The palm was over three meters long.
It was pitch-black all over, yet gleamed like metal.
Its five fingers were long and slender as swords.
Its fingertips were razor-sharp, as if they could tear through anything.
Green whirlwinds coiled around the palm.
They let out a low, whistling howl.
The candles in the room swayed violently in the wind.
Yu Xiaolong's thoughts stirred.
The two black hands vanished in an instant.
Then they reappeared at the other end of the room.
Fast!
Too fast!
They were only a hair slower than his Flying Thunder God.
And the Hurricane Black Hand came with the cutting power of the wind attribute.
The green whirlwinds were no mere decoration.
They were wind blades condensed to the utmost.
Yu Xiaolong clenched his fists in excitement.
A seventy-second-level Soul Saint.
On top of that, he had the Soul Ring of the 790,000-year-old Hurricane Black Hand.
His strength had climbed to another level.
If he encountered Ghost Douluo again...
A trace of coldness flashed through Yu Xiaolong's eyes.
He glanced at the night outside the window.
Moonlight flowed like water, spilling over the begonias in the manor.
Everything was quiet.
Yu Xiaolong withdrew his Soul Power.
The red Soul Ring's light slowly faded.
He sat back on the bed and crossed his legs in meditation.
The Soul Power within him surged like a mighty river.
Yu Xiaolong closed his eyes.
He began to consolidate what he had gained that night.
On the other side of the manor.
Ye Lingling lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.
She thought back over everything that had happened that night.
Yu Xiaolong had helped her get dressed.
The hands that had touched her shoulders were very warm.
And there were the things he had said.
"You're a person, not a bargaining chip."
"Live according to your own wishes."
"No one in this world can force you to do something you don't want to do."
Ye Lingling's heart suddenly began to race.
She had never heard words like those before.
All her life, other people had made decisions for her.
She had been taught etiquette and trained in her Martial Soul.
Even her marriage was to be arranged by the imperial family.
No one had ever asked what she wanted.
No one had ever asked her what she wished for.
Except Yu Xiaolong.
That man who looked only a few years older than her.
In a calm voice, he had told her:
You have the right to choose.
Ye Lingling closed her eyes.
The faintest hint of a smile appeared at the corners of her mouth.
Then she thought of his offer to take her as a disciple.
Twin Martial Souls...
Could that really be possible?
Her reason told her it was absurd.
But...
What if it was true?
Ye Lingling turned over.
Suddenly, she felt something stirring inside her.
It was faint, like a seed beginning to sprout.
Ye Lingling opened her eyes.
She raised her hand and looked at her palm.
There was nothing there.
But she could feel it all the same.
Some kind of change was quietly taking place within her.
The young girl's breathing quickened slightly.
Dragon God Temple...
She silently committed the name to memory.
Perhaps she really would go there.
The night grew deeper.
The outskirts of Heaven Dou Imperial City were utterly still.
In Seven Heart Begonia Manor, the begonias bloomed in silence.
Beneath the moonlight, the petals swayed gently.
Heaven Dou Imperial Palace loomed behind red walls and green tiles, its depths unfathomable.
Xue Ke sat alone in the hall, her slender waist wrapped in a white qipao. Its hem fell to her ankles, and its collar was slightly open, revealing her pale neck.
Her white hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall, setting off skin as fair as snow. She looked like a porcelain doll who had stepped straight out of a painting.
Seated before the zither, she absently plucked its strings with her long, slender fingers, producing one scattered note after another.
The deep palace was too quiet.
So quiet it made her uneasy.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps sounded outside the hall, followed by the shrill voice of a eunuch.
"The Crown Prince has arrived!"
Xue Ke jerked her head up, her clear eyes brightening at once.
She lifted her skirt and hurried toward the hall doors in quick, light steps. A smile blossomed across her face like a peach flower opening in early spring, pure and untainted.
Her imperial brother had come!
In this vast, deep palace, he was the only one she could confide in.
Xue Qinghe stepped through the doorway, dressed in a moon-white brocade robe, his figure tall and straight.
His features were so delicate he could have been a woman's, his skin smooth and tender, his brows and eyes touched with a gentle curve. One look at him made people feel as if a spring breeze had washed over them.
"Imperial Brother!" Xue Ke cried, hurrying to meet him, her voice brimming with delight.
Xue Qinghe lowered his head slightly to look at his white-haired younger sister and gently patted her on the head.
"My dear sister, have you been studying diligently lately?"
His voice was warm as jade, unhurried and smooth.
Xue Ke nodded obediently and tipped up her face, her eyes shining with eager anticipation.
"Imperial Brother, I've practiced the zither every day. Even my tutor praised me."
As she spoke, her hands unconsciously clutched at her skirt, like a puppy waiting to be praised.
Xue Qinghe smiled, his expression warm as winter sunlight.
"My sister really is clever."
Xue Ke's cheeks flushed faintly, and sweetness filled her heart like honey.
Her imperial brother had praised her.
In this world, he was the only one who truly cared about her.
Xue Qinghe was just about to say something when Xue Ke took his sleeve first.
"Imperial Brother, will you stay? Listen to me play a song."
She tilted her face up. Her white hair slipped from her shoulder, revealing a stretch of pale, slender neck.
The white qipao outlined the figure of a girl who had only just begun to mature, her waist slender enough to fit in one hand, her chest faintly rounded with the budding softness unique to a girl.
Xue Qinghe's gaze lingered on her for a moment.
Then his expression softened again.
"All right. I'll listen."
Xue Ke was overjoyed. She turned and hurried back to the zither, sitting down in a rush.
She raised both hands and placed them on the strings.
The fingers that should have been fair and tender as scallions were wrapped in layer upon layer of thin cloth. Beneath the bandages, swollen, reddened marks could be glimpsed.
The skin on her fingertips had worn through. Some places had scabbed over, while fresh blood was just beginning to seep from others.
Seven days and seven nights.
She had gone seven days and seven nights without closing her eyes.
Every time she played a wrong note, she started over.
When her fingers hurt so badly it felt like they were being pierced, she bit her lip and kept playing. When she was so tired she could barely keep her eyes open, she pinched her own thigh.
It was because, the last time her imperial brother had visited, he had casually mentioned that he wanted to hear her play a song.
For those few words alone.
She wanted to make him proud of her.
Xue Ke took a deep breath and lowered her fingertips.
The zither music poured out like flowing water, echoing through the empty palace.
The piece was not complicated, but she played it with extraordinary care. Every note seemed to roll straight from the depths of her heart, brimming with affection.
Xue Qinghe sat to one side, his expression calm, his fingers tapping lightly on the table in time with the melody.
His gaze rested on Xue Ke, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
But that smile never reached his eyes.
When the song ended, Xue Ke lifted her hands. Fine beads of sweat had formed on her forehead. She looked anxiously at Xue Qinghe, like a prisoner awaiting judgment.
Xue Qinghe slowly rose and walked over to her.
"My sister played beautifully."
His voice was full of affection.
Xue Ke's eyes reddened at once.
Seven days and seven nights of practice, her fingers torn up again and again, so exhausted she had nearly dropped dead—at that moment, it had all been worth it.
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