When Leng Yaozhu opened her eyes again, she had no idea how much time had passed. She propped up her exquisite, curvaceous body and gazed around blankly.
The tightly drawn curtains kept all light from entering the bedroom, leaving everything dim. Only her fiery red hair gleamed with a scorching luster in the darkness.
"How much did I drink?"
Leng Yaozhu pressed a hand to her throbbing forehead and muttered to herself.
As though recalling something, she lowered her head to look at the floor.
The wine bottles that had been scattered everywhere in her memory had long since vanished without a trace. Nor did the air carry any heavy scent of alcohol; it smelled exceptionally fresh.
Leng Yaozhu paused, then immediately began reviewing what had happened yesterday.
She remembered deliberately getting drunk over her younger sister's situation, intending to numb her heart. Yet she had not expected the door to be left unlocked, allowing her disciple into the bedroom.
Recalling how, yesterday evening, she had treated her disciple as a lifeline and told him everything—stories she had never shared with anyone else—then finally hugged him, breathed in the scent at his neck, and peacefully fallen asleep... Even with Leng Yaozhu's powerful state of mind, she could not help feeling embarrassed.
A faint, unnatural blush spread across her bewitchingly beautiful face.
What was this?
An old cow eating young grass?
No. Leng Yaozhu quickly refuted that thought. In terms of looks, she had never feared anyone. Besides, with her cultivation, living to three hundred would be no problem. She was only just over a hundred now. What was old about that?
'A few hundred years from now, you'll only be a tiny bit older than me.'
As she refuted herself, the normally icy gaze in Leng Yaozhu's eyes gradually turned