The night draped Ling Mountain’s peak in a gentle, tender veil.
Within the dilapidated little courtyard, the flowers that had competed so fiercely for attention in the daylight now withdrew their clamor, quietly releasing their delicate fragrance beneath the moonlight.
The rich scent drifted through the cracks in the window lattice, thread by thread sneaking into the room, mingling with the familiar, time-worn aroma of old wooden furniture, creating a strange, unique atmosphere.
Inside, on that wooden bed which bore countless memories of days gone by, Jiang Huai and Wu Zhaohua lay side by side.
At this moment, Wu Zhaohua had not maintained her ordinary appearance, but had instead returned to her celestial beauty.
Her voluptuous and flawless figure, outlined beneath a thin sleeping robe, exuded a breathtaking allure and a familiar, comforting warmth.
She wanted Jiang Huai to get used to her real appearance now.
She lay on her side, facing Jiang Huai, one hand seemingly casually resting on his waist.
Yet the hand on his waist, her fingertips pressed with a stubborn, almost anxious strength, mixed with pure, cool Lingli, kneading again and again, forcefully rubbing the spot on his lower abdomen.
‘What secret art did this wicked Dragon use?!’ Wu Zhaohua cursed inwardly.
She could clearly sense that the winding, heart-shaped Xuanhei Dragon Mark had already intertwined with the pure and mysterious Innate Primordial Qi within Jiang Huai’s body, thread by thread, tangled and knotted together.
Like roots growing at the edge of his dantian and qi sea, to forcibly erase it would risk injuring his very foundation.
To completely remove it, she would have to destroy the cultivation Jiang Huai had worked so hard to achieve, reaching the Qi Refining Seventh Layer.
But that process would be no different from tearing out his bones and tendons—how could she bear to let Jiang Huai suffer such pain again?
Jiang Huai had already reached the Qi Refining Seventh Layer, progressing rapidly with the help of Innate Primordial Qi and Qin Qingyue.
“Why won’t it come off…” Wu Zhaohua’s voice was very low, right by his ear, her breath fragrant as orchids, tinged with a faint but unmistakable frustration and deep unwillingness.
Her fingertips pressed harder, the kneading motion growing larger, as if that Dragon Mark were some filthy stain that had to be completely wiped away.
Wu Zhaohua’s movements gradually slowed. The sense of defeat washed over her heart like a cold tide, bit by bit.
That damned, heart-shaped black mark still stubbornly branded itself there, carrying a silent mockery.
No! Absolutely not!
How could her Jiang Huai bear another woman’s mark on his body?
A thought, like a creeping vine in the dark, quietly wound its way around her heart.
If it couldn’t be erased, could it be covered up?
Or… perhaps she could create a “replacement” that belonged to her?
Once this idea sprouted, it carried a kind of mad temptation, excitement surging in her chest.
Her kneading stopped entirely.
In the darkness, Wu Zhaohua’s eyes—so beautiful they could steal a soul—shone with an unusually bright, even feverish light.
With the utmost care, almost reverently focused, she gently lifted the thin quilt covering Jiang Huai, then softly raised the hem of his sleeping robe.
The moonlight poured in at just the right moment, illuminating the boy’s smooth waist and abdomen.
That Xuanhei Dragon Mark coiled on his lower abdomen seemed to come alive under the moon’s glow, exuding a strange and mysterious beauty, yet it deeply stung Wu Zhaohua’s eyes.
Her cool fingertips slowly left that hated area, tracing along Jiang Huai’s firm waistline.
What’s it doing on his lower abdomen? What’s it matter if it’s there?!
Wu Zhaohua’s jade fingers paused atop it, the corners of her lips curling in a smile tinged with possessiveness.
“You… what are you doing? What do you want to do?!”
Jiang Huai jolted as if startled like a rabbit, instinctively reaching to pull the quilt back up, trying to shield himself from this sudden “attack.”
This isn’t right, is it? This isn’t right, is it?
“Don’t be afraid, you don’t understand.”
Wu Zhaohua’s voice was exceptionally gentle, soothing as a spell, yet her hand moved with unwavering determination, effortlessly breaking his feeble resistance.
Just a little Qi Refining stage.
