Qin Shuying sat upright, her spine as straight as a lone pine in the snow.
But if you looked closely, you could see her fingertips hanging by her sides, unconsciously tapping against the hard stool surface in a faint, rhythmic “tock tock” sound.
In this quiet room, it was especially clear.
It also betrayed the turmoil far beneath her calm exterior.
Her face remained cold as ice.
Yet her eyes held an unshakeable, smoldering restlessness.
Restlessness.
A word almost foreign to her, now clung to her like a shadow.
‘Shen Mo… defiled by that wicked disciple.’
The thought struck her heart like a poison thorn.
She closed her eyes, and saw the ambiguous marks under Shen Mo’s tattered clothes in the Desolate Valley, and that nauseating Demonic Qi clinging to him.
‘I, Qin Shuying, regarded him as my exclusive possession, carefully held back from forcing him, afraid to disturb that fragile balance—and that little rascal stood up and trampled him for ten days straight!’
‘Ten days!’
‘She really didn’t hold back!’
Jealousy, like a poison snake, gnawed at her reason.
She asked herself if she was a jealous person—or rather, her pride made her disdain competing with ordinary women for affection.
But Shen Mo was different. He was special. The only ember in her cold Dao Heart that refused to die out.
A faint light she had glimpsed in her long, lonely years, and could no longer look away from.
She could tolerate his weakness, his avoidance, even suppress the urge to completely imprison him—just to see that rare, genuine warmth in his eyes.
But now?
Had that genuineness been tainted by Chao’er’s filthy touch?
After a long silence, Shen Mo finally spoke.
“Skuying, let me explain. She insisted…”
Her heart ached sharply.
“Insisted, so you gave in?”
After the ache came something else.
Fire.
The kind of fire that burned for a long time, finally burning through everything.
Seeing Shen Mo about to explain again, she interrupted impatiently.
“Ten days. A full ten days.”
Shen Mo lowered his head, not daring to look at her.
Qin Shuying watched his guilty, worn-out appearance, and the fire in her heart blazed hotter.
“Shen Mo,” she said, “you know, I searched for you for ten days. I turned over a thousand li radius, and couldn’t sense even a trace of your presence.”
Her eyes reddened slightly.
“I thought you were dead.”
Those words were soft.
But as heavy as a mountain.
Shen Mo’s throat moved.
He wanted to say something, but nothing came out.
Qin Shuying saw him hesitate, and the fire and pain in her heart twisted together into something indescribable.
“But you’re alive,” she said. “That’s enough.”
She released his wrist, leaned back in her chair, and gently pressed her bare feet against the floor.
“Kneel,” she said.
Shen Mo froze.
“What?”
“I said, kneel.”
His mind buzzed.
He wondered if she had lost her mind.
He looked up at her.
Before him was Qin Shuying’s cold, ethereal face.
But now, those usually icy eyes burned with two dark ghost flames.
She sat on the purple sandalwood stool cushioned with a soft pad, her white robe flowing down like water, covering most of her figure but not her raised legs.
Her jade-like foot mercilessly pressed against his shoulder, the toes pushing down like a falling mountain, forcing him to lower himself.
“That day when you left the valley, she wore the collar, and you held the dog chain.”
Shen Mo’s face flushed crimson.
“I ask you—what right do you have to keep a dog?”
Before his mind could catch up, she continued.
“If anyone’s going to keep a dog, it’s me keeping you.”
She hooked Shen Mo’s chin, forcing his mouth open.
“Have you forgotten who your master is?”
Shen Mo’s face burned red.
From his cheeks to his ears, clearly visible in the candlelight.
Qin Shuying watched that redness, and felt an itch in her heart.
“Shen Mo, I’ll ask again: who is she to you?”
Shen Mo opened his mouth.
“She’s my wife-disciple…”
“Wife-disciple?” Qin Shuying cut him off, her voice rising slightly. “Would a wife-disciple treat you like that? Would a wife-disciple let you hold a dog chain? Would a wife-disciple—”
She paused.
The unfinished sentence hung between them.
Qin Shuying stared at his beautiful face, and the heart flame blazed again.
But this time, something else joined the fire.
Vinegar.
The kind of sourness that drives a person mad.
She repeated, “Where did she touch you?”
Her toes ground gently against his cheek, grinding the jealous flame, the anger, the desire into an ever-burning fire.
Her toes slid across his cheek, down his neck, and stopped at his collar.
“Here?”
Shen Mo’s breathing grew ragged.
“Or here?”
Her gaze moved lower, like a scalpel peeling away his clothes, his skin, searching for the evidence that drove her crazy.
Shen Mo said nothing.
Qin Shuying looked at the stains on his body, her heart aching like a knife twist.
In her eyes, these tooth marks and red traces were the brand of shame on a slave.
She leaned close, her breath hitting his face.
“I can’t stand one thing the most—”
She paused.
“My things touched by someone else.”
The words hit Shen Mo’s heart like a hammer.
‘My things. I’m her thing?’
“Go take a bath.”
“Wash ten times.”
As Qin Shuying spoke, the side door slid open silently.
After washing up, Shen Mo changed into clean white underrobe, his long hair loose on his shoulders, making his face look even more handsome.
She slowly turned her head, her gaze like solid ice awls.
“Still… dirty.”
She said it was dirty, but pulled him into a tight embrace between herself and the Cold Jade Bed.
“Since someone else has slept on you, this body is dirty. Since it’s dirty…”
“Then I’ll help you ‘wash’ it clean. From the inside out, wash away that little bastard’s scent, and replace it with mine.”
Her kiss was punishing, roughly plundering Shen Mo’s breath.
It wasn’t like a kiss, more like tearing at prey.
Her hands held a force that seemed to crush him, each touch causing a violent tremor.
“Tell me, how did she do it those days? Like this? Or like this?”
With every question, her hands grew heavier, with a relentlessness that threatened to drive Shen Mo mad.
“You think I care that you were slept with once?”
She leaned down, her long hair cascading like a waterfall, brushing against Shen Mo’s cheek, sending a shivering tickle.
“Yes, I do care.”
“How long did I court you, and you never agreed? How come she comes and you give in?”
“You owe me, so,” she said, “you have to repay.”
Under Shen Mo’s shocked gaze, she spoke.
“Wash my feet,” she said. “No water allowed.”
Shen Mo was speechless, choking on his words.