The Crown Prince Xue Qinghe, Xue Ke

The palm was over three meters long.

It was entirely black, yet it gleamed with a metallic luster.

Its five fingers were slender like swords.

The fingertips were sharp, as if they could tear through anything.

Green wind vortexes swirled around the palm.

They let out a whistling sound.

The candlelight in the room flickered violently from the wind.

Yu Xiaolong's mind stirred.

The two black hands vanished instantly.

And instantly reappeared at the other end of the room.

Fast!

Too fast!

It was only slightly slower than his Flying Thunder God.

And this Hurricane Black Hand also came with wind-attribute cutting abilities.

The green wind vortexes were not just for show.

They were wind blades condensed to the extreme.

Yu Xiaolong clenched his fists excitedly.

Level seventy-two Soul Saint.

Coupled with this seventy-nine-thousand-year Hurricane Black Hand spirit ring.

His strength had advanced another step.

If he encountered Ghost Douluo again...

A cold glint flashed in Yu Xiaolong's eyes.

He glanced at the night outside the window.

The moonlight was like water, spilling onto the begonia flowers in the manor.

Everything was quiet.

Yu Xiaolong retracted his spirit power.

The light of the red spirit ring slowly dissipated.

He sat back on the bed, cross-legged.

The spirit power within his body surged like a river.

Yu Xiaolong closed his eyes.

He began to consolidate the gains from the night.

On the other side of the manor.

Ye Lingling lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

She recalled everything from the night.

Yu Xiaolong had helped her put on her clothes.

The hands that touched her shoulders were very warm.

And the words he had spoken.

"You are a person, not a bargaining chip."

"Live according to your own will."

"In this world, no one can force you to do something you don't want to do."

Ye Lingling's heart suddenly quickened.

She had never heard such words before.

From childhood to adulthood, she had always been arranged.

Learning etiquette, cultivating her martial soul.

Even her marriage was to be dictated by the royal family.

No one had ever asked for her will.

No one had ever asked her what she wanted.

Only Yu Xiaolong.

That man, who looked not much older than her.

Had told her in a calm tone.

You have the right to choose.

Ye Lingling closed her eyes.

A faint arc appeared at the corners of her mouth.

Then, she thought of the matter of taking a master again.

Twin Martial Souls...

Is it truly possible?

Her reason told her that this was too absurd.

But...

What if?

Ye Lingling turned over.

She suddenly felt something throbbing within her body.

It was very 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.

Some kind of change was quietly taking place inside her.

The young girl's breathing grew slightly rapid.

Dragon God Temple...

She silently committed this name to memory.

Perhaps, she would really go there.

The night grew deeper.

Outside the Heaven Dou Imperial City, silence reigned.

In the Seven Heart Begonia Manor, the Begonia Flowers bloomed in silence.

Under the moonlight, the petals swayed gently.

The Heaven Dou Imperial Palace, with its vermilion walls and green tiles, was bottomless and unfathomable.

Xue Ke sat alone in the hall, a white qipao wrapping around her slender waist, the hem of the skirt falling to her ankles, the collar slightly open to reveal a fair neck.

Her white hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall, setting off skin as white as snow; she looked like a porcelain doll that had stepped out of a painting.

She sat before the zither table, her long, slender fingers unconsciously plucking the strings, emitting one scattered note after another.

The deep palace courtyard was too quiet.

So quiet that it made one feel flustered.

Suddenly, a rush of hurried footsteps came from outside the hall, followed immediately by the shrill voice of an attendant.

"His Highness the Crown Prince arrives!"

Xue Ke lifted her head abruptly, her eyes, clear as water, instantly brightening.

She lifted her skirt and ran toward the hall door with small, quick steps, the smile blooming on her face like peach blossoms in early March, pure and without a trace of impurity.

It was her Imperial Brother!

In this entire deep palace, she could only speak of her heart's troubles to her Imperial Brother.

Xue Qinghe stepped into the hall, dressed in a moon-white brocade robe, his figure tall and straight.

His features were as delicate as a woman's, his skin fine and tender, and his brows and eyes carried a gentle curve that made one feel as if they were bathed in a spring breeze at a single glance.

"Imperial Brother!" Xue Ke greeted him, her voice full of joy.

Xue Qinghe lowered his head slightly, looking at the sister before him with hair as white as snow, and raised his hand to gently pat her head.

"My good sister, have you been studying diligently lately?"

His voice was as warm and smooth as jade, unhurried and calm.

Xue Ke nodded obediently, looking up with eyes that were bright and full of anticipation.

"Imperial Brother, Ke'er has been practicing the zither diligently every day; even the tutor has praised me."

As she spoke, her hands unconsciously clutched her skirt, like a puppy waiting for praise.

Xue Qinghe smiled, a smile as warm as the winter sun.

"My sister is indeed clever."

Xue Ke's cheeks flushed slightly, her heart feeling as sweet as if she had eaten honey.

Imperial Brother praised her.

In this world, Imperial Brother was the only person who truly cared for her.

Just as Xue Qinghe was about to say something, Xue Ke preemptively grabbed his sleeve.

"Imperial Brother, won't you stay? Listen to Ke'er play a song."

She tilted her face upward, her white hair sliding off her shoulders to reveal a slender, fair neck.

The white qipao outlined the young girl's budding figure; her waist was so slender it could be spanned by a single grasp, and her chest rose slightly, carrying the unique, raw innocence of youth.

Xue Qinghe's gaze lingered on her for a fleeting moment.

Immediately, he returned to his gentle demeanor.

"Very well, Imperial Brother will listen."

Xue Ke was overjoyed; she turned and trotted back to the zither table, sitting down impatiently.

She raised both hands and placed them upon the strings.

Those fingers, which should have been as white and tender as scallions, were wrapped in layer upon layer of thin cloth, beneath which red, swollen wounds were vaguely visible.

The skin on her fingertips had been worn raw; in some places, scabs had formed, while in others, blood had only just begun to seep through.

Seven days and seven nights.

She had not closed her eyes for seven days and seven nights.

Every time she played a wrong note, she started over from the beginning.

When her fingers ached with a piercing pain, she bit her lip and kept playing. When she was too sleepy to keep her eyes open, she pinched her own thighs.

Because the last time Imperial Brother visited, he had mentioned in passing that he wanted to hear her play a song.

Just for that one sentence.

She wanted to make Imperial Brother proud of her.

Xue Ke took a deep breath and let her fingertips fall.

The sound of the zither poured out like flowing water, echoing through the empty palace.

The piece was not complex, but it was played with extraordinary devotion; every note seemed to roll off the tip of her heart, laden with deep affection.

Xue Qinghe sat to the side with a calm expression, his fingers tapping lightly against the table in time with the melody.

His gaze rested on Xue Ke, a faint, indistinct smile hanging at the corners of his mouth.

Yet that smile did not reach his eyes.

As the song ended, Xue Ke raised her hands, fine beads of sweat already glistening on her forehead. She looked at Xue Qinghe nervously, like a prisoner awaiting judgment.

Xue Qinghe slowly stood up and walked over to her.

"My little sister plays truly well."

His voice was filled with doting affection.

Xue Ke's eyes reddened instantly.

The seven days and seven nights of grueling practice, the fingers worn raw again and again, the exhaustion that felt like death—at this moment, it was all worth it.