Her fingertips, like the tiniest spiritual sword, quietly gathered a thread of Lingli laced with Sword Intent, pressing precisely on her chosen spot, slowly and steadily beginning to trace.
“Let me go! Isn’t this wrong? Is this really helping me?!” Jiang Huai’s voice was frantic, full of disbelief.
As those Lingli-infused fingers moved, a strange and overwhelming sensation instantly swept through him.
It was as if a faint current exploded where she touched, surging through his limbs and bones.
His body tensed involuntarily, his breathing growing quicker.
Little Jiang couldn’t help but start to rise.
Wherever her fingers passed, a clear heat and tingling pain pulsed under his skin, as if something was being forcibly branded within him.
“Shh…”
Wu Zhaohua felt the subtle changes beneath her fingertips, the excitement in her eyes nearly overflowing. She forced down her surging emotions, her voice even more bewitching:
“Didn’t Qin Qingyue say that Black Dragon Mark was tattooed to help your Qi Refining?”
“Yes… yes.”
“Then this is the ‘Sword Mark’ I’m giving you for your Foundation Establishment.”
She didn’t stop, just turned her face slightly, giving him an incredibly gentle, even slightly soothing smile.
“It’s for your own good.”
“This mark is very special. It will help stabilize your Dao foundation and make your future cultivation twice as effective with half the effort.”
Her tone was so natural, so certain, as if stating the most ordinary truth.
The Lingli branding at her fingertip continued to operate steadily, the heat and pain spreading further.
Are these two really not lying to me? Is this right?
Jiang Huai nodded blankly.
Foundation Establishment—Qin Qingyue had also mentioned it, saying it was a crucial step.
“Foundation Establishment is the key step in laying your foundation,” Wu Zhaohua’s voice was patient and coaxing.
“The firmer your foundation, the further and higher you’ll go in the future.”
“Big Sister is helping you, planting a special ‘Root Foundation Mark’ on your back.”
At this point, she might as well settle her status as ‘Big Sister’, so it wouldn’t sound like an old cow eating tender grass.
“Root Foundation Mark?” Jiang Huai blinked, completely unfamiliar with the term.
Qin Qingyue hadn’t said anything about needing this for Foundation Establishment.
“Mm!”
Wu Zhaohua nodded firmly, her gaze incomparably sincere.
“This is a secret art of our Wenxuan Sect. With this mark, you’ll be able to lock in the Heaven and Earth Lingli drawn during Foundation Establishment, letting it fuse more thoroughly into your body, making your Dao foundation ten or even a hundred times sturdier than others!”
She was making things up. It was indeed useful, but in truth, it worked much like the Black Dragon Mark.
Just that the position was much more domineering.
So she’s helping him after all—no wonder it felt so warm and comfortable.
“Can you… wait a bit before drawing?” Jiang Huai suddenly felt things getting stranger, resisting a little.
As Wu Zhaohua’s slender hand moved, the situation seemed to shift subtly, Jiang Huai’s breath quickening further.
The Black Dragon Mark glimmered faintly, only to be firmly slapped by Wu Zhaohua, extinguishing its glow.
“You don’t understand, this is part of the process.”
“Maybe Qin Qingyue was following some Dragon Race customs. That mark might help a bit, but it’s nothing compared to the orthodox Foundation Establishment secret art of our Wenxuan Sect!”
“This one Big Sister is planting for you is the real thing to help your Dao foundation.”
Jiang Huai believed her completely.
He only felt the area she traced grow warmer and warmer, that comfortable energy seeming to form a tiny vortex, slowly absorbing the surrounding Lingli.
“Wu Zhaohua, I… can’t hold on much longer.” Jiang Huai’s voice trembled uncontrollably.
Hearing this, instead of speeding up to end the “secret art,” Wu Zhaohua deliberately slowed the pace of her tracing.
Like the most exquisite torment, she savored the boy’s gasping on the verge of collapse.
“It’s all right, it’s all right.”
Her voice was gentle enough to drip with water, while her other hand quietly drew out a snow-white, faintly fragrant handkerchief from her bosom.
“This is a necessary process. Endure it a little, it’ll be over soon.”
“Be good, just hold on a bit longer…”