When Leng Yaozhu opened her eyes again, she had no idea how much time had passed. She propped up her delicate, curvaceous body and looked around in a daze.
The tightly drawn curtains had kept the light from entering the bedroom, leaving everything dim. Only her fiery red hair glimmered with a scorching sheen in the darkness.
"How much did I even drink?"
Leng Yaozhu pressed a hand to her aching, muddled forehead and muttered to herself.
As though recalling something, she lowered her gaze toward the floor.
The liquor bottles that had been scattered everywhere in her memory had long since vanished without a trace. There was no thick smell of alcohol lingering in the air either; it smelled remarkably fresh.
After pausing for a moment, Leng Yaozhu 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 improperly closed, allowing her disciple to enter the bedroom.
Recalling how, yesterday evening, she had treated her disciple as a lifeline and told him everything—the stories she had never shared with outsiders, and how she had ultimately held him close, breathing in the scent at his neck as she peacefully fell asleep—made even someone as composed as Leng Yaozhu feel embarrassed.
A faint, unnatural blush spread across her breathtakingly beautiful face, which possessed such gentle charm.
What was this supposed to be?
An old cow eating tender 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 was no problem at all. She was only a hundred now. How was that old?
"After a few hundred years, you'll only be a little older than