Ma Xiaotao

Nezha lowered his head to look at the soul bone, its crimson glow reflected in his fiery-red eyes. His expression remained calm.

He raised his head and met Yan Shaozhe's gaze, fell silent for two breaths, then spoke.

"Dean Yan, thank you for thinking so highly of me."

His tone was respectful, but there was no hesitation in it.

"However, I've already joined the Nine Treasures Glazed Tile Sect. Uncle Ning has been kind to me, and the sect has treated me well. Forgive me, but I cannot accept your offer to take me as your disciple."

The smile on Yan Shaozhe's face faltered slightly.

He studied Nezha for a long while. Several complicated emotions flickered through his deep eyes before finally dissolving into a sigh.

He drew back the White Jade Box and closed its lid, but did not put it back into his ring.

"The Nine Treasures Glazed Tile Sect," he repeated, his tone carrying an elusive undercurrent. "Ning Zhiyuan certainly has a good eye."

After several breaths of silence, Yan Shaozhe suddenly extended the White Jade Box and pressed it straight into Nezha's hands.

Nezha blinked. "Dean Yan?"

"Take it."

Yan Shaozhe's tone brooked no argument. He pressed his palm against the lid, stopping Nezha from pushing it back. "I said this soul bone was a first-meeting gift. Even if you won't become my disciple, I still have to give you that gift."

Looking into Nezha's fiery-red eyes, a meaningful smile returned to his lips.

"Give it some more thought. Shrek Academy's doors will always be open to you."

With that, he released the box, clasped his hands behind his back, and turned to walk slowly along the lakeside path. His white robes fluttered gently in the breeze off the lake, his retreating figure lean and composed. After a few steps, he tossed back one more remark without turning around.

"Fuse with that soul bone as soon as you get back. Don't waste it."

As Yan Shaozhe departed, thoughts surged through Nezha's mind.

Yan Shaozhe's behavior today had been far too unusual.

From what he knew of the original plot, this dean of the Martial Soul Department appeared mild-mannered, but was profoundly calculating beneath the surface. He never made a losing deal. He had offered a Ten Thousand Year Soul Bone without stating a single condition. Nezha would not believe he had no further move planned even if someone beat him to death.

Still, whatever Yan Shaozhe was scheming, now that the soul bone was in his hands, there was no reason to turn it away.

As for whether there was a trap-when soldiers came, he would meet them with a general; when water rose, he would dam it with earth. He would head back first.

By then, the setting sun had sunk completely below the horizon, leaving only a smear of dark red at the edge of the sky.

He was walking along the lakeside path when a crimson figure suddenly hurtled toward him from afar, trailing a scorching blast of air. In the blink of an eye, it was upon him.

Nezha's pupils contracted.

Earlier that evening, after finishing her cultivation, Ma Xiaotao had inexplicably sensed that something was wrong.

Just two days ago, her teacher had checked the state of her martial soul and suppressed the evil fire inside her. Based on past experience, as long as she kept it properly under control, she would not have to worry about the evil fire affecting her for another month.

Yet for some reason, after tonight's cultivation, she felt that the evil fire accumulated within her martial soul was even greater than what two months of steady cultivation would have produced. It was about to turn on her.

She immediately stopped cultivating and decisively left her room, intending to find Xu Sanshi in the Outer Court and have him help suppress the evil fire inside her.

But as she swept over Sea God Lake, she actually felt a suppressive force, and the evil fire suddenly weakened.

Her red eyes could no longer look away.

It felt like a lecher encountering a peerless beauty with her clothes half undone. Like dry tinder meeting a raging blaze, like thunder from heaven stirring fire beneath the earth-in short, Ma Xiaotao had lost most of her reason.

Her red eyes fixed feverishly on the figure beside the lake. Purplish-red flames rose around her, and with a flash of movement, she lunged straight at Nezha.

Sensing the scorching wave of air abruptly closing in from behind, Nezha turned sideways in alarm and looked up.

The newcomer was a woman in red, tall and well-proportioned. The first thing anyone would notice was her somewhat exaggerated fullness: firm, high, and almost bursting free, with enough volume to make ninety-nine percent of women feel inadequate.

Yet despite her voluptuous figure, Ma Xiaotao also had a slender waist that seemed too delicate for even a single hand to grasp.

Her curves only flared sharply at her hips. Her pert, rounded buttocks trembled slightly with her hurried breathing, and her legs were straight and shapely, countless times more attractive and alluring than a withered, chopstick-thin figure.

The woman was also beautiful, with exquisite, flawless features. At that moment, she radiated a soul-stealing allure, accompanied by the strange impression that she was bathed in flames and burning alive.

Crimson flames wreathed her body, and she exuded a fierce, chilling menace. Wherever she passed, the air itself warped.

It was none other than the Flame Maniac-Ma Xiaotao.

But something was clearly wrong with Ma Xiaotao.

Her eyes were bloodshot, two purplish-red tongues of flame flickering deep within her pupils. Her breathing was hurried and scorching, her chest heaving violently as she stared fixedly at Nezha. Her gaze blazed as though it could burn straight through him, roiling with a desire that bordered on uncontrollable.

Flames poured outward around her without restraint. The paving stones beneath her feet were scorched with two black marks, and the air filled with the acrid smell of intense burning.

Nezha frowned.

He sensed the aura coming off Ma Xiaotao: intense, restless, and scalding. It shared an origin with the Fire-Tipped Spear's ultimate fire, but was nowhere near as pure, tainted by something violent and chaotic.

That was evil fire.

He immediately realized that the evil fire inside Ma Xiaotao had run out of control.

Ma Xiaotao lunged at him with tremendous speed, purplish-red flames enveloping her curvaceous body as she crashed toward him like an out-of-control fireball.

Her lips moved slightly, releasing a muddled, feverish murmur. "So... so nice... you smell so good."

Nezha shifted aside to avoid her head-on. At some point, the Wind Fire Wheels had appeared beneath his feet, and crimson and azure vortices carried him several feet backward.

Ma Xiaotao caught nothing but air and grew desperately anxious.

She kicked off the ground with both feet. Her purplish-red flames exploded in a ring of air, propelling her forward again.

This time, she seemed to be getting serious. She was several times faster than before, and before Nezha could fully activate the Wind Fire Wheels beneath his feet, that fiery-red figure was already before him.

"Don't run. I won't hurt you."

Ma Xiaotao panted, her voice husky yet soft, carrying an irrepressible heat. Clearly, some of her reason remained, but the evil fire inside her had battered it to pieces, leaving her to force the words out in broken fragments.

Yet her body did not stop at all. Her outstretched arms carried scorching flames as she threw them around Nezha's chest.

Nezha felt a sudden rush of red light, followed immediately by a blazing heat that enveloped his entire body from every direction.

That heat came from Ma Xiaotao's embrace.

At around twenty, Ma Xiaotao was at the most beautiful age of a young woman's life.

And she was already extraordinarily beautiful, with vivid, striking features. Now, her cheeks were flushed crimson from the rampaging evil fire, making her look as radiant as peach blossoms and plum flowers.

Her long, fiery-red hair spilled loose over Nezha's shoulders, its strands still carrying a searing heat.

She was practically hanging from him, her arms locked tightly around his back and her head buried in the crook of his neck. Her scorching breath washed over his skin, again and again, rapid and burning.

The fullness of her chest pressed without reserve against Nezha's, its softness clearly perceptible through the thin layers of clothing between them. As her hurried breaths rose and fell, she rubbed against him over and over.

Nezha froze where he stood.