She bit her lower lip, her fingers curling inward.
The air in the room seemed to grow thick and charged with ambiguity.
Ye Lan watched her shy, flustered appearance, the smile in her eyes deepening, yet she made no move to urge her on—only gazing at her steadily with the patience of a hunter.
Mu Xi’s heart pounded violently in her chest.
She could feel Ye Lan’s gaze, almost tangible, settling on her skin and sending shivers cascading through her.
Humiliation?
Perhaps a little.
But more than that, there was an indescribable strangeness.
She had been tormented by Ye Lan in countless ways before, and her body had long since grown accustomed to submission.
Yet now, this intimacy carried out under the guise of “healing” stirred an unprecedented fluster within her.
Slowly, she undid the buttons on the front of her pajama top.
Ye Lan’s breathing seemed to grow slightly heavier.
Mu Xi’s movements were agonizingly slow, her fingers trembling.
She didn’t dare meet Ye Lan’s eyes, keeping her gaze fixed on her own hands instead.
When the warm softness was exposed to the air, Ye Lan’s eyes darkened.
She raised her upper body slightly, leaning in closer.
Mu Xi closed her eyes and offered herself.
Ye Lan didn’t hesitate, taking her into her mouth.
Unlike the first time, which had been weak and feeble, this time Ye Lan’s movements carried an unrefusable force and a hint of urgency.
Mu Xi couldn’t help but let out a faint whimper, her body tensing.
She could feel her strength being drained away bit by bit along with the loss of that fluid, yet at the same time, a strange sensation spread through the depths of her heart.
Ye Lan’s movements didn’t pause in the slightest.
She lifted her eyes, taking in Mu Xi’s flushed cheeks and tightly shut eyelids.
The warm “essence” flowed into Ye Lan’s mouth, nourishing her severely wounded body.
Ye Lan needed her.
This realization stirred an indescribable throbbing within her.
She was no longer just a doll passively enduring torment—her existence mattered to Ye Lan. She was indispensable.
Even if that importance stemmed from the peculiarity of her body.
After a long while, Ye Lan finally released her, licking the corner of her mouth with satisfaction.
Those phoenix eyes were veiled in a watery sheen, looking languid and alluring.
A hint of color had even returned to her cheeks.
Mu Xi hastily pulled her clothes together and turned away to straighten herself, not daring to let Ye Lan see her current disheveled and tumultuous expression.
A low, soft laugh drifted from behind her, carrying a hint of triumphant pleasure.
“Tastes good.” Ye Lan commented, her tone casual, only making Mu Xi’s face burn even hotter.
Mu Xi didn’t respond, silently tidying the items by the bedside, trying to conceal the surging turmoil within her through busywork.
Ye Lan watched her retreating back, her gaze dark and unfathomable.
She could sense the subtle changes in Mu Xi—from the initial stiff resistance to the present shy compliance, even carrying a trace of softening.
Good.
Everything was within her control.
Ye Lan closed her eyes, feeling the tingling warmth spreading from her wound—the “essence” taking effect.
Her body’s recovery allowed her to regain some of her strength, along with renewed confidence in executing the plans ahead.
Stone City, Wu City… and Mu Xi.
She wanted them all.
In the secondary bedroom on the second floor of the Silent Language Building, light filtered through the gaps in the heavy curtains, casting long, dim shadows.
Since that “healing” session, the atmosphere in the room seemed to have shifted subtly.
Ye Lan’s periods of wakefulness grew longer and longer.
Though still weak, those deep phoenix eyes had rekindled an indescribable luster.
Mu Xi sat on the chair beside the bed, holding an old book she’d found from the study, but her gaze didn’t rest on the pages.
She could feel Ye Lan’s gaze upon her—no longer carrying the scrutiny and pressure of before, but instead a hint of curiosity.
Ye Lan rarely used a commanding tone anymore.
Occasionally she would speak, her voice hoarse from her injuries, yet unexpectedly gentle.
“When I was little, I climbed a tree to steal bird eggs and ended up breaking my leg.” Ye Lan suddenly spoke, breaking the silence of the room.
Mu Xi’s fingers tightened around the book, looking up in surprise.
Ye Lan leaned against the headboard, her face devoid of expression, but her gaze drifted toward the window as if lost in some distant memory.
“It took a month to heal. And the moment my leg got better, I went right back to catching fish in the river and nearly drowned.”
She couldn’t reconcile the cold, domineering woman before her with that mischievous child who climbed trees and waded into rivers.
It was too incongruous.
Ye Lan seemed to see through her thoughts, a faint curve tugging at the corner of her lips, gone in an instant.
“Surprised?”
Mu Xi lowered her eyelids without answering.
Ye Lan didn’t mind, continuing on her own:
“Building the Manor was far harder. Back then there was no one, no resources, and enemies everywhere. Every night when I went to sleep, there was a gun under my pillow.”
She paused, her voice dropping low, “Once, I was nearly blown to death at the Base. I hid beneath the ruins for three days and three nights before being dug out.”
These words, fragmented and plain, fell like small stones into the calm lake of Mu Xi’s heart, stirring ripple after ripple. She had never imagined Ye Lan had such a past.
In her eyes, Ye Lan seemed born to be an aloof controller—powerful, cold, omnipotent.
These grounded, human stories blurred that image for a fleeting moment.
It was like peering into a hidden corner of a grand painting, glimpsing colors never meant to be seen.
Fear seemed to recede without her noticing.
She no longer breathed as cautiously as she once had, afraid of provoking the other woman.
In its place grew something far more complex and difficult to define.
Curiosity quietly sprouted within her. She wanted to know more—to understand how Ye Lan had become the person she was now.
A few more days passed. Ye Lan’s injuries improved greatly, and she could now barely manage to get out of bed and walk.
That evening, Mu Xi carried warm water and a clean towel into the bedroom, preparing to wipe down Ye Lan’s body.
It was something she did every day, already a habit.
Ye Lan sat at the edge of the bed, her upper body bare, revealing a spine of smooth lines yet marred by a patchwork of old and new scars.
Mu Xi wrung out the towel and gently wiped her.
When the warm cloth swept over the center of her back, Ye Lan’s body stiffened almost imperceptibly.
Mu Xi’s movements paused as well. Her gaze landed on that patch of skin.
Unlike the newer, pinkish scars, beneath Ye Lan’s right shoulder blade lay a hideous old wound.
It bore a dull, slightly sunken grayish-white hue with wildly irregular edges, as if it had been burned and torn apart by some terrifying force.
Even long after healing, it still exuded a heart-stopping aura of destruction.
Mu Xi had seen this scar before.
During that escape, Ye Lan had been struck in the back by an energy beam—so this was the mark it had ultimately left behind.
As if beyond her control, her fingertip gently, tentatively, traced over that rough, sunken skin.
The touch was cold and hard, starkly contrasting with the warm, delicate flesh surrounding it.
Ye Lan’s breath caught for an instant, her muscles snapping taut.
But soon, she relaxed again, allowing Mu Xi’s cool fingertips to linger over the scar.
Only the soft breathing of the two filled the room.
Mu Xi could feel the faint trembling of the body beneath her fingertips, and her own heartbeat quickening more and more within her chest.
“This is my scar of honor.”
Ye Lan’s low voice sounded, carrying an almost imperceptible hoarseness—calm and unruffled, yet seeming to hold a profound weight.
Mu Xi’s heart jolted violently, her fingers snatching back as if burned.