and look ahead.
There was Mu Zhiming, head lowered, brows slightly raised, her entire face beneath his gaze.
From this angle, he couldn’t make out her expression—he could only see the dark hair he’d just tied up.
The sight before him made him suck in a sharp breath, wondering if he’d passed out from tying hair.
The Ice Sword Immortal of the Immortal Sect, Mu Zhiming, was bowed beneath him, licking his finger?
How could he be having such a dream?
He raised his right hand and slapped himself hard across the face.
It hurt.
So this wasn’t a dream.
Which made it even more terrifying.
If she dared to lick his finger now, he didn’t even want to think about what she might dare to lick later.
Ji Wangshu froze in place, and little Ji also raised its head slightly, unable to move freely. All he could do was clear his throat twice.
“Ahem, ahem.”
Only then did Mu Zhiming lift her eyes slightly, her Black Eye Veil facing him, a faint trace of blood still on her lips.
Ji Wangshu cleared his throat twice more, subconsciously touched his nose, and leaned back slightly. Fine snow drifting in from outside the Oil Paper Umbrella helped sober him up a bit.
“Mu… what are you doing?”
Hearing this, Mu Zhiming straightened up on the Stone Stool, pointed at his bleeding index finger, and said softly:
“You were bleeding… I was helping you stop it.”
Ji Wangshu looked down and saw it—there was indeed a faint Scar. It must have been from when he accidentally pricked himself while tying her hair. He spoke with even more exasperation:
“I do have Lianqi Cultivation, you know. With a wound this small, it’ll heal on its own in no time.”
“Oh…”
Mu Zhiming said stiffly, her face still frosty, showing no sign of being the same woman who’d bowed her head moments ago. She continued:
“Then… you didn’t like it?”
Ji Wangshu subconsciously touched his nose again, glanced down at little Ji, which still hadn’t calmed down.
“…It was fine.”
Mu Zhiming nodded, recalling what the Storybook had said: men of this world all said one thing while meaning another—when they said no, they meant yes; when they said it was fine, they meant they liked it.
The book also said, if you couldn’t tell whether he liked it, there was one final method…
She glanced toward little Ji’s direction and nodded slightly.
He really did like it.
Then Mu Zhiming chuckled softly, remembering the hair Ji Wangshu had tied for her, and reached a hand through her hair to feel it.
“Hm?”
She’d originally thought Ji Wangshu’s hair-tying skills were mediocre, treating it merely as a way to grow closer. But it was actually tied this well?
So well that she began to wonder how he’d gotten so skilled.
“You… tied it really well.” Mu Zhiming said softly.
Ji Wangshu was stunned by her words, cold sweat seeping from his back again.
Back in the Yixiu Sect, before his Master had gone down the mountain, she would often recline in a comfortable chair in the afternoon and deliberately pull her Hairpin loose, muttering: “Oh dear, Wangshu, my hair came loose again. Come fix it for me.”
The Junior Sister beside her would see this and imitate her, also deliberately letting her hair loose, saying: “Senior Disciple, tie mine too.”
Then he would get up helplessly, amidst the two’s teasing laughter, tie the left one’s hair first, then the right one’s, and after finishing, look at their stunningly beautiful faces, waiting for the two young mistresses to inspect his work.
Scenes like that had played out countless times during his years in the Yixiu Sect.
Where has Master gone now…? Has Junior Sister come back yet? She couldn’t really have been captured by the Qingyun Sect, could she…
His thoughts scattered in all directions, his expression shifting—sometimes looking up in recollection, sometimes lowering his head in melancholy.
Mu Zhiming didn’t press further, simply attributing it to natural talent.
She tucked the Storybook back into her Storage Pouch, her fingers brushing the opening for a moment, when suddenly a thought struck her. She turned her head and asked:
“By the way… did anything interesting happen while you were wandering the Market Town this afternoon?”
Ji Wangshu’s thoughts were pulled back, and he let out a breath of relief before answering:
“Oh, this afternoon I went to the Gambling Den in the Market Town…”
Upon hearing the words “Gambling Den,” Mu Zhiming’s hand gripping her Storage Pouch paused slightly.
She thought of the Sect Grand Competition in three days, and then of that Storybook cut off mid-climax.
The Black Eye Veil swayed gently in the wind, and her fingertips unconsciously tapped twice against the Storage Pouch at her waist.
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